sisters...

I have for some time been quite aware of the interaction between sisters who are close in age: say, two to three years apart.  This is almost certainly due to the fact that I am the youngest in my family by six years, and have two older sisters just slightly over three years apart.
At this time I have four daughters at home, whose ages make possible three such pairings as described above (bear with me here; I was never good at math).  D2 is three years older than D3, who is three years older than D4, who is two years older than D5.  If you are talented at psychology, YOU figure out who should room with whom, and let me know.


So, we have these kinds of exchanges:

Melly:  Mrs. Jones was in school today.  I didn't realize it at first; she was talking to the principal; then all of a sudden there she was, standing behind me while I was at my locker, and she said, 'Hello, gorgeous!'  Then she turned and said to the principal, 'This is one of the best actresses at her old school.'  And he said, 'Oh, we'll be looking forward to seeing her act.'
Me:  Oh?  That was nice.
Melly:  Yeah, but I kinda think she must have me confused with Jane-Clare.  I haven't had any big roles, you know?
Me:  Well, not necessarily.  You have done a very good job with small roles, after all.
Jane-Clare:  Um... Melly?
Melly:  Yes?
Jane-Clare:  She started out by saying, 'Hello, gorgeous'?
Melly:  Yeah.
Jane-Clare: (chuckling softly)  Well, OBVIOUSLY she had you confused with me.

Or:

Melly:  In health class today Coach was talking about self-esteem... he said that comparing people to other people is bad.
Me:  Comparisons are odious.
Melly:  No, he didn't say THAT.
Me:  No, Christopher Marlowe did.  Never mind.  Go on.
Melly:  OK.  So he was talking about some girl whose parents always said, 'You're not as cute as your older sister', or something like that.  And so then he said to me, 'Imelda, for instance, how would you feel if people were always saying, "You know, Imelda, you're not as cute as Jane-Clare"?'
Me:  Ahh...
Melly:  And I said, 'Oh, Coach, nobody would ever say that.  EVERYBODY knows I am MUCH cuter than Jane-Clare.'

Now, the good news here (it seems to me) is that neither sister is being eclipsed by the other.  Often one is overshadowed.  But not my girls.  Both of them are in there swinging.. and laughing about it.

"Poetry Out Loud": a parent's perspective

So, my ninth-grade daughter won a local school "Poetry Out Loud" competition.  If you are not familiar with this, do please check out their website, poetryoutloud.org, to find out more.  You will learn what a wonderful program this is; how students develop a new appreciation for poetry, the hearts of English teachers are warmed, and in general we take a giant step forward whenever a school decides to participate in this program.
I do not argue with any of this.
However, I think that one group is underrepresented:
Parents.
Today, Imelda selected the three poems she'll memorize for the regional competition (based on reading six or seven out loud at the kitchen table, to her father and me, while her younger sisters interrupted, they thinking more of their immediate wants than of Calliope, Erato, or Polyhymnia).
Now we know which poems we'll be living with during the next couple of months.  I'm not going to say yet what they are.
Last time around, two of the three were "Richard Cory" and "The Harp Song of the Dane Women." ( I have to admit that I suggested these.  I was mightily taken with "Richard Cory" some time ago (no, I am NOT old enough to remember when the Simon & Garfunkel song was released, thank you very much), and I loved reciting Kipling when I was a good bit younger than Imelda is now.)
I can confirm that Imelda's participation in Poetry Out Loud made me see these poems in a whole other light.
She was, you see, given to launching into practice recitations with no warning whatsoever.  In the living room; in the kitchen; in the car, en route to school or grocery shopping or choir practice.
"WHENEVER," she would suddenly announce, "Richard Cory went downtown, /We people on the pavement looked at him..."
Once the startle reflex dissipated, and I was jumping a mere fraction of an inch at each new iteration, I began to feel some kinship with Richard Cory.  --Really?  WHENEVER? --I would think.  --No privacy atall?  Not even if he just wanted a newspaper, or a cup of coffee?  Poor bloke; no wonder he became a bit neurotic.
"Harp Song of the Dane Women", as you may recall, opens with a question; fond as I was of Kipling, I began to wish that the good people at POL had picked something else from Puck, instead.  Or possibly from The Jungle Book.
Into the rare quiet (while, for instance, her father was snatching a few minutes' well-earned rest before dinner, head nodding over his book), Imelda would inquire, abruptly, "WHAT is a woman, that you forsake her?"
This was enough to send her father leaping from the La-Z-Boy, his paperback James Heriot soaring to the ceiling.
"No, it's quite all right; calm down; nobody's forsaken, I haven't contacted a lawyer: it's just Melly doing her English homework."