God gave her to me thirty years ago. I grew quietly inside her, breathing her air, learning her rhythm, and memorizing her movements. She has been my playmate, my bodyguard, my defender, my champion, my cheerleader, my provider, and my friend. But, most of all, she's been My Storyteller.
Since I was a little girl I've been listening to her weave the most glorious tales. I love the story about the time she and her brother decided to skip school and hitch hike somewhere only to be picked up on the highway by their mother. Or the time she had to decide whether or not she'd marry Frank or Jack - all the while Jack was pacing inside her livingroom while she sat outside in the car with Frank. Who would she choose? Or the stories about her time spent at Teen Challenge. I swear, until I was about eleven years old, I thought she was saying Cheen Challenge and I never could figure out what a "cheen" was.
She's the one who taught me and all my friends how to play penny poker. When they'd come over to spend the night, she'd wait for my little sisters to fall asleep, and then she'd start making ginger snaps or chocolate chip cookies, telling all of us wild stories about SOMETHING, and then she'd sit at the table with us and deal for five card stud.
I remember when she quit smoking... boy that was a glorious time! She got up every morning at the crack of dawn and would start cooking or cleaning - or doing just about anything to keep herself busy so she wouldn't think about the cigarettes. For several weeks we woke up in the morning to the smell of freshly baked bread, eggs, and sausage.
She'd wake me up in the middle of the night and ask me if I wanted to go on an adventure with her. (Of COURSE I did). I can remember being eight years old... she'd wrap me up in a blanket and I'd go out to the car with her and we'd go to Dunkin' Donuts. I'd sip on a small hot chocolate and listen to her chatting away with one of her friends or with a girl who worked there.
I was with her when she went to buy her pair of 'skinny jeans' after she lost a bunch of weight and I sat with her in the car while she put them on. She just couldn't wait to see if they REALLY fit!
Today's her birthday. As I was driving home this evening I was thinking about my beloved Storyteller. I was thinking about allllll the stories she's told me and how I could listen to so many of them over and over again and still never have enough. She used to write books, you know? Yep. I'd wait anxiously beside the printer while page after page printed out. Holding the hot paper in my hand, I'd run out of the room and plant myself somewhere, devouring her every word. Her stories about Vietnam Vets or cowboys in the mid-West were like the most saavory, delicious things I'd ever had.
I love stories. I don't know if God gave her to me because I love stories so much, or if I love stories so much because God gave her to me. Either way, we're the perfect pair. I've read her work so so many times, that I can often recite exactly what she says. And yet, after all this time, she still never ceases to surprise or amaze me with what she comes up with. Its like she's got a vast cavern of talent, and I get to go in, one step at a time marveling at the depths of her brilliance.
So, Happy Birthday my dear Storyteller. You've enriched my life in ways and to depths that you'll never know. You are brilliant, talented, inspiring, thoughtful, creative, and wonderful. I'm glad I've gotten to have you all this time. You're my favorite.
