Dependence Day

It's been gloomy here in San Diego the last few days. I wonder where the sun is. Doesn't this city know that it's summer? 

I worry about the changes in my life. I have moments where I feel out of control. Last night I started crying for every reason in the world and none at all.

With my brother moved in, we are making room for him. Not just in the house. We are adjusting our hearts, our time, our space. I've been spoiled with Dave; we've carved out a world for us.  But that's the thing about that: it just doesn't work for everybody. I can't get my way all the time.  I think it's good my brother challenges me.  He won't let me pick out the violet bath towels for the bathroom. I huff and puff. I let go. We settled on cerulean blue.

I'm not sure if he's happy about our compromise. He's been in his room all day. I think I might tap on his door. No. I think I'll let it go.

He bought a stand mixer last night at Macy's. You know, one of those fancy ones that make you want to bake cakes? Today, he ordered three vanilla beans online. He's plans to make a red velvet cake, thick with cream cheese. I anticipate this cake with pregnant furry. I too look to that machine excitedly. I have vanilla buttercream dreams.

I made a flag cake for fourth of July. My first cake from scratch EVER. The cake reminded me of my Grandma, who used to make them at the lake cabin on Lake Melissa in Minnesota every Independence Day. She just turned 90 years old. I wonder how proud she'd be of my flag cake, inspired by those sparkler and bonfire nights by the lake? Where the fireflies flit around the lampposts and the sounds of our young squeals echo as we sprint down the wooden dock in that long ago past.