a paragraph from a cover letter written by my big sister.

(reprinted without her permission. it's a little too late at night for me to phone her).

As it stands, I am in Woodbridge, Virginia. The sidewalks are coated in nasty, leftover snow. I already miss riding my bicycle to the Museum of Natural Science and rolling down the hill at Miller Outdoor Theatre. I am craving Frenchy’s dirty rice and enchiladas en mole from El Paraiso (it’s on Fairview, between Montrose and Taft). I know that the median of 288 is weeks away from turning blue with spring and at around 11 pm tonight, just like every night, the scent of roasting coffee will get caught up in the heavy clouds.

On a related note...cause we're related...I am mere hours from Houston and from El Paraiso (although I am partial to enchiladas at La Tapatia) and from Goode Company (barbecue and sentiment) and the sun (which is partial to red states) and yes, the rising stink of coffee and the necessity of cars and the tocsin (partial to new things) and my (partial, distant) history.

I meant to blog today but then this happened:

We didn't name him, there wasn't time because we were building and chucking and drinking hot cider. It kept snowing but it wasn't coarse. Nobody looked down from the windows wishing to be us. We should have put on music. I allocated a squash for his mouth. We used nutmeg for his nose. The glasses I lifted from my best friend in Chicago.

He belonged in Williamsburg, but settled in Chelsea. We tried to make him a rescue dog but it crumbled in construction. We took a break from the hockey game and missed its dull conclusion. It got too cold and we went back in.