Tag: sisters

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A Tale of Two Sisters (and a Garmin)

It was the best of rides, it was the worst of rides…

A couple of weeks ago my sister Barb and I took a road trip to visit our parents in Hiawassee, Georgia. It might not seem like a big deal, two middle aged women driving almost 400 miles together, but the experience two sisters and a Garmin sharing that much time and road is very different than the same trip taken with a spouse for instance. Neither one of us are accustomed to driving for more than a couple of hours, especially on unfamiliar roads.

Barb and I on a previous adventure, hunting at Plow and Hearth.
Barb and I on a previous adventure, hunting at Plow and Hearth.

Barb and I, for the most part are very much alike. So, having two of us in any one place is like the same personality in two bodies as opposed to persons with multiple personalities, where more than one personality inhabits one body. In these cases, the personalities exist to protect each other and rarely converse with each other. Barb and I exist to engage each other, each one egging the other on. When together, we share very few quiet moments. Instead, we tease, chat, giggle and eventually begin to laugh so hard we are in danger of tears “running down our legs”. It is a well known family disorder inherited from our maternal Grandmother, one that has been both a plague and a blessing. When you combine these facts with placing faith in a Garmin to get us to our destination, nothing but hilarity can ensue.

Our trip out from Ruckersville started well. We had decided in advance to take US 29 to Greensboro and heading west on I40 instead of taking I81 as the Garmin recommended, preferring to stay on flatter terrain and to avoid the many trucks on 81. So, we were fated to endure several minutes of “recalculating” from the Garmin’s British voice as she repeatedly attempted to reroute us back onto her intended course. (I opted for a British woman’s voice thinking she sounds a bit more polite.) It was a crisp, sunny morning and since the schools were all on Spring Break, there was almost no morning traffic but the further south we headed down 29, the cloudier it became and by the time we reached Greensboro, it had begun to rain and we were ready to pull over to eat and switch drivers.

One thing I have noticed about I40 is that the services are not conveniently located right off the exits as they are on say, I81. Even though the sign may say there is a gas station at the next exit, as you proceed down the ramp you soon discover that station is at least a mile down the road and getting back on the interstate isn’t always as simple as retracing your route, especially if you listen to your Garmin.

In our case, after topping off the tank, the Garmin sent us on an alternative route to an on-ramp that was currently closed off with detour signs sending us further down the road. As I studied the tiny screen showing our location I heard Barb say, “I’m sorry, Monica” as she slammed on the brakes and we slid ever so slightly to a stop just inches in front of a ROAD CLOSED sign between us and on-coming traffic! No harm done, but a little shaken, Barb backed us up and headed in a logical direction, with my Garmin “recalculating” in its British female voice. Back on course, we continued to our destination through increasingly worsening weather which eventually turned from rain into sleet.

This combination of events might cause some travelers to become quiet and reserved but not Barb and I. As members of a large and colorful family rich with warm and comical stories, our close encounter with a potential tragedy just became something else to laugh about. Within minutes the story had been rewritten into a Saturday Night Live sketch with the two of us laughing about our near miss. I suppose our retelling of the story of the Garmin sending us into on coming traffic and the laughter helped neutralize the fear factor, keeping us at ease about the rest of the trip which, as it turned out was a good thing because during our last leg of the trip through the Nantahala National Forest was pretty foggy.

Again Barb was at the wheel. We decided to pull over for one last time in Ashville to “balance our fluids” – piddle and get some coffee. The McDonalds we stopped at was pretty much in the center of town and it was rush hour. Long story short, we got turned around and ended up taking a long back route back to the highway along railroad tracks. It was raining again and in the distance I could hear a low rumbling sound, like a train. I listened quietly and kept a watch out for wind, cautiously looking for anything that looked like a tornado. Then, as we drove further down the road, I saw the source of the sound; a brick roundhouse! I don’t think I’d ever seen one before but thanks to Thomas the Tank Engine and The Little Engine That Could, I knew what they were. It was round, it was huge and it was loud! Once I was sure we weren’t driving into a tornado, I shared my concern about the possibility of impending doom with Barb and we got a good laugh about it.

Finally, after eight or so hours on the road, we reached our destination. Over the course of the next several days, Barb and I had lots more to laugh about. Together with our parents and brother Scott and his wife, Debbie, we shared the adventures of our trip, and the joy of being together. The only thing that would have made it complete would have been if our other two brothers and sister could have been there as well.

For our trip home, we decided to take the Garmin’s advice and take I81. For the most part, it was a great drive, again it was sunny but this time very warm. We were treated by beautiful mountain vistas, with pear trees and redbuds blooming to announce the arrival of spring. Except for the Garmin loosing satellite connections through the mountains, it was an uneventful trip until we reached Blacksburg, VA where for some reason the Garmin kept insisting we turn left and then make a “U” turn on the interstate. She’d become like the “gal crying wolf” at this point and the absurdity of her requests made her the object of ridicule.

Eventually we made it back to Ruckersville. It was good to be back in familiar territory where I no longer had to listen to the polite British voice tell me which way to go. In fairness, she usually guides me to where I need to go pretty well. Maybe it was just the combination of my sister and I in the car that affected her navigational skills, or just flukes in traffic flow due to road maintenance, but for whatever reason, my Garmin certainly kept us amused and on our toes during our trip, which has now just been added to the pile of family stories.

I do want to give a shout out to Peggy at the Hiawassee Feed ‘n Seed who made me feel so special when my brother, Scott introduced me to her. (She reads my Chronicles.) It was the first time I’ve met anyone I didn’t already know who reads my blog. It was a pleasure meeting you and I hope you do give me a call when you head up here to tour Monticello!

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Snow White and Rose Red

I am the oldest of six siblings.  This fact is generally only mentioned in passing these days, and then only rarely but is such a major part of the fabric of my being.  From the moment my parents brought my sister Ann came home from the hospital when I was the ripe old age of seventeen months, I have been “the big sister”.  I have been programmed to be a helper, to look beyond myself to others and assess needs.

Since we were so close in age and I was puny and Ann a chubby thing, we were also pretty close in size.  This lack of age and size difference, compounded with the rapid additions of other brothers and a sister, allowed me to pretty much share the role with Ann.  Until our sister Barb came along years later, we were simply “the girls”, co-big sisters to our younger brothers, “the boys”, John and Scott.

Here we are in 1960 – I was 4, Ann was 3.  Did you notice the kitten squirming on my lap?

Ann and I were like Snow White and Rose Red; I had the light hair and eyes, Ann the dark brown hair and eyes.  I was shy and easily frightened, Ann was outgoing and seemed to have little fears.  We shared a bedroom for seventeen years.  She was tidy, I was a pack rat.  We spent almost every hour of every day together until I went to school.  Because of her birthday, Ann had to wait two years more at home until it was her turn to board the yellow bus.  It seemed so unfair.  Of the two of us, she was probably more ready to go to school.

My school age years ushered in a very awkward time for me.  Along with exposing me to reading, writing and arithmetic, I was exposed to a new set of bacteria and viruses.  In kindergarten I contracted the measles and spent two weeks at home on the couch.  Ann and the boys were rushed to the doctor for shots of gamma globulin.  Subsequent years offered me the full line of childhood ailments from mumps to chicken pox.  Each assisted in maintaining my bony waif-like appearance.

My next step into self consciousness was the addition of eyeglasses in first grade.  Although I could see better, I also felt limited by what kind of physical activity I could do.  I was forever afraid my glasses would fall off my face and break.  Once time they did and in those days prior to super glue, my dad repaired them with some electrical tape and a piece of coat hanger – not so attractive, but effective.

At the end of first grade, after my first holy Communion, my front teeth which were hanging my the tiniest of fibers until the photos were taken, were allowed to come out to make way for my permanent teeth.  Sadly, only one tooth came in.  It’s partner finally took its place almost four years later following a couple of surgeries and the addition of braces. This completed the look – I was a shy, skinny pale kid with glasses and braces and one front tooth.   Comparatively, Ann was the poster child for good nutrition, with beautiful glowing skin and perfect white teeth.  To me, she was the epitome of beauty.

In many ways, she still is.  Ann exudes grace.  No matter what challenges life offers, Ann is not a whiner.  In fact, when I talk to her on the phone, I can actually hear her smile.  We don’t get to talk as often as either of us would like, living on opposite coasts makes the timing tricky.   I think of her constantly, probably more now because the noises of my own life have quieted and I have more time to reflect.  Ann was my first playmate, confident and sparring partner – yes, of course we fought! But most of all, Ann is my sister and together with our other sister, Barb, we share a bond that can not be broken by years or miles.  For better or worse, we are tethered tightly together.  No spoken vows are required, just the bond that is sisterhood.