A Hello Kitty In A Suitcase Washes Up On A Beach

Los Angeles, Sunset on Christmas Day 2015

So, I know the day after Christmas is not a good time to kvetch about the fact that I haven't done any real writing in weeks and weeks, but I haven't really written anything in weeks and weeks. There's a lot going on in these parts, in addition to The Holidays, but I generally write like the dickens no matter. This time, no matter isn't working for me, and I just don't have it in me to spin my stuff.
Tonight, I was talking with my sister on the telephone, and she was trying to remember the name of the book that she's reading. My sister is 50, and I'm 52, and we're both voracious readers, but we're both having a hard time recalling the names of the books we're reading. (Our other sister is a spring chicken at 42 and also a voracious reader but she claims memory loss as well). The 50 year old told me that she was reading a really good one that was shortlisted for the Booker prize (we both believe firmly that you can never go wrong with Booker finalists). She asked me whether a Hello Kitty in a suitcase that washes up on a beach rang a bell, and I said no but that I thought the question would make a great comedic line in a video or sit-com about two middle-aged sisters. Meanwhile, my sister headed upstairs in her house to check on the title which I didn't recognize, and when I asked her who the author was, she said Ruth and I said Ozeki and she said Yes! and I said I haven't read it but I hear it's good and she agreed. I simultaneously remembered that Ruth Ozeki was a Hedgebrook writer, that she'd spent time on Whidbey Island just like I had done but hell if I remember that person. Me, a Hedgebrook Writer in Residence. Was that a dream? Did I really go there? I had so much potential! Where has it gone? When will I write again?

Me and My Seesters

Happy National Sibling's Day, Jennifer and Melissa!

(gotta love the shoulder pads and the pearls, right?)

Why?

1. 

2. FitFlops with Swarovski Crystals

3. Tea Party Lady Patriots

My sisters, whom I almost never write about, are two of the funniest people on the planet. Just yesterday, one of them texted me with a question regarding my memory of a mouse playground that she had gotten one Christmas in the 1960s. When I told her that I only vaguely remembered it, she sent me a photo, and it all came back to me. Then she told me that she'd found a vintage one and bought it and was beside herself with excitement. It was a bargain! she told me, It comes with all the mice! I totally got it and admit to being a little envious about that mouse playground. We exchanged a few more texts about the merry-go-round piece that closely resembled the one on our elementary school playground in New Jersey, and my sister added that she was super excited about the extra slide that she still has from the sixties to add to the playground when it comes in the mail. Like I said, I get it.

The other sister and I like to take photos of outlandish things or make comments about certain style choices that we might see, randomly, on the streets of Los Angeles or Washington, D.C. My text might read: 

Denim high-waisted short shorts. Why? 

She might immediately text back:

God! With a belt, right?

Her text to me this afternoon was the photo above of Martha Stewart in full Halloween regalia with the word Why?

I texted back that I loved her so much. My sister that is, not Fairy GrandMartha.

Reader, ask yourself why? Cleverest answers to the why of the above photos get a lifetime supply of cupcakes or a snapshot of the mouse playground or -- better yet -- some high-waisted denim shorts. With a belt.

How the day whiled

There was make-your-own-sub-sandwich lunch time:

and there was play Monopoly time

There was a long walk on the beach with my father, under stormy skies:

There were pelicans doing synchronized acrobatics in the sky:

There was a surprise for those of turning forty years old (my little sister, Jennifer) and those of us turning 50 years old (yours truly)

Then there was sunset on the beach --

There was the usual high drama, too, but I'll leave you with the illusion of perfection. Usually, it's the fine line between them where most of family relationships lie, and our family is like most, I imagine, in that respect.

Yakety Yak

Me and my yak

Have you ever had one of those days where you talked and talked and talked, so much that it was too much? I had one of those days, and while every conversation was a good and deep one, I'm talked out. Today I talked about my children and I talked about medical marijuana. I talked about dyslexia and I talked about gratitude. I talked about how difficult it is to receive things gracefully. I talked about marriage and I talked about divorce. I talked about turning fifty years old, and I talked about losing weight. I talked about the books I'm reading and the jobs I'm looking for. I talked about advocacy for children with special healthcare needs, and I talked about my family. I talked about others and I talked about myself. The only thing I didn't talk about was drinking.

That's why I'm grateful to my baby sister Jennifer for directing me to this website called Thug Kitchen and this particular post. If you're at all offended by cursing, avoid it. Otherwise, have fun.

Now I'm going to stop talking and go make myself a Blackberry Bourbon Fizz.

Then I'm going to chill the  ------ out.

Happy Birthday, Sistah!

Me, Our Mother, My Little Sister, Melissa