SISTERS: ON SANDI

Photo: Sweet Sandi

Kind brown eyes and shiny, dark hair like the Cherokee princess that came before us, she inherited the Native in our America. Yet, she is one of a kind. She carries joy around in her arms and eyes and shares with all she meets. She loves so deeply that her heart has been broken a thousand times for herself, a million for her sisters. But those broken pieces grow back stronger for all their wear and tear. Her heart is solid and golden. She is able to love, and love, and love again. 

Her superpower is her mighty voice box. She can read aloud until most people's tongues would drop off and she's proved it. She was genuinely thrilled by good grades and gently disappointed by bad ones.

She taught me to daydream myself to sleep. Next thing she knew, I was daydreaming night and day, so she taught me to write. "You," She insisted, "Can do anything you set your mind to." 

She taught me to look for the unusual, to accept and even appreciate the odd, to believe in more than I could see. 

She taught me joy, and cooperation, and how to stay on my own dad blammed side of the bed!

I watched her type like her fingers were on fire. They had a mind of their own. She believed that one day I could type just as well, just as fast.

She values me. She has always listened to every word that fell from my lips and rolled in her direction. She was and is my sounding board.

She taught me how to teach myself. "Want to learn ballet? Well, let's just take a trip to the library. The library is the guru at the top of the mountain. All questions can find answers there."

Her heart is as tender as a kitten, her joy is peace, and yet I know... So much war she would wage for my sake!

She is a rocking chair ride on the porch during a raging thunderstorm, and the comfort and safety of a warm quilt. She is the peace and knowledge of a good book in your hands while the snowflakes whisper all around outside my window. She is birdsong in the morning and a full moon at night. She is the sharing of more books than we could count and the sound of a box fan lulling me to sleep. She is a hot cup of coffee when you need one and the meatloaf someone slaved over, arms aching up to the elbows from the icy cold. She is the Christmas turkey you can't imagine doing without. She is the solid and steady rocks on the banks of Pound river. She is love that you can always count on.  

Photo: My Lovely Sis