Sweet 17

Happy Birthday, Miss O!

Best wishes to this lip gloss-wearing, lyric-writing, poetry goddess of Yale Avenue. Come home soon so we can celebrate!

together we trod

Emily Dickinson wrote, "My friends are my estate." Pavement, grass, and the path of Pirate's Cover underfoot, we've trodden every inch of Yale Avenue - together. We've taken turns about the R's English-style garden, stepping stones leading the way. We have climbed into what used to be a tree house big enough for three in my parent's backyard and spent time on the hill between Steven's and Robinson's, all of these estates, grounds and paths we know by heart.

As the song of summer commences, we will all embark upon paths anew: to Wales, to Italy, to Paris. To new jobs and new endeavors, whether a passport is required or not. Paths of freedom. Paths of self-discovery. Paths on the stepping stones to True Love. Let us carry with us this feeling of together; this feeling of estate. Always with Home in mind: dirt from Pirate's Cove, grass from Stevens' front lawn, and lavender from the Rhondeau's white picket fenced garden; pieces of Home forever in our pockets. Together, but apart, we will continue. Firm and constant.

"Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant."

{Socrates}

K, I couldn't resist. With Europe only so many months away...it seemed all too perfect. Pack that super glue!

Humanity ROCKS...let's celebrate!!!

Dear E. and All,
The timelessness of sisterly bonds and the eternity of our fleeting childhood imaginations seem both romantic and real. Striking the heartstrings in spite of age discrepancies, true friends (like on Yale Avenue) open up the layers of self. A ten-year-old's jokes heal me equal to the tearful eyes of a listening peer. Why? Because with each birthday or sunset or second we not only gain more, but we resurrect all of our yesterdays. Our souls add more sparkling rocks to our collections of being that stay in the clasped palm or the string-tied cache. Treasure the geode of a first kiss with the same velvety touch that came with the dirty, first-failed-Spelling-Bee stone because, on occasion, a child opens their clammy hand with a dirty stone in hopes of comparing and sharing. What a crime if your dirty stone has been cast aside in the name of teenage rebellion or adult "maturity"!
Volumes of books cannot explain and infinite tables of data cannot quantify the value--the universality--of human experience. For even if your small pebble of family sorrow does not look or feel like my jagged rock, they come from the Central Quarry of tears; and, more importantly, the actual act of holding out that piece of your collection for another to see and feel is immeasurable. And if you share your earthy rock or examine another's colorful gem, whether it originates in their early years or recent days, with carefully cradling hands and heart, your cluster gets heavier. You acquire more treasures, more humanness. That is why friendship and love and family and sharing make us so much better. That is why I am grateful for all of you.
Annie

PS: On that note, as summer starts to sing, my 9-year-old self can't help but crave a company of players, night-games, and innovative PET-VET rescue methods. Simultaneously, my 21-year-old self (I hope I don't sound schizophrenic) itches to plan a party. Envision this: vases of poppies (perhaps peonies), Chinese lanterns, fresh fruit, grass, skewers of steak kabobs, dresses, a bright-palette of plates, rosemary bread, fortune-telling, heels, swirling table cloths, Italian ice, poetry, and us. HOW ABOUT THIS SATURDAY EVENING OR SUNDAY???IT MUST BE SOON!!!!

sometimes it's overrated but fyi:

Guys, I heart you.

Which seems a ridiculous way to start (or take up) a post, but there it is. I love that we exist in this little corner of the world, all of us at so fully different stages of existing but so connected all the same. I love that I learn just as much from Nell as I take from Martha; that years aren't all that important when you've got Yale at the heart of them.

What a happy thing to have.

Yale Book of Quotations

Happy June. Summer is here! I can't wait for lantern-lit summer evenings on the grass, stargazing and turns about the neighborhood at dusk. Anyone up for a summer project? (In our oodles of spare time).

I believe we need to compile a Yale Book of Quotations of our own to keep track of all things Yale Sisterhood - the academic, archaic, and/or absurd. Such things as, "I am a diamond in the rough," and "their children would literally be donkeys," are two appropriate examples. It could also serve as a dictionary of sorts defining pirate's cove, red flag, and the wall. Are you with me?

{Please see here and here for more information and historical background}