a grayer beard than last year

I'm sitting at the bar in our kitchen watching my dad make beer. He siphons the dark malty mixture out of the metal pot on the counter, and it rushes through a clear hose into a glass bottle the size of my sister. He dips a bit of the liquid out into a beaker, and then floats a weird bubbly measurey thing in it. He mutters numbers to himself. I don't say anything, and he doesn't say anything.

 I like watching my dad do things he's good at and knows a lot about. It's the same feeling as when we're in the car together, and he starts explaining middle eastern politics for half-hours at a time.

"Look at it clarify already," he says without glancing at me. "If the whole batch ends up that clear, it will be good."

"I was noticing that," I said. Even though we're speaking, the silence isn't broken.

a champagne toast

There are hazards to befriending a drummer. You will be drummed upon frequently. Your knees, your forearms, the top of your head: anything within drumming distance is fair game.
For Christmas, he will use his drumsticks to knit you a scarf. He will make you mixtapes with metal songs oddly and wonderfully combined with the Jonas Brothers.
When you make scones, he'll smudge your forehead with batter before you're quick enough to stop him.

None of that encompasses the hazards of befriending a heavy metal screamer. He will send you the angrily beautiful lyrics he's written, and ask your opinion of them. He'll encourage you to write your own.
He'll send you haikus on scraps of paper in the mail. He'll give you tea and chocolate and music and advice. And in the dark of the movie theatre, when the White Orc appears suddenly onscreen, he'll grab your hand and bite it, and then grin at you in the silver light.

The very most dangerous hazard isn't any of these.
It's the 6 AM when you're alone in the airport with your feet propped up on your carry-on suitcase, and melancholy muzak dripping from the ceiling. You suddenly have to blink very hard, because 1,000 miles feels so real and tangible and solid all at once.

No one warns you of these perils in the beginning. But even if they did, it wouldn't change a thing. Sometimes friendships, like goldfish, grow to fill the space they occupy. And with that chance, 1,000 miles seems no less huge, but a little more golden.

rainbow shoelaces

My sister is on the floor in front of the TV, singing along to the claymated theme song. I come up behind her, and softly I tug on her ponytail and kiss the top of her head.

I sit down on the couch with a blanket and my laptop on my knees. In a few minutes, she climbs up and makes me share. She lays her head on my shoulder. I watch her serious eyes and the way her whole face lights up when something funny happens. 'Hotshots' soccer jersey, white turtleneck, miniature Newbalance sneakers, her perfect freckled nose. She notices me watching her, and gives me an eskimo kiss. She grabs my hands so I can't type, and laughs, and tells me a story about kindergarten. 

She's five years old, and the most beautiful thing in the world. 

                 /.lkogirituutyde8figojd8eyw6teujffijduetr5e5s66eyhwiskisu66tar5rshiiu

(That was her.)