Independence Day

Yes, I know it's Monday, but last Wednesday was almost the most fun 4th of July I've ever had. Peggy invited us out to the lake, and Steve, Bill, Kari, Erik and I all went. Nancy was there with her family, as well. What I remember most wasn't the beautiful two hour boat ride with 9 teenagers (and Bill), or cooking in the kitchen with my 3 sisters (Mary came over from her lake), or the jello flinging contest after dinner (the boys couldn't catch the jello from the 20 feet distance, but were really accurate from 5 feet and closer), but it came the next day, Thursday, when I met my 3 sisters at Billy's Corner Bar in Vergas. Bill kept saying, "You can tell you're related." At first we all laughed, then I started smiling, liking how that sounded. It's very important for me to feel a part of a community, to feel included, to feel accepted. Sometimes I don't feel that way, but I imagine that's more about me than about anyone or anything else. After lunch we walked to the Quiet Cricket, and they all bought me a bracelet for my birthday, then Nancy bought me a blue candleholder because everyone else had one. I bought a vase just like Peggy had, and Mary and I bought matching earrings.

As I sat in the car waiting for them to come back with their kuchens from the grocery store, I got tears in my eyes. I thought about going back home, wearing my earrings, knowing my sister Mary had hers, too. I thought about my beautiful vase, and how Peggy has the same one sitting on her counter. I thought of all of us lighting our candles and looking at the cut-out fish on the candleholder, and I felt like I was part of a beautiful group - it's private, it's exclusive, it's my sisters, and I'm one of them. I can't say why or how I felt that way, but it felt really good, and I still smile when I think about it. It's one thing for me to have my most fabulous best friends: Missy Pooh, Mags, Vicks, Carol, Donna, Chitra, Julia and Marie, to name a few, and they ARE family, but there's something about blood - it goes ALL the way back. My sisters have known me my whole life, when I wasn't a psychic and writer, when I was just a little kid who dressed kind of dopey and tattled a lot. They're not especially impressed with my accomplishments because they remember me stumbling in the backyard, trying to make a basket. They remember me typing the "Ekberg Tribune," my weekly newspaper in which I disclosed family goings-on. And our history is precious, and binding, no matter our differences. And I love my sisters, I love them a lot. And I know they love me. And that feels really great.