Momentous

"Been in town, my baby

We just got to rock on

Yeah, darling, we just got to go home

I don't want no tutti-frutti, no lollipop,

Come on baby, just rock, rock, rock."

-- Led Zeppelin, "Boogie with Stu," Physical Graffiti

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Paige, my baby sister, came to visit me from Wednesday to yesterday. In total, the princess spent five days in the Queen City.

Highlights:

- Ice-skating in Fountain Square

- First hockey game (viewed in the flesh, that is): Cyclones v. Chiefs

- The drive to and from Dayton, OH, to see a mediocre production of Urinetown

- Letting her drive to Wendy's

- Running to the river

- It's Just Crepes

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On the Sad Bear Blog, Tony G. posted about what he calls "moments of clarity," those "ah-ha" moments. He was inspired by something he read to post some seemingly obvious things that became apparent to him only recently; in turn, inspired by his entry, here are some of mine:

- There never was a Pope who married a bear. (As I told Zach H., who created this hilarious rumor, I've been spreading that whopper and needlessly pissing off Catholics for years.)

- Manicurists get paid basically to do the same thing I do to my own nails; the only difference is that when I do it, it's a bad habit, and when they do it to others, it's a job.

- There are different blades used in different Olympic events like skiing, ice-skating and sledding, depending on the hazards of the event (check out the array of blades that aired on the "Today" show this morning--the $20G luge blade is especially cool).

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Another thing, not-so-obvious, and this must be shown as it's told:

When my sister came to visit, it broke my routine in many good ways. I was propelled out of my work and apartment because I was now a host, an older brother who wanted to experience all these things with his younger sister. We did all sorts of things, almost just for the sake of doing them.

The things that I wanted to be most meaningful turned tortuous and sour, but the things I thought would be superficial and glossed-over turned out to be the most fun. And that was because my sister was there, and I was more focused on her than I was on the thing.

For instance: We went to a play (a very serious, artistic play) on Friday night, and I was excited because this was the first "real" play my sister had ever seen. But at intermission, when I asked her what she thought about the production, all she did was smile and say, "I'm sorry, I don't get it." And all my explaining turned into jargon the instant I spoke the words. My attempts to make this event momentous pushed her away and made it awkward, forced.

Two days later, we took an hour-long road trip to see another play. I promised her that if at intermission she didn't "get it," we'd go ahead and leave. On the drive, I gave her control of the music and we had a blast, singing along to songs we both knew. I wasn't trying to introduce her to anything, and there was no pressure, and we ended up enjoying the play, even if it was a textbook example of what we would've labeled "deadly theatre" in college.

That night, I took her to Dave & Buster's for some Valentine's Day arcadia. D&B's doesn't take reservations, so we stood there in the lobby for a half hour before Paige looked at me and said she'd rather just hang out at the apartment the night before her flight to Nebraska. So we left. The very thing I thought would be the climactic funfest of her trip was the last thing she wanted to do. We went back and watched the Olympics until she fell asleep.

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So what's the moral? I don't know.

Maybe: Do what your guests want to do?

Or: You can never plan fun?

Or: Not everyone likes the things you like, stupid.

--

We were harried and hurried at the airport. There were delays because of snow, but they bumped her flight earlier again without telling us. So at first we could not check her in, and then we could, and then there was the gate rush, and suddenly, two pictures later, she was at security, and I had to stay back.

It had been so good to have someone with whom to share life. And life itself had changed for five days. I'd been propelled out of my apartment and out of myself. I missed her already.

This is gonna sound really stupid, but I felt like I'd been saved from myself. You can only watch so many movies and clean the kitchen so many times before you're bored again.

So she went through security and I watched from fifty yards away as she put up her luggage, took off her shoes, gave me a wave and was down the escalator. The rows and columns of blue TV screens told me she was boarding. We kept texting while the plane waited to taxi. I walked back to my car, where only twenty minutes before we'd been scrambling with her suitcase and avoiding slushy muddy puddles.

I got into the driver's seat and, before I knew what was happening, I began to sob. I don't mean "weep," and I don't mean "a tear came to my eye." I mean I was dry-heaving tears, vocalizing sadness, groping for a reason. I only had a vague notion as to why I was crying, and I couldn't stop. It lasted for thirty minutes and it lasted for three. It was the first time I've had an exhilarating cry, almost like a second wind, like each tear only primes the pump for the next one. It was wonderfully cathartic.

This is gonna sound even stupider, but I felt refreshed afterwards.

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Then I got a text from my mom. "So how does it feel to be a parent for 4 days?"

Momentous, Mom.

--

So now it's back to work.

I delayed it for as long as possible, going in after I'd eaten lunch. (There are perks to working part-time.) The city is so full of snow that it's impossible to get any real running/walking done, so my exercise routine is suspended until shovels hit sidewalks. But I'm in the mood for having a routine scrapped and replaced for a time, so it's all good.

No, really. It's all good.