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Sunday, September 20, 2015

sisters chosen

While one chosen sister boarded a plane in Sweden, I drove north to meet another chosen sister and spend the weekend with her, no children, no menfolk, just we two and the mountains and a city-town wrapped lazily around the railroad tracks on the valley floor.

While one chosen sister landed safely in North Carolina, I puttered around with another chosen sister, laughed together at my navigation system's obsession with saying "Route 11", found Roanoke's best breakfast joint, which is Scrambled, and best cupcakery, which is Bubblecakes.

While one chosen sister unpacked her bags, I sipped California and Spain with another chosen sister, shared notes about children who in diapers were like cousins but now live six hours and eleven years apart, commiserated over bodies changing and not for the better, got teary-eyed talking about aging and dead parents.

While one chosen sister slept off her jetlag, another chosen sister drove north and east while I turned south toward my new city-now-home, toward a Lego metropolis taking over the floor of the den plus one bedroom, toward a laundry bin overflowing with the transition between summer and fall, toward a reunion with my chosen sister, awake now and ready to tell me all about Sweden.
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