We're down in California for my baby sister's wedding this week. (This is where I'm totally psyched to have an awesome team at home - especially since after scouring the land for months and months, we finally have some live prospects for a Julep on the Eastside! Thanks Kate and Tracy!).
I love that my sister has found someone who wants to go to the airport as early as she does - especially since she comes from a family where flight times are taken as merely suggestive.
My sister Alice is nine years younger than I am, so I've spent my whole life equippping her with all the tools she needs to be a happy, responsible adult, including mandatory essays on E.M. Forster's Howard's End at age 9. All my life, I've worried about her, pushed her, nagged her, basically did everything my parents did to me that I found as profoundly irritating as it was ineffective.
But I love her such a "big, gi-normous much", as my daughter would say. Being a sister to Alice and my other (already married) sister Jenn has been one of my life's greatest joys. I really love being a sister.
And yes, I used to love making my sisters act out the "Sisters" song from White Christmas. ("Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters . . .").
I once read an article about a pair of sisters who were 98 and 100 respectively, and the 98 year old was still waiting for her older sister to stop bossing her around. I'm just barely perceptive enough to know that this is NOT an appropriate wedding present, but I might try to dig it up for my sisters nonetheless. . .
