My kind of town (sorry, NYC)

Reasons I love Houston, TX:

Barbecue
Shoes
Indian pizza
Ear piercing
Dolly Parton
7 foot tall trannies
The House of Pies

Houston, you have won my heart. I have just returned from three days in the great state of Texas visiting my sister, KK, (which, along with the fact that I was sick last week, explains my absence), and let me say, Houston can give NYC a run for its money. OK, so Houston doesn't have monuments to architecture like the Empire State Building, and the Houston Museum of Fine Arts might not be the grand dame the Met is, but Houston does have a mall so big it has not one, but TWO Macy's, and, in this city, every eating establishment, from pizzerias* to burger joints, serves wine and beer. The motto of Houston, according to KK, is eat, drink and shop. And that we did. KK and I spent more time in the mall than we have since 1989. Which included getting her ears pierced at Claire's at the tender age of thirty-five.

Then, of course, there was the Dolly Parton concert, which was the catalyst of this weekday trip. I have seen U2, sat in the tenth row to watch Eric Clapton perform, as well as various other artists, and I can say with complete certainty, that Dolly Parton, with her overly injected, clownishly made-up face, platinum blonde wigs, sky blue satin, capri jumpsuit covered entirely in six inch-long rhinestone fringe, was the single best performer I have ever seen. She played eight different instruments during the show, including a dulcimer and a harmonica. She sang her classics, of course, but not to be hemmed in by the country genre, she also played Tina Turner's "River Deep mountain High" and Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" Stairway to Heaven! On a banjo! And I was sitting next to a seven foot tall drag queen dressed as Dolly. Had I died and gone to heaven?




Needless to say, my return to regular life has been bumpy, although I missed the kids and H a lot, the lack of barbecue, wine, sleep and pie, is making me a little cranky. What is making me even more cranky is missing my sister. We realized during breakfast at The House of Pies (see below), over huevos rancheros, and slices of both sweet potato and Texas pecan fudge pie (all of that was my breakfast, after which the tiny, Mexican waitress asked me, "You always eat like this?"), we had not spent this much time alone in almost ten years. Between the spouses and the kids, it seems there's always someone around which, while adding to the fun, also changes the dynamic.



For those of you with siblings you are close with, you know what a wonderfully complicated relationship exists between brothers and sisters. This is the person who has been there all your life and knows your deepest, darkest secrets, your strengths and weaknesses - like the fact you hate feet or minor chords (KK, and me respectively). You are probably pretty different, even though you came form the same household, and you appreciate those differences. One of you is balanced and relaxed, annoyed by the "pressure to move fast" after the other returns from a morning run, hopping around the hotel room flipping through guidebooks. I once read the sibling relationship is so important during childhood because these are the people we try out different personas on before we take them out in public, like Guns and Roses metal head, or suburban goody-two-shoes trying to become a hippie by buying peace sign earrings at Claire's and a baja at Spencers (again, KK and me). Our brothers and sisters helped shape you into the person you've become by their reaction to your unfortunate Joey Lawrence cap, and having seen all the struggle, are proud of you (and the fact that you ditched the chapeau).

Now that the girls are old enough to have had long-term friendships, the term "best friend" is being bandied about the house. While I am glad they have made close connections, I know the fickle nature of childhood friendship, and the same girl you split a BFF locket with from Piercing Pagoda in third grade, could be calling you a bitch by the sixth, so I don't encourage such exclusivity. I tell them, "You were born with two best friends, your sister and Little Man." In my experience, your siblings are the best friends you can have. You may be pissed she ripped your New Kids on the Block poster, but she's gonna be there for the good and the bad for the rest of your life, like it or not, which tends to encourage some kind of warm feelings, or at least a resigned peace.


When I am alone with K, I'm not a mother or a wife, I'm just me. The me I was before all these other relationships started rubbing against my edges and changing the shape of my personality. Being alone with my sister is like refocusing a fuzzy image. I leave with a renewed clarity about who I am and what's important to me.

So maybe make a plan with you brother or sister(s) for a night away, or dinner, or just an uninterrupted phone call. You can gain a new perspective spending time with the people who knew you when you were still becoming you.

And if you can do it while singing "Backwoods Barbie", that's even better.

*Indian pizza? I thought this was going to be a schizophrenic culinary nightmare...until I tasted saag paneer on flatbread.