To take over my SPF regimen
I have a wonderful family. Honestly, I am so blessed by them. I found out a few years ago that when I was young, my sister returned home in order to get to know me in my formative years. She probably could have done some really amazing things in her 20s, instead she wanted to get to know me. She left home when I was 7, there are 11 years between us. She was going away to University, almost as far away as she could get without leaving the continent. She was, and remains, a trail blazer. She was the first female in my province to get an athletic scholarship, and she got it for hockey, a sport she had never played. The scouts just saw such promise in her ringette ability that they simply could not walk away from her. She left in the middle of the night in late August, I was barely awake when she left, and I saw very little of her over the next 4 years. We were great pen pals though, I wrote her a lot of letters, and a poem, that she still has:
Little Bird
Little bird, little bird,
Who's taking that tird,
You're the third bird I've seen today.
Genius lyricism if you ask me. She knew it would be worth a fortune one day and has kept it all these years.
She returned home after school and became a visible presence in my life again. She was the one who attempted to teach me guitar. She would take me camping in the summer. Sometimes we would drag another sister along with us, but the first year it was just us. And we battled the rain with a flimsy tarp. We strung it up with bungee chords and a stick to prop up the middle. Except the stick punctured the tarp and the tarp fell on to the bar-be-que where we were attempting to cook homemade burgers. Homemade burgers are delicious but also flimsy, and on park bar-be-ques they might as well just be more fuel for the fire instead of food. So the tarp and our burgers burned. We were miserable for the three days that we were there. And of course, the day we were packing up the sun came out and the birds sang, we laughed and decided to try again the next year.
We had better luck with the weather the next year. It was sunny, and gloriously hot. We are both fair skinned and my sister does not fool around with sunscreen. She was hyper-vigilant (this is a favourite term of hers) about making sure that I had put it on every inch of my body. I couldn't reach my back, so I asked her if she could get it. She slathered it on and we went to the beach.
At supper time I felt some stinging on my shoulder blade. And then my neck started to burn. My middle back was tight and itchy, and my right shoulder was tender to the touch. I asked her to have a look at my back, and she erupted in an "oh, oh, oh" half laugh, half agony noise. The noise kept rolling out of her, and then it turned into full on laughter. I asked her what was going on. I ran to the bathroom to see for myself. It looked as though my sister had put on the sunscreen by randomly high fiving my back. I had a hodge-podge of finger prints layering my back in a hap hazard fashion. For the rest of the trip I wore a t-shirt. Partially because I didn't want to have to get her to reapply sunscreen to the tender spots, and mostly because I didn't want people to see the handprints splattered all over my back.
It was quite an uncomfortable peeling experience. I learned how to reach those spots on my own back through itching them. Ever since then I have applied my own sunscreen.
That's all.
Little Bird
Little bird, little bird,
Who's taking that tird,
You're the third bird I've seen today.
Genius lyricism if you ask me. She knew it would be worth a fortune one day and has kept it all these years.
She returned home after school and became a visible presence in my life again. She was the one who attempted to teach me guitar. She would take me camping in the summer. Sometimes we would drag another sister along with us, but the first year it was just us. And we battled the rain with a flimsy tarp. We strung it up with bungee chords and a stick to prop up the middle. Except the stick punctured the tarp and the tarp fell on to the bar-be-que where we were attempting to cook homemade burgers. Homemade burgers are delicious but also flimsy, and on park bar-be-ques they might as well just be more fuel for the fire instead of food. So the tarp and our burgers burned. We were miserable for the three days that we were there. And of course, the day we were packing up the sun came out and the birds sang, we laughed and decided to try again the next year.
We had better luck with the weather the next year. It was sunny, and gloriously hot. We are both fair skinned and my sister does not fool around with sunscreen. She was hyper-vigilant (this is a favourite term of hers) about making sure that I had put it on every inch of my body. I couldn't reach my back, so I asked her if she could get it. She slathered it on and we went to the beach.
At supper time I felt some stinging on my shoulder blade. And then my neck started to burn. My middle back was tight and itchy, and my right shoulder was tender to the touch. I asked her to have a look at my back, and she erupted in an "oh, oh, oh" half laugh, half agony noise. The noise kept rolling out of her, and then it turned into full on laughter. I asked her what was going on. I ran to the bathroom to see for myself. It looked as though my sister had put on the sunscreen by randomly high fiving my back. I had a hodge-podge of finger prints layering my back in a hap hazard fashion. For the rest of the trip I wore a t-shirt. Partially because I didn't want to have to get her to reapply sunscreen to the tender spots, and mostly because I didn't want people to see the handprints splattered all over my back.
It was quite an uncomfortable peeling experience. I learned how to reach those spots on my own back through itching them. Ever since then I have applied my own sunscreen.
That's all.
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