Sisterly Love.

I love my eldest sister to the point of no return. Of all my family, she counts as the most pivotal person in my life besides my husband. She almost raised me to some degree; she watched over me, and showed me the essentials when nobody else did. When she went off to university, I was left completely without allies and became invisible. She’s that important to me.

She is also the person I am most comfortable with. With her, I don’t have to worry about hurting feelings, crushing those proverbial eggshells, I can just say things that come from my heart and know that she won’t take it personally, and that she listens on the most part. I can also act like a complete freak, and she will laugh and laugh. Making her laugh is my favourite thing, and I will go through tremendous lengths to do so, even at the expense of the public. For instance, yesterday, we stopped at Michaels for some crafting supplies, and I decided it would be funny to sing* “Jingle Bells” in an exaggerated Jewish accent at the top of my lungs to the store music. “Jingle oll da vay!! Oy vey!” We also tend to break into some insane dance-moves in other stores to whatever crazy muzac they’re playing. My sister does a mean running-man. I usually prefer the manic-robot myself. We are a public menace—all for the sake of our personal entertainment. It’s so obnoxious it hurts.

But I have to declare it… my sister makes me crazy. She's been staying with me on and off since July, while she wrangles some consultant work here in Portland, and moves her life from New York to Pensacola. She makes me nuts. Yes, she does. Two obstinate control-freaks in a mountain cabin together. I’m sure you can imagine.

Having hubby gone, I am doubly grateful for her presence though. She keeps me engaged, and interested, and comes bopping into my room like some caffeine-hyped-Pollyanna on weekend mornings to drag me out of bed so she can have her eggs Benedict at the ZigZag Inn. Then it’s off for some retail therapy. I get to follow her around while she spends inordinate sums of money on stuff for her new Pensacola home she never sees. Her houses are always like Magazine shots… and she dedicates a lot of time and $$$ to make them so. Not that I’m jealous or anything; I won’t think of the raw pine barn-board that lines most of the walls in my house (that her cat seems to think is the perfect media for claw-sharpening).

Ah well. She leaves after Christmas. I will miss her, but I have to confess, I will be glad to have my craft-room back and more importantly, destrocto-cat will be destroying trims and baseboard in her old colonial instead.

Okay, I will miss her. She’s like my best friend. Even with the satanic cat and her early-rising tendencies.

I'm lucky to have her.
*I use this term loosely