Happy birthday to my brother!

Matthew is 22 today and still my favorite (and only) sibling. I’m proud to say we only ever got into one physical fight, that lasted all of 15 seconds, and that just about every memory of “growing up” has him in it. We’ve had all the standard road trip times, family vacations, playing outside, etc etc but my favorites have been as we’ve both grown older and developed our identities further. It’s pretty cool when you can start being friends as well as siblings.

New Year’s Eve in Paris 2007: Most everyone from ASP (the American School of Paris) went to the Long Hop for New Year’s, but unfortunately cabs were about 45 minutes apart and the metro stopped running by the time we left that evening. So Matthew, my friend Morgan, and I walked 4.5 miles home through the city at 3 am…Thankfully halfway through he let me use his shoes to walk home instead of my heels. Now that’s a good brother. (Can you believe I made it the first 3 miles in heels??)

P.S. My annual birthday playlist for him. It’s basically just a “here are several songs in no particular order that you should listen to”


Several years ago I lived with my best friend Laura. Now she was one of two incredible roommates I’ve had, but that was a lovely year. We lived in a bright, sunny apartment, in a large white house with a dark green front door. I fell in love for the first time that year, and I discovered beautiful things. When the weather turned cool Laura started sprinkling cinnamon in our coffee before it brewed each morning, and left this Robert Frost poem on the kitchen table in early November.

My November Guest
Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.