“but which is the stone that supports the bridge?”
ramsey canyon preserve, sierra vista, az – walking in beauty with my sister
I was 6 years old and so excited to finally get my chatty-cathy
a doll with a string in the back
that you could pull and she would talk
(18 phrases at random)
‘please take me with you’
‘may I have a cookie?’
‘I love you.’
she was a wonderful doll
we were happy together
I came home one day
and noticed to my horror
that my oldest sister
had given her a haircut
(picture a choppy hacked pixie cut with stringy bits)
I did not have a good reaction to it
I exploded in tears
sobbing and instantly tattling on her
chatty’s hair never grew back
and one day she was gone.
(the doll, not my sister)
after all these years
I still bring it up
to my sister
every so often
she always tells me
she had no idea
I would have such a strong reaction
she was just trying to give her a fancy hair style
and while I have long-ago forgiven her
I still have no idea
what chatty may have said to her during the haircut.
“a beloved doll’s voice speaks directly to your soul
in a way that cannot be explained in words.”
p.s. I am not a fan of dolls as an adult, they kind of terrify me, especially talking ones.
image credit: Mattel Toys
as the youngest of 3 daughters
it took me a while to realize
that i was often being used
as the canary in the coal mine
sent in first to check
if the mud was sticky
if the place was scary
if it was wet
if there were spiders or alligators
if the others could squeeze in somewhere
if we were going to get in trouble
for whatever crazy scheme we thought up that day
i was curious and relished the adventure
excited to try things first
only to realize time and again
that it generally
been a good idea in the first place.
whoever thinks they can fool me 267 times or so
has got another thing coming….
“a younger sister is someone to use as a guinea pig in trying sledges and experimental go-carts. someone to send on messages to mum. but someone who needs you – who comes to you with bumped heads, grazed knees, tales of persecution. someone who trusts you to defend her. someone who thinks you know the answers to almost everything.
~ pam brown
image credit: lets feast.feast-ed.org
(not my sister but you get the idea)
my sister, p.
recently shared the following story
about her hair misadventure
and as sympathetic as i was
i could not stop laughing.
and could totally identify.
must have been nervous laughter
and gratitude that it wasn’t me.
p. had gone to have her hair cut and styled
the very adept stylist easily cut it and blew it dry
with just a round brush
into a full and lovely natural style.
the next day
my sister decided that she could certainly do the same
so she armed herself with a blow dryer and big round brush
and had at it.
the brush got stuck
tangled in both directions
and it was immovable.
it was so bad
that she thought her only option
would be to cut it out
so she called the salon
explained the situation
they told her to come in for help
she drove through her small town
with the big round brush
still stuck on the side of her head
parked her car
walked down the sidewalk
past the local businesses and people on the street
with it still stuck on the side of her head
and into the salon once more.
they guessed her identity the moment she walked in
the salon was very busy
but not so busy that the staff and their customers
did not have time to guffaw and laugh out loud
unable to restrain themselves
people tried not to make eye contact
they walked her through the salon to the very back
where the staff took turns working on it
in between clients
until it eventually
was worked off of her head
one hair at a time.
i totally get this.
“so many tangles in life are ultimately hopeless that we have no appropriate sword other than laughter.”
-gordon w. allport
image credit: google images
this was sent to me
that i share
with the small boy
in the words above
the orange sticky note
who i am.
beth and pam
way too early
was left behind
way too early
missing the other
on her birthday
in french you don’t really say, “i miss you.”
you say, “tu me manques,” which is closer to
“you are missing from me.”
i love that.
“you are missing from me.”
you are a part of me.
yes, that is it.
– author unknown
from the time i was born, my older middle sister and i grew up sharing a room. this led to a love/less than love, on and off again, room sharing, relationship. on one of those ‘less than love’ days, she came up with what i thought was a brilliant idea.
we would get the roll of duck/duct tape from the garage and make a line right down the middle of our room, dividing it in half. we’d then each have our own ‘private’ half, and the other would not be allowed to cross over the border unless invited in and given special permission from the one on the the other side. we worked hard to make it perfectly divided in half, each including the area with our own beds and near our own sides of our closet.
when the job was done, we each sat on our beds, contained within our halves, and i thought smugly, ‘ha! i got the extra window on my side, what does she know, being the older one? she may be a year older, but i must be the one who is smarter, much more clever!’
my private ego party was however, very short-lived, as she soon stood up and announced with a smile that she was going out to play. she promptly exited through the door to our room which was now only on her side.
It’s easy to focus on the things that divide us. Sometimes too easy – Dan Miller
missing her today
my sis my friend and she was
gone way too early