My older sister turns 46 today, and what a gift she has been in my life. She is present at my earliest memories, and I looked up to her for so many years. I have a few memories, one: She was always shorter than me (well, after I was 6 and she was 8), but different in so many other ways. She’s more outgoing than I am, friendlier, a better singer (by a factor of 1000000) and stronger than I am, too. And for years, I thought — “when I get to be her age, I’ll finally be *just* like her. And I have this clear memory of standing in her bedroom in our apartment, she must have been turning 15 and I was about to turn 13, and I realized: “I will never, never be like her. I can try, and try, but I will just have to deal with being me.” I know it sounds silly, but I lamented that so sadly — I always wanted to grow up to be just like her.

One year ago today, Jason and I and the kids landed back in Arlington, Va., our adopted home, and started looking for work/school/home/life. Today, or a month ago, really, Jennei moved back to her adopted home, Atlanta, and is starting to look for her job/home/life. I admire her so much and love her so much and am so grateful for her in my life.

Anna, the fourth sister in this photo (from left: me, Carol, Jennei, Anna), came to visit last summer during a time that was complicated for all of us. I kept introducing her as my stepsister, and she finally looked at me and said, “It’s been 35 years. Aren’t I your sister?” and it was just so true. It’s been a long, hard, and sometimes dark road for all four of us to end up where we are: loving and loved in and by each other.

I hope my children someday have each other the way these amazing three have my back. No one knows my journey the way Jennei, Carol and Anna do — and I can’t wait to see where the next 46 years take us.

(pictured at my dad’s retirement party at the farm house where he was raised with the 1946 Hudson he’s been having rebuilt since before I was born in the background — he is only the SECOND owner of that car!!!)

On my bike ride, I use my invincibility cloak. I’m not sure when I got it, but I’ve had it for years. With it on, I believe that drivers of surrounding cars can see me, that pedestrians can hear my “on your left” and that my bike won’t slip on snow, rain, or any other substance. Invincible.

Today, it got a little tattered. Or maybe I’m just more fraught than usual. I left the kids at the bus stop and it was the smeariest mist of rain–just enough to slick the streets, not enough to wash anything away. I braked (I’m pretty wimpy about speed) down a steep hill just as a car door opened. I banked left and avoided a crash, but shouted, “argh” or something similar. I read somewhere that if you find yourself yelling at others on your commute, YOU are the asshole, not them, so I try not to yell … but …

A few miles later, I’m braking down another steep hill (my ride in is almost all downhill; and I really am a wimp about speed, especially in the rain). I didn’t even realize a bike rider was directly behind me until I heard the squeal of her brakes as she avoided hitting me. I just scowled at her as she rode by me–I’m wimpy, but you don’t need to be close enough to me to have to slam on your brakes if I slow down (she said, still a bit het up).

Crossing Key Bridge was exquisite, as usual. Particular notice paid to the “Welcome to Washington, D.C.” sign I love, the eerie fog surrounding but not covering the Washington Monument, and the still slightly frozen Potomac.  Then — the crucible. The mile and a half on M Street bike lane, which is a left side bike lane on a one-way street with many intersection and traffic crossings.

As I sped up, trying to catch a light before it turned red, a notice out of the corner of my eye a woman running across the street. She checked for cars but not bikes in the bike lane, and our trajectories were exactly to hit. I slammed on my brakes and said, “Watch out, WATCH OUT” at the last second she heard me and turned — we avoided the crash, I missed the light, I’m feeling harried.

Now I’m only three blocks from my office–last big crossing is Connecticut Avenue. A left turn lane, a bike lane, two lanes of traffic, lots of people walking. A pickup truck in the through lane, me in the bike lane. As we get to the light, without a signal, he crosses over my lane and gets in the left turn lane. Swerving around him, I think I will just miss his bumper — then he stops completely. At this point I jerk right and scream, “FOR GOD’S SAKE MISTER.” He is trying to turn left into oncoming traffic; I look in the car and it is an elderly gentleman, clearly confused by the complicated DC grid. I feel empathy and sympathy, and still wish he hadn’t intersected my day.

Most days I don’t yell at a single person, much less a door opener, bike rider, pedestrian and driver. Most days my invincibility cloak is sturdy, and keeps me safe by keeping me thinking about the beauty of the ride and the caution that I use, and I get to my office unaware of any near-misses, without feeling any regret at the string of shouting I did on my way in. Today was not one of those days.