There are some definite advantages to living 3000 miles away from your family, but I’ll be damned if I can remember any of them today. I’m having one of those Sundays that would be pretty much perfect if I could just get a big hug from my mama and spend an hour or two laughing with my sister about the silly stuff we did when we were kids.
I’ve written a little about my sister before, but there are so many Lynnie stories left. The little girl who cut apart the necklace to drop a pearl into the Prell shampoo, refused to brush her hair (or teeth), and made (stinky) perfume out of wisteria blossoms…well, she grew up to be a beautiful woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a love for makeup to rival my own. She knows more about movies than anyone I’ve ever met, loves John Wayne more than any modern movie star, will argue politics with the best of ‘em, and has a knack for remembering dates for things that I don’t even remember happening!
She also knows me better than anyone else does and can tell by the tone in my voice exactly what’s going on in my life (it’s kind of creepy, actually).
“Hey,” I’ll start, “I just wanted to check on ya’ll…”
“Mmm hmmm…so, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I just wanted to say hi,” I’ll lie.
“Listen,” she’ll say, “you know I know you, and something’s going on. You and Mr. X broke up again?”
Then I’ll tell her about my latest breakup, or a disappointment at work, or whatever it is that’s troubling me. Just the telling of it is like a compress on my soul, and the sting of whatever nastiness life has thrown at me somehow just eases up. It’s pretty damn amazing stuff, that sister love.
Now, the yin to that sissy-love yang is the sissy-aggravation that sometimes goes along with it. I’m not one to argue political points (or any other points if I have a say-so), and that makes my sister nuts from time to time. She just loves to debate, but I rarely indulge her. I’m not good at games and don’t mind losing at Monopoly or cards, while she plays to the death (“What do you MEAN you don’t care if you lose!?”)
Then there’s the bossy gene that we both have in spades…and what better way is there to aggravate a bossy Southern woman than to try to tell her what to do? Given that my own bossiness is accompanied by an overly healthy opinion of my own way of doing things…well, I’m sure you can imagine the head butting that can ensue.
Imagine this…the childless aunt (that would be me) comes to visit and decides to tell her sister how to raise her own kids…BAM! (That was a head-butt.) Or said aunt throws in a little feedback on how her sister’s house should be run…BAM-BAM! I won’t even go into the fun that follows when the aunt offers her two cents worth on how her sister’s hair should be done…oh yeah, it can get pretty intense from time to time. (BAM!)
But my little sister just keeps on loving me and knowing me and always wanting only the best for me…what’s up with that?
Hey Lynnie…pssst…I love you. You’re smart, funny and so much stronger than you realize. You’re a great mom, have a beautiful home, and you know exactly how to run your own life. I’m lucky to have you and have learned more from you than you will ever know.
And no…I still won’t argue about politics.
Maybe as matching tramp-stamps?