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YES, I ONCE SANG SOPRANO in the Searles Middle School Chorus, but I was not very good. Sometimes I didn’t even sing, I just moved my mouth and listened to everyone else hit the right notes. (I’m a better team player these days–I swear!) These young scholars, however, make me want to join them in their serenades. They’re simply amazing (and so full of character!) While they’ve been around the web quite a bit lately, this video is via Deb.

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I HAVE A SOFT SPOT for this IKEA ad. Maybe because I’m a Cancerian (and therefore a homebody). Or maybe it’s because I’m moving soon and I’ve had lots of nesting urges. Or perhaps it’s because I visited the house where I was born last weekend. (Yes, that must be it.) 

Twenty-four (yikes almost 24!) years later, my first home is barely standing. It’s devastating to see my origins as a pile of rubble, but somehow I still love to visit–especially when the Irises are in bloom.

(video via Capucha)

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ON A RECENT WEEKLY BLOG perusal, I came across these photos in a post titled Field Day. And all at once I was flooded with memories of this time of year 15, 16, 17 years ago when the whole elementary school would relocate to the comfort of the expansive track field and metal bleachers at the high school for a full day of field games and watermelon (and of course, that colorful parachute-like thing). So this elementary school scene got me thinking and thinking about my tried and true sisters of those days. The girls with whom I spoke made-up languages and I played outside until dark.

From left: T, Jamie, my dearest childhood friend Amanda (big sister to Jamie), and me

Along with our classmates and the neighborhood kids, T and I spent so many summer evenings on the quiet street in front of our house. We played and pretended–we pretended to be royalty and beach-goers and parents. Since we were always pretending, now it’s hard to remember what really happened and what happened in our collective make-believe minds. I think I prefer memories like that.

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In Nevis, listening for the ocean in Conch shells.

FOR ABOUT A DECADE, every year around Easter my family packed up our rice cakes and organic boxed lentils and left the house in the wee hours of the morning for the Caribbean. We didn’t ever go to Disney World (much to my and T’s disappointment) or other family resorts. Instead we found ourselves on deserted beaches, tucked away in the corners of tiny islands. In hindsight I see these trips as complete paradise. I’ll readily admit, however, that T and I didn’t always appreciate the isolation at the time.

T looks pretty grumpy here in St. Lucia.

We fought. A lot. And I’m going to go ahead and point the finger at T, because he was a total instigator, complaining about everything and spending his days worrying about the well-being of his X-Men figures, who were stranded at home. On these trips we were forced to interact with each other in ways that we were never required to otherwise, without our friends or toys—our respective interests stripped away to mosquito netting, supermarket Raisin Bran (something our parents didn’t buy us at home), and body surfing.

I can’t exactly remember, but from the look of our photo albums, we must have surrendered at some point during these trips, accepting that we were stuck with each other. In some photos T and I are even holding hands, grinning.

Last week I went on a vacation to Nicaragua with a friend from Guilford College, which I graduated from in 2008. While it wasn’t the Caribbean, I did find myself with a familiar craving for Raisin Bran and for T’s company (especially while I rode some waves).

Walking the streets of Granada, I found a park and a church called Xalteva (which I assume comes from an indigenous language rather than Spanish). The park’s tiled plaque was chipped away, simply revealing the name ‘Teva,” and it reminded me of my goofy brother with a soft spot for X-Men and an ability to complain like no one else.

After showing him a photo of the plaque in our Massachusetts kitchen, he thought for a moment and replied, “I should probably go there and see if I’m entitled to any land because of my name.” He turned away, walking into the living room with biceps flexed, announcing to his imaginary disciples, “Xalteva has returned!”

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