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!!!!

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Annie's last line has me thinking Whitman---goodly, glorious Whitman. So often his words echo my thoughts, and (through the silly-sad realization that I've never actually had an original idea) I revel in them. I celebrate myself, and sing myself. Early morning hours awake and alive have no comparison. I am satisfied---I see, dance, laugh, sing. The air bites but the sun shines; the world is open and humming. I believe in you my soul. I can handle it.

Today hasn't been much of an adventure as far as happenings go, but I feel excited about very nearly everything. The way my hair swept up into an easy French twist. How my heels click on the frozen concrete. When Professor Matthews shouted "yes!" at my comment this morning. Sincerity from one of my students, thanking me for showing him the light in Heart of Darkness. Chatting with coworkers, eyes alight in the fire of conversation. Coming to a conclusion without really thinking anything through: Waiting be damned. I am going to live. He'll catch up. Because I am amazing and lovely and every sort of color and I am brilliant and confident and I am true.

Yes, today I sing a Song of Myself, but to sing such is really praises for the masses. Because Leaves of Grass is just another way to shout Humanity! Because just as individual spears of grass make the green hill, so are we interconnected. Our differences point to our commonality. I am not alone. I am not the only one to ever have felt this way. I celebrate the part because I am part of something greater, something eternal.The epic is all I, I, I---but I think there's something to be said that it ends in you.

{Listening to the YTS Love Mix. Wondering how we got it so good.
Hoping everyone holds a piece of this happiness in their hearts.}