Long Hollow

The Story of Us

September 25, 2014
Tom asked me to dance for the very first time 33 years ago tonight.

I was at Kenny Stabler's Diamondback Saloon in Houston on a rare Friday night off, in a bad mood because my boyfriend of five years "had other plans" that night.

That wasn't unusual – he wasn't a very good boyfriend. But to top it off, none of my friends I expected to see were there that night, either.

I felt very alone.

I guess that's how it is with miracles, though. When you least expect it, when you feel like nothing is going right, one pops up out of the blue, or, in this case, a blue-eyed miracle steps up and asks you to dance.

This is what happened that night. At least, this is my version…

A Michael Jackson song was playing. I can't remember which one, but it was one I didn't care for and wouldn't normally dance to, even in a good mood.

I saw the guy coming toward me and had the "no" ready on my lips, but to my surprise, I said "yes" when he asked me to dance. I had no choice then, but to follow him onto the dance floor and wait for the song to end so I could go back to my spot at the railing and brood some more.

But when the song ended, a country-western tune started right up and he asked me to dance again. I hesitated – we had conversed enough for me to know he talked funny, which meant he was probably a Yankee and wouldn't know how to two-step.

And I hated teaching guys how to two-step.

However, he didn't wait for my answer. He just took me in his arms and started dancing. Two-stepping, no less!

While we danced, we talked. I learned his name, that he was from Maryland, and he was twenty-four even though he looked about eighteen.

By the time the song was over, I had agreed to sit at his table.

He was with an interesting mix of people… a friend's Welsh wife (the friend was a Pasadena cop who was working nights), her New York friends, and Chris, a redhead from Maryland who preferred punk rock to country-western music.

When it was time to leave, Tom walked me outside, asked what I was doing the next night (going to Gilley's to see Alabama perform) and could he meet me there?

Sure. (Why not? My boyfriend had already told me he didn't want to go.) Then, with a peck of a kiss, Tom walked away to join his friends, leaving me to wonder what the heck had just happened.

I told my boyfriend I was meeting someone at Gilley's. He didn't care – he wasn't worried. We had a pretty loose relationship by then, you can tell.

I was worried, though… that I wouldn't recognize Tom. I couldn't remember what he looked like!

That night I stood at the bar where I could see customers streaming in the door to pay. Wait… was that him?

"Tom," I called, testing. He glanced in the direction of my voice. I smiled and waved. He smiled and made his way to me. Whew!

Now, I don't know if I believe in "love at first sight," or if there's such a thing as "someone for everyone," soul mates destined to meet and live happily ever after. But I do know that something changed in me that night at Gilley's.

Tom and I talked, laughed, and danced. Later, he walked me to my car, and we really kissed. He asked for my phone number and I gave it to him.

I didn't know at the time if this was something that would last forever, but I knew I wanted to see him again and spend more time with him. I knew I would be telling my boyfriend good-bye, no matter what happened between me and Tom.

But I didn't dwell on it, just started taking things a day at a time. The next two weeks were a blur of emotions and fun and firsts…
- Our first movie – Continental Divide with John Belushi.
- Our first rock concert – Pat Benatar.
- Our first trip to the Renaissance Festival.
- Our first dinner out – Mario's Pizza on the seawall in Galveston, followed by stargazing on the beach in a sleeping bag. He brought stemmed glasses and wine in an ice chest. And he gave me his dog-tags, which in my pre-Tom life I would have considered a corny gesture from anyone else. But it put butterflies in my stomach and melted my heart that night.
After working the night shift that week, I would find cute cards resting on my doorstep that said he missed me. Was this guy for real?

I dragged him to meet my friends and family, to get their opinion. Maybe there was something I wasn't seeing. But they all liked him. I liked his friends. They liked me.

Where was the glitch? I couldn't find one.

It was an emotional happy high with an undercurrent of deep sadness. Admittedly, my now ex-boyfriend had been a pretty bad boyfriend most of the time, but I loved him. We just weren't good for each other. I hadn't thought I could fall for anyone else until I met Tom.

As jealous as he'd always been, I guess my ex thought I would never fall for anyone else, either, and it hit him hard. One morning soon after meeting Tom, sound asleep after working the night shift, a banging on my door woke me up.

It was my ex. He went straight into my kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife. Before I had time to be scared, he marched across the living room to a small Norfolk pine he had given me. Jerking it out of its planter, scattering dirt all over the carpet, he lifted the knife and began hacking away at the trunk, telling me the tree was a symbol of our love.

(To his credit, a few months later he called and apologized for how badly he had treated me and wished me well. I had already forgiven him. We were just kids, after all.)

Two short weeks after that first dance, Tom and I spent a perfect day at the Renaissance Festival outside of Houston with my parents, my brother, his girlfriend, and Tom's best friend. That evening, it happened:

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

Wait! What? Was I crazy?

"But don't tell anyone," I added. "Ask me again in a couple of months, and do it right, with a ring, even if it's a Cracker Jacks ring."

Two weeks was just too soon. I had to find out what was wrong with him. There had to be something – he was just too good to be true. Two months should be plenty of time.

But he called all of his brothers and friends, anyway and told them, "I'm getting married!"

They couldn't believe it. At his older brother's wedding just two months before we met, everyone had teased him he'd be next in line.

"No way! I'm too young. I'm not getting married until I'm thirty-five."

The two months later I had ordered landed on Thanksgiving Day. We celebrated at my parents' house, after I had worked all night and only squeezed in a couple of hours of sleep.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room when he dumped a dozen boxes of Cracker Jacks on my lap and told me to start looking for a ring.

"What? You're nuts. They don't put rings in Cracker Jacks boxes anymore."

"Okay, you open these two and I'll open these," he said, somehow still smiling at me, despite my crankiness.

Grumbling, I opened the first box and dug out the prize envelope. I felt it before I opened it… a ring!

My mouth dropped open. "Is it real?" But I knew it was. "How did you do that?"

I might have been a little foggy from lack of sleep, but I swear the box and envelope had both been sealed.

He took the ring from me, then offered it back. "Will you marry me?"

Of course I said yes – again. The rest is history.

Aren't we cute? I first posted this in 2008, but the story remains the same, and will always be one of my favorites.

"I knew the second I met you that there was something about you I needed. Turns out it wasn't something about you at all. It was just you."

~ Jamie McGuire
Can you hear it?

September 18, 2014

Our grandfather clock is chiming midnight. Rain pours – no, roars – outside my window, just the kind of rain we need. A blessed sound, for sure. Every once in awhile I catch a flash of lightning in the distance.

I've just finished a few things for work … or at least all I can do at the moment. Before I can climb into bed, I still need to pay a few bills. And then I need to pack for my annual girls' weekend in Port Aransas. If it takes me all night, that's okay. I'm not driving tomorrow.

I'm looking forward to it more than usual, if that's possible. It's been a long day.

I drove miles and miles and miles through communities surrounding Austin today with a young man, trying to find just the right house for his family who is moving here from Illinois. After the initial wariness ("Is he a murderer?") it's one of the things I most love about real estate – meeting people. Getting a chance to hear their stories.

The good news is we found a house for him, his wife, and two young sons. That's always such a great feeling. As a bonus, I learned a lot about some neighborhoods I was merely acquainted with before today.

It's been a good week, starting with a closing on Monday followed by a phone call telling me I had won a $500 Academy gift card!

But it's also been a week of late nights and early mornings. I'm tired. Really, really tired.

I can't wait to lie on the beach for a couple of days, listening to its music…the waves and the wind and the gulls… and soaking up some sunshine.

But if the forecasted rain falls, I'll be happy to lie in bed, instead, catching up on my sleep, and then sit on the balcony, watching the rain.

Either way, it will be great to have a change of scenery and a change of pace.

I hope all of you have a great weekend, filled with whatever it is you need!

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),
It’s always our self we find in the sea.
~e.e. cummings
Moving forward, but not forgetting…

September 11, 2014

Lord, take me where you want me to go;
Let me meet who you want me to meet;
Tell me what you want me to say; and
Keep me out of your way.

– Fr. Mychal Judge, FDNY (died 9/11/01)

Every year in late September, early October, I head to the coast with a group of friends for some beach therapy. Our annual adventure is coming up soon, in fact. We've gone every year since 1999 – except one.

That September of 2001 we were counting down the days until we could wave goodbye to our families, ready for some alone time…. a few days not having to do anything for anyone but ourselves.

But on the afternoon of the 11th, we changed our minds. We no longer wanted to wave goodbye to our families – we wanted to wrap them around us, so close and tight we could feel their breath and smell their familiar sweetness.

It wasn't a decision driven by fear. We knew the odds of some terrorist targeting our little Texas Hill Country town, or the little fishing town on the Gulf where we sought some peace and quiet, were slim to none.

But as that day progressed, we were reminded not to take our loved ones or the time we have with them for granted. Not to let a day go by without making sure they knew they were our whole world. Not to forget that every morning we may be opening our eyes to our very last day on this earth.

So that autumn we soaked up our families instead of the sunshine. We stayed close to home, pondered the changes in our country and our world. We prayed for peace.

But the next year we packed our swimsuits, sunscreen, magazines, Bloody Mary mix, and vodka, and headed for the beach. We've done so ever since. We continued our lives, relished our freedom, refusing to let fear mold our lives, for that would allow the terrorists to win.

But we haven't forgotten the lessons we learned on September 11, 2001 and the days that followed, about the things that truly matter and the steel-strength of this nation. We haven't forgotten how we overcame our differences, although some days (especially around election time) it's hard to believe. We haven't forgotten those ordinary citizens who were called to be heroes – and accepted the call.

We haven't forgotten that by going about our lives, speaking our minds and sticking up for one another, we are fighting a war – and winning.

"This day and every day. Tear us down and we WILL rebuild. Knock us down and we WILL arise. We are people of diverse faith, ideologies, and color. We may be distracted or divided by internal matters, such as politics, but we are America and we will remain."

~Johnny "Happy" Valentine, veteran and teacher

(A repost from 2012)
Surprises…

September 8, 2014

“God put us here, on this carnival ride.

We close our eyes never knowing where it'll take us next.”

~Carrie Underwood

There are good surprises, and there are bad surprises.

Years ago I met a woman who impressed me with her beauty and bubbly personality. I didn't know her well, and haven't seen her in years, but back then we shared a lot of laughs at monthly PTA bunco games (not as innocent as they sound!)

Today I attended her memorial service. She was barely in her 40's. Learning of her death earlier this week was a bad surprise.

I spotted many friends at the service who I haven't seen or spoken to in years…not since our kids grew up. We all agreed we need to get together, under better circumstances.

I hope we do.

Yesterday I drove to a small town near San Antonio to help surprise my dear friend Nancy for her 50th birthday. I liked being part of a good surprise.

Nancy was my first friend in Lago Vista, then later agreed to be my Confirmation sponsor when I finally decided to convert to Catholicism after years of attending Mass with Tom and the kids, and months of discussing it with our priest.

Within a few years she had to move away from Lago, but we've somehow held onto our friendship, despite the distance (and age difference!)

Happy birthday tomorrow, Nancy!

"May your September be spacious like a long, slow bloom…"

I've been reading Jennifer Richardson's beautiful, evocative, inspirational prose and photographs on her blog Ripplespeak for a few years now, so when she announced she was giving away a copy of her monthly zine, I crossed my fingers and tossed my comment into the bag.

What a great surprise to hear I'd won! She sent two copies – one for me and one for my mom.

Her words are like sunshine and fresh air, and I know I'll keep her zine close by to read often. You can get your own at her Etsy shop, Ripplesongs.

Another one of my favorite writers is Wolf Pascoe, author of the blog, Just Add Father. We met in person when he came to Austin for a blog conference a few years ago.

Wolf is actually a pseudonym. Besides being a gifted writer, he's an anesthesiologist. He wrote about it in an e-book "Breathing for Two" last year. I immediately bought it, of course, but months turned into a year while it sat unread on my computer. (Who has time to read for pleasure when they're starting a business?)

So I finally broke down and bought the audio book last week. Wolf himself read it to me while I worked out and drove around Austin. (Why didn't I do this before?)

Here's my review on Amazon…

"In "Breathing for Two", Wolf Pascoe does a wonderful job weaving his story through the dry medical stuff, making even the history of anesthesiology come alive for the reader. He compels us to care about his patients and root for him when things go wrong. And he's very honest and upfront about his mistakes. I felt I was standing right beside him in anatomy class, and then later, as he watched over his patients. He relates the lessons he has learned in his decades as an anesthesiologist in such a way that they can be applied to everyone and to all areas of life. This is a book I could read over and over again, because I feel each time I'll get something new from it. I recommend the audio version – Wolf is a wonderful reader."

In short, go buy this book!

I wasn't surprised I loved the book, but I never thought I would like audio books, so that was a great surprise. I have two other e-books written by friends getting dusty on my computer. I'm going to see if there are audio versions for those, as well!

A week ago, Tom and I were discussing making that decision about Max. This morning, he made it to the top of the walkway before I did, and while we didn't go on a long walk, he did prance around and play with Belle.

I believe in miracles. They are the best surprises, aren't they?

"I wish you hopeful eyes, fresh wings, and a second wind in the living."

~ Jennifer Richardson
A Rollercoaster Ride with Max

September 2, 2014

Two days ago I knelt beside Max and whispered in his ear that it was okay if he just let go. I told him he had trained Belle well, and she would take awesome care of us, and if Charly was close by, asking him to come play, that it was okay. Go play with Charly.

That's how weak he was, lying there on my laundry room floor. He hadn't eaten in a couple of days again.

We thought we'd discovered the secret: vienna sausages and potted meat. In his last weak spell, we'd tried everything, trying to get him to eat, and he had gobbled these right up.

But I guess even dogs can get too many vienna sausages. He was turning his nose up at them, and everything else we offered, including real beef Ballpark weiners.

However, the next morning, instead of huddling in the dark of his huge doghouse, he was up on the hill in the woods in front of our house, taking care of business (which is always a good sign) and he's subsequently spent the last two days lounging on the front porch, seemingly loving the warm breeze and the sound of birds gossiping at the nearby feeder.

It was Tom who suggested giving him some of Belle's dry food. Max has been eating expensive Science Diet food targeted at joint issues all of his life, while we give Belle a cheap-in-comparison Purina dry food targeting weight issues.

We tried it… and Max loves it. (At least, for now. I'm worried he'll get sick of it, too, and then what will we do?)

For now, we're taking it a day at a time, watching him for signs of distress. So far, there have been none. If we see them, we'll know what to do.

But I'm earnestly praying it's taken out of our hands, that when the time comes… before there's any pain or distress… this sweet old boy of ours closes his eyes and drifts off to some woods very similar to ours to go exploring with his Charly dog.

Maybe Frankie, the guinea hen, will tag along, too, like he used to. I like to think so.

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.

~Agnes Sligh Turnbull
This time last year…

August 26, 2014

About this time last year, I was on a walk of faith. I began a new career.

It coincided with dramatic and tragic turns in my parents' lives. The changes that have taken place in all of our lives since July 2013 are mindboggling when I think about them too long.

Despite his illness and circumstances, Daddy wanted to hear all about my real estate school. I'm so grateful I made that leap so I could call and report on the passing of each and every class, and finally, the state exam.

I always hoped my daddy would see me graduate from college or publish a book before he died, because I wanted to make him proud.

Oh, I know my daddy was proud of me, just the way I was, because that's the kind of daddy he was. But I still wanted to do it for him. I felt I owed it to him for dropping out of college all those years ago.

When I told him I passed the state Realtor exam, I could hear the pride in his voice, but also confidence that I would do well. That confidence he projected on me – a belief in me – has carried me through this past year.

I've not only faced the challenge of starting my own business, but also the responsibilty of helping my mom get through her own challenges. It helps that she's closer to me; those exhausting, frequent long drives to and from Houston are behind me.

I didn't kick ass and take names in real estate this year, but I did meet a lot of fantastic people, made new friends, felt myself stretching and growing in ways I haven't for years… plus managed to help quite a few people find new homes, which was the ultimate goal anyway.

Well, that and make some money so that my hardworking, long-suffering husband can dare to dream about retiring…one day.

My writing and photography (and yes, blogging) have been forced back on to a shelf to gather dust for awhile, but I have managed to be there for my mom, and for the most part, my kids, friends, other family, and church.

I appreciate those of you who still come around for my infrequent posts, and forgive me when I don't make the rounds for a week or two to your blogs. I had been warned that real estate was a 24/7 job, but I didn't realize that meant the to-do's really never ended, even if you stop taking calls at 7pm.

I've gotten used to dreaming about real estate.

The perks? Quite often free food and drinks (we have to network!)… and every once in awhile, ping-pong. Great stress relief.

And I know Daddy is smiling – he taught me how to play.

It's a strange mix of heaven and hell. But I like it. Happy anniversary to me!

I can't wait to see what the next year brings…

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.

Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it."

~ W.H. Murray
They’ve landed! (…and other sweet!s)

August 18, 2014

For the past week or so I've been living vicariously through a couple of my kids. Again.

My son and his wife have now experienced the beauty, beer, food, art, sights and sounds of Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Amsterdam. And through the wonders of technology, I've been able to tag along through their photos and words, posted on Instagram and Facebook.

Having your kids visit the places of your dreams is the next best thing to seeing them yourself.

They're safe and sound, back in Austin now, although I haven't spoken to them to know that. I learned it while snooping in mom-fashion for updates on their Facebook pages tonight.

I am so very grateful for Facebook and all of the hours of worrying it has saved me.

Besides Facebook and kids arriving home, safe and sound, I've had a pretty sweet-filled week. Here are a few more….

Monday: adolescent cardinal triplets playing "King of the Mountain" on the birdfeeder; much needed rain on your hollow; staying up late, laughing over old clips of Robin Williams with your son

Tuesday: your client closing on her new home; sharing a private dinner at Franklin Barbecue with your son, courtesy of Google; watching the Austin Bomb Squad in action (and surviving!)

Wednesday: making the final payment on your car; reflecting on, and celebrating, the past 32 years with the love of your life

Thursday: watching your old puppy eat, without having to coax him or feed him by hand; dinner at Eddie V's with dear friends you haven't seen in a while

Friday: sitting outside on a clear night, listening to live music with friends; a glimpse of the baby fox living in your hollow

Saturday: receiving an offer on one of your listings and writing an offer for one of your buyers; watching "Sons of Katie Elder" with your mom, then later another movie with your son

Sunday: a taste of biscuits and gravy, thanks to a friend who doesn't mind sharing; helping old homes have a chance at new life; inspiration from the Garden of Eatin'

If you think hard enough, I bet you can think of some sweet! moments from your past week. Be sure to share them in the comments!
Lucky in Love

August 13, 2014

Thirty-two years ago today, Tom and I dismissed superstition by getting married on a Friday the 13th. We were so sure of our decision, so confident of our love and our future together, that we challenged those centuries-old superstitions to a duel.

Well, of course they just turned tail and ran, because they could see for themselves what we already knew – Tom and I were meant to be together. Love trumps superstition any day.

But being meant for each other doesn't mean you can just join hands and skip into the future through a field of daisies. It's more like joining hands and jumping off a ledge together into the unknown. You have no idea what's ahead of you but you decide to take that leap together, trusting the other one to be there with you whatever happens.

It doesn't mean you're always going to like each other, much less see eye-to-eye on everything. All it means is you have someone to share your joys and your sorrows, someone that is going to love you at your worst, physically and mentally, someone that believes in you and wants the best for you, and who, with one look, can ignite a warm tingly feeling inside of you that sets your heart to beating fast and makes you smile for no apparent reason.

And you can see without being told that you have the same affect on them.

But how did we know this was IT? Now that our own kids are reaching the age we were when we got married, how do we explain it to them when they ask us how they'll know when they've found "the One"?

I've scrambled around for the words, but I realize I can't tell them how they'll know. That's something between them, God and their hearts. All I can do is pray that they'll know.

And I can repeat the Story of Us, how after just a week of seeing Tom I got a feeling inside that this relationship was more than just the two of us having fun.

For me, it was a scary feeling, not a warm bubbly one. What was going on? I knew Tom was going to ask me to marry him, and I knew I would say yes, and that scared the hell out of me.

But once I said yes, I shooed all those tiny doubts out of my mind. They served no purpose except to block the giving and receiving going on between us. And that's why I was so sure of us that I was able to turn Friday the 13th into a day to look forward to, rather than fear. From that point forward, it has been our lucky day.

You can have many loves in your life, but there are some loves that lift you up above yourself, that make you believe in yourself and want to be a better person. The best person possible. For a marriage to work, both of you have to feel that way. It could happen when you're a teenager, but it might not happen until you're in your fifties.

But whenever it happens, both of you have to treasure that feeling, not take it for granted. Don't just show the best part of yourself to the world, and the worst to this person because you know they love you anyway. They deserve the best of you, not the worst, because they love you.

I admit that hasn't always happened with me and Tom; I'm glad we're both stubborn enough to have held on to each other over the years despite ourselves.

So I think what I would tell my kids is this: Concentrate on living your life, on being the best possible "you" you can be, on searching for and following the path that has been laid before you.

But keep your eyes and heart open, because when you least expect it, you'll realize someone else's path has connected with your own, blending with it. If they make you better than you were before, or maybe just more "you" than you were before, chances are that's the One.

At least, that's how it happened to me. But then, I got lucky.

Happy 32nd Anniversary, Tom!

I'm so glad that when you crossed my path, I had my eyes and my heart open.

I love you!

(This is a slightly edited re-post from another anniversary a few years ago, if it sounds familiar, but it's all still true!)
In Homage to Robin and El Capitan

August 12, 2014

I was 19, living alone in my first apartment, relishing the solitude and the freedom of having my own space. Many nights I sat on a second-hand loveseat watching my very own television, bought via the Sears Easy Payment Plan.

Thanks to my sister, who worked in the Sears credit department, I was building my credit, $13 at a time, each and every month.

"Mork and Mindy" was one of my favorite shows. That's how long Robin Williams has been making me laugh. So hearing that he gave in to his demons today brought me great sadness.

Years and years and years ago, I almost gave into those same demons who steal the reality of hope away. Afterward, I could see what a selfish act suicide truly is.

When you're eighteen, it's sometimes tough to believe things can get better. When you're 63, you've already survived so much, you should know better.

However, lest I start becoming too judgemental, I remember "There, but for the grace of God…" I remember to be grateful for the chance to see it that way. Grateful for a second chance to live and love life.

But dang it. Robin Williams.

My kids know him through Mrs. Doubtfire and Disney cartoons and Hook. He's been making them laugh their entire lives. At 63, he still had so much living and giving yet to do.

With a heart already missing the craziness of Robin Williams in this world, I also learned this evening that a treasure of my childhood may be destroyed.

The old Capitan Theater, built in 1949, has been languishing for years, waiting for an investor to restore it to its previous glory. I remember elegant velvet loveseats, carpeted stairways, ornate murals and decorations.

I can still see a young Elvis Presley dancing on the screen … can still hear him singing "Viva Las Vegas" straight to the five-year-old me.

But peeking through the glass front doors in recent years revealed years of neglect. It once sat in the center of town, close to the newspaper office and the post office and City Hall, but now gathers dust on the outskirts of a town that continually boards up building in favor of bigger, better, and newer, rather than trying to preserve its history. The ornate old post office was left behind years ago.

And yet I still held on to hope that someone would come along and fix up the old theater. Instead, according to a story in the local newspaper, it's been sold to a chemical company and expected to be destroyed.

However, despite what Robin Williams obviously felt in his last minutes or hours, because of my own experience I believe there's always hope as long as there's breath. It's too late for Robin, but I'm holding out hope for El Capitan.

Holding out hope that the city realizes its history is a treasure and starts to treat it as such.

But may you rest in peace, Robin. Thank you for decades of belly-aching laughter and heart-aching movies.

Perhaps you were just afraid you'd become a dusty relic, and decided to make your exit while the neon lights still shone.
Sisters (and other sweet!s)

August 11, 2014

It would have been intimidating growing up with such a beautiful big sister if she had been the type to criticize or belittle.

But I was blessed with Brenda.

Sure, she liked to tease me sometimes, and even lost her temper with me once or twice, but given that I was a brat for at least the first ten years of my life…okay, twenty… the way she treated me could qualify her for sainthood.

How many teenage girls let their baby sisters tag along on dates? (Did I mention I was a brat?) How many volunteer to go on school field trips? How many take their little sisters and her friends to the beach, or Astroworld, or on crazy fast spins through the neighborhood in their Volkwagon Bugs? (Don't tell anyone about that one!)

How many buy their family a green artificial Christmas tree and new ornaments to hang on it without being asked because their little sister ended up in the emergency room the year before with asthma triggered by a real tree?

When their parents are overwhelmed with worry and care over their recently paralyzed son, how many big sisters go overboard with gifts for their baby sister to make sure she still has a Merry Christmas?

When their nineteen-year-old sister finishes a stupidly scary book (Amityville Horror!), how many big sisters not only allow her to spend the night, but agree to sleep in the same room with her, as well, despite her husband's grumbling?

Yes, growing up with a big sister who is your best friend is one of the sweetest sweet!s ever. And since today is her birthday, I hope the coming year is jam-packed and overflowing with sweetness for her, because she has given everyone around her so much sweetness all of her life.

And here are a few more sweet!s from the past two weeks (how did I get so far behind?)…

Friday: lunch with a dear long-time friend, and then surprising your mom with a visit from her

Saturday: sleeping in, when you're exhausted; a visit with your mom and son and grandpuppy, all at the same time

Sunday: Garden of Eatin' inspiration

Monday: your old puppy waiting for you on the porch, stronger and eager for a morning walk; the miracle of arriving on time when you've left late and hit lots of traffic; finding just the right place for two of your clients after a long search

Tuesday: watching your old puppy swim again; a friend reminding you to stay positive; seeing your coach on television during her mission trip to help the children on the border; exploring east Austin with your son, including free food and drinks, courtesy of Google; learning how to be a DJ

Wednesday: singing along to the Cowboy and the Princess with your mom; making it to your belly-dancing class after missing two weeks; the neighbor to your lot listing helping you hammer your sign back in when some other useless being has pulled it up and tossed it onto your lot

Thursday: your old puppy's appetite returning, slowly but surely; a friend taking the time to teach your mom how to create newborn knitted caps

Friday: an offer on one of your residential listings and a call on one of your lot listings; issues with Russia calming down as your son and daughter-in-law prepare to leave for a vacation in Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Amsterdam

Saturday: negotiations; two more calls on your listings; getting together with long-time friends you've known since high school or beyond

Sunday: catching a young fox in your headlights; Facebook, so you can enjoy photos of your son's trip to Russia

Monday: saving a wolf spider; a closing for one of your buyers!; just the inspiration you need waiting for you in your mailbox, thanks to a dear friend

Tuesday: hiking around two Texas Hill Country acres with a client; Chinese food with friends and great fortune-cookie fortunes

Wednesday: meeting Leon at HEB who give you a free car wash because your car really needs it; finally getting the hang of some of your belly-dancing moves

Thursday: joining forces with other parishioners to make your church Oktoberfest a success

Friday: learning more about the Circuit of the Americas racetrack at a local Chamber of Commerce meeting; getting a tour of the wedding venue that happens to be your neighbor

Saturday: getting to drive your own car after two days, thanks to your husband fixing your flat tire (yes, another one!); a gorgeous sunset and then moonrise over your hollow

Sunday: being able to wish your sister a happy birthday, and let her know how grateful you are for her

An older sister is a friend and defender – a listener, conspirator, a counsellor and a sharer of delights. And sorrows too.

~Pam Brown

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