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  

This Post is Linked To:

Saturday's Critters

The Mayfly Diner's News

Mom asked if I wished to do a post on her blog.  I asked her if she had lost a few marbles, and she assured me yes, but since I had been begging her for the last two years... 

Qui, moi?  Would I ever?

Do you want the job?

Since you twisted my arm, yes.  

There are a few rules...

Let me interupt here, dearest mommy.  Cats don't do rules.

Do you want the job?

Only if you don't proofread before I publish.

I thought you said cats don't do rules.

I feel compelled to protect the integrety of my work.

Well, I feel compelled to protect my sanity.

No proofreading?

Ha ha ha, dream on, little kitty.

Then no.  Do it yourself, little mommy.

Okay, sassy pants, no rules.  Don't let me down, capish!

Okay, weisenheimer mommy o' mine.

Weisenhi... what?  Where did you ever hear that word?

I'm educated in the school of Mommy.

Good grief!  I'm going to bed.

Sweet -

I know nothing about gardening or gardens, therefore I shall talk about something near and dear to my heart... me.

Yesterday a fragile mayfly tagged a ride on daddy into the house.  I played basketball a bit with the flighty little thing until it was pinned to the floor and GULP!  It was history before mom yelled "give it up!" 

Anyway, I paid for it dearly when all were sleeping, and my sweet dream, all about me, began to spiral down the rabbit hole, as mom so dryly puts it.

My dream had such a pleasant beginning...

Orange, uck!

But lovely, aren't I?

then -

What gives..

Right away, I became short on looks -

You've got to be kidding me!

Then quite ghastly -

Pucker up, dreamy eyes.

I fought back to become quite mesmerizing

  

but that orange has got to go.

But,

without warning I was improved

to something weirdly sort of pretty -

Yep, too weird.

WHAT!

No no no - A thousand times no!

Hmmm - somewhat something maybe???

Strutt those stick legs, Tiny Toes.

Sausage smausage - does any cat 

ever, ever, ever really look like this?

This dream maker really is a jokester.

Stuffed plastic isn't my thing.

Then -

down

down

d

o

w

n

 

it 

begins

down

.

down

.

down

.

into

the

rabbit

hole

she

goes

Iron Head Meowster

Psyco Kit-ti-o...

Fading -

still fading -

just

a

pencil 

scribble

on

a 

piece

of 

scrap

p

a

p

e

r

.

.

.

Wake up

Focus on happy -

WAKE UP!

WAKE UP!

WAKE UP!

wake up!

Huh...

morning -

where's the food?

Isn't it odd how my dream just illustrated itself?

Very odd.

~ Charlotte's Journal ~

Mommy gets a workout when daddy gardens, dragging her walker and herself down those steps, out into the yard, then back out of the yard and back up those steps, then dragging her walker and herself back down those steps, out into the yard, back out of the yard and back up those steps, then dragging her walker and herself back down those steps for the upteenth time, out into the yard, then... well, you get the jest.

She looks like a roasted beet by the end of the day.      

Yesterday daddy did something strange and newish - putting in instead of ripping out.  I guess they're hoping for a little miracle, as the plants he put in last year have yet to appear.  

Mommy bought nine, just a minute - here it is written down - Allegheny Spurge for daddy to put in, but daddy is prone to rushing the job to give himself more time elsewhere.  A short story cut even shorter, the plants ran out before daddy ran out or the job was finished.  I think spacing and tree roots became problematic.  

Extra plants are nowhere to be found.  Let's hope mommy's erosion prevention project doesn't find itself sledding across the mucky mire off into the hinterland during the next thunderstorm.

I think mommy is frustrated with the outdoors these days.  Her lack of proper balance is a real drag, holding her back a bit.  She struggles, as it seems neccessary in daddy's mind to keep her gimpy so he may help her more.  She causes friction at being independant.  Crazy, isn't it.  Humans are an odd lot.

Mommy managed to plant all five of the flower pots on the deck with coral bells, liatris, and asters.  She added interesting rocks to the surface of three pots for aesthetic beauty.   While her creativity has waned, she still has the desire.  

Mosquitoes are vicious this year, so I think afternoon tea is off the Menu.  Early breakfast has been splendid in the past, so let's hope this year is no different.  I know mommy loves sitting on the deck.

She struggles with life in general.  She always tells me I'm her sweetheart, and she doesn't know what she would do without me.  I love you too, dear mommy.  I love you too.

The color this week seems to be fifty shades of green.

Sometimes mommy tosses it all in the recycle bin,

starts over, and tosses it all again.

I guess she called it quits and settled for these.

They seem quite lovely to me.

Little bunny traveled across driveway into neighbor's yard,

yum yummy!

Iris fulva, Copper Iris

Clematis viticella 'Venosa Violacea'

Ten spiders in a huddle

Mommy's Place

Rainy day mushrooms in the poison ivy patch. .

Something finds them tasty.

Bottle brush grass - looks like an ichy mess to me.

Meandering path pass the Allegheny Spurge

So grapey looking, growing like a weed in all the rain.

Polistes metricus, metricus paper wasp

Triodanis perfoliata, Clasping Venus's Looking-glass

An annual wildflower 

Robins favorite bathing spot.

Phlox carolina, Thickleaf Phlox

'Minnie Pearl'

Hiding in the wild bergamot patch. 

Tomatoes have popped their little heads above ground, but the lettuce seeds are pipe dreams all nestled in their packets.  Beautyberrys - well, they are still in their nursery pots decorating the deck table.

The other day as mommy was reading on her magical laptop, she looked in my direction - but you know how sometimes that look just goes right through you and off into neverland - well, she has found a poem written about herself by a person who has never met her.  

Okay.

The Red Wheelbarrow

     William Carlos William

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens

I think I'll just let that vision float off into the universe, while I dream of my 

next boring meal.

Here one second, gone the next - the time it took a quarter sized black 

jumping spider to run around to the underside of a black drain hose attached

to a gutter drain spout this morning as mommy was out by herself on that

bumpy eroded ground bordering the prairie garden to take photographs.

She was so excited, even though the little tyke was too fast for a photograph.

It never matters to her.  She says these moments are meant to be savored - 

a pinch of time exclusively for her.  I like to savor fresh food also, anytime.

I hope you enjoyed this post.  I was sure the ending would fall flat until

mommy woke up this morning, dragged herself into the bathroom, pulled

her hair brush through her hair and let out a scream when an earwig fell 

to the floor wondering what happened to its cushy spot on mommy's head.

Hehehe.  

I tried to make it my fresh off the range breakfast, but after two fumbles

daddy stole it from me.

Bad daddy!

This Post is Linked To:

Saturdays' Critters

My Corner of the World