Why am I living so far away from my sister? It's so not right. Being with her--just the being, the existing in the same space--reminds me of all the reasons why I miss her.

Nobody knows you like your sister.

I told her tonight that instead of "remember the Alamo" I'm going to start saying "remember Chicago."

It's not just the city, of course--although the city is absolutely gorgeous!

It's what Chicago represents. Chicago means my sister. And my brother in law. And my nieces and nephew.

Chicago means family. And as you know, I'm a relationship-driven person. I stand or fall based on the health of my primary relationships.

Having my sister live 2,000 miles away has been an incredible loss for me.

My sister lived through the hell that was my fundamentalist upbringing. Which is to say, she knows my sh--stuff.

And she loves me still the same.

Nobody laughs at my jokes quite like my sister. My sister laughs uproariously and unabashedly at my quirkiness. We can mess around (like the pic above--making faces in the "silver bean" sculpture at Millennium Park) and laugh like crazy hyenas and really NOT care who is around.

My sister is a wonderful mother. I admire her so much. I thought my children were well-behaved. Until we sat down for dinner last night and her children ate vegetable stew and salad without one complaint. My kids howl over their veggies. Her kids just pound 'em down.

My sister is taller than me. She also has longer arms. So, she was in charge of all our self-portraits. I think she did a great job, don't you?

Tonight we went up to the 96th floor of the Hancock building. We had a couple drinks and talked about old times. We laughed, shared stories and marveled at the incredible Chicago skyline. Then we came home and settled down on her couch with our matching laptops.

We tried to decide on which music to play.

She likes musicals and I prefer R&B. She likes Death Cab for Cutie and I prefer Alicia Keyes. She likes indie movies and I like romantic comedies. She voted Democrat and I voted Republican.

She thinks I sing off-key and I think she's crazy.

She thought Ewan McGregor was hot in Moulin Rouge. I thought it was hot when Andre Ethier hit a home-run.

We do agree on Coldplay.

But at the end of the day, love surpasses any and all differences. We hate living so far apart. I'm going to pretend that I don't have to go home on Monday.

I'm going to live in the moment and soak up each precious day with her.

I'm going to remember Chicago.

I'm flying out to Chicago on Friday (sans kids!) to visit my precious sister. I haven't seen her in over a year.

It's taken me a long time to adjust to her living so far away. It has felt a little bit like death.

But this weekend we're being reunited! Yippee!

I've written schedules, organized carpools and pre-stocked the fridge. I'm hoping Matt (and a bevy of kind volunteers) will manage OK while I'm gone.

Have a great weekend and enjoy this second installment of me chatting with my twins.

p.s. say a little prayer for my safe travel (I hate flying!) and for my family's well-being? Thank you!

I'd like to know which fashion designer took a hard look at 99.9% of the American population and thought: "Yeah! Skinny jeans! That'd be a GREAT idea!"

Because unless you're an emaciated supermodel or a pre-pubescent boy, skinny jeans are a disaster.

It's so unfair. Just when I make my peace with boot-cut jeans, some genius decides that denim leggings are hot. And now I can't find a pair of stinkin' boot-cut jeans anywhere.

I mean, seriously. Pair up some skinny jeans with a tank top and I resemble a stuffed sausage, fresh from the meat-packing plant.

I don't know about you, but I'm a real woman. Not a mannequin.

Which is to say, I have hips.

Not that men look any better in skinny jeans. In fact, skinny jeans should come with a warning label for men.

WARNING: MAY CAUSE STERILITY. WEAR AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Skinny jeans just need to die. Especially acid-washed skinny jeans. And with it? V-neck shirts for men.

Really, who thought men in v-necks was a good idea? Ick. Men of the world: spare us your hairy cleavage.

It's just ridiculously frustrating. Most of what qualifies as fashion these days makes me wanna throw up a little.

Why can't we just go back to long dresses and hoop-skirts? Frankly, I'd rather wear a corset to show off my waist than skinny jeans to show off my muffin-top.

I'm calling for a revolution. Let's demand real fashion for real women. How about maxi-dresses WITH SLEEVES, for starters?

Chubby-armed women of the world unite!

Skinny jeans, your days are numbered.

 
train overpass, Refugio State Beach

The worst part was people disappearing. As a child, this was particularly disconcerting.

I'd arrive at a Sunday worship meeting to discover that two or three people were missing. In a small, intensely intimate church community--the loss of a few souls was jarring.

I was offered the same explanation every time: "Sister Louise fell away from the Lord."

Or, sometimes: "Brother Joseph chose to forsake fellowship."

It was like they'd died a sudden, tragic death. Many times I never got to say goodbye. We didn't speak to those who left because anyone who left our church was obviously out of God's will. In sin.

We shunned them and prayed for their repentance.

If, perchance, we ran into them at the grocery store or library we had a well-rehearsed script: "Have you repented? Where are you fellowshipping?"

This was before Facebook or cell phones. When I was child, if someone disconnected their home-phone and didn't answer their door--they were gone.

After one of my favorite babysitters left, I vowed never to open my heart to new converts. I put up walls and became wary, watchful. I sized up new converts, profiling them: did they have what it took to withstand decades inside our church?

If I deemed them too educated, pretty, well-connected, rich or having a supportive family--I wrote them off. I knew they wouldn't last long. And they rarely did.

My closest bonds were with other children being raised inside our church. I trusted them because they knew what it was like to live that life.

But an oppressive religious system has an uncanny ability to crush even the most genuine human relationships.

My family ran the church. Even had I wanted to leave, I wasn't strong enough to actually do it. Leaving our church meant leaving God and my family.

And at the core of my being, I am a relationship-motivated person. So, I stayed. I watched childhood friends and their families leave--some quietly, some tragically.

My grandfather set out to restore Christianity to its pure, original roots. But his noble ideals were achieved by cruelty. Human beings were the collateral damage.

By far the best part of being free from a controlling church is the ability to form and foster friendships. I've had the wonderful experience of re-connecting with childhood friends, neighbors, and you--kind reader.

I've built a BIG family. I'm surrounded by love and relationship.

At long last I am free to love wholly, completely and without reservation.

The True Random Number Generator picked #13 which was:

Heather of the EO!

Congratulations, Heather. I will be sending you an email with details about your free album "In Your Delay" from Kelly Clinger.

Thanks to all who played along and thank you, Kelly, for this fun giveaway.