I'm thinkin' a lot about my sister these days.
I mean, I think about her a lot normally. See, (And this is completely unrelated to the point I may or not be on my way to making, because maybe I just feel like talking right now and being here seems like a good excuse to do just that. It's my blog, after all, and I never, anywhere on my blog, have promised than I seriously plan on ever making any kind of point about anything whatsoever, now have I?) (I'm just sayin'.) we've got this weird culinary bond that makes us both cook the same things on the same days, even though we live seven hundred sumpm miles apart, so usually when I'm cooking, I wonder, "What's Jackie cookin' today?" Twice in the past month, I've mentioned what I'm making on Facebook and she's posted, "I AM TOO!" And if I could go back and compile the volume of our emails and our Facebook chats from the past 5 or 6 years, I bet I could make it into a cookbook. Seriously. We talk food and recipes alla time.
It's in our blood, too, because when I talk to my Mom? We always ask each other what we're cooking and what we're eating. Y'all know I live in my kitchen, pretty much. And I've been talking to my Mom quite a bit lately because she just had that back surgery so I have to check in on her two mebbe three times a day because my Mom? Does not sit still. Ever. And she needs to be sitting still. So from time to time, I call her up and yell at her. And she yells back at me, because that's just what we do. And anyway the past about eight times I've talked to Mom on the phone, she's asked me (after we've been over what we've both cooked or eaten since we last chatted), "What is all that NOISE?" and I say, "I'm emptying the dishwasher." And she says, "Megan Carol Ferree, you are ALWAYS emptying your dishwasher!" and I say, "You are NOT KIDDIN', sister." I swear I think I empty my dishwasher six times a day.
Who in de hayull is putting all that stuff in dere?
And now I completely forgot where I was going with this and I was going to talk about my sister and now we're talking about my Mom.
(Just seemed like I ought to bring him in on this, as well.)
(Gang's all here!)
Okay seriously. What was I doing?
Oh yeah. Well I didn't really need to say anything about Dad above because now I'm gonna say this:
When my sister and I were little girls. And medium-sized girls! We listened to a lot of music. My dad LOVES music , and my Mom does too but she was never much into technology so she only listened to it in the car, but my Dad ALWAYS had music playing loudly in our house. And my sister and I would sing and dance and play the banjo on the old black metal popcorn popper we kept by the fireplace, and we'd giggle and laugh and act crazy and just have fun together. We listened to blue grass and clogged, we made up dances to Dobie Gray and John Denver, Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, the GREASE soundtrack, the Annie Original Broadway score, Olivia Newton John, Sonny and Cher, Simon and Garfunkel... I could go on and on. We got exposed to all kinds of great music, and we loved it all. Those times dancing and singing with Jackie are some of my happiest childhood memories.
We were just happy and carefree little girls then. Good, good times.
Dad and Mom both loved the Smothers Brothers back then, and by default (and because they were truly hilarious to us) Jackie and I loved them too. We'd put one of Dad's old vinyl records of the Smothers Brothers on and lie on the floor with our heads together and listen just HOWL at them, until we had tears in our eyes and we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe.
And right now? Do you know what I'd give to be able grab my sister out of where she is right now and take us both back, for a few minutes, maybe an afternoon, and just let us be those two carefree little girls, twirling and singing and playing that popcorn popper for all we're worth and laughing our heads off to the Smothers Brothers? Nothing to worry about, no responsibilities, no sick kids, no hubbies, (And do I even have to say that I love our kids and our husbands and I'm not talking about pulling a Thelma and Louise deal here, just about havin' a momentary escape?) no hospitals or chemotherapy or computers or phones. Just the simplicity and blissful naivete of being about 6 and 9 years old, hearing pots and pans clanking and smelling Mom's cooking from the kitchen, seein' our Dad with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, him playing along with us on his air guitar, and us just easy and free.
Well. I'd give a lot, is what I'd give. A seriously, really, rilly lot.