Saturday, January 29, 2011

Sister Lend Me a Hand.

Some of you may recall my sisters.  They are not the biological kind. They are the kind that found me and despite being spread over two provinces we can always pick up where we left off.  We can laugh at ourselves and each other. We know each others best qualities, foibles, dark secrets and favourite foods.   There is nothing I look forward to (not even the start of school after a long summer) as much as my girlfriend spa weekends.

As much as we like to relax, drink coffee, sip wine, have our toes painted and deliberate over evening meals starting at breakfast, our relationships are not only about the fun.

S is moving to a townhouse from a basement suite with her three teenagers. Now, how do I put this delicately.  S is pack rat-ish.  She may not qualify for an episode of Hoarders  but she does tend to accumulate a lot of stuff.  Having just purged our basement and storage room, I realize I throw stones from my glass house.

N is the anti-pack rat.  She is so organized I am pretty sure her Tupperware lids are alphabetically organized by height, colour and circumference.  I bet if you went into her purse right now you would find all the receipts organized by date, size of purchase, and name of sales clerk.  You get the picture.

N is also extremely generous.  She came to Vancouver for a week to help S with her move and she has been working feverishly, along side S and her kids to make the move a reality. She has sacrificed relaxation, her manicure and a teeny tiny bit of her sanity.

Yesterday I went out to help in the project for a few hours and eat some real sushi.  My contribution was meagre.  Husband being away, I could not afford to help much, but I swept and cleaned floors and organized a little.  I was happy to help a sister out. It's what we do.

I drove home at the start of Vancouver rush hour knowing that N and S had hours ahead to finish packing up.  I headed straight for the gas station as I knew I was running on vapours.  Or not running on vapours. I ran out of gas on 16th Street at Granville.  For those of you know familiar with Vancouver, that's a thoroughfare amidst the traffic gridlock that is Vancouver.  Did I mention it was rush hour?

I debated what to do. I was blocking one of two lanes of traffic. I did not want to leave the car.  What do I do????

I called a sister.  S answered the phone, heard my plea and was instantly out the door with N in tow to rescue me.  No thought of the mountain of work that awaited them. 

I waited while sympathetic people pitied my plight, no doubt expecting that our aging van had blown a gasket, a bearing or a cylinder.

No doubt the looks of pity turned to disgust when they saw S arrive with a Jerry can full of gas.  This disaster was entirely my own making.

But what I think may well have raised the disgust to ire was N arriving with a tray of Tim Horton's coffee.   No reason we can't improve this situation with coffee!

I  heart my sisters!

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