watercolor windowpanes

dear muffin,

on the playlist today: Jonsi. good stuff. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVcjArU_qCo

I like this kind of day. it's a rain-on-the-windows, tea-on-the-stove kind of day.

rain is beautiful. I love the patterns it makes as it parades down the windowpane: suddenly, our ordinary backyard is transformed into watercolor. and it's not like the framed masterpieces in a gallery, where you can sit & stare philosophically at every detail for hours. [or years, if you're unfortunate enough to be a grad student.] no; this canvas keeps changing. it's always new.

this weather makes me wish I had an antique writing desk & an oil lamp. not sure what I'd write, but it would certainly be better for having been written in such a setting. seems like nothing but profound thoughts could come out under the influence of a fountain pen and flickering candlelight.

as it is, I have a computer instead of a writing desk and a keyboard in place of a fountain pen. the basement lights can't be called romantic by any stretch of the imagination.

but I do still have the rain, and it makes me want to write.

today is the 17th anniversary of my brother's arrival on earth. to celebrate the occasion, we blew up balloons [thus terrifying the dog], stuffed him with chocolate chip pancakes, and told him we plan to keep him. I think he was gratified to hear this. at least if the number of pancakes he ate is any indication.

it's a strange thought: on this day 17 years ago, my 31-year-old mother was in labor. thrilled to meet her first son, she kept glancing at the clock and wondering when he would arrive.

5 long hours and then suddenly it was over and he was there in the Navy doctor's hands. kicking and wriggling and pink in the face, bellowing his objections to the world.

mom tells me that when she first brought him home, I piled my toys around him in an effort to make friends. [toys being influential in garnering social popularity among little people.] apparently, he was not amused by the wall of technicolor plastic around him. oh well. I tried.

thereafter we went from being to best buds to arch-enemies to dear friends. it's been fun.

funny how we use chocolate cake & curling ribbon to commemorate stories like these. seems like stone tablets & sagas recited around a fire would be more appropriate.

[even as I write this, the clouds are breaking. now my window is filled with sun and floating yellow leaves.]

so. here's to chocolate cake, to years, to growing up with your best friends... to joy.

always,

rory