I know I have a tendency to be redundant in these BLOGs but sometimes I can't find a remembrance I'm looking for in the list of BLOGs I've written for Runnemede Remembered, so if this is a repeat, just stop reading.
I think one of my first recalls I have of my life is the arrival at home of my mom from the hospital with my sister, Debbie. Yippee! I'm three years older than she, and in youngster years that practically made me an adult as far and I was concerned.
She and I didn't get along too well when we were growing up, mainly, I think, because of that big gap in our ages (a little sarcasm there). We yelled at each other. We'd mess up each other's side of the bed we slept in. If I didn't clean the floor soon enough, she'd write in the dust on my side of the bed, "Judy's dirt". Neither she nor I would dare mop the other person's side of the bedroom, even though the mop certainly could extend under the bed all the way. We were just that ornery with each other.
Her friends weren't my friends, and my friends weren't hers. She was a freshman. I was a senior. I got married first. I had my babies first. But by then we were catching up to each other and became more endeared to each other.
I don't when it happened, though, that we really bonded. However, I'm so glad it did. We talk almost every Sunday. And those talks make me feel so much better. My husband can't understand what we have to talk about, but then he is not a great conversationalist. I think we just gab. She makes me laugh. And I often cry.
I so wish we lived closer to each other so we could talk face to face. That would be so nice.
I am writing this because this week my dear sister sent me a Christmas bouquet and I'll have that to look at (and talk to?) for at least a couple of weeks.
Thanks Deb for all you mean to me. I thank our Lord for you every day. I love you.