Of all my sisters, Denise and I are the closest. We have shared so many adventures together. But it’s too bad that as we grow older, we grow apart.
She has become the quintessential housekeeper, the involved mother, the gourmet chef. She’s the Martha Stewart of our family. She entertains, and you don’t want to miss her parties. Seriously, you really don’t. |
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One day in New York can teach you a lot about being a woman. I’m not kidding. Here, I digress from usual family relationships chit-chat to offer lessons learned from my “sisters” in New York City. I’ve promised myself to go there more often. Maybe, just maybe, even to live there. A girl can dream, can’t she? |
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In the midst of all the chaos in my life, I have to lift up a meditation of thanks. It takes about 5 seconds, because honestly, that’s all the time I have.
But I am truly grateful for a mother with a sense of humor. I compare my mom to my mother-in-law, who called me on 9/11 to tell me it was basically the end of the world. She was in a hurry, so when I questioned her about the details—she told me to just turn on the TV and hung up. Bad News Betty.
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They are everywhere.
The signs of a fecund spring. I see nestlings, calves, colts, lambs, the cutest little kids—mama goat was lucky I wasn’t close enough to pinch their sweet fuzzy cheeks. And babies. I see new people. Everywhere. |
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Once upon a time I had a close friend. She and I would sit together, at the end of nearly every day. I’d tell her everything that happened to me. My feelings and frustrations. I’d describe the faces of people who with a look, a smile, or a compliment restored my faith in the human race. |
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