a case of me

the other day, mama handed me a tupperware container and said, "i want you to have this." she had taken it from the attic and, with the help of my dad, brought it down the flight of stairs, where it sat on the hardwood floor. inside were mementos of another life. my childhood. from report cards to pictures of my first days of school, it was all there. all preserved. as if only a few days, maybe months had gone by since my sticky fingers put too much glue on the diaramma.

and i went through it with robert. read aloud the funny, often hilarious, things that were jumbled in my mind at seven years old. the letter i wrote to a non-existent modeling agency detailing every part of my face down to the length of my eyelashes and how beautiful i thought i was. my favorites. my hobbies. my likes and dislikes.

and it got me thinking, when's the last time i filled out a questionnaire that revealed nearly as much about me as the standard elementary school "student of the month" one? i swear, one can tell a lot about girl by her favorite food, favorite holiday and favorite day of the week.

many of those answers would be the same. i still love pasta. still cherish my fridays. still idolize my parents.

but my likes? oh boy, have they changed.

i like hot baths at seven in the evening. i like blueberries coated with fine sugar and tart blackberry jam. i like the way pablo smells in the morning and the way robert's white t-shirts feel when i reach across the bed at night. i like the way joni mitchell sings "oh canada" in the beginning of a case of you. i like the way sunshine weaves through open blinds and spills into rooms around four in the afternoon.

and as sweet as it was to look back, i'm even more excited about looking forward. as long as the future holds lots of pasta on fridays, i'm certain i'll be just fine.