Real, that which I thought to be a dream.

So this is Philadelphia. It's cold and the rain hinders the visibility so that I can see to the tree line and then past it only white and gray. We are going the wrong way but we've been awake since yesterday and it only makes sense that after an 8 hour work day, a couple hour drive, and one plane ride, that the directions would start to look as hazy as the sky line. I rested my head on his shoulder during the flight like I always imagined I would- all those plane rides when I was alone and on my way to or from New York. Those were the days when I wanted to look at the person next to me and maybe brush my hand across my forehead to tell them we'd landed. Some where in Delaware we stopped for coffee and directions. An hour later we were in Allentown PA, population: one less family since the Dierkes clan moved to Florida. The streets were framed by unique row houses, there were rocking chairs and old kids toys dotting the porches and the street seemed to snake through sections of ethnic neighborhood and then revert back to Americana within feet. We drove by the old house. It's yard missing the remnants of BJ's childhood. The fence that sealed the house from the corner of the street. The two trees that once provided shade. And I think that there was a swing set but I may have made up that detail. There was neighborhood that he rode his bike in and the houses of friends long since moved on and away. There was the corner store they used to walk down to for candy and the woods that I think he once smoked in but again, I could be making it up in my mind. I imagined him as a kid and how much I would have liked him. He has these big innocent eyes and on an smaller adolescent face, they would do no less than captivate and charm. I think we would have been friends or that I would have been secretly in love with him. Next was Vesuvios Pizza, with it's long veneer counter top and hand tossed white pies, the smell of garlic and olive oil hanging in the air. A short while later I fell asleep in the passenger seat, surrendering to the weight that tugged at my eye lids. When I woke up there was a donut in a wax paper bag. It had peanuts on top with vanilla frosting and a smooth cherry jelly center. PB&J. Adorable and delicious. The best donut I have ever had. This was the Pennsylvania BJ wanted me to see and it was an adventure I was eager to embark on.

Buck-0

I've seen a picture of Chris holding me as a baby. He had a brown mustache, the same he has now except without the gray streaks in his hair. He probably held me softly and told me that I looked beautiful. He's been saying it ever since, sometimes ten times in one morning, "Sister, you're looking beautiful." And of all the times I've ever heard that in my life, I've never believed it more than when Chris says it. You see Chris is the object of my affection, my favorite. I once told BJ that of all the people in my family I thought Chris was the most special. He's 44 years old now. But really he's still 10. His body moves forward, compelled by the perpetual march of time. Wrinkles have formed above his brow and around his eyes and a belly has formed where one did not exist before. Somewhere there are trophies in a box, probably an attic somewhere, from when Chris lifted weights in the special olympics. I remember thinking that he was so strong and holding his trophies, seeing their shiny gold men triumphantly holding pose was something I wanted to achieve for myself. If you were to hug him, I'm sure it's the first thing you'd notice, he's very strong. I've always been very proud to be his niece. He is truly my favorite. I just don't see how this is fair. I'm so angry right now. And I feel so alone. You are so beautiful. Peace.

Best Easter Ever -or- He is Risen: The Holiday that Brings the Rock

Every where I go there is left over pastel candy. Easter morning brought bagels and a road trip. We passed church parking lots filled to the brim and little girls in matching pink plaid jackets crossing the street with their equally put together parents. Men in pleat fronted khakis parked suburbans and smoothed out their striped ties. BJ and I listened to xm channel 42 liquid metal and kept the windows up. The radio read our mind but we had no idea what it was thinking when it played children of bodem again for the thousanth time. I have taken to singing dragonforce really loud and playing accoustic drums on BJ's knees. It's the evolution of affection and you'd be suprised how quietly it marches on. Yes you can listen to Shai Halud, I'll just close my eyes for a bit, I love you.
We pulled into the neighborhood and down the street that I used to ride my bike on. The yards were so perfect. As if every lot was in a constant competition for shrubbery of the month. You know, a nice one, not too expensive. My grandparents were there, the rest of the family to follow. Nancy showed us her new car as enthusiastically as any person could before their head explodes. It's a red acura. Mine was a mazda MPV van. Hers wins. I brought Dave's dulcimer back and picked up one for myself. It has flames carved into the body and the neck to hide a deformity in the wood somewhere. It works, I have no idea where the wood begins and ends. My grandpa is an excellent dulcimer builder and I aspire to one day become an average player. I've got twinkle twinkle and When the saints go marching in down. Next stop carnegie hall.
My grandma made the coleslaw we love so much. There were pulled pork sandwhiches and asparagus and home made applesauce and a rasperry vinagarette salad and on and on and on and into my belly. The kids sat on the picnic table across from eachother talking about the decemberists and how skinny jeans make your hips look big. Bri and I talked about California and the man that she's fallen in love with. After dinner the dam broke and my grammy could no longer hold in her questions... Katie, are those real tattoos. No they can't be. Can you scrub those off? Why did you do that? How long have you had them? How have you kept them from us for so long? Why did you do this to your grammy? You have more? Is is catholic? Ave Maria? I don't understand? You're so beautiful how could you mark your body like that? If you need the transcript, it's easily found- my mom taped the whole thing on the family video camera. It's all there, the look of shock and horror the follow up of Bri saying that it looked as if the torch of dissapointing grandchild had been passed to me, the prodigy has fallen short and life can resume with the star faded. It's all there.
BJ and I tied our right and left foot together and practiced walking through the back yard for a while getting the cadence down. A three legged egg hunt was about to begin and we were all paired off and looking ridiculous. With the exit of all the baby boomers into the eschelon of puberty and beyond, my mom came up with a way to bring the tradition egg hunt from the playground to the battlefield. Ready set go, pushing and shoving and falling all over the place. I laid on my back and sank an inch into Saint Augustine lawn. Get up get up, I can't. I'm tied to you, remember? We stuffed eggs into our arms and hobbled to the next, with every step BJ growing more determined to take out our various cousins and aunts and uncles. Bigger steps, Katie, you're walking like a weiner dog!!! We ended the game in third place. $1.58. At least we had a place on the podium. This was easter and I held him tighter because I didn't want it to end.