Just a few memories…

All I kept thinking was—go back to the start. Back to the first moments I can remember. And you were there.
More than 47 years of memories, and somehow you’re at the center of so many of the best ones.

I remember being packed into Mom’s green Dodge van, no idea where we were headed, but it didn’t matter—because we were together.
I remember waking up in a big, cold house made of cinder blocks. Boxes everywhere. You and I walking those little box-made hallways like it was some new world to explore.
That first snowfall—I can still feel it. Mom bundling us up so tight, and we went out and played like we were in a winter movie.

Cereal in your room.
Dancing to records in your room.
Telling you I was gonna run away and live under the turtle—thank you for convincing me to stay.
Elvis dying and then hearing him on the radio not long after.
You teaching “school” out in the garage.

Us driving Mom nuts while she tried to work on her school stuff or help Dad with his softball brackets.
Sitting in the wagon, walking home with you from school, and hearing all about your day.
Mom reading Little House on the Prairie to us—her voice so calm and steady.

I remember how scared I was when that neighbor’s dog bit you—and how helpless I felt.
First grade, walking to school with you.
Dad telling us we had a baby sister.
Waking up to Amanda’s crying and watching you go in to scoop her up out of the crib.
That one night, just the two of us, sitting outside watching the storm roll in… knowing deep down that things were never going to be the same.

The Lego town we built. Still one of my favorite memories.

My first concert with you. Nye had to drive us—Bryan Adams and Huey Lewis and the News.
Watching the hillside burn from your friend’s house, trying to understand it all.
Sitting in the van while you went to acting class, feeling like I was part of something bigger.
That audition—you rocked it, I froze. (Pretty sure it was Coca-Cola, but maybe McDonald’s?)
You punched the bully who spit on me. And Mom telling that lady to “go get her sheriff husband” ! We laughed in the hallway and it still cracks me up.
The Duran Duran party—your friends all there—and me just happy to be in the mix.
That Halloween masquerade, when I showed up as a surprise. You didn’t even know it was me until the unmasking. That was a good one.

You let me tag along to dances in high school—me and your friends. You taught me how to dance, how to act, how to just… have fun.

The Dodge Colt with the one-speaker tape deck.
Walking to Longs Drugs to find little Christmas gifts.
Flipping through records at Record Corral.
Candy at 7-Eleven.
Lunch at Taco Bell on some random weekend.

Park Lane Mall, every store, just taking our time.
that store on Greenbrae by the barbers looking for scratch and sniff stickers.
Sitting in your room making recordings—silly voices, characters, cracking ourselves up.

That crazy-long drive to Snoqualmie with Dad and his Costco hot dogs.
Saying goodbye when you left for college—pretending I was excited for you, when really, that day hit hard.
Those audio tapes you made me—for JROTC stuff, or just because you knew I needed a little push. I still listen to them, by the way.

You cheering me on in that race against the cheater, holding up that big sign and yelling my name like I was at the Olympics.

You were so sad when I left for boot camp.
One of my all-time favorite memories… Graceland. Memphis. Beale Street. My Red Dog hangover.
And when you offered to take me anywhere—just so I wouldn’t go into that church. You meant it. I knew it. Thank you.

Thrifting in Vegas … those were some tough days—just talking about life. You were there. I needed that more than I realized.

Lounge night—our little catch-up corner.
Garage sales—you always did all the work, I just wanted to hang out with you.
Dinner at Bonanza for who knows what reason, and me yelling “Heidi hoe!” … those days craps was easy.

Every time I use the Saladmaster pots and pans, I think of you and that dinner party at your place.
The Nutcracker—we were both on that stage at the same time (with Lillie!).
Your red blood shot eyes… and the moment Lillie James was born.

Laughing Room Only. Kicks. Stock Exchange. Bally’s main stage. Riverside Theatre.
Shakespeare in the Schools—me, wondering how the heck I even ended up there.

Scruples with you and Dad—10-cent wings.
Tossing out Grandma’s magazines in some random parking lot.
And that Hooters event in Vegas—how hard we laughed later about it.
That Reno chicken wing cook off for 13 years—watching you rally and sling chicken wings the next morning? You’re a machine.

That surprise Disneyland trip—you were shocked, or maybe it was just my nieces who surprised you. Either way, that joy was real.

Dive bars with you? Always a blast.
Trader Dicks. Sidelines. O’Skis.
And the fancier joints, too—The Nugget, that tucked-away place by the river on 4th Street, 1884 maybe? And that martini spot at the El Dorado.

If there’s one thing I know for sure—this life, my life, has been better because of you. You’ve shown up, over and over again, and I remember.

Thank you for being such a great sister.