Making a Spectacle of Sisterhood

This weekend, P decided that we should have a mini holiday so we wound up descending upon my sister for Easter, especially since it coincided (sort of) with my niece’s 11^th birthday. We had originally planned to be in Washington, D.C. over the holidays since we had one free ticket, but as P just started his temp job, between getting leave and purchasing two more tickets, it was sadly out of the question.

My brother-in-law, aka ‘Big Daddy’ as dubbed by our three year old, Lanes, was going to be away for most of the weekend. He had to fly to Tennessee for his grandmother’s 90^th birthday, so we were considered entertainment for my sister and her two girls. Or rather, they wanted Lanes. P and I were optional really.

We left on Thursday night right after P got home from work and we didn’t get to my sister’s house until 10pm. The three of us were on one bed and for much of the night I had Lanes’ left foot jammed into my spleen and her right elbow just above my eye. It was like she was playing some nocturnal version of Twister in her sleep and I was the play mat. Needless to say, I was not amused considering I was having a back ache to boot.

So when ‘Big Daddy’ flew off the next day, I announced to my sister that I was creeping into her bed so that I could get a good night’s sleep. Plus, she would have the added bonus of my company like way back in the day when we stayed up later than we should have chatting or raiding the fridge and watching ‘Falcon Crest’ or some other 80s show while our parents were in a blissfully ignorant slumber.

I was looking forward for some quality time with my sister, but in reality, what happened was that by the time we settled three unruly girls, two loads of laundry, and one vacationing P, we were too pooped to socialize. My sister went off to shower and before she returned I was in a deep sleep. It was wonderful. In a matter of minutes I went beyond dreamland, to the land of pitch black nothingness.

My forty winks came to an abrupt end when I as assailed with what felt like forty whippings. I thought a bunch of menopausal seals where slapping me silly.I was being shaken so violently, my brain was rattling, and I got really scared and disoriented. I had no idea what I was doing in Seattle, why I was in my sister’s bed, and if we were indeed going through the end of the world, as my nieces’ nanny/aunt Anna kept proclaiming.

As a reflex I flailed around and was trying to go get Lanes, P and my nieces to save them (I have a little bit of a hero complex going on—just give me a cape), when I realized I was being jostled because my sister just wanted me to stop snoring. I launched on some tirade on how I really just wanted a good night’s sleep, but when I turned towards the bedside table, I realized the lamp had fallen onto my glasses.

To my horror, my lenses were cracked in half!! They were frameless, so the two sides were literally severed apart. I panicked as I felt highly handicapped without them. After appearing shocked at the sight of my lenses, my sister quickly came up with an elaborate (cockamamie) story that she thought I was choking and she was desperately trying to save my life.

Someone needs to send her to a CPR class. I am no medic, but generally pushing a person violently enough to cause a concussion while simultaneously giving them a heart attack is not the best thing to do when someone is choking. It’s like solving one problem by causing another.

It was a Friday night, and I couldn’t bear the thought of having to go through the weekend, and then the week without my glasses if we couldn’t find a place that would produce new lenses for me within the day on a Saturday. With Lanes starting school and P running around with his new temp job the likelihood of me getting it done before the next weekend was slim to none.

Let me tell you, my sister didn’t hear the end of it. She zipped out of bed and got her computer and did some research on places anywhere in the state of Washington we could go to fix my lenses.  After another hour I was finally asleep, only to be jolted awake again by my sister’s alarm going off at 7am. She of course slept right through it.

I was annoyed to be up so early, especially since Lanes was still asleep, but I decided to make the most of it and did research of my own and got down a few numbers. I had to wait until 10am to make the calls. Time works in slow motion when you’re waiting for it to fly. I was so upset I had nachos for breakfast (any excuse), and then we finally were on the road.

My sister didn’t even dare to offer me fruit and wheat products as usual although she did give my food a sideways glance. She was further chastised by an eavesdropping Lanes, who went up to her and said ‘Aunty M, please don’t put the lamp on Mamma’s glasses ok? That’s not nice.’ She then stroked my arm and told me we can get a new pair at the supermarket.

When I went to the eyeglass repair shop, there was a really sweet older lady with a charming Southern accent who dashed to help me. She gasped when she saw what happened to my glasses and she wanted to know how in the world they came to such a state. I didn’t need much more encouragement to squeal, so I told her the entire story about how my glasses came to look like they incurred the wrath of Khan.

Naturally, this lady thought I had a younger sister. She asked me how old my sister was, and from her tone and the misty eyed look she had, I could tell she expected me to say no older than twelve, and when I said forty-two her eyes just about popped out of her head.

My sister walked in right on cue, and the lady said ‘oh so is this the one? Honey, next time, just let your sister choke ok? I’m going to call the glasses police on you’. I saw the blood drain from my sister’s face. For a fleeting moment, I think she wondered if there was such a thing as the glasses police.

Mostly though, I think it was the mortification that I had been telling this story to yet another person in the greater Washington state area. By that time I had told the story to her uncle-in-law, my parents, the lamppost, her mother-in-law, the neighbor’s dog, the postbox. Anyone. And apparently anything. Long story short, I got my lenses fixed.

I should have known better. When you don’t live near a person for twenty-four years, you tend to forget things. In hindsight, my sister has done much damage to me while sleeping over the years. When we were wee ones (or rather I was a wee one and she was a teen), I thought the lamp in our bedroom moved and I went to wake up my sister for comfort. She took a swing in her sleep and whacked me in the neck.

I had to walk with my head tilted sideways for 24 hours before it came right. No matter how my parents and my friends in school tried to straighten my neck, it wouldn’t budge. And it was painful. Then there was the time when she was visiting Sri Lanka and I ran over to see her and she was in the midst of some nightmare about being chased by a jelly doughnut and I got socked in the eye. I mean who runs from a jelly doughnut? Turn around and take a bite!!

It seems although my sister is the first person I run to whenever I’m in trouble, she is also the first person who gets me into a mess. Before I went to college I stayed with her and her husband in Boston. I was all of seventeen and they were newlyweds. They went around Beantown in a super beat up but endearing hutch back.

This was before I learnt how to drive and one day we were chugging along, enjoying the warm weather when I suddenly felt a lovely breeze. I pointed this out to them saying how refreshing it was but my brother-in-law just said ‘uh huh uh huh’ in a very suspicious way. I turned around and found the flap was wide open!

I screeched for them to stop and close the boot, because I was on the rickety bench known as the back seat and I was in immediate danger of flying out the back (I was thin back in the day). So what do they to do? Park on a hill and both of them run to the post office (after closing the flap).

A few minutes later, I realize I am rolling down the hill in the broken down hutch back because they forgot to put the hand brake up!! I swore so much I could have made a sailor blush. I jumped forward and pulled the hand brake, clinging onto it for dear life, all the while hoping it wouldn’t come loose in my hands. The young couple sauntered over, shrugged away my brush with death and proceeded onwards.

When I did finally take those driving lessons, my sister thought it would be a good idea if I drove to the test site. Although in danger of being late, she insisted I stop by the gas station on the way there. I was not amused, but complied.

There was a large RV in the way and I was driving a beat up old Honda that was wide on the side. I told her that there was no way both vehicles could fit in a small space. My parents were visiting and my father was in the back seat and he made little sniffling noise, which presumed was his way of agreeing with me.

But no, my sister insisted, and the bumper of our car touched the RV. We wasted ten minutes with the irate owner of the RV, and although nothing happened, I had to go to my driving test in a rather frazzled state. My sister said something like ‘what do you know, they both can’t fit in the same space’. I was so angry I was calm.

By some miracle, I passed the driving test with flying colors. When I drove the unsuspecting agent from the DMV to the lot, I found my sister and father standing outside, and my father extended out a box of tissues to me and began telling me it’s ok if I failed and not to cry.

The guy who gave me the test was stunned, and probably wondered why my father thought I couldn’t drive. Before he could change his mind about me passing the test, I told my father and sister off in our mother tongue, shoved them in the Honda, and ran in to give a stellar smile for my first ever driver’s license.

So I guess I better end my memoirs on life with my sister. We are now back in Canada, and she is safely tucked behind an international border. She has been advised not to read this episode of the blog. More adventures from Canada next week…