She in her play pen trying to escape and me in my high chair cheering her on. Wobbly but determined she would grip the edge of the play pen and thrust her little body back and forth back and forth whilst I joined in by kicking my legs out, squealing and throwing food.
Silver tinsel Christmas tree mornings unwrapping oddly shaped packages with gargantuan colorful paper bows.
Carefree summer afternoons spent lazing on the back porch, feasting on Oreos or Chunky chocolate chip cookies dunked into tall glasses of chilled milk, in our matching Dorothy Hamill haircuts.
Hanging out at the park. Hanging from the monkey bars. Singing along to Bruce Springsteen.
Discussing noses, pimples, boys and school.
First heartbreaks, the downtown scene, expanding our horizons.
Camping, weekend cycling trips, Wednesday volleyball matches and community theater.
Graduating from University.
Leaving you and the country behind as I moved across the ocean.
Different personal and career paths.
Births, deaths, accomplishments and disappointments.
Losing our dads; hurting across the miles and still reaching out.
A blur of years, encounters and experiences.
Then one day in a kitchen in a house on a street that did not pertain to me or us we found ourselves together again; two women so firmly linked that time and distance hadn’t been able to weaken or damage the bond.
And once the laughter and tears of so many years began to flow, if you looked very carefully you would still be able to see the tenacious escape artist and her biggest fan.
Title photo by Lola Russian