Doing a regular blog for class (Out the Screen Door) has made me wish I had a personal blog. I can never share random, fun things from my life on that blog since it’s so focused and must stay so for class. So here I am again to be random!

Yay me! Happy Easter, by the way!

I’ll post something interesting later. Now I must do my laundry and help Ma with Easter dinner.

Rory <3

“I didn’t cry when she moved to Richmond, though God knows I cried at everything else. It’s been five years. Still, I’m closer to no one. When she visited this July, for the third time, we sat on the hideous porch swing, waving mosquitoes from our faces, drinking out Mountain Dew and Sunkist Lemonade, fingers smudged with lead. What is it that makes a person indispensable? I don’t know. A few months after Morgan had moved, my mom had mentioned that we would drift apart and that it was ok. I was appalled. It’s impossible, and we both know it but don’t know why. Is it time spent, experience had? Maybe it’s simply knowing that you’ve been together through years that you didn’t even like each other. Maybe its that we weathered the awkward stage together or both weren’t allowed to watch the Spice Girls or wear eyeliner. Maybe it’s that we grew so used to each other that we don’t know how to live apart. Maybe God just knew we needed and still need each other, for some reason I’ll never know. Because I’ll never know who I’d have been without her. We’re not just friends. That’s what sisters are, I guess — two people thrown together who shape each other, drive each other crazy, learn together, and never can be totally separated. I think maybe that’s why I didn’t cry. For once in my life, I was confident in something. I guess I must have knows what no one else believed. We’re sisters.”

- Excerpt from “Uncommon Sisterhood” by R. Kisch

I wander with my old Canon PowerShot, take it all in. My Converse, shredding on the sides, beaten like my camera, take me across the campus footbridge to the granite steps of a little chapel in the leaves, the silence broken only by the light rush of air pushed by a Heron’s wings. It is Fall on Lake Johanna.