Well written words were most happy rolling off my mother's tongue. I am comforted by the memory of her voice offering tasty words wrapped in the musicality of her voice. She was gentle with poetic words. Not compelled to rush through them, she let them pace themselves, rolling out as they were designed, or as she saw them. I savored well written poetry floating from her lips.
When I was quite young and started putting my own thoughts in the boiled-down structure of poetry, I would hand her what I had written as I crawled up on her bed. She would sit up and clear her throat, holding the paper respectfully in her lap. When she read my writing aloud I believed I was a true writer. She made it sound so beautiful, even if it wasn't. The auditory memory of her reading my words aloud compelled me to write more. Years later, when I was grown with kids of my own, I used the same method to assure them that they too, were writers. And truthfully, they are... every one of them. Beautiful, thoughtful writers, all.
Mom introduced the epic poem, The Goblin Market to us when we were teenagers. It was written in the mid 19th Century by Christina Rossetti. In my bookcase is an early edition, illustrated by Rossetti's brother, Dante Rossetti. It's a tale of humanness, of temptation and frailty, of a fall from grace and the redemptive love of a sister. The last stanza attests that sisters, Laura and Lizzie live to tell their children of the evils of the goblins' fruits, and the power of a bond between sisters.
“For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands”
 |
| Lizzie & Laura Illustration by Dante Rossetti |
It took some maturity for me to fully understand the depth of love between the sisters Lizzie and Laura. It's the love I feel for my sisters. It's the love I feel from my sisters.
Tonight, in a church Relief Society gathering, our President Lisa asked us to turn to the person beside us and tell them a favorite birthday memory. I've had five dozen birthdays with lots of great memories, and some not so great. The person next to me was my sister Ann Marie.
Eighteen months older than me, Ann Marie has always been a nurturer. Libby is fifteen months younger than I am, and since we were prone to childish mischief, Ann Marie took it upon herself to help us make better decisions than our instincts may have led us to. Don't get me wrong, the three of us were mostly inseparable. Our three matching blue Schwinn bikes rode one behind the other up and down the sidewalks of Pleasant Hills, PA. But Ann Marie was such a peacemaker that she did whatever she could to keep the rest of us calm, especially when Dad drank too much and mom was on edge. Ann Marie was timid, quiet and studious. She wore round black rimmed glasses. She let her beautiful, thick dark hair fall to the sides of her bowed head as she walked the halls of school. She had the nature of Beth, from Little Women, perfectly content to be home with her family and not have to interact with the outside world.
Tonight I faced my grown sister and reminded her of my 12th birthday.
"You pushed yourself into uncomfortable territory, just to make my birthday special." I reminded her.
"I did?" she responded.
"Remember? You saved your babysitting money... for...I don't know how long... to go down to Bob's Dist. and buy a full case of soda pop. You rode your bike to Foodland and bought chips, and some candy and some balloons and crepe paper streamers. Remember?"
"Oh yes!" she smiled. That was so fun for me!"
"You somehow contacted people in my grade, some of whom I didn't even know liked me. You gathered them quietly in the basement. I walked down to a stunning "SURPRISE!" It was the most unexpected gift, and even then, as a kid, I felt tears well up in my eyes because of the love that poured out of you when you did this for your little sister."
My old-lady-eyes grew misty as I recalled it there in the Relief Society Room at church. Ann Marie was only thirteen years old at the time. What thirteen year old do you know who would take it upon herself to go out of her comfort zone, use her hard earned money to fund a party, invite people she did not know, all for her little sister? A whole case of pop! We could not afford a single bottle unless we had gathered enough empty bottles on the side of the road to turn them in for the two cent refund. My sister purchased a full case... a full case... just for my birthday party guests.
"I remember how surprised I was, how sweet you were. That was the birthday when I got my very first vinyl record. It was a 45 rpm of "Build Me Up Buttercup" by the Archies. I can't remember which friend gave it to me, but it made me feel so...I don't know... normal? John let me play it on his hi-fi. Every time I hear that song I think of you, Ann Marie. Did I ever tell you how much your gracious gift meant to me?"
"It made me so happy, Cori! These things always make me so happy."
And it's true, Ann Marie finds her joy nurturing God's children. All of them, not just the ones in her bloodline. She is well loved because she loves well.
God blessed me with 4 sisters. We are comfortably devoted to each other. We love each other. And we like each other. Any one of us would go down into the hollow among the goblins, sacrificing our own comfort to rescue and revive... for there is no friend like a sister.
