My Sister

My sister's birthday is today; she has grey hair under her Clairol. She is a grandmother.
Somehow that is just not possible.
There used to be a little girl with very long blonde braids living in my house.  She has been replaced by a tall, chic shorthaired woman.
As children we were never friends; our real connection began about 30 years ago and it is mainly by telephone that we maintain and strengthen our relationship. We live too far apart to be a part of each other's kitchens and back yards, so we can ignore our own maturing children and rapidly growing grandchildren if we want to. They are not always a part of the conversation.
We share an aging mother; we have just buried a very old father. We share some interests and are wildly aghast at some of the other things one of us enjoys. Dogs and poutine. Yes and no.
Winter walks and cats. No and yes.
The voice on the telephone is strong and youthful; will it always sound like this? Will my desire to have, always, a younger sister keep her 'forever young'?   Fear says that something will get us.  "Don't paint the devil on the wall." our mother says. We have good genes, we eat well, we neither smoke nor drink, we have good genes, we have good genes.....
Optimism say we will become two old ladies travelling to Santiago de Compostela and if that doesn't work, Winnipeg.
Happy birthday, dear sister, and truly many, many more.