IN THE BEGINNING, there wasn’t a thing Margaret owned, a phrase she spoke, or a gesture she tossed off that I did not want as my own. But smooth-haired, blue-eyed, skim-milk-skinned, even visually she presented all that I could never be, her calm to my storm of unleashed red curls, speckled hazel eyes and haphazardly freckled skin. [Read more…]
MY NEW FAVORITE memoir has fabulous blurbs by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the bestselling Eat, Pray, Love and Anna Thomas, author of the bestselling books The Vegetarian Epicure and Love Soup. It has been lauded by both Gretchen Rubin, author of the bestselling book, The Happiness Project, and Katrina Kenison, author of the bestselling The Gift of an Ordinary Day. To my mind, it’s the best book on the soon-to-be-released list. I would know. I got to read the advance copy. Why is that?
LAST WEEK I TOLD You my side of the story. This week, it’s my sister’s turn. It’s what I call the “She Said, She Said” of all sisters. If you have a sister, you know. If not, believe me when I tell you that no two sisters see any family event the same way. Why not? Well, it’s not that we’re different in spite of being raised in the same household. We’re different because we were raised in the same household. What does that look like? Read on. [Read more…]
IF YOU KNEW US only for an instant, you might think us to be something that we’re not. That’s because I’m the loud sister. Always have been. And loud gets mistaken for tough, especially in women. But Margaret is the tough one, hand-down. Don’t believe me? Two years ago, during an ice storm, she sent me a generator. Delivered to the door. [Read more…]
MARGARET WAS EEYORE when we were young, seeing the impossible in everything. My older sister, she has grown up to be Kanga, her youthful negativity evolving into a carefulness for all things, as well as an exactness for detail, reminding us not only to take our medicine, but when to do so. Me, I was born a Tigger, and show little chance of ever growing up to be anybody else. I bounce, and when people try to get me to give up my bounce, I bounce away. [Read more…]
OUR MOTHER DIDN’T cook. To be more specific, our mother was something of a spectacle in the kitchen, cooking a few things, always as dramatically a possible. The simple stuff eluded her: a chop, a steak, a baked potato. Instead, we got such offerings as Beef Wellington and once, memorably, reindeer meatballs. [Read more…]