Sister Sue

I’m feeling bloggish ,which is to say there are words that want to be on paper , appearing to be trapped under the skin, writhing in that unrelenting way they have when too long ignored. They are not nice words or pleasant words or 'look at me and see how socially correct I am' words. They are words of disillusion and impatience and need. And if I could name the need , or had some hope of accomplishing useful alteration, there would be no drive to put it all on paper. So, instead I write. About other things, mostly.

At 6:30 am this morning the heat index was between the mid to high 90’s - that’s in Fahrenheit, not Celsius. If you need to, you can figure the conversion and understand just how daunting that information is, coming so early in what otherwise appears to be a fine day. Then, of course, if you lived here, you would also know that around about noon, almost on schedule, the clouds came back through and the skies opened back up to dump a bucket load of humidity. Great large torrents of humidity, spewed from some unseen fireman’s hose, extinguishing a fire before it started.

But the heat remains.

I found myself sitting on the swing, a tall, wet glass of iced tea at hand - lemon, lightly sweetened - wondering what in the world women of a century ago did on a day like this, encumbered, as they were, under layers of linen and lace. Then, unexpectedly, I recalled when, as a child, I had no bed of my own and instead shared a bed with one or the other of my sisters.

Southern nights before air-conditioning - for those of us not wealthy enough to afford the installation of ceiling fans - were heavy and clinging, smothering you in your own bed, suffocating you before you could find the sweet release of sleep. I always preferred sharing a bed with sister Sue. I would lie with my back to her, and she would turn toward me, softly lifting the hair from the back of my neck and blowing gently to cool me until I fell asleep.

There was enough of an age difference to create the usual childhood squabbles and disagreements and disharmony by day. But by night she was, once again, my sweet sister.