Note to self: Never agree -- volunteer! -- to organize anything, ever again. Especially not something for which not all the parties involved have e-mail. Feh.

In the midst of my cleaning, I found an old Christmas card from my sister Laura, from what must have been the Christmas of 1993. She had spent the fall of the previous year in Paris, and I was in Hong Kong. In part, it reads: "It's so weird -- after having been to Europe I realize how warped this little town [Wilmington, DE, our hometown] is. I mean, it was a nice place to grow up and all, but there's no real life here.Just the way this place is set up makes it impossible for people to live among one another. It's just all suburbs -- you can't walk to do any of your daily chores -- you gotta drive. This place just feels ... incomplete. All the parks and gardens and little shops and markets and cafes in Europe -- that just makes you feel like you're living with people."

Laura and her husband Jorge now live in Wilmington, about 10 minutes from where we grew up. Heh.

And Laura, this is only partially because I haven't heard from you/gotten any cards from you about my birthday tomorrow -- Amy is exempt because she called on Sunday in a preemptive strike to say she might not be able to call me on the day itself, but by God, she didn't forget this year.

Yes, my sisters forgot my 30th birthday last year. Wahhh. I figure I'll be able to milk this guilt for at least another couple of years.

(And dad, please don't remind me of those three years running when I missed mom's birthday. It's different, I swear.)