My Big Sister

The little girl in the yellowed photo stood With her wicker doll carriage at play This is her long ago neighborhood The shadows are long, It's late in the day Behind the camera, unseen but felt A common bond, our mother For as parents we were dealt The same roaring twenties lovers That's Anne, my sister, as a child When I was young, she was a wife and mother Yet she was center of my world, for quite awhile She led the way for me, and many others

To me she was a major beauty With bobby sox and saddle shoes, so tall Yet kind and tender in her duty To her infant brother's squall When I was two, she celebrated VE day Time Square sailors she wished to charm Instead of babysitting me. I think I may Have caused her social life some harm Perhaps the tickle torture was my fate To pay the price of her displeasure, I then was hit about my face With my own hand, in ample measure

But all was really good and right Her beau gave me a Piper Cub This plane gave me my love of flight, But it faired poorly in the tub On a clear winter's day with fresh snow to my waist Which was, at five, not very far above the ground, She swooshed by on her skis, such grace, While I tugged at my sled stuck in a mound And then she left, "off to college" I was told, Studying art at some place far away, Unconsciously I mourned and was un-consoled It was childhood's end, that day

I saw her between her work and play She taught me to swim in the reservoir, And I'm glad I didn't drown that day I couldn't have continued very much more She was changing. To New York she came Working for the terrible Mr. Lyon In the dog-eat-dog advertising game, She's an art director! and still climbin' Peter Law appeared with movie star chin cleft I was most impressed since his car gave directions With little signs that popped out right and left Like mechanical erections

And then I heard they were to wed, But first Anne wished a traveling career Four months in Europe, it was said I wondered if she'd reappear . So she shipped on the Italian Line, Champagne, Bon Voyage and flowers, She sailed to Barcelona, which was fine But her favorite was the Paris towers "Anne Paul" she thought a name too short And wanted one whose length was more The marriage plans were near abort "Anne Law" was shorter than before

But Art was first and last, it seems After childhood equine love did wane Her mother may have set the genes Since she had felt the same Graphic design was her great skill Wood block and then silk screening Colors and humor combined, at will To make a statement with a meaning But two dimensions were not enough Flattened art gave way again To plated steel and junk yard stuff Glued by acetylene and oxygen

She never ignored the need to take up Beautiful clothes and accessories with zeal But her grinder applied the final makeup To her fashion statements in cold steel Art was her ego, her Ace of Spades. Galleries and corporate gardens daily jaunt She taught teachers the art trade The art center was her haunt And art was not just self-expression She collected the works of many others And allowed a special concession If the subject was chickens or their mothers

Anne and Peter were not fools And were therefore very attendant To solve the shortage in the gene pools Of Anglo-Scots descendants I smoked my first cigar while still a lad When Stephanie arrived in bunting and booties, I found that babies were not all bad In spite of bottle feeding duties Jenny was born, more diapers to exchange She had the blondest hair Then Hil-of-beans, all girls it's strange At last, the Ant, an heir

Her motherhood meant many things Making house a home for one, Sorting out the hurts that life brings And making sure that Christmas is done The carriage barn, it grew and grew A major theme of Anne's whole heart And soul is Jacob Street, the number two, Turned into gallery of art Behind the house there lies her joy and pride A garden with intensive beds that few can match What wonders that horse manure can devise And compost in abundance from table scraps

The tomatoes spring forth without compare If only slugs and other pests made fat Would keep their distance and the vegetables spare Damn, those pesky tree rats And it's not just vegetables that grow Also flowers in all shades and size Bring gladness to garden below And beautify the house inside Anne does not just focus on her brood But has friends far and wide who are dear Here there must be something good Since they are the same friends year after year

She is a tower of strength, a good source of hope To all that know her, both family and friends She is the person you go to when you can't cope To sort out life's disappointing ends Her goal it seems to live the healthy way Ninety years a minimum For this she plays three sets a day And eats a lot of vitamins Holistic Life is more than a phrase It's a sincere life style Spare us the caustic poisons of the modern phase And keep running mile after mile

Competitive? The urge is much too strong To win, it's always feast not famine "No holds barred" is never wrong When playing Scrabble or backgammon Food, ah food, none can match the zeal (Save Paul Prudhomme or Julia Child) Of Anne who really crafts a meal That makes your tears run wild? Well-read and versed, she has the smarts Such that on any subject she will soon Offer an anecdote that always starts "Years ago, in a New Yorker cartoon..."

In our father's graves there is much remorse Since she has strayed the Republican path She's more than slightly to the left of course Risking the force of posthumous wrath What now? The big "Seven Oh" has come Keep popping those vitamins, we all love you, And don't forget the daily run You're making Thanksgiving dinner ...... in twenty thirty two! November 25, 2000