It's Friday, I'm in love..

Once a week, Friday comes around.
Once a week.. every week.
Yet looking across the book of face, you would think it were a bicentennial event..
TGIF! I can't believe I made it.. FINALLY the weekend..
I'm not complaining. I enjoy seeing this once a week miracle.
But then, the inevitable question..
'What's going on this weekend?'
Because if you're not DOING something.. it's a waste of this too-infrequent gift!


The Caveman suggests we go to the ballet.. he knows how much I love it =)
I suggest we sling our exhausted bodies across the couch and camp out in our jammy pants. 
I know how much HE loves it =)


But we usually compromise.
We would go for long walks in the Old Market.. This summer, I showed him The Imaginarium.. a little antique shop. We wandered through, aimlessly. He found an old copy of Shinobi, a game he use to play with his little brother.. and a tiny little ring that became my favorite thing he's ever given me.
As the warm days grew late, we'd stop into a cafe or restaurant we'd never been to... sometimes with terrible results (ugh.. not even naming the place, for fear it's urban-legend quality awfulness will attract the daredevil reader) and sometimes with amazing.. delicious.. friendly.. just.. I'm lookin at you, Ahmad's.. with your singing waiter and your owner who sends food to your patio table.. just cuz you look like you'd enjoy it..


And as the weather slowly cooled, we discussed important things at length.. like the fact that I instantly and permanently lose respect for anyone who can walk past a pile of crisp orange leaves without stomping through them.. 


And now it's cold.
And it's only going to get colder.


New compromise.
Find hungry friends and feed them.


It's the only thing that makes the cold bearable, really.
I love feeding people I care about. Love it.. so much <3
Inviting a warm heart into your home. Sipping wine and chatting while I finish making dinner. Inventing flavor combinations that will forever remind you of a night by the fire, playing games and listening to music..


I can't help but wonder if my affinity for feeding (or rather, cooking for) people I care about doesn't stem from childhood nights in the kitchen.
I've cooked for as long as I can remember.. and what I remember is this:


A terrible.. awful 100 year old kitchen. Red floor. Orange counter tops. Peach walls.


I remember my beautiful sisters in the kitchen.. talking and laughing. 
Always fighting over what we'd listed to.. D wanted her new Paula Abdul album. H wanted Les Mes. E wanted Phantom of the Opera. I just waned it to never end..
We'd usually just settle for whatever was on Sweet 98 as one of us did the dishes, one of us cooked. One of us swept the floor and one of us cleaned the table and counters. Little L.. a toddler with her tiny broom and dustpan 'helping'. B in her highchair, our adoring audience.
All of us dancing.
All of us making up words to the music.. since we didn't quite know it yet, but knew enough to make it sound alright.
All of us wondering if our lives would be amazing when we grew up and didn't have to live in a house so full.
The weekends were the only times my sisters didn't have too much homework to help in the kitchen. I celebrated every Friday like the gift it was.
I didn't take it for granted. I loved my sisters every day I lived with them.
But I still wish I could go hug little Sara.. she really had no idea that one day, you're suppose to grow up. You're not going to see your sisters every day and people think you're unintelligent if you show too many signs of joy.


I don't care. I choose not to grow up. I choose to adore and miss my sisters every day..
The kitchen doesn't have orange counter tops anymore. They're white with gold specks. The floor, white and blue tile. The walls... probably an off white. 
But that kitchen remembers us. I promise you. Our happy faces haunt the home we grew up it.. echoing laughter and fighting. Phantom singing from the basement where we played star search..


The house misses us as much as I miss a 7 year old with freckles, worshipping her older sisters. 


So when you come over for dinner and I'm in the kitchen, singing along with Regina Spektor or Bon Iver on my Pandora station.. when I hand you a glass of wine and a plate of appetizers to put on the table.. know that tonight, you're my family. And one day, when I'm a grownup, I'll remember having you in my kitchen on a cold night. I'll remember how warm it was <3