There are few things so sweet in this world as a partner in crime. A sister. From the moment of birth, this younger creature was there to assist on every adventure your mind could conjur. Magical things, these siblings, so close in age, so willing to suspend disbelief with you.

 

As children, my sister and I had a summer home on our back screened in porch. It was carpeted, albeit scratchy indoor/outdoor astroturf, and our wonderland. We had all of our play dishes and my mother gave us some Blue Dawn dish soap to wash these tiny things. They were washed and dried and we were allowed to eat tiny portions of spaghetti on them. I think of it, every time I am washing dishes, in my grown up life. I used to dream, back then, of having our own homes, our own stuff. We agreed that when we grew up. we would eat cookie dough and cake batter for every meal.

Those early dreams, turned out better than I ever could have imagined. My sister owns a bakery. She works very long hours, with patience, hard work and skill. But when I visit, she carves out time for me. We have drinks and we dance. And laugh and talk. I can never stay up as long as she can, she has more endurance for that thing. She lives in a building and the first night I was there, I wandered in and out of her apartment, confused. Laughing. Wondering where I would end up. I had to call for her, to help me find my way. It was like a strange dream, but all of it was my sister’s world.

The weekends I spend with her are so amazing. Sweets and treats galore. Hobart mixers that are big enough to throw a man in and kill him, mafia style. Shiny knives and giant butcher block tables, where I lean and drink coffee. Watching her drizzle icing, or prepare sandwiches. Sunday mornings coming down, she makes me eggs and cookie sheets full of tater tots. We giggle and recover.

Our lives may not be as neatly lined up as the baby dishes, we washed and dried in our summer home, but they are happy ones. I hope everyone has a partner in crime in their lives.