Friday, August 21, 2009


At home, I am the talker. I am the storyteller. My husband is generally happy to let me run my mouth and test my vocabulary anytime ... so long as I'm not interrupting one of his Discovery Channel shows.

Consequently, I refine my anecdotes and add to my blog.

However, there is one exception to that rule: When my sister (from Seattle) comes to visit. Somehow, when we're together, I fall back into listening mode. Maybe it's because she talks. A lot.

In fact, as a little girl, she talked so much and was so eager to get the next sentence out that she developed a stutter.

I fought this as a child. There are home videos that show me putting on Christmas plays and Thanksgiving concerts ... determinedly singing my heart out as my pest of a toddling sister lisped and stuttered her way into the camera frame. These same videos show me very professionally not breaking eye contact with the camera as I shove her offstage.

Now, though, I love that she's a talker. We gab through the evening, and when I'm done gabbing, she takes over for the both of us. I love that there's no filter between her and I; that she feels comfortable enough around me to talk about anything (and everything).

I joked with her this past weekend that if she's forced to watch a television show she's not familiar with, she talks through it. And if you watch one of her favorite shows with her, she'll talk you through that one, too.

We spent the weekend watching old "Gilmore Girls" DVDs, appropriately enough. We claim to be Lorelai (me) and Rory (her), but mostly we identify with the chatty women onscreen.

The downside to all this yakkity-yakking is that I don't get a chance to test my vocabulary, tell my stories and refine my anecdotes. So the blogging shifts to the wayside as I open my ears and try to take in everything my sister is telling me.

Now, with her visit over and just my husband to fill the enormous silence, I'm drifting back to my old ways. Nice to see you all again!
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