for the love

by Jodi Picoult In my first memory, I am three years old and I am trying to kill my sister. Sometimes the recollecton is so clear I can remember the itch of the pillowcase under my hand, the sharp point of her nose pressing into my palm. She didn't stand a chance against me, of course, but it still didn't work. My father walked by, tucking in the house for the night, and saved her. He led me back to my own bed. "That," he told me, "never happened." As we got older, I didn't seem to exist, except in relation to her. I would watch her sleep across the room from me, one long shadow linking our beds, and I would count the ways. Poison, sprinkled on her cereal. A wicked undertow off the beach. Lightning striking. In the end, though, I did not kill my sister. She did it all on her own. Or at least this is what I tell myself. That is the first page of the book. If you want to read the rest, you'll have to go to the bookstore, or the library, or borrow it fr

I was told ( in not so many words) that while it is ok for me to have a blog just like my sister (and the rest of the free world), it is NOT ok for me to use the same format. Thus I have complied. I don't want to bust up the order of things here (since I'm new and all). Dont'cha just hate when the new kid comes in and tries to run the show? I'm not like that. Book review coming soon.

So, yah... welcome me to the bandwagon that is blogging. I went and did it. I couldn't help it! I assume that once I post a comment to my sister's latest entry (it has to be done today, I just cannot let her post go without completing it with comments from me), this cat will jump out of her bag. Look, I used to be a closet-blogger. It's all true. I had one reader (that I know of) who could have exposed me for the shameful deciept I was sowing; and yet she kindly deferred her right to blab and became my closet-blogging enabler. If any of you were closet-reading my closet-blog, you better come clean now. This is a call to repentence . On a less serious note, let's get this party started. I will not promise to post frequently. I will not promise to post anything you are interested in reading. I will not promise to say anything important. I will not promise anything short of this: I promise that what I say here was written by me because I wanted to write it, and I thought

I added cinnamon to my Saturday morning M&M pancakes I have When Harry Met Sally playing while I do my Saturday morning chores I will finally pull out all of my fall decorations (I wanted to do this last weekend, but I made myself wait) Other things I can't wait to do this season: Have caramel apple cider from Starbucks Hike at Radnor Lake Go to Gentry's Farm with my niece and nephew Have some of my sister's chili, caramel apple pie, and pumpkin bread celebrate Thanksgiving Sometimes I think I should be worried about my psyche for loving fall so much. After all, it is the season of dying in way. All of the leaves die and fall off the trees. The air gets colder. It's starts getting darker earlier. It reminds me of dusk. The way the day starts to wind down. The way it all begins to end. Which, ironically (?) is my favorite time of day. I think it should say something about a person - what their favorite season or time of day is. Morning people are spring people. After

I don't remember when I finally stopped looking up to the sky at airplanes flying overhead and wondering if it was headed for a building. I just know that at some point I did. Those days, it felt like things would never be the same. It felt like I'd never look at an airplane the same way again. I remember the first anniversary. I was driving to work and listening to the radio. They were having a moment of silence at 8:46. At that moment I saw a commercial plane fly overhead. I remember thinking, "God bless 'em - they are so brave." Today I flew from Tampa to Nashville on Southwest. It was fairly non-eventful. And I was thankful. We never know what each day will bring us. Whether safety or tragedy or status quo. But I do remember a very specific thought I had on the evening of 9/10/01. It was sunset and I was walking with my mom. I was wondering about my future and how things would work out. I was tempted to worry. To have anxiety over a new chapter in my life. I w

and it was worth it. On Sunday, Debbie and I drove from Columbia MD to New York, NY. Google said it would only take 3 1/2 hours. Google failed to mention the burning SUV on 95 that increased our drive time by 35 minutes, or the 6 toll booths = roughly 28 dollars in cash = all that I happen to have on me, that we would encounter along the way. I exclaimed, "who knew?!", to which Debbie turned and said with only her expression, "I did." Oh well, we got there in 4 hours. We picked up a homeless man under the bridge after the Lincoln Tunnel. No. We picked up Grant. But yes he was hanging out under the bridge. He would have been right outside the tunnel had a cop not approached him to "move along sir." We had dinner at Bone Lick BBQ on Greenwich. It was gerd (exremley good). You must pay the extra dollar to have mac/cheese as your side. You will not be disappointed. You will not want or need your dollar back. You might even feel compelled to give them another

you know the things that I am a afraid of I'm not afraid to tell. And if we if ever leave a legacy it's that we loved each other well. - Indigo Girls, Power of Two I've always loved that line from this song. I love the whole song, but that line always sounded like it was being sung louder than the rest of the song. I never got to thinking much about legacies before my two grandmothers died this year on the same day in March. Many people expressed their sympathies, and each & every time someone did, the best and only thing I could tell them was "it's really a good thing". A lot of people didn't understand that, but then they didn't know my grandmothers. Different in every personality trait, they held two virtues in common. They did not hold fast to this world as their treasure, but always hoped for the better life to come. And they loved their families indescribably. Now I understand this legacy. I suppose too, that as I grow older and move into new