Twisted Sisters: The Conclusion

L to R: Lindsi, Loni, Dad, Danni, Dexi

To read Part 1, click here.

To read Part 2, click here.

I found that concept demonstrating itself over and over again throughout my half-a-month stay in International Falls.  Kerry was especially adept in his appreciation for abandoned articles, from the used high chair, bouncer, and baby swing he’d acquired to accommodate the newest additions to our growing family, to his garage-full of collectibles and curiosities he’d accumulated from local auctions, to the reduced-priced residence he’d recently redeemed after the previous owner had passed away.  He and my mom hadn’t quite figured out what they wanted to do with it yet while I was home, so it continued to sit empty on the outskirts of our old neighborhood.  It would’ve been overlooking the river and into Ontario if it weren’t for the barrage of trees blanketing the hillside on their way down to the boulder-lined bank.

Mom and I drove past it so I could have a look on our way to my favorite antique shop, No Place Like Home Again, which was also located in our old neighborhood—in the building my two big sisters used to take ballet lessons.  I may not have been Kerry’s biological daughter, but I most certainly shared his affinity for amassing salvaged goods.  It was a challenge to scrutinize each and every jam-packed nook and cranny of the shop in the way I used to, since I was now schlepping a mischievous, mobile munchkin, but I managed to make out with a Mason jar filled with old-fashioned buttons, a framed vintage print of a blushing baby girl from a 1960s pink toilet paper advertisement, and an antique wooden washboard that I planned to hang in my laundry room as a reminder to always be thankful for modern conveniences.

And then there were other, more subtle reminders of the old adage providing the theme to my homecoming.  There was Dad, who had tragically esteemed his earthly existence to be worthless.  Though long physically absent, he was clearly not absent from the thoughts of his children.  He showed up on our walls—both virtual and physical—in the form of faded photos and also in our eyes, full of unexpressed pain and unanswered questions.  Even though nearly all of us had passed the age he’d been when he passed away, we cherished him, refusing to shut him away in the locked closets of our groping, grieving hearts because to us, his daughters, he was—and still is—a treasure.      

And there was Terry, Deion’s dad and my long-standing stepdad.  He worked so hard in his younger years to become a practicing dentist and the pride of his parents, but that all changed when MS interfered and he had to quit working.  Thankfully, he knew in his heart that God was his treasure in the earthen vessel of his broken body, but he still struggled at times to recognize his value.  And even as he lay dying in the bed that had become his home, he lamented that his life had been a waste—that he hadn’t done anything significant in the service of his Savior.  But I told him that he had meant so much to me—that even though he’d been an “ex” and a “step,” that he’d never been a step further from my heart than my own dad, and that all of the easily-overlooked truths he’d taught me through the years would always be more precious than rubies to me, and finer than gold. 

And finally, the existence of other family members’ retired items sprinkled about our homes served as continued evidence of the way my sisters and I all acknowledged the benefit in giving things a second go-around, like the heavy glass mugs I had in my cupboard that my dad had “retrieved” from A&W as a thrill-seeking teenager, or the wooden “Taters & Onyuns” bin that we used as storage for our hats and mittens when we were growing up, which I found squatting against the wall in Dexi’s kitchen when I visited her home in Bigfork halfway through my stay. 

Perhaps it was just that we were all so sentimental, like our new stepdad.  I encountered a number of unexpected meanderings down memory lane as I spent time with my sisters and their children.  Kid’s books seemed to be a common thread amongst us.  I guess we all just had a soft spot for whimsically-woven tales. 

For instance, Danni gave Dexi the classic alphabet book, The ABC Bunny, at the shower we threw for her and her new baby the first weekend.  That story had been one of Dexi’s favorites as a little girl, and she’d even had the accompanying cassette tape.  I could still hear the female narrator’s voice chirping “E is for elsewhere in a flash!” as my squirmy little sister would read along with the obnoxious recording.   

It also warmed my heart to find the hot pink paperback, My Crazy Cousin Courtney, hanging out on Dexi’s living room bookshelf (which just happened to be made out of a sideways wooden ladder from our grandma’s garage).  My best friend had recommended that book to me in grade school, and it had been special to me ever since. 

And when Lindsi had mused that she’d wanted to purchase some Berenstain Bears books for her five-year-old son, I had to chuckle, because I’d considered buying the copies I’d come across in the creaky-floored upstairs children’s section of the antique shop.  I’d wanted a good excuse to return, so I told her I’d stop by there again and grab her several of the titles that we used to read.

Although I only got to visit two of my sisters’ homes during my stay, it was also fun to see how observing some of their routines, in addition to all of their reclaimed relics of the past, was a lot like doing a double-take of our days gone by.  It seemed we’d patterned a lot of our domestic doings after our mom’s leading.  For instance, Danni left cute little love notes scattered about her house for her husband in the same manner that Mom used to leave sweet messages on our dry erase board in the kitchen, in our lunch bags, and on the sticky-notes she’d press to the table before leaving the house.  And the twinkling white-light stars that Dexi had twisted around distressed wood in her living room felt like a tribute to Mom’s rustic taste in interior aesthetics.  And though I didn’t get to take a tour of Lindsi’s home while I was back, the way she always approached life with faith, flexibility, and a love for good fiction and fashion certainly stirred up memories of the way Mom had graced our growing up, carting us four kids around as though it were nothing, with the latest bestseller in hand and a pair of bejeweled sandals accessorizing her red-painted toes.

One surprising way in which I personally had followed suit was by continuing to keep the extra toilet paper stored securely outside of my bathroom.

…I guess some habits are just hard to break.

But we had broken some.  In addition to the routines we’d retained, there were also distinct changes I’d noticed in the ways my sisters and I went about our present lives, whether it was old customs we’d dropped or new practices we’d picked up from our husbands and friends, or whether it was simply due to the developing preferences of our own personalities.  I’d transitioned to eating three regular meals a day and actually listening to hair stylists when they said I should get my hair trimmed every couple of months.  And I took day trips to the mountains to hike and roast hot dogs. 

Danni did things differently in that her toilet paper was conveniently kept inside her bathroom closet.  (Good for her!)  She also fed families of deer right out of her back window and took twice-a-week trips to her Finnish father-in-law’s sauna to sweat. 

When I lifted the wooden lid of the old “Taters & Onyuns” bin at Dexi’s house, I was startled to actually find potatoes and onions inside.  I was also thoroughly impressed when I saw her houseful of clever, cozy-feeling décor that she’d crafted herself.   

And when Lindsi emptied her toiletries out at Danni’s bathroom sink, instead of seeing a scattered assortment of tubes and bottles bearing popular brand names, I saw a curious collection of kitchen ingredients—apple cider vinegar, baking soda, and sea salt, to name a few.  She also had snakes for pets and enjoyed traipsing through forests in pursuit of edible mushrooms (the non-hallucinogenic sort, of course).  Yes, we’d put new twists on some of our old traditions, but others were unmistakably all our own.

Being the only sister to have lived out-of-state long-term has had its pros and cons.  Some of the obvious advantages are that it’s gotten me out of my comfort zone and exposed me to new sights and sounds and introduced me to beautiful places and some equally beautiful faces.  And one of the biggest benefits of being away is that it’s allowed me to look upon my former home with fresh eyes whenever I return.  It allows me to find new appreciation for things I once took for granted.  But it can be hard to look at pictures of family to find that I’m the only one absent, or to observe that the other three sisters seem to talk just a little more easily with one another than they do with me— the clear consequences of my missing out on countless giggly get-togethers.         

Still, I know that my sisters and I will always be inseparable.  We are the daughters of dads with rhyming names—a little rambunctious, a little eccentric, a little “twisted” you might say, with a conviction for hard work and a passion for play.  We have eyes the color of blue sapphires and emeralds, the green now engulfing the brown, like crystalline windows to our interlaced souls—souls that I pray will always acknowledge their unique value and remember that, just like the secondhand materials to which we enjoy giving second chances, that they have been reclaimed, repurposed for the glory of our King and eternal Father.  And though we all share a habit of dying our formerly golden brown hair, it’s my sincerest hope that we can nevertheless recognize those crowns shining bright when the light catches us perfectly.

 “To all who mourn in Israel,
    he will give a crown of beauty for ashes,
a joyous blessing instead of mourning,
    festive praise instead of despair.
In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks
    that the Lord has planted for his own glory” (Isaiah 61:3, NLT).   

“For God, who said, ‘Let there be light in the darkness,’ has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is seen in the face of Jesus Christ.

We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure.  This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves” (2 Corinthians 4:6-7, NLT).