fall(ing)

[via postsecret]

Finally, the summer is over. Fall, with cool mornings, clothing in layers, smells and colour-changing leaves, is upon us. It's sneaking up and bringing with it pumpkin lattes and a desire to make slow-cooker soups and stews. No more jetting off to Saskatchewan, or rushing around worrying about weddings and birthdays and fitting it all in. We're back to a slower pace. Relaxed. Sweaters worn to football matches. Scarves in the morning. Seeing your breath. I love this time of year so much.

The weekend in the Okanagan brought two rounds of golf, ten visits to wineries, fifteen bottles to bring back with us, and many, many hours spent together in a car. It was camping in the rain (B spilling his beer in the tent) and our first bed and breakfast. It was fresh fruit and coffee which ranged from very, very bad (McDonalds in Revelstoke, I'm thinking of you) and very, very good (oh B&B with your locally-roasted, grinded in house deliciousness). It was my first darts victory. Poker and beer. B being forced to put up with my dance party tunes while the radio was out of commission in the mountains. It was fall romance, despite the rain.

B likes my blog because so often I'm probably annoying people by talking about him. Ego stroking at its finest.

I've had some rough times lately. Summer drama. The things one goes through when one decided that maybe a friend is no longer a friend. Wanting to keep that person around for the good times, but realizing that you have to take the bad with the good. When she started telling people I love (and who I can only assume love me) that she thinks I'm depressed and that the Boy and I are not good for one another -- he's changed me -- I started questioning what she's telling those who don't have such close ties to me. To us.

"I don't think you've changed, and I've known you my whole life," says the Little.

I joke about it with B. I've ended more than a few sentences with, "Oh, it's just because I'm depressed." And we giggle.

"She doesn't read your blog, does she?"

If she did, there'd be no question.

Ode to Kitty

It's been a busy summer, this summer of Kitty and Elle. It's been full of ups and downs. Tears and squabbles, but in the end, we try to forget about those. We remember good times at the City Centre Farmer's Market, the West Edmonton Mall, girly dates, margaritas, crochet. We remember soccer games and meeting up for "screamers" (ice cream and slushies... mixed together). Sleepovers in the old house. Moving. Bubble tea.

The first time we've lived together in 7 years, and the four months just flew by. Part of me wishes it wasn't over, and the other part is just so happy for her to go back for her final year of university with her fabulous roomate and other Ontario friends. Plus, it will be nice to see the floor again in the spare room.

She flies out on Saturday morning, when the Boy and I are on our miniature vacay in the Okanagan. Tonight is our last soccer game together, our last post-soccer round of drinks (Boston Pizza Kitty, you can get your soup!). It's the last night we'll spend together before she's gone.

It's been pretty amazing to have the baby sister around. To truly learn more about this person she's become over the past several years, and see her perspective on things that have happened in the past. To see just how perfectly her future career suits her, and hear about all the great stories she has of patients who love her and co-workers who never want her to leave. To have her be a part of my life-changing summer of happiness, and have her support for my "only if it makes me happy" attitude. Hopefully she still likes me, because I think she's pretty incredible.

Dear Kitty: When you leave on Saturday, make sure you leave my clothes at my place. xo

Things that make me happy IV

[via flickr]

1. When B picks me up from the LRT station, we make kissy faces at each other before I even get to the car.
2. This weekend is the final glorious girly weekend with Kitty before she returns home to Ontario.
3. There will be girly drinks on the patio.
4. And farmer's markets galore.
5. The cheap fruits and veggie market near our house.
6. Finally not feeling weird calling it our house.
7. Being the boss at work for five out of the next ten weeks.
8. School! It's a bit off, but getting closer. I'm so excited.
9. Talking with the girls at work about needing to get together to play lame nerd games, like the Canadian Trivia board game I got for Christmas.
10. The anticipation of vacation.

It's an indoor joke.

My baby, the nurse. The caregiver. The one who is always full of sweetness, compassion and love for all things. The one who, at 21, is way more emotionally mature than most people I know. More confident. Beautiful, inside and out.

I'm so glad that she's made her way across the country this summer to live and work in my city. To live with me for the first time in seven or eight years. My little blonde baby. I'm so proud to be your big sister. You're so full of knowledge, give such good advice, and you act like a little old granny like I do. We're lame in the most delightful ways.

Happy birthday, love.

Play me that country music

Thursday was a happy night. The sunshine came out for the first time in days as Kitty and I ventured to the stadium for Jake Owen, Jaydee Bixby, Taylor Swift and Kenny Chesney. Mini donuts and Corona. Not actually sitting in our seats. Seeing cute couples two-stepping and realizing that I'll never have that with the Boy -- it's not his scene -- but it's okay. I had Kitty to swing around. Plotting a trip to Big Valley some year. Throwing our heads back in laughter, feeling at home in the middle of the big city. Dancing from nearly 6 p.m. to 11:30 p.m. on the football field. Waiting in line for the LRT as someone started the Let's go Riders chant, the lone guy who started up cheering for the Esks quickly being phased out. Running up the stairs to be the last people on the train before they closed the doors.

Even though it was a present for Kitty's birthday, it was good to have someone to listen to country music (and dance around like a moron) with me. Both of us subscribe to the "dance like no one's watching" type of dancing -- arms flailing, finger guns, the sprinkler, twirling 'til the dizzy hits... I couldn't have asked for a more perfect night.

Happy (belated) Canada Day

I'm a day late, but as yesterday was a holiday I was nowhere near the computer. Instead, I tried my best to get the pictures in the Boy's kitchen to go on the wall in a straight line, we walked down to the Legislature for a fabulous picnic with Kitty and A, stared in shock at how empty my house is getting as I threw some more stuff into boxes, and watched the fireworks from my balcony. Fireworks are one of my very favourite things.

Alas, today's back to work, feeling very much like a Monday rather than a Thursday. On the plus side, the weekend (and tonight's football game) is on the horizon. Oh, and tomorrow my parents fly into town.

Yesterday on our way to see the hoards of people swimming at the Ledge, little kids with burnt faces, and more ice cream trucks/carts then we could count on both hands, Kitty mentioned that Canada Day was just like any other day.

"But aren't you glad to be Canadian?" I gasped.

"Meh," she shrugged.

"Don't you enjoy your civil liberties? Democracy? Health care? The fact that you're a woman and you live here rather than in somewhere like the Middle East? Political stability?"

"I guess," she pondered. "It's just that I haven't had to go through that by living somewhere else."

True enough. We're pretty lucky. I, for one, am pretty proud to be Canadian.

So here I am with open arms

It feels strange that after three years of accumulating, of adding to the two suitcases I dragged off the airplane, I'm decluttering.

I'm going through old pieces from my portfolio, deeming them expired. I'm throwing out old goodbye, thank you, and happy birthday messages. I tossed a stack of pictures feeling confident that if I ever care to replace them, printing is only a click away. It's easy to get lost while sitting on the floor with my legs crossed, falling deep into old memories, old decisions, the old me. I got rid of a couple of uninspired knitting projects, but the bin of yarn I keep under my bed is still overflowing. My "to read" stack of books gets unstacked and shoved into boxes, no doubt pushed aside for the next couple of years. I spend time on the phone with anyone who sends me mail, informing them of the change. I take my time walking to work, inhaling the feeling of downtown.

"Maybe it's good you're moving in over time," said Kitty. "That way, maybe he won't realize how much stuff you have."

Things that make me happy III

1. My awesome coworker and friend, who ran off with me at lunch yesterday for a gin and tonic/vent session. Being the boss can be stressful, but a good friend like her makes it okay.
2. The Boy, Kitty, cribbage and wine on the balcony. Even though I didn't win.
3. Homemade frappes/iced capps and the lovely Kitty. So delicious. I love going home to her and delicious cold coffee-like beverages over chit-chat and Sex and the City.
4. The Boy's parents are coming up tomorrow and they're staying for a week. His lovely parents are going to help paint the house among other things. I hate painting so much. They are also bringing some of their homemade wine. And they are just all-around lovely people.
5. Soccer.
6. The Boy.
7. Wine.

working hard to get my fill

I'm not too ashamed to admit that sometimes, when I have a bad day, I turn to Journey videos on YouTube.

I've been pulled in so many directions lately that I was beginning to feel like I was being torn in two (or more). At work, I'm wearing the hats of boss lady, writer and media star, which is surprisingly harmonious except when big boss' pregnancy hormones are raging. I'm trying to find balance between friends and the Boy, and failing miserably. I'm trying to refuel but can't, as any extra time I have is used to satisfy other commitments. I've never really done the me time thing, as any spare time I have is given to friends who make me feel guilty for spending so much time with the Boy, or with the Boy, who has finally exploded in a "but I'm your boyfriend and I'd like to see you sometimes" rage.

The little sister is a shining light in all of this, which isn't helping anyone really. When I was feeling all frustrated to tears, she simply told me to do what makes me happy and screw the rest. Her words helped me figure it out, but then when what typically made me happy became just another obligation to fulfill, she became my default. While everyone else was having a virtual tug-of-war with my emotions, she became my solitude merely because she's just happy when I'm happy.

Pretty in pink

I'm thankful for good friends. For a boss who is so supportive of me and my future. For a co-worker who surprised me with these lovely pink tulips on Thursday afternoon, when I was having a bad day. For the most fabulous boyfriend, who listens to my fears, my worries, my hopes, my desperation and quietly says, "we'll find a way".

The weekend was busy enough. Traveling from downtown to the northeast end and back. Rock Band. Walks and talks with ma petite soeur. Pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. Catching up on Grey's Anatomy. A barbeque with the baby club, thankful to have the sister who is also not pregnant. Games. Phone calls to mommies. Painted nails. Reading until 10 p.m. on the balcony with a glass of wine. Snuggled up to the one who makes me happiest at the end of the day.

Kitty and I have had such different experiences with the mothership, and I must admit, sometimes I am envious of what they have. I'm envious of the fact that I've been gone for seven years without so much as a visit, but Kitty moves here for the summer and the momma automatically claims this is the summer she'll come. The momma cries because she can no longer call up Kitty and go for dinner, or shopping, or whatever and part of me wishes that she felt that way for me. I wish that she could see me for who I am and be proud of that. Not the money, or the good job, but me. Truth be told, our relationship may just be better from a distance. She's the one person in the world who has the ability to tear down in minutes all the confidence I've taken years to build.

It doesn't matter that I used to be the only one to remember Mother's Day presents, or that I still take a lead role in organizing the celebration of her. It doesn't matter that she doesn't agree with my education, but that I will always use it to benefit her when she needs my help. I hear some of the things she says about me, and they break my heart. I feel like this summer I need to prove to Kitty that I'm not that person.

I wish she could just love me like I love her.

Fourteen!

It makes me happy to have a reason to watch the clock. The excitement of 4:30 p.m. The take-off for the elevator, the foot tapping impatiently, the quick walk outside to the sunshine and the little one. Even if it rains, even though I am painfully ill still, and even though the only mission is grocery shopping, the anticipation of really getting to know the baby sister is exciting.

Even though we talk via the Internet, and gab on the phone, it feels like I've missed out on a lot not actually being there since she was fourteen.

Best friends 4 evah

Courtesy of CMT

I spent the weekend drinking too much champagne in the afternoon, eating appetizers for supper, imbibing in barley and hops, frolicking in the sunshine, and hanging out with two of my favourite people in the universe. The Boy sent me an email this morning that said, "It's good to remember why your best friends are your best friends." This weekend definitely served as a fabulous reminder.

They are two of the only people I can find to listen to country music with me. The only two people would would squeal and jump around with glee to find out that the Road Hammers were opening for Montgomery Gentry after a lot of detective work to find out who the opening act was. Dancing around the house. Watching bad teen movies. Being happy, and positive, and free of eye-rolling. Remembering good times and creating new memories. Meeting each other for the first time and becoming fast friends themselves.

Even though I have no voice, and have spent the weekend trying to push away the plague that has been wracking my body, this was the best weekend that I have had in a very long time. It was exactly what I needed.

I mentioned to the Boy a little while ago that I feel like I'm falling into too much negativity. I'm finding myself becoming an eye-roller. A cynic. A bit of cynicism is good, but it's gotten to a bad place. I made a vow to surround myself with positive forces to balance out my proclivity to the negative, and this weekend was the best thing that ever could have happened. I feel refreshed.

It's good to remember why your best friends are your best friends.

Best. Week. Ever.

I don't have any friends (other than my sisters) who I have had in my life forever. I went to highschool with two of my best girls, but I don't have the same stories as other people. We became friends when we were eight when we had sleepovers and step on (and broke) each other's glasses.

I met Erin in university. She lived three rooms down from me in residence (ah, good old Saugeen-Maitland). Though my floor was pretty close and we all did fun things together, Erin and I were merely bonded by mutual friends. We didn't spend any real one-on-one time together.

It wasn't until I graduated university and began my post-grad that we actually hung out alone. We were the only people from our crew in London that summer. We were both in relationships that were falling apart. We sipped champagne from individual-sized bottles and frolicked down the street to Richmond Row. We always, without fail, ran into the "breakup kitty" on the walk home from the bar and stopped to sit on the sidewalk and pet him (or her). It was after the first breakup kitty experience that Erin and I decided she needed to break up with her toxic boyfriend. Hence the name.

We supported each other. We laughed when my ex-boyfriend stopped by my house to take my vibrator, forgetting his big television in the process. We drank and had drunken rants about how much boys sucked. We sat on the patio at the Barking Frog in our newly-single state, wondering how to go about dating again. No doubt scaring off all boys within a mile radius.

We did a lot of tequila shots. We flirted and danced. We went home with each other to spoon. I call little spoon! I left her screaming about how she was doing to die (between her yelling for me to order pizza with mushrooms!) while I frantically wrote papers for my PR class, which were due the next day.

For my birthday, we created "Yard Yahtzee" and made passersby blow on our giant, misshapen dice for luck. We drank cosmos and laid on the front lawn. It was one of the greatest summers of my life, regardless of the break up and the hardest schooling I've ever done, and working three jobs.

Though she moved to Ottawa, and I moved to Edmonton, she's still one of the closest people in my life. She's the only person to ever have me cry happy tears. We cry when we see each other in the airport, but not when we're separating... it's strange, I'll admit.

There have been a lot of emails and drunken phone calls, but I'm happy that she's here now for a legitimate visit. I'm so excited to step outside to meet her for lunch, frolick through the city (past the bull she fell off of the last time she was here... when a kind stranger boy carried her to our door while I soothed her bleeding knee) and enjoy the sunshine.

Tomorrow the littlest sister, Kaye, moves to Alberta for four months. This will be the longest amount of time I've lived with any member of my family for approximately seven years. I could not be more excited.

Best. Week. Ever.

I bring this on myself

I've been listening to country music all day; one pink earbud dangling from my left ear and my right foot tappin' under my desk. It's my own fault. Summer is on the horizon, and by summer, I mean those things that makes it feel like summer. Warm weather, drinks on the patio, my BFF and the littlest sister (at the same time). The baby, baby sister will be here for the entire summer... she just happens to move here at the end of the month when my favourite lady breezes into town.

And we're going to a country music concert. Montgomery Gentry. Row 20. Because we're small town country girls.

We like corn fields and the smell of fresh-cut hay. We went to Buck and Does before we went to the bar and we were raised on blue jeans and flip flops. As far back as I can remember, I remember doing chores in the barn to the tune of country radio. Taking breaks to dance beneath the radio and belt out our favourite songs. Staying out of licking range of the cows. Belting out those tunes in the mows even when we couldn't hear them from the radio.

I remember road trips with country on the radio. No matter whether a song is new or old, it all sounds familiar. It feels familiar. It's legs dangling as you lean back on a swing, letting the world wash over you. It's a big hug from those who've known you longer than you've known yourself. It's Mom and Dad's patio with a cold beer after a long day of doing hay. It's long walks in the middle of the night down the backroads. It's home. It's summer.

And I couldn't be more excited.

Monday Memories: "there she was just walkin' down the street"

Shocker: I hate doing dishes. I always have. This menial task was always a source of contention in the Bee household with Momma explaining that we didn't need a dishwasher because she had three of them: one to wash, one to dry, and one to clean off the table and put the dishes away.

As soon as a meal was finished, the competition would begin. No one liked to dry. Clearing the table and putting dishes away was the easiest of the tasks, so it was the most highly coveted. Kiki, the world's slowest eater, often seemed like she was merely taking her sweet time to get put on the latter task by default. Those who had to skip out of the house early for soccer practice would rejoice in the fact that they had been saved.

There was one thing that could save us from killing each other during dish time -- Mom's old Solid Gold cassettes. It wasn't possible to be bitter when you were busy shaking your hips and singing "Lollypop" or "Do Wah Diddy Diddy". Singing along to those tapes made us seem like friendly siblings between the brush-throwing and hair-pulling. It provided a glimpse of what life would be like when we all surpassed the "bitchy teenage girl" stage and moved away from home. It's not saying that we're perfect all of the time now, but the way that we get along is much more as it was when we were dancing together to those old hits than it was when we were hurling random objects and mean comments at each other.

So, little one, if you want to maybe do your big sister a favour and make her a copy of those old tunes that you've scrounged up... she'd make sure you were rewarded appropriately. Hint, hint.

Book ME in: my first review of 2009

When I was just a little girl, I thought I was more of a cat person than a dog person. I’d spend hours while pretending to do my chores, mainly focused on playing with the kitties and searching out new ones in the barn. They’d get so tame, that if you went pick up a bale, they’d scurry on to it to get your attention; or you decided to sit down for a rest, they’d climb right up on to you. I was personally hurt when my brother took to torturing the poor things, swinging them around by their tails and whatnot.

When my sister scoured the want ads and listened to “Swap Shop” on the radio religiously to find a suitable dog for the farm, I wasn’t too interested. When “Katy” arrived on the scene, I was annoyed that I couldn’t run barefoot on the lawn, or lay outside without the slobbering Collie all over me. She was a dumb dog. She stood in the middle of the road and barked at traffic. She climbed up the stairs on to the school bus. She got hit by tractors, the slowest moving vehicles on the planet. I was not her biggest fan.

When a lovable Golden Retriever/Labrador cross took her place; however, I changed my tune. Nelly was (and still is, as far as I know) a beautiful dog. A hot blonde. Gentle, more intelligent, so adorable that everyone in the family began giving her treats for the hell of it. If I decided to lay in the grass, she’d sit beside me with her tail thump-thump-thumping away.

It’s because of Nelly that Marley and Me by John Grogan was such a wonderful reading experience. It was easy to relate to the demeanor of Labs, the way the Grogans fell in love with the little pup, the unconditional love when Marley devoured the house and failed out of dog training. While our experiences with our beloved family pets were quite different, I couldn’t help but love this tale.

Before I start to gush too much, I feel the need to inform everyone that I haven’t seen the movie. A co-worker loaned me the book with her own story about how tears sprung to her eyes at opportune moments, warning me that if I was a crier (which I totally am) I was doomed. I don’t know if it was the fact that I carried this book around everywhere with me on the off chance that I’d get to read a couple pages here and there that prevented me from tearing up at the end of the story or not, but I didn’t cry. However, the fact that I wasn’t moved to tears didn’t ruin my impression of the novel.

Marley and Me is a relatable story about the impact a family pet can have on your life. Certainly, for anyone who had a dog growing up, or has one now, it’s easily to nod your head as you read about the trials and tribulations the Grogans face with Marley. Though we all come from different backgrounds, different family situations, and experiences, Marley and Me is the type of story that brings people together. This is probably why when John Grogan wrote the obituary for his pet in the paper he worked at, he received more calls, e-mails and letters than he had for any other piece of his career.

I spoiled it, but c’mon, you had to know that was coming.

Do yourself a favour, pick up Marley and Me and remember your own favourite childhood pet as the story unfolds.

This was my first book review over at Book Me In. Thanks guys, for letting me join in as a contributor, I look forward to doing a review of each book I read this year. Also, I want a dog now. Please, Boyfriend, please?

Tell me more, tell me more (like does he have a car?)

One of the best parts about being not only an older sister, but an older sister in a couple, is hearing the adventures of the baby's dating life. Though dating is not always a fun endeavor, it's fun to be told swoon-worthy stories of cute boys and adventures with them.

After waking up yesterday to a text message telling me to check my Facebook mailbox for details, I've been looking forward to the "what's next" of Kaye's dating life. Ahhh, the excitement. So far, nerdy engineering boy + Guitar Hero = much potential. I should know, that's how my relationship started out (though it was Rock Band).

All I have to offer Kaye in return for her stories, is this article. These women are doing amazing, very important work. Even more important is that they're doing it without judging. Their concern is for the health of these women during their pregnancies and the health of their babies.

Using $95,000 from the Public Health Agency of Canada, a part-time nurse and two street-smart outreach workers find homeless, pregnant women. They help them get medical care and test them for syphilis to prevent the sexually transmitted disease from making their babies sick.

It's a very interesting, very insightful article. I fully recommend it.

The Cherry on top of the Chocolate Sundae that is my life...

The baby sister is someone I can't wait to talk to. She's brilliant, hilarious, adorable (and adorably nerdy) and knows just what to say to make me feel a bit better when I'm down.

Also, this weekend marked the officially one year anniversary of the Boy's and my first date. He's pretty special that one. The one boy in the world who has the ability to break my little heart.

On the LRT this morning on the way to work, a little boy shouted "Go, Eskimos, Go!" when we passed the Stadium. Immediately, I flashed back to time spent in our seats at the 50 yard line on Friday, doing the same thing. With more beer. Another Halloween party later, and he's still the one I want to be with.

Even if he makes me cry sometimes.

Thankful for…

My awesome family. Text messages from Mom and Kaye. The Daddy with his gentle reminders during the tumultuous teens that, “Life is too short to be miserable”. A mantra I shall never forget. Sleepovers with Kaye and Kiki. The Brother and his lovely wife. People who didn’t argue when I wanted to move across the country, but are sad when I can’t come home as often as we’d all like. Sisters who visit so I can show them what I love about this province. And they love it too.

Great friends. I mention them quite frequently, but there is something absolutely incredible about relationships which span the country. Relationships where more than 3000 km do not affect the connections, story-telling, support of great people. It almost makes up for the fact that they’re not close enough for a glass of wine after a long day (though they’re willing to do it by phone, which works). Also, great friends in Edmonton. It doesn’t feel like I’ve been here for a mere two years… it feels like a lifetime with the people I have found to surround myself with. The biggest fear of moving was not knowing anyone and being insanely lonely, especially with my 22nd [golden] birthday was a week after I moved out here. Saddest birthday ever. Roomie, who moved to Alberta a month after I did, and I frequently comment on how well we’ve done. In two years, after moving out here knowing nearly no one, with two suitcases each, we’ve gathered 1030 square feet of belongings which we can pack full of friends (which we do at parties, all the time).

The Boy. It’s been almost a year now. I’ve had one other relationship that’s lasted this long, and I can say with absolutely no bias that I never felt about him how I feel for B. I tell him I love him nearly a hundred times a day, because that’s all I think about when I look at him. Situations where I used to need to be left alone, I’m perfectly comfortable spending with him. He calms me. He makes bad days better. Because of him, I’ve become a [Rock Band] rock star. He makes fun of me. He makes delicious breakfast. I make fun of him. Menial tasks like dishes and grocery shopping become almost fun. When good things happen, I want to share them with him. We watch football. He really listens to me, and my opinions, even when he doesn’t agree. We have drunken epic discussions about politics, the economy and the state of the environment. We put on music and got prepared to paint his condo this weekend. A year from now, we’ll be roommates (that’s the plan anyway). I’m not the least bit concerned with this development.

The Boy’s family. Including me in things like Thanksgiving and Christmas, when I’m too far away to be with my own family. Making me feel so welcome. Playing games. Gently providing their expertise when it comes to picking paint colours for the condo. Family is important, and it’s pretty awesome when you find a second one you can be just as comfortable with as your own.

A good job, working with excellent people. Building new skills while not losing my mind.

A country where we are able to have a say in what our government does. So many people around the world don't share this luxury. They are mistreated by their governments so much worse than we ever perceive ourselves to be. They have no input. Today, we get the chance to tell our government what we think of them. Get out and vote.

I feel old.

20 years ago, Kitty was born.

My little blonde-haired, blue-eyed, mini-me (in personality only... obviously, due to the whole blonde vs red, blue vs green reality) is no longer a teenager.

It seems like yesterday I started university, moving into residence and away from her and Kiki. It's amazing how fast the time has flown by. At that time, she was just beginning highschool and here she is, the summer before third-year university. A brilliant, strong, hilarious, sickenly sweet human being.

We alternated between being sisterly pals, with me doing her hair, having sleepovers, chatting about anything and everything, to being great enemies. Since I've left, we've become more than sisterly pals, we've become great friends. Some of the best. Someone that even if I wasn't a four-year-old fortunate enough to have her come along as a baby sister, I would choose as a friend. I'm so in awe of her and the amazing person she has become, and to some extent, has always been.

She's been filling my life with joy (on and off) for the past 20 years. Thank you, dear Kitty, for being born. I know not what I would do without you.

Love, your big sister.