I was up in the middle of the night last night for no good reason.  Tossed and turned and finally got up after 1am, checked out the TV and gave up and read a book until about 4am.  It's " Dear Mrs. Fitzsimmons:Tales of Redemption from an Irish Mailbox," by Greg Fitzsimmons a comedian, and 100% Irish.  I myself am 50% Irish or so via two little grandmothers with dark curly hair and rosaries.  The book is pretty funny but reminded me of the years of notes and phone calls from my grade school to my parents.  Fitzsimmons calls them Irish Merit Badges.  Now I'm tired and inert.  And the delete key on my new keyboard is in a different place.  The familiar place is occupied by a key that sends me to the end of a typed line.  So I think I'm deleting and the cursor scoots off into the margin.  Grrr. And gray weather is like a soft, blanket, zzz.  Not at all energizing. 

Gray, gloomy, wet, March.  The month of my birth and of my two years younger sister who was a blond little girl who used to whistle in church.  Three of my grandgirls' birthday are in March, and one grandson.  So many of us popped out in this end of the winter month, the products of summer unions and affections.  Were we sunny reminders of a happy past, a bright spot in winter, or was it "Omigod, look what we've done?"  Perhaps a little of both.  I know my own parents were clueless about babies, especially our mother, an only child with zero infant experience.  Or sibling experience.  I think my sisters and I delivered endless shocks to her at times. "Why do you girls fight?" she cry, "I'd loved to had a sister."  And she was right; I wouldn't like to be an only child.  And, I'm glad we were all girls, gave us opportunities we might not have had with some sons in the mix.  Although I've often wondered if it had some deleterious effect on my two marriages.  Both to younger brothers of eldest sisters.  Being the alpha girl I haven't always been very flexible.  Oh well, who cares?

The next two sisters were much younger and both born in May, a more welcoming time of year.  I was nine when third one came, sweet little red headed girl.  The fourth and youngest sister is 20 years younger and we have a loving, entwined relationship. She was in my care a lot as a baby and toddler and sometimes we have a parent/child view as well as sister/sister and friends as well.  I think the parent/child thing has become a two way street at this point in our lives.  I believe we are spiritual twins.  It's her young son who is my grandson as his sister is my granddaughter.  They are in the age group the rest of my grandkids though in fact they are my grown sons cousins.  I felt honored to be at the hospital with her and her husband both times when her children were born.  Lots of sisters there.  The staff called us the Birkenstock sisters the last time around.

All this remembering is making me hungry.  Or maybe I'm just tired.  The youngest sister with the dark, curly hair will be here with her kids for spring break so maybe I will shock them and clean up the house.  After my nap.