History Lesson.

In July 2005, my sister was new to Long Beach.
Now this may be hard to believe for anyone who knows my sister,
but she hated it.
She thought it was stinky and dirty and lame,
and while I still keep all of these opinions,
her opinion has since changed.
(Such is the effect of love and alcohol).

So a few weeks ago, I found a bag of stuff that I used to use to heal my home-sickness when I first moved to Santa Barbara (also in 2005).

Crumpled at the bottom was a note from her, from that July in 2005 (on purple Lisa Frank stationary mind you, and if you are not familiar with Lisa Frank, chances are you were not a girl in the nineties... because I will tell you what, neon, rainbow animals were The Shit.)

I digress.

On this Lisa Frank, dalmatian speckled paper was one of the best things I have ever received from my sister. And while I will not share the whole thing with you (I have become much more open in the last six months, but I dare not push the line), I will share my favorite bit.

"I wanted you to know that I AM stupid because no matter what I say or do you are more important to me than anybody I know... Everybody."


It makes me feel warm and snuggle-bug inside... like the feeling of warm blankets and tea when you're sick.
Because it reminds me of THAT girl. That girl who before LB, LaVerne and Ripples, was a big, beautiful fish, in the small pond that was San Jose.
The girl who was heartbroken, unhappy, and loved midnight Slurpee's.
Who took me to school, early in the morn, as grumpy as ever,
and then picked me up halfway through the day... in full support of my ditching.

A less wise Teresa, would say she misses that girl.

But I don't anymore.
I acknowledge time, and the effect it has on people, and their relationships.
I respect the change that has taken place, for better or worse, in both of us.

726 and the delight that is this place has helped me appreciate this.
Refusing to sit in her shadow, and carry her pedestal around, has helped me see this.
Becoming my own person, has helped me live this.

Most likely, she'll call this blog "dramatic", "rude", or better yet "guilt-ridden".


What she doesn't realize, as she sits and reads this (most likely with her special someone in tow) is that guilt is just another word for, "what someone does for love."

So open your eyes, because as much as you think you are seeing, you aren't seeing nearly enough.

Don't bring me a gift.
Bring me your understanding.
I love you, I will always love you.

We are sisters, and on our most distant day, we are closer than most sisters out there.
I won't forget that.