Farewell to a sister I swear could "chew nails and spit rust"

Above 

Sisyrinchium angustifolium, Narrowleaf Blue-eyed Grass

Joni Mitchell’s Singing My Song

 

Into the wind I turn

As it washes past the years of

youth, difference, and distance

 

You disappeared right in front of me

Sifting through the hourglass of time

Until one day we were old

 

Zero drama, I promised

Just conversations of yards

Gardens, vegetables and chickens

 

And when nothing was left to be said,

there was always the weather

and the weather always was.

 

So where do we go from here

When you are stardust and I am alone

And chances are gone forever more.

 

I cried when I heard that old song last night-

As my reality embraced me

And my illusions sunk rock-bottom.

Clematis Viorna, Leather Flower

'Winterthur' Viburnum flower buds

Maple tree sapling growing out from under a brick.

I don't have the type of Leather Flower ID anymore.

The large flowered one is Clematis Hagley Hybrid

Sculptured Pine Borer - Chalcophora virginiensis

Clematis 'Venosa'

Unripe Blueberries

Debi

(Deborah)

My Younger Sister

She left us on April 28 

We seldom kept in touch when we were young.  A baby quilt was made for her first child, but there was never an acknowledgment of receiving it.  When they returned from Guam to Nevada to stay for a a few weeks before Charlie found housing in Louisiana, their child had the quilt, so that was that.  

 

What I always remembered from that experience was a very active young child crawling everywhere, getting into all the lower drawers in my kitchen, and months later finding the spatulas under the living room furniture.

The first and last time I really talked to her about life was years ago when my husband and I drove down there by car for Thanksgiving, and after hours of driving around Huston searching for an affordable hotel with a bed my back could handle, we ended up back at their home empty handed.

She had me lay on their bed and asked me how it was.  It felt wonderful.  We laid there for what seemed like hours talking about life and then we joined the husbands.  Debi and Charlie moved to the small bedroom and gave us their bedroom for our stay.  She had this wonderful set of cookbooks, and each time she cooked us dinner it was an unforgettably delicious experience. 

It was the last time we ever talked about the things that lay beneath the surface of our lives.  After that, we talked about her vegetable garden, Charlie often mowing down her flower beds, planting the fence line with native shrubs and vines, the neighbors collection of cats who partly lived in Debi's yard for the food handouts, her chicken coop filled with chickens she had raised herself, and the weather. That private connection we shared never happened again.

I was never in her world much.  I had a more complicated life with my youngest sister Sonya than I ever did with Debi, mainly because I would always see Sonya when I visited mom and dad.

  

Debi was a few years younger than me, so our lives never connected in that sisterly way one sees in movies.  What stood out the most in her preschool years at home, was seeing her grabbing that toy football, tucking it against her side defensively, and barreling ahead right off the high porch edge and tumbling across the lawn.  She was a stubborn toughie back then, and I think that attitude followed through most of her life.

She called me Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday the week before she died.  It was late night after her husband was asleep, and I told her she could talk as long as she wished.  She called me her angel, a sentiment that surprised and warmed me.

She talked about the three of us, the three sisters, and then when she added our brother into the mix, it was ‘three sisters and a drunken brother’.  She sounded happy, so I just listened, as she rambled on all over the place about life, but she repeated ‘three sisters and a drunken brother’ so many times, it is etched into my mind forever.

Her celebration of life will have a butterfly release, Beatles music and Lumpia, one of the dishes she was well known for.  I know nothing about a love for Beatles music or food dishes she was celebrated for, but I do remember the Softball playing years and the bad knees.  I guess that counts for something.

Miss you so much.

It's been raining for days, with another week left to go.  I did receive my Saatva mattress two days ago and my body is beginning to slowly recover from the torture of owning the mattress from Hell.  I haven't taken photos lately, so not much was presented here.  I find myself with little to say.  Much love and joy.

  

   Yvonne  

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