Getting Along

It's true, what Woodsy said, that lovers come and go and friends are there for the long run.

Though sometimes the two categories overlap, or maybe they start as one and turn into the other, and maybe they turn back again. Maybe they don't. Or maybe they turn back again again. Or maybe they do disappear altogether. And maybe it's hard, and maybe it all runs smoothly.

The other night over at the Grs, chatting with Grace, I mentioned being busy, overwhelmingly so. She asked me what I did, just like that. "So, what do you do that you're so busy?"

I reviewed the last couple of weeks, and you know what? I don't do very much. I work, I go to yoga/skating/pilates, I cook food, I blog.

I hang out with people.

First, tonight, Shelley and I had pilates, which I'm not loving, but am giving a chance, and then had a satisfying, if brief, gab on the way home.

Second, I walked in my house, fed my menagerie, and walked back out again for dinner at the Usual Spot with Paul and his brother Mark, Mark who is in town for just a few days, and about whom I've heard nothing but good things and love.

Hanging out with them, I think I got that feeling that people get when they see Amy and I together for the first time. To look at us, you wouldn't know we were related. Maybe a little around the mouth, but enh. As soon as we open our mouths though, it's blatant.

I once ran into a friend on the street, back in Toronto. We chatted for few minutes, exchanged pleasantries, came to a natural lull in the conversation. His friend broke in. "Are you related to Amy Butcher, by any chance?"

My mouth dropped open - I'd been introduced as Megan, nothing more or less. "Uh. Yeah, she's my sister."

"I thought you had to be related somehow. She's my office mate. You talk exactly like her."

It was delightful to watch Paul and Mark over dinner, trace familiar expressions in a strange face, hear the same humour in different words, catch the verbal ease that develops between people who are close.