Everything that is tiny and cute reminds me of you. Miniature books, toys, and especially little plants that look like they just might fit in that thimble-sized ceramic pot that we had on our kitchen windowsill.
I think the color of your soul is light blue, and when I’m having a particularly blah day, I think about our conversations in the park on the way to your community garden plot, or in the kitchen late at night and I’m instantly more calm. You’re the embodiment of California cool. Cooler than a cucumber. Cooler than ice cold. Cooler than some of those penguins in Antarctica. But you’re also insanely hardworking and creative, and your sense of balance is inspiring.
Thank you for all your words of wisdom, for being the voice of reason, and for always supporting my sometimes brilliant, sometimes terrible ideas in the kitchen. If I ever do start my super top-secret idea food truck, there will be an item on the menu with your name on it!
You have a quiet serenity that made our home feel, extra homey. Your family history project, art and language classes were inspirations for me to do more, and to continue living outside of a just growing career. You reminded me to keep chasing knowledge, and that my roots are just as important as my new branches. Get it? My “roots,” cause that’s the name of your project…? Yeah, I know, I’m the only one laughing.
You always had the most perfectly blow-dried hair in the mornings. Remember when we would be so quiet in the living room, and one of us would walk in and scare the boogers out of the other one? You could be so quiet like a ninja.
I miss the evenings when we all played “Chopped, McAllister edition” and ended up making the same things, then procrastinated work by re-imagining the color palette and arrangement of our living room. Thanks for hanging there until the boys got bored and left us in the dim lighting as we came down from our sugar high from the It’s-It’s, brownies, cookies, or whatever sweets we had succumbed to that evening.
I hope that when you look out on the fire escape into the backyard, those tiny solar-powered lanterns remind you of the simplicity of life. I hope that you breathe in deep when you go to the Presidio and remember our long walk with Ruby the way I do, when I need a warm and quiet memory to reflect on.
Thanks for believing in me. You’re the best. And if there was a “roomie of the month” competition on our chalkboard like A wanted, I definitely would have voted for you every month by default. BOOM — THE TRUTH COMES OUT.
C, ‘the spirited 4th roommate’