a day late, but here’s a dollar

Sister #3 bought me booze when I was underage, and is the whole reason there is a story about me that ends with the nickname, “Little Miss Vodka Pants.”

But that’s another story for another time.

She recently invited herself along on a trip to Rome with some family friends, where, I learned through Facebook, she may or may not have given some nuns a What For about bathroom line cutting.

And let’s face it. Sometimes nuns need to be given a What For. They’re not saints, you know. Nuns are people too. Holy people, but people nonetheless. And my sister? Apparently she has no problem reminding them of the fact that other people have to pee, too, and just because you’re in a habit doesn’t mean you get to go to the front of the line. (It’s not like they had one of those Super Awesome Passes like at Disney World that lets you go to the front of the ride lines. Last time I checked, the Vatican did not work like that.) This is one of many reasons why I love her so much.

Happy birthday (yesterday), Sister #3. If you were here, I would hold your drink while you went to the bathroom (because I know how much it wigs you out when people bring their drinks into the bathroom), and then when you came out I’d hand it back to you, and I’d buy you a gyro after and say, “Happy birthday. This is beautiful, is it velvet? I love you very much.”

happy to you

It’s a day late, because, well, I recently decided that posting only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays was a really good idea, but unfortunately for me not everyone’s birthdays fall within those confines.

So sometimes things are just going to be belated.

Like this birthday wish to Sister #1.

Happy birthday to you!

I can’t believe you’re 80!

(She’s not 80.)

(When my grandma turned 80 years and years ago, my mom and her brothers threw Grandma a surprise party. One of my mom’s cousins—one we’d never met before, and one that my mom hadn’t seen in years—went up to the podium to give a toast, and tearily choked out, “Florentine, I can’t believe you’re 80!” My sisters and cousins and I looked at each other in bewilderment, and my mom just sort of rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, he’s always been a bit swishy.”)

(So now, of course, my sisters and I like to call each other and yell into the phone, “I can’t believe you’re 80!”)

(As you do.)

(What? Is this going to be a whole post in parentheses?)

(MAYBE.)

Anyway.

Happy birthday, Sister #1. If you were here, I’d give you pumpkin baked goods and some Jameson and say, “Happy Birthday, I love you very much. I can’t believe you’re 80!”

 

(Which, actually, I did yesterday, on your actual birthday.)

(The yelling “I can’t believe you’re 80!” part. Not the baked goods or Jameson. Those don’t translate well through the phone.)

 

 

 

almost belated

My mother informed me the other day, quite gleefully, I might add, that she has gone on Medicare. I don’t remember Dad sounding so chipper or making an announcement about this same fact when he turned 65, but therein you have one of the many differences between the two of them. Mom is happy to make proclamations great and small (“I’m ready for grandkids now!” was one she stated heartily a few years ago) while Dad is more prone to keeping his opinions to himself.

Though oddly enough, not when it comes to slicing melons. One time we were in the kitchen, and Dad was cutting up a ripe cantaloupe for whatever reason when he looked up from the fruit and declared quite proudly and with great authority, “I am the best melon slicer in the world. I do a great job of cutting cantaloupe.” He does do a fine job, and being that he had a knife in his hand, you know, I wasn’t about to argue.

Neither of them is big on having parties thrown for them, but I often wonder how birthdays were celebrated in their households when they were growing up. Isn’t it weird, to think about your parents when they were kids? I mean, you hear the stories and you see the pictures, but what was it really like? What were THEY like?

You’ll never really get a good answer for questions like these, but at least I have answers for other questions I’ve come across in life, like what part of the cow different cuts of steak come from (thanks, Dad), what the hell Watergate was all about (thanks, Mom), why algebra and geometry are important (erm..thanks, Dad. I think.), the importance of world travel (thanks, Mom), and how to raise four girls to be loving, caring, productive members of society without losing your shit (thanks, Mom and Dad).

When I called to wish them a happy birthday earlier tonight they weren’t home. Off celebrating, I presume. But if I was there, I would open a bottle of wine for Mom and pour her a glass, and had Dad a big plate of cheap cookies (I swear that’s not an insult, he really does love them) and say, “Happy birthday, Mom and Dad, I love you very much.”

the perfect combination

Last night, via text, around 11 pm EST:

Me: May I put some photos of you up on McPolish?

Sister #2: Only if they are good ones! JCSS is on Ovation!

Me: Ovation?

Sister #2: It’s a channel. It’s awesomeosity! Yes I made up that word! Booyah!

Me: I don’t understand why awesomeosity isn’t already a word. Is perfect. Add it to Oxford’s

Sister #2: I shall submit it. Awesomosity: see Strzelecki Family. OMG, Joseph is going to be on tomorrow! I can’t even stand it! Best birfday evarrrr!

Me: It’s like they KNEW.

Sister #2: I knows! It’s too good.

Pop some popcorn, open the wine, it’s on track to be a great day.

I love you muchly, Sister #2. Happy birthday.

and then there were three

When sister #3 is ready to go, she is Ready to Go. And you’d better be on board or you should probably just get out of her way. This is nothing new; she likes punctuality and really, she’s been this way since the beginning. When she was ready to get born, it only took her 20 minutes to get out there and greet the world.

She is passionate about the White Sox and will rattle off names and throw in a stat or four if you ask, and as a bonus she will give you her personal thoughts on specific players. Pay attention, she knows of what she speaks and will smack you down if you dare challenge her.

Sister #3 also throws great parties, the kind where people are always shouting and laughing and general tomfoolery occurs. She is outgoing and makes friends easily and if you don’t like her it’s probably because you are either A) boring, or 2) stupid. Sister #3 can be demanding, and why shouldn’t she be? But she will take your suggestions into consideration, and she is not opposed to trying new things. In fact, she loves new things, especially if they are new travel-things. Foods…eh, maybe not so much. But it doesn’t take much to get Sister #3 on a plane. She’ll go just about anywhere.

She is smart and she is funny. She is loyal and loves muchly, even when she is annoyed or irritated with you. She will always be there to give you advice (even if you don’t want it) and a cup of booze or a cigarette if you really need one. She is the friend and the sibling you want to call if you ever need to make bail. (Not that I know this from experience, I’m just saying.)

Sister #3 is lovely and bossy and has a beautiful smile and if I was with her right now I would put on the movie Overboard and hand her the cocktail of her choice on a silver platter and say, “Happy birthday, I love you very much.”

belated

Sister #1 is a new mama, and when I called her on Saturday to ask her how she felt about being another year older, she replied, “Tired.”

To be expected.

You’d think she’d have gotten over the tiredness of being a mom, really; she’s been taking care of me for quite some time now, helping me navigate through life, teaching me the important details of staying organized and working hard. She is the one who told me, as I neared my college graduation, “You work for what you want. You are not entitled to anything.”

Sister #1 has beautiful hair and is a terrific cook, and though I may not be entitled to dinner at her house when I stay there, if I ask very, very nicely she will usually make me something delicious. She is demanding only in that she demands sister time, taking charge as the oldest, leading us out to the back porch and pouring wine and keeping us talking until just after 4 am. Without exceptions, you don’t even need to look at the clock, trust me, if you’re asking what time it is, it is 4 am.

She is a talented writer, she taught me necessary lessons in life, like staying cultured, so she took me to a Harry Belafonte concert. And being well-socialized, so she took me to my first keg party. All before the age of 12.

She is the one of the three sisters that people say I look like the most, which I guess kind of makes us sort of like bookends of the four of us, the oldest and the youngest.

She is funny and friendly and opinionated and strong, and if I was with her right now, I would hand her a glass of wine and some mushy brownies on a silver platter and say, “Happy Birthday, I love you very much.”

 

Sisters…sisters….there were never such devoted sisters…..

On This Day Some Time Ago

Sister #2 lived in Japan for many several years, but for the past many several has lived in Chicago. And that’s good. We like that.

She speaks Japanese fluently, a testament to her incredible adroitness for foreign languages. (And to having lived there for many several years, of course.)

She gets rave reviews for her kolatchky, and has beautiful hair that I covet.

Growing up, she is the one whose bed I always crawled into in the middle of the night when I woke up scared.

She is sassy, and a dancy-pants.

On any given day she might wear electric blue pleather pants or hot pink boots. She is the one from whom I learned to never fear a bold shoe.

If I was in Chicago right now I would make her a vodka gimlet and compilation CD of Dolly Parton, Tina Turner, and Jesus Christ Superstar songs and serve them both to her on a silver platter and say, “Happy birthday, I love you very much.”