My sisters are here.  They came in tonight, and it was such a flashback to the way things used to be, when people were there at the gate to meet you - but this time I was there, watching their faces as they saw me, watching them come running down the corridor (what do you call the thing that connects the plane to the terminal? I want to say gang plank, but I know that is not right). 

Nick and I took them out to pizza, and Vivien said the greasy food made her mouth itch, but all she really needed was to be hugged and jollied out of her attempt to make herself upset.  I said, "Does this ruin EVERYTHING?" and pulled her onto my lap, and she said "No!" and laughed, and we played with her hair and examined the results in the restaurant mirror.

She keeps saying, "I am SO EXCITED to be here!"

When I put them to bed I got in between them and we all snuggled and read a book.  I'm glad they still like to be read to, even though they are both old enough to read chapter books now.  I hope when we are all old they will still let me read to them.

After singing to them, I kissed Vivien goodnight and she said, "Goodnight Mom."  Then she cracked an eye, half-asleep, and giggled, "I mean, Felicity."

The cat does not know what to make of the girls.  He hovered around, anxiously, always just out of reach.  Vivien really wants to make friends with him; Merlyn is a little more wary.  Vivien keeps trying to approach him and play with him, and Merlyn keeps saying, "Leave him alone!  That's not the way to handle it" in her best older sister-ish voice.  Now he is sitting on the pull out sofa bed, having made himself a nest in the covers, looking weary and resigned to his fate, whatever that is.  Poor Simon: so put upon.

I forgot July 25th this year.  (The day my father died, 12 years ago.)  I didn't even think about it; it was Rawaan's last day, and we spent it making truffles and running around preparing for guests, putting together packages.  Life goes on, and on.  I think Dad would have liked the truffles, the excess of chocolate involved.

It's been a strange couple of weeks.  A strange couple of months.  I am alone again, but I'm not lonely yet.  Recently: My car window was smashed.  I got a check in the mail from my insurance company, not because of the smashed window, apropos of nothing in fact.  I went to Orange County, and Seattle, and spent two nights in different hotel rooms, my head on strange pillows, blinking at the television instead of sleeping.  I went through old journal entries looking for writing to submit with an internship application, and thoughts of all the things I have not recorded recently, and how I wish I had.  There is nothing quite like the moment.  But then again, some moments it is better not to remember in great detail.

Our cat (my new cat, my roommate Alex's cat from before we moved in together) Simon only loves me when we're alone.  If no one else is in the house he lets me pick him up and hold him.  He doesn't squirm or protest.  He pushes his face into my hand, and cuddles up.  If, however, there is anyone else nearby, he runs when I approach.  He will sniff my fingers, but if I move them closer he bolts.  He's like that boy (or girl) who whispers sweet nothings when there is no one to see, but when his (or her) friends are around, makes fun of you.  Though it's possible that person only exists in movies.  And anyway, Simon doesn't have friends, just other people he dislikes as much as he dislikes me.

I've moved.  I am taking a short break from unpacking madness.  I have wonderful friends, who made it possible, and I ache all over, and I am exhausted, and happy, and have a new place to call home.  My room is large, with the added bonus of an enormous walk-in closet where I can store pretty much everything.  It has an arched ceiling, like a sunrise, and my new roommate left me two pretty bedside tables, a dresser, two large bookshelves.  This morning Elizabeth texted me and asked if I wanted to come for breakfast, and I could just roll out of bed, get dressed and go; their apartment is two blocks away from me.  There are two cats here: Cinder and Dove.  They drift in and out, and sniff things.  My new roommate, Kat, is an avid baker, and owns every kitchen appliance known to man.  Her boyfriend, who is living here for the moment (but is leaving to travel for a year, which is why they are renting out my room) helped me move in, set up my internet for me, and just offered me means to hang things on my wall: molding hooks and wire, heavy two sided tape.  They put up a new shelf in the kitchen to free up cabinet space for me.  Mel gave me a pineapple as a housewarming gift and my whole room smells of it.  I have extra room on my bookshelf, for expansion, and a whole wall which could hold a couch, or a desk, or both.  This is good.

Happy Solstice everyone.

Merlyn is pretending to have fainted on the couch.  She is rather fidgety for an unconscious person though.

I am home.  Home home.  The living room is clean, and Nick is lying on top of Merlyn, crushing her, and the tree is decorated, and we are going to have a party.  My head hurts, faintly, for no discernable reason.  It was a long week, despite being a short (work) week.  We have a new kitten in my apartment (in San Francisco), named Chloe, who cries when left alone, and sometimes sleeps in my lap, or on my chest. 

I saw Joanna Newsom on Tuesday night.  My first concert totally alone; between acts I stood, awkwardly, and watched the groupings of people: lots of couples, a few larger groups, two or three boys together.  At one point I sat on the floor, resting my feet, and examined shoes and legs clad in skinny jeans, and the ceiling.  Joanna Newsom has a little girl breathy voice and long, straight blond hair.  Her voice quavered and squeaked in strange and marvelous ways when she sang, and her fingers plucked and crab-walked over the harp strings.  She sang older songs at the beginning and end, and in between her entire new album Ys, five songs, the shortest of which is about 8 minutes.  I drifted through these a bit, I admit.  I am growing to love her new album, but it takes time to get to know.

We could stand for a century
Starin'
With our heads cocked
In the broad daylight at this thing
Joy
Landlocked
In bodies that don't keep
Dumbstruck with the sweetness of being
Till we don't be

At the end, during her encore, I held my breath and wished and wished for her to play "Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie," my favorite of her songs, and she did, finishing with it, and smiling brilliantly at the end, a little wave as she left the stage.

It is a short day, today, the shortest of the year, but the sun is bright through all the windows of our cosy little house.

And the stirring of wind chimes
In the morning
In the morning
Helps me find my way back in
From the place where I have been

If you want to make the attempt, here is "Emily" (from which the above lyrics come).