The Tall and Short Of It

My sister and I were always close. I am older by approximately two years, so the majority of our formative years were spent hanging out together, doing the things we loved to do. In the summer, we went swimming and boating in the lake that rested at the bottom of a huge hill in our neighborhood, accessed via a cul-de-sac at the end of our street. When winter came, that same lake would freeze over and become as shiny as a piece of glass. We'd fly to the bottom of the hill on our toboggan, lace up our ice skates, and glide back and forth on the ice until our feet became numb.

Gymnastics were extremely popular when we were growing up, so we pestered my dad until he finally made us a balance beam out of metal scraps, and attached a horizontal swing bar to our existing swing set. Many happy hours were spent trying to perfect our hanging back flips and dismounts. We competed against each other in footraces and Pong, read books, played with dolls and toy cars, listened to eight-track tapes and records, ate Slim Jim meat sticks, went regularly to the roller rink and the movies, and picked beetles off of my dad's fruit trees for a penny a pop. By the time we were in elementary school, we had formed a lip sync band with our neighbor's daughter, and no Bob Seger or Elvis song was safe.  

Long car rides to my grandparents' house were used to hone our singing skills (I was Linda Ronstadt and she was Olivia Newton John, even though we both had brown hair). After we arrived, we usually played tag or hide-and-seek, and oftentimes ate sour grass, unwashed, out of the front yard. Once the sun set, we trapped lightening bugs in little glass jars, and looked at the moon through a telescope I'd received one year as a gift for my birthday or Christmas, I don't recall which.

My sister would have been fifty-three this month; she passed away in 1994. As I write this blog, I am surrounded by pictures of us when we were kids, and I can't help but smile as I remember her spontaneity, her quirkiness. In many of the pictures, we are dressed identically, standing side by side, me just a few inches taller than she. I was the older sister, born first, bigger, and biologically more mature. She, although short in stature, was the underpinning in our relationship, tranquil in nature when compared to my overanxious state of being, never taking anything, herself included, too seriously. We were sisters by default, but friends by choice. I taught her to read and gave her the chicken pox. She taught me how to relax and enjoy life. As December continues to ebb and flow, I miss her. That being said, I know if she were here, she'd tell me not to lollygag, not to sulk, but to get on with it. And that is what I plan to do.