Sister Insufficiency

Sister, I’ve been missing you this week. 

C and I are surrounded by valuable friends and breathtaking scenery, but I still can’t shake the feeling that something very essential to daily wonderment is not in order.  Email banter just isn’t enough. 

My relational diet is lacking in Vitamin S. 

I know this because no one laughs at my jokes anymore, and you at least give me a pity laugh.

There are some seriously misguided seagulls flying over our town, which makes me want to go to the beach, but I don’t want to go to the beach with anyone if it isn’t you.  No one else can wallow in the sand like you and me.

I find myself chuckling and snorting alone amongst the cat calendars at WalMart.

Restaurant sweet potato fries don’t taste as good as the frozen ones we bake in your oven.

C gives me this look when I start to eat our dinner while it’s still cooking.  You know how it goes - swiping a scoop of marinara sauce, poking at some carmelized mushrooms, slurping ciopinno broth.  He should recognize it as an obvious bloodline characteristic. Luckily for him, these days this isn’t a problem.  The other night I had peanut butter for dinner.  Scoop away, M.  Scoop away.

Suffering through workout videos in my tiny living room pales in comparison to getting heat stroke together in Bikram yoga.  As I slam awkwardly into our table, couch, and twin bed at 10 PM, my thoughts often wander to those good, humid afternoon sessions.

I can’t have a tacky fashion show with C at TJ Maxx.  C in a floral jumpsuit just wouldn’t do it.  Or would it?

And finally:

I haven’t had a vanilla soft serve ice cream cone since we moved. 

Things are not right.  

I know that you are so very busy, and that I am as well, but I would love to find a way for you and I to be in the same place for a day.  We can meet in the middle somewhere, or I’ll drive the whole way.  I will do practically anything to see you, even if it means renting the seaplane from the locals.

I just need me some you.  Please.


  1. So, the other night Matt was all over me about picking at dinner while I cooked it. I told him it was genetic and wasn't going to change. So apparently Jackman has an airport. Darnit, why didn't I finish that pilots license! Anyone want to fly me there?

  2. Perhaps we can get Dad in the market for a Lake Amphibian, eh? That would certainly cut down on the drive. And yes, eating-dinner-before-it's-dinner is one of the kinder contributions from our genetics, don't you think? The others are not so mild.


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