Blood makes you sisters… and personality makes you different

My sisters were visiting for Thanksgiving.

My big sister “S” was here for the first time since I moved. Her first visit was ages ago, so her memory needed to be refresh with new sightseeing, lots of pictures and different places to walk through.

My twin sister “D” has been in NY with me for, at least, 4 times since I moved, so for her was more about the time spent together, enjoying her new Kindle acquisition, the cooking-bonding process and so on.

I had to work some days of the week, but I got to spent Thanksgiving holiday with them… me and my non-born-from-me child: the turkey.

We named them after me because of a joke that has been around since my first turkey… my husband’s cousin said that my turkey was the best he had ever tried (I assume because he didn’t want me to feel bad after my first try) and from then on, the turkey and me share my name…. so when my husband asks:

-          Where is “P”?

Someone will answer:

-          In the oven … or in the kitchen

My sisters are two very different persons.

“S” was known for her volatile character when we were younger, however, she outgrew the need to yell at everybody (‘the world against me’ drama) and now she has a nice patience and lack of promptness that is soothing and unnerving at the same time.

“D” is a hurricane… always doing, pushing, moving, talking… she’s not the best listener but can be great to give good advice when needed and she’s one of the most reliable persons that I know.

Both her characters are so different… our characters are sooooo different… that you wouldn’t think we’re related if you’re blindfolded hearing us talk
“S” would be soothing the conversation, avoiding conflict and trying to bury the issue… good intentions but I get exasperated sometimes when I want to yell my throat off and I can’t.

“D” is the opposite, looking for a conflict at the round of every corner… it doesn’t matter if you’re talking about the weather, she’ll probably take it personally for the poor rain that’s being criticized for wetting everything and she’ll be over you like a lion.

Me… I can’t shut up. I need to learn to be polite and choose the moments and the time to be brutally honest, and accept the fact that everybody is not always ready to hear what I have… need… to say.

Needless to say, that blood makes us sisters… we’ll always have each other, for better or for worse, with turkey or not, sunny day or raining men… but our personalities are what defines us.
Separated we're three very disturbed (or not) persons… together, we’re completely and utterly perfect!

It hit me: living far away makes people forget you

As you know, I’m from Argentina and all of my family lives there. When I say “all” of them, I want you to imagine a huge group of people, roughly 60 relatives directly connected. I’m not talking about second cousins or distant relatives; 60 blood bounded individuals who get together every weekend for barbecues and know all the family secrets that cook below the surface.

This weekend was a long holiday in Argentina, remembering the Revolution and independence… in other words, there’s always a good excuse for some little time off.

My father has this strange ability to be like a magnet to every family member in need of a Holiday place. My stepmom always has to buy groceries for 30 people, even though at first, only 12 where going; because between the moment when the decision gets made and the get-go, the phone doesn’t stop ringing and every cousin, uncle, boyfriend, husband, wife, friend wants to join the party (they’re so predictable).

I always try to call them during these oversized family reunions because with one phone call I get to talk to everybody and hear about all the family gossip that I missed because of the distance that separates us.

They climb on top of a water mill to get some signal in their cell phones, so there’s always this creepy feeling when I call, that someone is going to fall over their asses on the ground and I’m going to be held accountable. I hear the wind and how they switch hands with the phone and all the time I’m like:

Me: Are you there? (I was talking to someone but there’s another one of them in line to talk to me)
Them: it’s my turn now… Hello?
Me: Who’s this?
Them: Hi! It’s me… (No idea who that is). You’re missing so much… wait, I’m switching hand because the other one is getting cold (its winter there)…. Much better now.

And while they talk, I cannot concentrate in another thing other than the fact that they’re hanging 90 yards above the ground, on the top of a water mill!!

My father never climbs up to use his cell phone, country house for him it’s the freedom of being disconnected from the world. However, in this particular weekend, he ascended to the top and waited in line for his turn after all my siblings and cousins bombarded me with news and greetings.

It is not unknown for fathers with a brace of daughters to reel off their names in order of ease of memory when summoning the estranged one that lives abroad. I had long ago become accustomed to being: “Sofia… Dolores…Pilar… Damn it!"

This is his usual greeting for me… I got baptized with only one first name, but circumstances greeted me with the longest first name ever… can you imagine if all my big sisters where in fact brothers?

So much for self-esteem and being unique in a family nucleus… greetings from me, or her, or her.