“Your brain is too polite, Martha,” my sister tells me over the phone.
“WHAT?” I’m annoyed with Janet anyway, just out of principle, but this is just too much. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
Janet chuckles, raising my ire even further. She’s older than me by three years and always acts like it. She’s the wiser one, the better one, the patronizing one. Continue reading
I am a fantastic speller. Always have been.
I acquired this gift without ever asking for it; it’s just part of me.
My brother, who is a horrendous speller (or as he would spell, a whorendus one), claims spelling is a genetic tick. I disagree. I believe that the number of books you read equates how many words you can spell correctly.
Many others (who can’t spell) claim it’s not a requirement in this day of digital spellchecks.
I’d like to inquire: how many times has spell check messed them up? Continue reading
It all began on the Saturday of the Tri-County Swim Meet.
A glorious turquoise sky bled into the waters of the pool where people screamed in excitement as my brother won trophy after trophy, culminating in the final relay in which his incredible freestyle kick brought glory and a championship to Brookside Swim Club.
Suddenly, my skinny quiet “baby” brother became a hero. The “sport,” as our dad said over and over again, tapping my brother on top of his blonde crewcut. Continue reading