Reflecting on the Dark Ages

"The dark ages when there were four little Smith girls running around the house." was how Dad described it. To me, eleven-and-a-half years younger than my closest sister, they are indeed 'dark ages'. My earliest memory, from when I was two, is of my oldest sister returning from Mexico. Mostly, I remember my sisters as pleasant, industrious adults who sang a lot. I remember 'helping' them weed the garden, milk the goats, bake bread, and clean the house. I love those memories, and wouldn't change them for anything, but there are days when I wish I could travel backwards in time. I would like to have the opportunity of viewing those years with my more mature perceptions. There are so many things that I missed. For example, I hadn't the foggiest notion that all those nice young men came to our house for any other reason than to entertain me and my little brother. I liked them all immensely, but was very surprised when they started marrying my sisters. We had three weddings in one year. Later, when Candice got married, I was old enough to know what was going on. I was also old enough to be a terrible nuisance to she and Joel. I remember the hours my friends and I spent, following them around, teasing them, and being regular little pests. Joel's younger brother, Abe, was my comrade in a great many of these escapades, and we spent a lot of time stalking them, interrupting their private conversations, and writing things like 'lovebugs!' in the dust on the dash of Joel's truck. Why they didn't just wring our scrawny little necks is a mystery to me. Another friend of mine, Simon, was into bullwhips and javelins at the time. Once, we snuck up close behind the unsuspecting couple, javelins (sticks) in hand. I don't really remember why we decided not to hurl the 'javelins' at them. Perhaps because we knew Joel could probably outrun us, and we feared his retaliation, which usually took the form of a severe tickling.

So now I look around at all of my sisters, married, with kids, and wonder at how similar we are. I've spent most of my life as the oldest in a family of two, yet I read the same books my sisters read, sing the same songs they sing, think the same sorts of thoughts they think, write the same stories they write. There is a strong kinship amongst us that ties us together in spite of the differences of age and situation. We're still a close family. We all look alike, too. I don't mind looking like my sisters, in fact, I rather enjoy it. It is, however, disturbing when total strangers approach me in Wal-Mart. "You're one of the Smith girls, aren't you? I knew your sisters back when..." 'That's all well and good.' I reflect, 'but I don't know you from Adam.' I don't say this, of course. I smile, give a few vague answers to their questions, and go on with my life.

Well, now you are most likely wondering 'what exactly was the point of all that?' Simple: There really wasn't one. Mostly, I felt guilty about neglecting my blog since March. I felt like writing something, and what better thing to write about than my clan? So, if you were bored out of your mind by this long and pointless ramble, I apologize.