Sarah is my bookish little sister.
She can weave words into stories in circles around me.
All the kids love her because ideas leave her fast enough to make you dizzy, and she can craft those ideas into words, onto paper or pictures, into games, into forts, stories, hills, rocks, and suddenly there are little children running everywhere getting into all sorts of mishap and excitement and life.
She’s so full of life, and enthusiasm. Right now it’s hard, because she’s thirteen, and thirteen is hard for everyone, because you’re changing and maybe a little bid moody but still you’re you, and that’s okay.
In a way, she reminds me of Amelia Bedelia, you remember, the favourite childhood book character who was innovative and always thinking about things differently than everyone else. If Sarah had been Amelia Bedelia, I’m quite certain that she would have also, like the book character, cut up a calendar into the cake batter to make “date cake” or literally shoved her nose into a book.
Speaking of taking things literally, a few years ago, Dad asked her to “give him a smack” (meaning a kiss, of course), but Sarah looked at him quizzically, and then, well, smacked him, with her hand, across the face. Another time she surprised Mom by, in a slightly confused manner, sending a lemon rolling across the floor (the task being to roll the lemon with her hand on the counter to make it soft and juicy). She’s funny.
Sarah has a big heart. And big emotions. And a big amount of trust of other people. Her ways of seeing the world are often different than others see it, and I think that’s why we understand eachother, in our vulnerability and capacity for feeling.
“When I was a girl, my life was music that was always getting louder.
Everything moved me. A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much.
A calendar that showed the wrong month. I could have cried over it. I did.
Where the smoke from a chimney ended. How an overturned bottle rested at the
edge of a table.” -Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated