If I heard the news correctly this morning, just perhaps there may be a tiny speck of light in the terribleness seemingly to surround the whole earth these days. I’m certainly going to be asking the Big Guy to help us out ASAP. And invite all who read this to do the same.
The old saying “Why be normal?” certainly applies to my only female sibling and myself…If you read my putterings you already know that there is very little in my life (or mind) that could be categorized as normal, but I’m talking about normal for normal people.
We were born a decade apart, of the same couple at very different times in their life and could not have been raised more differently or in more different types of locales.
Carol and our older brother played Kick the Can and Dodgeball in the cobbled streets of Brooklyn and Astoria in New York city. Surrounded by tall buildings with very little greenery the kids of the neighborhood played in the area in front of their apartment buildings, assigning the youngest kid car watch duty. Their job was to yell if a car headed in their direction so the game players could scatter and reconvene after it past.
Our younger brothers and myself played kick the coquina rock and dodge the alligator on the then dirt road in Angel City Merritt Island. Surrounded by swamp on one side and fruit trees on the other we spent most of our days in the river that we were lucky enough to have right across the street from our house. We all kept a sharp eye out for the porpoise or manatee that would visit us at our swimming hole occasionally.
I cannot imagine what a culture shock it was for our parents to leave very northern friends, family-including our brother in the Navy and sister already on her own, shopping and weather to become the new family with the funny accents in the very southern, close knit fishing community where we were the only ones not related to anyone nor raising okra and chickens.
I used to listen to other girls my age complain about their older sisters bossiness, how their parents always loved the older girls the best, how tired they were of having to take big sisters hand-me-downs, getting blamed for stealing her clothes and wish I had one here to complain about.
I need to remember to be careful about what I wish for… Maybe…
As life always does, it recently handed us a whirlwind ending in a once in a lifetime chance for us to be lucky enough to spend several weeks alone together.
We envisioned long talks late into the night, finally getting to really know each other, cooking up a storm and laughing in the kitchen ala those finding family shows on TV.
The first evening found us exhausted from carrying stuff up one flight of stairs at least three times, getting to know which bedroom we preferred and laughing until we had to cross our legs while trying to decide if 9pm or 9:30pm is considered ‘late into the night’.
‘Cooking up a storm’ consisted of laughing our way through the grocery store looking for turkey meatballs-because we try to stay away from red meat, no pasta-because carbs, canned veggies-because we don’t use a microwave, Fro-Yo-because no dairy and wine-because grape juice is good for you.
Taking turns came easy…The stove for breakfast, the TV for different news channels, the washer/dryer. Learning from each other also came easy…I learned she kept her girlish figure with an egg and avocado for breakfast-she learned a donut and soda for breakfast does not keep any figure girlish. I learned exfoliating and moisturizing daily is not a myth-she learned a quick face wash and fast trip down the stairs when the dogs tears are yellow works.
I feel kinda cheated…I still can’t complain about my sister, (even though the numbers on her scale are 30 notches less than mine), the only hand me down I ever got was moms womb and I swear I’ve never seen her blue blouse that matches my jean shorts perfectly.
Life doesn’t get any better, I love you Carol.
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