victoria mon in victoria pink and white the cherry trees blossoming daffodils yellow springing crocuses purple dreaming lawns green and blue waves 040301 ... mon uow catherine_street and blenkinsop_road 050323 ... tender_square i ran into my cousin on the street near rexall, i hadn’t seen her in years and greeted her warmly, asked how she and her daughter were doing. her family and mine had never been close. dad said his brother, uncle mike, was a recluse and they never got along as kids. he lived five blocks from us. my sisters and i were lucky if we saw vicki and mikey and their parents on christmas eve at our place, it was the only time they ever came around. most of my interactions with vicki took place on facebook, where i'd like her professional photos, images of her seven-year-old daughter being witchy. vicki always had that goth vibe to her, wore her hair long and dark, painted her lips burgundy, opted for draped black skirts and chunky boots. vicky told me that she lived in the neighborhood when i asked what brought her downtown. “you’re kidding!” i was incredulous. “i live two blocks away!” “i know; i’ve seen you around,” she said. “you did?” i was stung. “why didn’t you ever come over and say hi?” “i thought you saw me and just didn’t want to talk to me.” i felt awful afterward—was i that oblivious in my daily life, so wrapped up in my own petty dramas that i didn’t notice the people i loved when they were standing right in front of me? dad said his mom, grandma kay, had social anxiety; candi and terri claimed that’s where their own stemmed from though theirs manifests more acutely, and i’ve wondered if vicky and mikey have it too, passed down from their dad. maybe the problem is that i always assumed they didn’t want people around and so i never forced myself upon them. the last time i saw vicky was at grandma’s funeral, six years ago. i haven’t been on facebook for years and have no idea how to reach my cousin. when vicki and mikey’s mother died of cancer, uncle mike didn’t hold a funeral, saying that’s the way aunt linda would’ve wanted it. dad disagreed. 220117 what's it to you? who go blather from