My Sisters

I am the youngest of four in girls in my family. I was meant to be "David" the first son.
I was "oh, another girl!" in my dads words according to text in my baby book.
Alas, I was born. A girl, to a Midwestern mother and southern father with three sisters.

I was the fourth child. Not too many pictures of me. Parents were way beyond the swing of things with "children" by the time I arrived. Not to say I was neglected in anyway, I defiantly was not. I was "the baby" for all practical purposes. Adored.

However, my three older sisters had plans for me.
"Dress her up like a doll!" Carrie exclaimed. Kristie carried my by the neck everywhere.
Janet, my oldest sibling sighed with disdain "Great, another one to babysit."
For all practical reasons, I was loved. I had three older sisters who kind-of-watched out for me. If they didn't they were scolded. I remember fighting with my sisters frequently.(maybe because they were branded as the free babysitters) Don't all siblings?

I also remember getting to listen to Janet's prized record/tape collection. (or sneaking up in her room before she got home from school) She was so very neat and organized like oldest sibling are. Every Duran Duran pin had its place. Each poster on the wall was hung with precision. Her handwriting was so clean and legible. She went away to college. I cried. I missed her when she was gone. Visiting days at her college were the best all her friends adored me. Janet was also very smart she always got A's. Smart and precise Janie.

Kristie was/is my funny buddy. We laughed and sang till our lungs were sore.(funny, as she was always choking me as an infant carrying me around by my neck, no wonder the throat soreness came from her.)
We sang every song on the "Annie" soundtrack. We danced the moonwalk, shuffled our feet to more M.J. than I can remember. Song and dance my Kristie.

My second to last sister Carrie. My eternal roomie. We shared everything. Until she got sick. Carrie had so many illnesses growing up that her room, our room, became her solace. I picked on her a lot, so did Kristie. We made fun of how she was sick do much. I hate that I have this memory. What I do remember is that we would turn our room into a haunted house. Play old Alfred Hitchcock albums of ghost stories and get really scared together. She protected me a lot. I would have awful nightmares for years. I slept with a nightlight until I was 12. (Funny now that even the smoke alarm light bothers me and needs to be covered.) Carrie always comforted me and if she could not she always walked me to my parents room. Comforting Carrie

I love my sisters. I miss them a lot as well. I am blessed to have sisters I can count on to this day, no matter what. I hope to write more on them as they mean more than the moon to me.

Rewards of Random Generosity

This past Friday I was asked by my boss to do a run to the dump to get rid of things that were cluttering the house. I happily agreed. I have inherited a love for trash from my father (a proud dumpster diver)so it never bothers me to go to the land of other people junk/trash. One mans trash, is another mans treasure!

I packed the truck with a few bags of binders the kids no longer used. An old step stool, a garbage can with rusted gaping holes in the bottom and a few bags of general rubbish. I dropped the binders at the book recycling table and they were promptly swept away by a mother of three, who rattled on at the cost of school supplies.  "Right-on! Glad you could find a use for them," I replied with a smile.

Next stop was to drop the step stool off to the wood pile. I opened the back of the truck, grabbed the stool and nearly heaved it onto an elderly woman who stopped me mid-throw to ask if she could keep the piece for her grandchild. I replied "No worries."

I put the step stool in her car trunk which was already stuffed to the top with an old wicker chair.
I saw the match to the other chair she was trying to drag to the back seat of her car.
I kindly told her she was not superwoman and should not be trying to lift a 50 pound wicker chair.
I asked where she lived, took the chairs and the step stool and drove them to her home.

She was floored by my kindness and generosity. I ended up spending the next hour listening to a few stories of her late husband. Her eyes welled up as she spoke of a man she never stopped loving, even through an eight year battle with Alzheimer's. I had to interrupt her as my boss had rang two times and I disregarded both of the calls. I felt awful telling my new found friend I had to go back to work. She had just shared her heart with me.

After a warm hug goodbye I bid her adieu. She insisted I take two dying mums as payment for my hauling. I took them mainly because she was shoving them in the back of the vehicle. I gave a honk and a wave as I drove away, my heart filled with appreciation for whom I had just met.

Toni was her name. She works at the library in town.

I made a friend that day that will stay in my heart for a good while. I helped her with a few chairs and she helped me rebuild my trust in others. There are people in this world that are appreciative of small things. There are people in this world who want nothing but an open ear. I was glad I could help with both.

Funny how a trip to the dump could have such an impact on me.
Maybe this is why my father loves it so much.
Its in my DNA. ;)