My new long-distance relationship

For once, the fortune cookie was right. I arrived in Minneapolis bedraggled, frazzled and fraying and left slightly hungover but much much happier.

As a child with aunts and uncles scattered about the country, I was always kind of surprised when they would say they loved me. Really? You love me? I see you twice a year when I'm wearing itchy tights and am on my best behavior, and even then it's usually a wedding and I've had about six Shirley Temples and I can barely see straight. But okay, love you too.

At the same time, knowing that love was out there always meant something to me. The fact that there were people far away who remembered to call on my birthday, who had kind things to write to me in letters, who were genuinely excited to see me at family golf outings, as abstract as it seemed it was very meaningful to me.

And now I'm that aunt. I get to coo into a cell phone while I'm standing on 5th Avenue, screaming with delight when my niece makes a fart noise with her mouth. I get to send pretty things in the mail and plan what we can to together the next time I'm in town.

I know what it feels like to be the person loving someone from far away, and it makes my heart explode.