The first words of yours I ever read made me cry the ugly cry - you never fail to provoke emotion with your words. You're amazing and I can't wait to see where you'll go next.
Soul-sisters, we met at a perfect time, and still adorn each other. You're my favorite grill, and I can't do a fake-Russian accent without thinking of you. Artist, dancer, mama, equestrienne, Ranch Girl.
In my third-grade class, with an L shaped scar on your chin. When you moved away, I gave you a toilet-paper doll in a Sucrets box and you tossed it away - my treasure.
You flashed me once as I waved to you from a second-story window. Pregnant for the third time, you decided to embrace home birth and all that went with it. You're a doula now.
When you crushed a hundred snails on my parent's driveway and met their incredulous looks with a cheerful "Hi! I'll clean that up!" you left us flabbergasted. I guess they weren't God's creatures like you?
Your warm smile and willingness to laugh at IKEA-speak made our first meal together fun. Later, you sent me links to rap impressions on YouTube and called yourself a winner in your gmail status bar.
When you gave yourself a blond streak in your hair, the girls in our suburban middle school thought you were the coolest thing ever. So New Wave! It looked like a banana on your head.
You lived next door when I was four years old, and your basement playroom walls were covered in your crayon scribbles. At the time, I was scandalized. Now, I'm living it with my own kids.
For the love of Sam you became a Mormon, but you married someone else. You had wildly curly hair and we both cooked hot dogs at the car dealership on the weekends for $5 an hour.
You raised a family of six giant-sized kids in a three bedroom house and always had a pet rabbit in living in your yard. An ER nurse, you don't take any crap off of anyone.
