Today is my sister Stacie's birthday. As with all my siblings, Stacie is years and years and years older than me. She was born in 1964 and I in 1966.
Stacie and I are very close and kindred spirits. Billions of miles apart, (Edmonton and North Carolina), we talk on the phone several times a week. (Before she went back to work a couple years ago, we talked on the phone nearly everyday). My telephone plan is better than her's so when she wants to talk, she phones me, lets it ring twice, then hangs up. Like an obedient sister, I phone back immediately. She is the only person in the world I could talk to that often on the telephone. I'm not a telephone person. Dead space doesn't make me nervous with her and it does with everyone else.
A couple years ago the little girls and I spent February with Stacie and her family. Wheweee! Was that ever a learning experience. What I learned is this: There is a big difference between 26 days and 28 days. At 26 days her family was coping with 4 extra people pretty well. At 28 days, they were packing our suitcases and bag lunches for our trip home - eventhough we still had one day to go. But all in all, I think we did amazingly well the first 26 days.
While with her, we drove down to Florida to our other sister Diane's. On the drive down, we nearly split our guts laughing on more than one occasion. We reminisced about some of the quirky ways we were brought up and gave a generous amount of time talking about our childhood church. We told stories and were finishing each other's sentences. As silence came, we would both at the same time remember another song and belt out singing like we did in our long ago church. We laughed so hard we cried.
Stacie and I were inseparable (well nearly) in my preschool years. My first depression was when Stacie started school. I would have been 4. Of course I never knew that was what was wrong with me then, but every morning when I watched the school bus get out of sight, a terrible heaviness would envelope me. I didn't realize it was because Stacie was gone, I only knew that the bus pulling away was a terribly sad time. (Kind of pitiful, don't you agree?) Mama said I also started sleeping more and she recognized then that I was depressed. What I'm trying to say is, Stacie is at the root of many of my problems and dysfunctions.
I am at the root of a few of Stacie's issues too. We grew up in a pretty straight laced home. We didn't do lots of things that were ok in other homes. One year when the Montgomery Ward catalogue came, we sat on the blue vinyl sofa each of us holding our half of the catalogue. No page was left un-looked at. We dreamed about everything in it. We chose the prettiest garment on each page; the bedroom suites we would have in our grown-up houses; and in secret, we even scrutinized the underwear pages.
As we slobbered and coveted for so many things, we took time to even look at the men's clothes. We chose which man we wanted to marry, and we picked out the clothes he would wear. Stacie has always been more risque and edgy than me. As we looked at the men's pages, Stacie pointed at one man and whispered, "He looks like he has boobs." I turned both my lips inside my mouth and disdainfully said, "Uuummm." She was in trouble. Not only was she looking at men's chests, but she said "boobs."
Terrified of getting in trouble, she begged, "Oh Valerie, please don't tell. Please don't tell." I was such a brat and I'm so sorry for how I acted. I didn't tell her I would or wouldn't tell. I let her squirm and worry. That night as it was my turn to do some kind of chore, I turned to Stacie and raised my eyebrow to warn silently, "if you don't do it for me, I'll tell Mama you said boob." Stacie jumped to do my bidding. For days Stacie was my servant. I would be told to something and I would look at Stacie and give her the look and she would jump up and do my chore. Wasn't I awful?
I don't know how long this went on. Stacie would say weeks, but I figure it was only days. Finally, it was Mama who ruined our new working agreement. She asked Stacie why she was doing all my work for me. Stacie told her she just wanted to, but Mama knew better and pressed harder. The truth came out and Stacie got in trouble for letting me treat her like that. Mama was much more concerned that Stacie had let me bribe her than she was with what I'd done. I got off really easy, but poor Stacie got chewed on for quite a while. But she didn't get in trouble for saying "boobs".
Stacie and I miss each other a great deal. I wish we lived closer. We would go out to eat, we would go to each other's kids' performances, we would probably do stuff we never did before, maybe concerts, ballets, live theatre. We lived near each other for so many years and never knew how amazing that was. Now we would know just how special it is and it wouldn't be taken for granted.
Stacie is smart, classy, profressional (that misspelling is on purpose and Stacie knows why), funny, a great cook and entertainer, a talented decorator, and a wonderful devoted mother and wife. I hope she has a wonderful wonderful birthday and a great year. Happy Birthday Stacie. I love you!
Labels: arkansas, family, photos, stacie
