Sisters

My sister, Cheryl, is visiting me this week from New Jersey. We are spending a lot of time with my mother, sorting through old family photos and memorabilia that my mother saved through all her moves: our baby bracelets from the hospital in Astoria, Queens, where we were born, 361 days apart; childhood photos of us, ALWAYS in matching dresses, as we wore matching dresses every single day of our lives until we finally rebelled in junior high school; our prize certificates from the "Friendship 7" summer reading club at the North Plainfield, New Jersey, public library, where, according to our certificates, we each read 100 books "of literary merit"; all of our elementary school report cards; two little matching cardboard boxes, one labeled CLAUDIA and one labeled CHERYL, each containing a teensy-weensy porcelain tea set; our Christmas stockings, hand-knit by our mother, each one bearing our name.

It's been a few days of intense reminiscing , sharing all the memories that no one else in the world has except for the two of us. Then, in the evening, to unwind, we've been watching a couple of episodes each night from season one of The Patty Duke Show, one of our childhood favorites.

We don't wear matching clothes any more, but do happen to have matching T-shirts from the Betsy-Tacy convention we attended together last summer in Mankato, Minnesota, another sisters' outing we will always treasure. Cheryl brought hers with her on the trip, and I found mine to wear today, as well.

Here we are:

Sisters.