Today is my sister's birthday. She's in denial of having another birthday and has decided to be perpetually 29 years of age. This works for me because that would make me perpetually 25 years old. It's a little weird because our father has been perpetually 24 years old for quite some time now. I can only assume that time travel was somehow involved.
Wendy and I have had many great adventures together over the years, most notably our two trips to Russia (documented here in the May 2010 archives). We also share a special love of Montréal, more specifically the Indigo book store on rue Sainte-Catherine. That reminds me...where are we going to go back? I still need to get my copy of Harry Potter et les reliques de la mort. Which also reminds me...have you seen that book's cover? Awesome.
Oh right. This blog isn't about my book obsession. This is about my sister, Wendy. Because today is her birthday.
Wendy, by the way, also has a book obsession. I don't think it's quite as bad as mine is (no one's is) but she's an avid reader and thanks to her, I've read everything Robert B. Parker and Janet Evanovich has ever written. We both have an
obsession healthy fascination for Ellen Emerson White and her literary creation Meg Powers. Wendy also lent me those Jodi Picoult books which I have since read and enjoyed and I swear I'll get those back to you shortly. Some day.
We love Les Misérables and, in the past, have spent our entire drive to Montréal singing every note of the musical. And then starting over and doing it again. When we took our trip to New York City to see the musical on Broadway before it closed, we did not do this but only because we were on a bus and then a train and that probably would have annoyed a lot of other people. Instead we left that to the woman sitting behind us who was having a very loud cell phone conversation with someone. I don't really remember anymore what the conversation was about but I remember the two of us being in hysterics over it.
Of course, it never seems to take much to get us to the point of hysterics. Julie Andrews in The Princess Diaries (shlub, shlub, shlub) for instance. Anyone care of a verse of the Barn Song? How funny do you think the Canadian Customs officers think we are when we tell them we're only planning on leaving money in their fair country? Or how about that time we were sitting in some office somewhere in Russia waiting for some paperwork and I kept accidentally hitting the light switch with my shoulder, plunging the entire office into darkness. Do you think Katya was as amused with us as we were with ourselves? Is anyone ever?
Hmmm...better not answer that.
And thanks to you, Wendy, I survived my high school French classes. I was the one student Monsieur Hevey didn't mock mercilessly and I was the only one who knew the answers to the worksheet we had to fill out while watching that movie about the Nazis stealing paintings from the Louvre. Or not stealing paintings from the Louvre because, as the movie taught us (or would have had I been watching it), the Nazis didn't have any paintings to steal. See, if it hadn't been for you, I would have had to watch that movie.
So happy birthday. Thank you for making me twenty five forever. And before I go, here's one last thing for you:
La femme qui sait deux langues vaut deux hommes.