Sunday, July 7, 2013


In the beginning, I was an only child. And it was good.
Or so I thought, because I was a spoiled, self-centered, sassy almost-9-year old.
July 1977
Then my parents apparently DID IT and suddenly I had a baby sister. Luckily they let me name her, which made this intruder seem more like a beloved pet that I could welcome into my teeny tiny single-wide trailer space.
Before she could walk very fast and get into my piles of preteen stuff, I thought Michelle was pretty cool. And, of course, she thought was AMAZING. This is always endearing.
Because Michelle is a Cancer and therefore extremely loyal to family, I was able to convince her to do anything I wanted. (For example, not remark about how horrid my hair looked in 1981). Also endearing.
But I did play Barbies all the time, giving important fashion & relationship advice and even made her some awesome records for their d├ęcor using the little album cover pictures from Rolling Stone magazine reviews glued to 2-inch-square cardboard pieces.
However, I also took a sweet little copper pot to college because I really liked it, then insisted it was never really hers and I deserved it anyway for making the albums. I found a similar one in an Amsterdam antique store five years ago and bought it for her. See, LOVE! After deception...Still counts, right?
Eventually we became actual friends. I don't tell her what to do anymore (except when I make her do fun things instead of boring obligatory things). I sometimes still make stuff for her and I no longer steal her possessions. I definitely love her with all of my formerly selfish-girl heart.
It is not lost on me that my daughter, also a Cancer, shares an uncanny number of traits with my sister. They are both wary of strangers. They suffer no fools. They have scowls that trump mine, yet they are inordinately kind when it is most important. They seek solitude with each other. And that, is good.
Happy birthday, baby sister.