Sometimes I wonder why I have a blog. I don't know if many people read it and even if they do, I'm not sure my content is relatable or if it's like
there she goes talking about balance and shit again... Occasionally I think about nixing this baby because, really I already have two Facebook accounts, a Twitter, Tumblr, an About Me, and an Instagram - do I really need another place to spew my thoughts and pictures on the web?
Maybe not... but then I remember stories like the one I am about to write about and understand the reason for my blog. It's not just a place for me to tell my four friends who read this sucker about DELICIOUS Greek tacos I made last weekend (which I will be posting about soon by the way!) - it's a place to write the stories that are supposed to be
written and not just spoken; the stories that offer too many opportunities for descriptions so good you feel like you were there yourself; the stories that are supposed to be shared with not just your friends but their friends too; the stories that offer a deeper than surface level glance at life and interactions; the stories like this one...
From ages 18 to 23 I lived on a tiny little dead end street with my mom and her finance. Our house is all the way at the end, nestled and safe behind a long driveway. Our house is quaint and warm and wonderful. My mom's finance, Andy, took his first steps in our house. His old room became mine. He knows all the neighbors on the street, growing up with their kids and now, visiting their parents in their retirement. My favorite couple comes with a side of four sisters. We call them the five Cuban sisters and they are rambunctious, sassy, and beautiful. They demonstrate the definition of sisterhood - womanhood - in the flesh.
Also, they make the most delicious food you will ever have in your life.
Andy, my mom, and I are invited over to their house for dinner often. I don't live in the little house way at the end of the dead end street anymore so I don't go every time, but when I do - it's love.
I can only imagine the sisters spending the day together in the kitchen, cooking, drinking wine (at least this is what I would do...) and reminiscing on their days in Cuba. I can hear their stories and see their laughter -- bent over, hugging bellies, tears streaming down cheeks.
When we arrive the house smells more amazing than you can imagine. You are greeted with a hug and one kiss, two, from each sister and Esperanza's - the baby sister whose home we all gather in - husbands strong handshake. They lead you through the house to a back room with chairs, a tiki bar, and a giant table to soon feast at. You feel like you are on an island.
While is food is finishing simmering, I ask every time if I can see Esperanza's garden. I walk outside and know I have been transported to a special kind of place. The flowers and plants intermingle with each other, flirting under the moonlight. I walk the paths and breathe in the grass. I take my shoes off so my toes can feel the earth. I promise to do yoga here.
The food is ready soon and we are ushered to line up and serve ourselves an abundant amount of rice, chicken, peppers, and corn.
"Would you like a Coke?" someone asks and I say yes, even though I don't normally drink soda.
We sit and eat and talk and laugh and eat. ..And eat.
"More, more." One of the sisters will instruct after you're so full you feel you may burst.
And then, when you've convinced them you've had more than enough, there is dessert. Esperanza gets up to grab it out of the kitchen. Her sisters follow her to help and minutes later they are making their way back with a giant bowl of rice pudding. My mom's favorite. They form a line and one starts singing Happy Birthday.
"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday Dear ..." they burst out laughing. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!"
"Who's birthday is it?" I ask, glancing around trying to pin-point the receiver of the song.
Simultaneously giggling and serving up rice pudding, Esperanza tells me "no ones and everyone's." She shrugs and passes out forks.
No ones and everyone's.
What does that mean? I make a mental note to decode the meaning later and sit back to sip my icy cold Coke that tastes good only here.
I still don't know what her response means and I can almost guarantee I'm not supposed to. The moment wan't about singing to someone for some occasion - the moment was about singing
with someone for
no occasion.
I don't know if the sisters would remember this story if I told them today. They might snicker in Spanish and then, remembering I don't speak their native tongue, translate to English - probably saying something just as profound as the original sentence that made me ponder deeper things; that made me write this post; and that reminded me why I keep on blogging.
...Or they could be like, "yeah. duh - we knew the whole time that singing happy birthday to
no one and everyone would shed light on a life lesson. You want a Coke?"
LOVE ALMOST ALWAYS,*
-Ashley
*I'll explain why I titled my blog Almost Always in a post coming soon! ...to a computer near you ;)
ox
