My older sister is much, much older than I am. Ok, she is 13 years older than I am. When I was just about my youngest child’s age, she ran off and got married. Ok, I have to nudge her and say she ran off and got married. She really hates that part of having me as a sister. It is like my insatiable need to mention my great grandmother’s Black Cherry Salad. I get to needle her because well, I am Mama’s favorite child. 😉
In return, she blames me for some sort of nail polish incident, for supervising many of her early dates, and for oh some sort of incident with 8-track tapes.
Today she claims she has been married 30 years. Hmm…could that be so? That makes me old or something.
Now, my sister has actually never had my cooking as an adult. She knows I can cook. I expect she imagines I am a fabulous cook. I mean she was privy to my early cooking. I could certainly bake a loaf of bread and Witchy Pooh Cake at some point when she was home from college. We certainly have talked about cooking over the years. I am tapping my toes waiting for her to come visit me in my own home.
I remember her cooking hamburger steaks for breakfast when she lived in Maryland. I remember her helping me make popcorn balls for a bake sale in middle school. I remember her teaching me to stick the egg yolk mixture in a plastic bag and “piping it” onto deviled eggs to make them prettier. I also remember her for jell-o salads with canned fruit in them as well as endless pitchers of iced tea.
But, indeed, outside of cooking, she did marry a man who managed to stay married to her for 30 years. 😉 I should congratulate him on that feat. My older sister is a lot like me in some ways, a lot different in others, but it takes a special person to live with any of us. She has started a new blog recently and is getting her feet wet. Go on over and wish her a happy anniversary. She even talks about her anniversary in this post. If you look at her about page, she even looks a bit like me. No. Not the horse. The chick with the long hair.
She is probably grumbling because “no one remembers her anniversary.” (Of course, she has no clue as to when mine and Denise’s anniversary is without cheating big time) She should have known better than to get married in my birthday month. Everyone knows that August women get the whole month to themselves. You can’t just bow to the patriarchy during it and get the kudos. Ok. Just this once.
I did name my youngest after her after all…my August baby girl.