May 09, 2011
She is the web's leading expert on needlepoint (no really). She buys real silverware for 25 cents a piece at ghetto thrift stores (and then sends them to me!). She is totally unfazed by an announcement at 5 pm that 6 people are coming for dinner. She likes to paint rooms bajillions of different colors. She sends me California lemons. She always calls on Sunday after Mass. She loves real roses. She rocked a ruffled diaper cover when she was a toddler and a wool opera cape when she was in college. She finds the funniest Easter cards imaginable. She tries my jams even though she doesn't like jam. She wants to write a book about the English mystics (like Julian of Norwich and Carryll Houselander). She lets me borrow movies when Dad says no. She won't mind that this note is a day late. She loves peonies and dogwoods and spring in the Mid-Atlantic. She taught me to love jazz. She conveniently forgets about authors so that when I discover them and excitedly tell her about them she always bursts my bubble saying "Oh yeah, I read X. It's really good. I know you'd like it." She has more courage than anyone I know.