Sister Sister....

When I was growing up, I always wanted a sister. Although I didn't have one of my own, I had an up close and personal look at what it was like to have a sister, because my mother has two of them, and their close and loving relationship was something that I envied.

My mom and her younger sister, in particular, have something special and unique, even for sisters, I think. Although in personality they are very different, my aunt is outgoing and funny and the life of the family party, while my mother is shy and quiet and frequently on the fringes of the action, they have a symbiotic relationship that benefits both of them. They have an easy closeness that defies space and time, built on a lifetime of experiences together which started when they were babies and has continued from then until now.

We had a reminder of that interdependence recently, at the graveside of their oldest brother. They were standing together, each lost in her own thoughts and memories, I am sure, when suddenly, one of them began to silently weep. Without even needing to look, the other one leaned over and put her arm around her sister and hugged her close, and they drew their heads together without a word being said. That unspoken understanding between them, the certain knowledge that they are there for each other, is something to envy, and I do.

I should, of course, mention that I do have a wonderful brother, who has provided all the love and support and entertainment one could ever ask for from a big brother. I wouldn't trade him for anything, he is the best sibling I could have ever asked for. I just would have liked to add a sister to the family table.

Living in a very small town, I got to see sisters up close and personal with the girls I grew up with, both relatives and friends, and I saw a variety of relationships and interactions, some good, some not so good, but which I knew, in adulthood, would be warm and rich and loving. I envied them their shared memories more than their shared wardrobe or toys.

I experienced the combat zone of sitting between sisters who were born on the same day but had very different personalities, and didn't hesitate to share with everyone their dismay when they didn't agree on something. (Which, for the record, seemed to be a lot, especially during band, when flutes became weapons with a long reach!) I watched friends serve as role models and mentors for younger sisters. I watched the pride and frustration as older sisters helped younger sisters with advice or direction, and I saw the adoration of younger sisters as they emulated the older sisters they worshipped.

I knew I was missing something irreplaceable, and it made me feel vaguely left out. Then I grew up.

Along the way, I discovered something important. Although I may never know the accidental, if special, relationship of sisters born to the same parents, I do, in fact, have the intentional sisterhood of many women who enrich my life and make it complete. It is an amazing gift of love and caring, and it is sufficient.

I have found sisters of the heart within my extended family, of course, cousins with whom I shared my growing up, and who were there from the awkward stage to the angry phase to the what-is-she-thinking-but-we'll-be-there-for-her-when-it-all-falls-apart period. Although we didn't grow up in the same house, we spent enough time together that I am not sure I could be much closer to them, and I certainly couldn't love them any more. I have shared their joys and their sorrows, felt their pain and their fear, as they have mine. You are stuck with your relatives for life, and I'm happy to be stuck on mine, because I have been richly blessed by the sisterhood I have found within the family circle.

But sisterhood is not only a blood line, or a family affair. I have found other intentional sisters of the heart through the years as I shared my life, and have been privileged to share in the lives of others. I have close friends with whom I can be entirely myself, for better and for worse, because we have been friends for so long the history speaks for itself.

I have friends whose relationship with their real sisters suffers when seen through the looking glass, and for whom the friendship provides a level of understanding that they don't find in their actual family. Somewhere along the line, I realized I am cheating them out of the fullness of the sisterhood we have built together when I mourn over a relationship I never had, while taking for granted the sister standing in front of me.

I have friends who have strong and loving relationships with their own sisters, and who extend that love to a select few outside their circle whom they treat like one of the family. To be included in the family events, as one their own, accepted on a family basis, is a gift of sisterhood built on a relationship that is valued on both sides. I wonder, if I had a sister of my own, would I have found room in my heart for that gift of love?

I have other friends who see me as I am, know my flaws, and choose to overlook and love me anyway. What a gift, to be allowed to live inside my awkward and quirky self, and have someone see the higher self I wish I was. No sister could be more uplifting than a friend who could turn their back on you but chooses to continue to meet life head on with you.

My brother has, in fact, been responsible for bringing a sister into my life, after all, when he married my lovely and beautiful sister-in-law. She has enriched all our lives, not only because she loves my brother and makes his life better, but because she loves us and makes our lives better, too, just by her being in it. I am grateful for the unqualified love she has for all of us, and we are very lucky she was willing to join our family circle and be a part of it. Although we are sisters-in-law, she is my sister of the heart first, and the relationship we are building is one that I treasure all the more for not having had a sister before.

I have a very special set of sisters, my Eve Circle sisters, who are sisters in Christ. We have been together a long time, most of us, a group of women who have gone through birth, death, divorce, child rearing, unemployment, our faith journeys; everything life has to throw at us. Within the circle of friendship we have together is the loving assurance of our shared faith, and the support of women who truly care about each other in the deeper way of family. God is our father, and we are sisters in His family. Although we are all very different, He has brought us together to compliment and contrast with each other, and each member of the circle has something special to share. We shine up the faith that each of us experiences to make it bright enough for the world to witness.

Valentine's Day is coming, and there will be a lot of talk of love and romance. There will be cute pictures of Cupid, and couples everywhere will be celebrating the love that they share. It can be hard to be single during this in-your-face couple time, reminded at every turn that what most people take for granted is out of reach for you, and it can hurt.

But I prefer to focus on the love that I have in my life, rather than what I am missing. In fact, since my divorce, I have learned quite a lot about love, and have discovered that I have a lot more of it in my life than I ever realized. I am grateful that there are women in my life who have been willing to fight through the shy, reserved exterior until they found the warm heart within, and who have believed I was worth the trouble it took to get to know the hidden me. Because of them, I have opened my heart, ever so slowly and cautiously, and found that there is love all around me, and that I am richly blessed with sisters of the heart wherever I turn.

So this Valentine's Day, I wish each of my Sisters of the Heart a day of love and respect and joy, filled not with the superficial expressions of love found in the advertisements and the store shelves and useless trinkets that will soon be lost or forgotten, but the deeper love born of shared experiences and full relationships with people who love you as you are, flaws and all. That is the real gift, a gift of the heart, and the only one that will last.

Happy Valentine's Day to each one of my sisters, from my heart.

Dog day afternoon....

You know what I love about dogs? They are who they are, and they don't spend a lot of time worrying about being what society, or anyone else, wants them to be. They act, and react, based on their natural inclinations, and your direction. The only people they worry about are the people who actually matter to them - their pack. Although there are celebrity dogs, you don't find the family pet worrying about what Annette Bening's dog is up to, because it just isn't relevant to their lives.

Thus, you find our mutt in an expensive fur coat, otherwise known as TidBit, running around with dreadlocks in his Papillion ear fringe, his pure bred fur coat occasionally dirty and sometimes even matted, especially after a good roll on the lawn, hair hanging in his eyes, yet still completely pleased with himself, because he has his toy and is ready to play. Gizmo, the actual mutt with an inferiority complex, runs around like a maniac, barking at the wind, still completely at peace with how he is living his life, as long as I'm not mad at him.

The only thing that really matters to either of them is that they have a warm place to sleep and two square meals a day, along with the company of the humans who are in charge of their lives. They are content to let everything else happen as it will, with no fanfare or advanced planning required.

In short, their lives are simple and straightforward. To know themselves is uncomplicated. If only it were so simple to be human.

I have heard it said that life throws curve balls at us. I think life is a curve ball. The trajectory never seems to take me where I expect, and I am always ending up in left field from an unplanned hit when I thought I would be right over the plate.

This week, for example, I had my calendar set, appointments ready to attend, work to be produced. I knew on Sunday when I perused my weekly obligations exactly what would happen through the week, and what I hoped to have accomplished by week's end.

Something funny happened on the way to Saturday, however, and I got nothing accomplished that I expected. We got hit with a blizzard that was both unexpected and fearsome, the worst weather I have seen in Kansas City in the over 20 years since I've lived here, in fact.

Don't you just hate it when the weather people get it right?

They were obnoxious and annoying, warning us for days ahead of time that THIS one was going to be The Big One, The Storm of the Century. (What kind of chutzpah do you have to have to label something an "of the century" event when the century is only 11 years old, I ask you?) That is why I dislike weather people so much. Every time there is weather, it's an "-est" event - biggest, coldest, windiest, hottest - whatever is happening, they hype it until you don't listen any more. Of course, talking about weather is their job, so what else are they going to do, right? But that doesn't make it any more palatable out here in viewer-land.

This time, they gave fearsome predictions for unprecedented snowfall in an area that gets paralyzed by six inches at once. They warned the public to be prepared with extra food and water, in case people lost power, or couldn't get out for days. I rolled my eyes and yawned.

Fortunately, I did think it prudent to make sure I had adequate supplies of fresh food for the rabbit and myself, prompted by a glance at the sky on the morning of the main event. And I did have the ice melt at the ready, just in case the ice storm of the century actually did develop right on top of us. Otherwise, I was pretty cavalier about the whole thing, figuring it was just another non-event here in the heartland.

The day the storm was originally predicted to begin dawned, and nothing. The weather people started shifting, telling us it was delayed, but would happen overnight, then the following morning, then the following evening, and finally the day after that. By that time, I was cheering for a rout, hoping that the whole thing would simply evaporate, and the storm would just be an epic fail, much to my delight and their discomfort.

It did not work out quite as I had hoped. The ball not only curved, it came back and hit me, then kept going in the opposite direction. Life is funny that way - it has a way of humbling you when you get too uppity.

I have seen storms like this one before; growing up in Minnesota, I am familiar with blizzards. But I have never seen anything like it in Kansas City. We are not Minnesota, and were not prepared for what happened. It brought the entire metro area skidding to a halt, reminding us all that Mother Nature still wins when she has a temper tantrum.

The snow came down, slowly at first, dry little flakes pelting your face as they dropped from the grey clouds overhead. Then they came harder, and the wind picked up. Before we knew it, the ground was covered with white powder, and the snow was flying in all directions, as the 40 mph wind gusts threw it around.

When all was said and done, we got about a foot of snow where I am. Capricious, as blizzards are, it was blown into drifts as high as three feet in some places, while the ground was bare in others. The drifts were wind-swept, standing in frozen waves, crisp and white and brittle looking. The world was a fairy land - I half expected to see the Snow Queen walk through my yard at any moment.

I didn't leave the house for days. Living in the city, with everything nearly at my fingertips, I have lost the ability to plan ahead. I put off getting anything until I am out. I don't stock up, I don't think forward, I don't plan, because the 24 hour WalMart a few blocks away has enabled me to be irresponsible in that way.

When the blizzard hit, the fury of it all reminding us that in the end, nature will have her way, I found an old, now unfamiliar pattern, and stayed home. For days. Natural recluse that I am, I slipped into the comfortable seclusion effortlessly, and it was almost difficult to make myself leave when I finally ran out of something crucial and had to make my way to the store again at the end of the week.

I enjoy life's little interruptions, the diversions from my strict plan that unexpectedly make the journey interesting. While it is good to plan ahead, and it is necessary to set a schedule and have goals, the occasional reminder to be flexible when life curves away from your plan is important, as well.

On the other hand, too much of a good thing is a bad thing. I, for one, have had enough of the long winter, and I am ready for spring, and the renewal that it brings. I think the dogs would agree, because every time they go out the door, they look surprised anew at the blanket of white covering their familiar terrain. But then they jump right in and find a way through, taking life as it comes. I think they have the right attitude, and I will try to emulate that flexibility a little more joyfully this week.

If your life is a curve ball this week, here's hoping you enjoy left field! Batter up!