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Flora Rosefsky, pages 618-621
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Just as an umbrella can be a protective shield from rain or inclement weather, it can also be a source of warmth, comfort when it is shared.
My personal “umbrella” growing up was my big sister along with other members of my family, but I think, like the sisters in Alcott’s Little Women, my sister and I manifested a bond different from someone else whom we might have called our best friend.
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A Sunday morning ritual growing up, making a tent from the blankets or top sheet in my big sister’s double bed, where you almost needed a step stool to climb up, created a magical, safe place to cuddle together, while looking through the latest fashions in the Sunday New York Times.
The times when Ethel set the pink curlers and bobby pins tightly in my hair, where in the morning, when the rollers came out, the frizzy curls were a disaster; yet it just became another way for me to know that in her heart, my sister wanted me to look and feel pretty.
At age 20, after getting married and moving away to Upstate New York, our relationship was never the same. Visits became more like occasions, less time to find that magical umbrella we had growing up in our teen years.
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