The Sisters Communion

“Carol doesn’t go to bed until 4 AM.  Shirley gets up at 4 AM.  Lucy prowls around half the night.  Verla and I are the only ones who are normal,” I blab to my sister-in-law.

She looks me straight in the face and says, “You’re not normal.”

I was referring to “sleep patterns”; nothing more, nothing less.  Let's not get technical here.

It’s quite a thing for five sisters to fuse for five days.  Sisters who have reared families and have grandchildren, some with great grandchildren; no two of which has ever lived in the same town since marriage.  Seventeen-year age span.  

Jeanette, Verla, Carol, (front) Shirley, Jerry, Lucy

We gathered at the home DeRay and I own in SunRiver St. George, where our brother, Jerry, and his wife, Lana Gale, also own a home.

From the onset Lucy complained: about the car lights in her room keeping her awake at night; about the rug that I must keep straightened out or she would trip over it; about what she could and couldn’t eat; about the heat and the cold.  When it was my turn to fix dinner, I was putting the finishing touches on Rachael Ray’s Shepherd’s Pie, upset because I had left the chives from our garden at home.  I was sprinkling paprika when she burst out:  “Is that salt?”  “NO!, “ I shout, “QUIT PICKING ON ME.” 

At my age?  In front of ALL my sisters and my niece.  The only one to lose control.  What is wrong with me?

I’m the middle sister.  There’s a five-to-ten-year span between me and my closest sister.  Our mean age is 75—exactly my age—TOLD YA.  As a child, my sisters weren’t close enough in age for me to fight with; to be jealous of; to resent; to envy.  I had a little brother just 18-months-younger for that.  Because of my strategic position, I’ve shared experiences with each one; probably more than any of the others.  The same with my brothers who surround me age-wise.

Forgiveness is divine.

Shirley brought memory questions that engrossed us.  Jerry dropped by each evening to share memories with us.  Everyone was enthralled with his storytelling.  Jerry, the brother just 18-months younger who from age one was bigger and taller than me, never having the courtesy to stay smaller and dumber, in our later years has been my favorite hiking buddy--patient, true, and kind. 

Jeanette and Jerry

Did I mention that forgiveness is divine?

One early morning to beat the heat, Jerry took us to Black Mountain to see the Petroglyphs. 

Lucy, Verla, Shirley, Carol, Jerry, Amy Jayne.  Mt. Trumbull in background.

 

 

Amy Jayne

 

Verla basking in the life-giving light.

Our mascot, our friend, during all of our "herd" years.  We had to see a horny toad today.

 Lucy walks with two canes.  Jerry didn’t think she’d be able to go on all the trails but she would not be left behind.  At the shady picnic table, we enjoyed a brunch of boiled eggs, Amy Jayne’s famous bread sticks, cheese, crackers, grapes, oranges, grapefruit  with a glorious view of Mt. Trumbull where Daddy spent several winters herding his sheep on the Arizona Strip.

Brunch looking out over Mt. Trumbull, Arizona

 We made molasses and honey popcorn balls just like Mama used to make.

Verla, even though the youngest ever sagacious, was our driver and mediator, our slave, and our voice of reason.  I don’t know if she does or does not; but she behaves as though she has energy.

Jerry’s wife, Lana, came over with him one evening, and gave each of us a pendant she had made.  She loves lapidary and has so many beautiful polished rocks.  She says Jerry first got her interested in rocks.  He has gathered rocks since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.

Amy J., Shirley, Verla, Lucy, Carol in front of St. George Tabernacle after patriotic program on Sunday evening.

  Carol and Amy Jayne, with a little help from everyone except me, put a 1000 piece puzzle together of the Fifties. 

The beginning.

The end.

 That stirred memories for everyone.  I’m not telling who won the Trivia Game.  Obviously, not my team.  Verla wanted the three younger ones to stand the three older ones.  That definitely wasn’t fair so I protested.  We drew for teams.  Poor Verla got stuck with two of us older ones and lost the game.

Our sleeping arrangements were rather unique.  Out of respect, we gave Shirley one room; Lucy another.  Other years, Carol and Verla have chosen to sleep on the hide-a-bed in the living room because they like to watch TV late.  We have no TV reception this year so I don’t know what their excuse is.  Habit, I guess.  Amy Jayne could have slept with her mother but then probably neither of them would have slept well so I took our double-high queen size air mattress down and put it in my room.  That way, she could go to bed as early as she wanted and it would be quiet and dark.  We were all in queen-sized beds.  She could have slept with me or Carol or Verla could have.

Traditionally, even with my sisters there, I do yoga when I first get up.   So the first morning, Verla comes in my room and we’re chatting about routine and I say very quietly to her that I can’t even do yoga with Amy Jayne sleeping in my room.  “Although, you know what,” I continue, “I think we need to take a vacation even from our exercises once in a while.”  Amy Jayne is clear in the kitchen.  When I go in there, she says, “I’m sorry I’m in your room so you can’t do yoga.”  Holy Cow.  I’m used to everyone being differing degrees of deaf.  “Oh, Amy, what big ears you have.  It’s OK.  I’m glad I can’t do it.  I need a rest from Yoga.”  We laughed.  That became my favorite story to retell. 

Carol & Verla walking the labyrinth in Kayenta

Cheers for the ones who made it.

Somebody had to do it

Sure, sitting in the shade.

 My daughter, Amy, finally through teaching school her first year, called to say she and Ed were coming down so I didn’t go home with my sisters.

The day they left, no one did the dishes in all day.  No one cooked me delicious chicken or barbequed hamburgers or made chiliburgers or Oriental salads.  No one picked up my dishes and washed them before I even got up from the table.  I didn’t realize how marvelous community was until my community left.  I only had to cook one meal in five days.  The rest of the time, scrumptious food was served to me.  All my sisters and niece are exceptional cooks.

   Amy Jayne made two apple pies, prune cakes, chocolate chip cookies, besides the French Bread and bread sticks.  Verla brought her famous treat mix; Carol brought lemon cookies and professional cheese crackers (her daughter Melissa’s contribution).  Can you imagine?  It was heaven.

We did.  Amy, Eddy, and I pretty much survived on the leftovers for the next five days and we even brought some desserts home.

I loved my time with my kids too.

Amy and I hiked along the Virgin River into the inspiring infinite desert each morning at 6.  We did yoga together.  During the extreme heat of the afternoon, we watched a movie.  In the evening, we swam in the outdoor pool, soaked in the Jacuzzi, and read on the deck while Eddy did the machines in the weight room.  It felt good to exercise, eat less, relax. We hemmed four pairs of pants for Amy with iron on tape.  In her spare time, Amy worked on history power points for school next year. Even though I don’t like to shop, Amy makes shopping fun and I bought shoes I don’t need that I love and wonder how I got along without; and we picked up things for the grandkids’ upcoming birthdays.  We bought triking pants for Ed and Dad something for Father’s Day. 

Amy wanted to stay until Monday or Tuesday but I was afraid Ed would have a meltdown if we didn’t get home for church.  I thought we should get home to honor DeRay on Father’s Day; we’ve got an appointment with the radiation doctor tomorrow for him. 

It’s been 65 long years since I’ve seen my own father--The Father of the Five Sisters who Communed for Five Incredible Days.