Here's to Sisters....

Have I told you I hate change? Some change is good. Like the new sweatshirt I'm wearing. That's good change. Especially when my husband says, "I like the hemp like coloring of the drawstrings," and I say, "Thanks Napoleon Dynamite," and then we both have to wipe tears from our eyes from laughing so hard. But also there is change that is hard. One hard change I made myself come to grips with tonight.

My mom was an entrepreneur. Always a new idea and always a business of some sort going somewhere. Her ideas cost my dad a lot of money. But he always had her back and let her try. And she kept on trying. They were a great team that way. One of her worst/best ideas was the Shag Scarf that she made on a knitting machine from home. Those kitting machines were about a yard and a half long, had all kinds of metal hooks going every which way and some sort of a flat-iron looking contraption that you slid back and forth along the thing until "wha-lah"! It made a Shag Scarf. Now the scarf itself was...hideous (sorry if any of you readers still wear yours. But it's true.) It was made out of the yarn that has the pokeys coming out of it? You know what I'm talking about right? All of the pokeys everywhere? And then every inch or so more pokeys down the line, throughout the scarf, so once a whole scarf was knitted together it was a whole triangle tied to your neck of pokeys. It looked like your throat got in an accident with a bad Madonna hairdo. But bless her heart...she sold a ton, at least to every lady in our church because that became known as Shag Scarf city. My mom knew how to get people to help her too. I'd come home from school and there'd be some stranger on the couch, with the Madonna throat problem, with the knitting machine on her lap and mom would be on the chair with another one. They'd both be watching Oprah and mom would just turn around and say, "Darbi, you remember Karen..... from Costco?" Of course! I'd grab a quick snack and head directly to my knitting machine. She made everything fun too. Even child labor law abuse. She had so many gifts.

I don't remember what year it was, but mom was finally able to open a store outside of her home. Her and her sisters bought a beautiful house in a great location and opened it as an antiques and home accessories shop. It was called Sisters. There was a garden room where we had sandwiches and espresso and a floral shop and everything. It was WONDERFUL. I had a hot dog cart out front one summer called Darbi's Dawgs (and I have the sign in my garage to prove it!). I ate there with dates before high school dances, I talked to my sister-in-law after her first date with my brother, I had my high school graduation party there, I learned about inventory and how dad gets mad when mom and I buy too much, I learned all about espresso and how to never call it eXpresso, but what I learned the most from my mom was how to love people no matter what you are doing.

People came in there to buy a greeting card and before you knew it, they were telling her their life story and she was crying with them, laughing with them and loving on them with every ounce of her being. When you opened the door to Sisters, you opened the door to love. Everyone was welcome. Everyone was treated with respect. You were a friend, you were her sister. Unfortunately though, business is business and the sales on the antiques side of things weren't as hopping as on the restaurant side of things, so Sisters was sold to new owners before mom passed away about 9 years ago. But the Sisters years were some of the best years..,.

Fast forward to tonight. Mike and I were able to go on a date. We decided to try the restaurant that now fills the shoes of my mom's store. It's called Ballyhoo's, an Irish pub. I've driven by the store for years, always staring and trying to see in the windows as best as I can, but never having the nerve to go in, always knowing it would tear my heart out. I kept waiting for someone just as good as mom to go in and really spruce the place up but it hasn't happened yet. Maybe it will be a pub forever. And that's okay. But I think it's time to go in.

When we're at the front door I'm already emotional. I remember taking pictures of mom, Aunt Nancy, Aunt Janet, Aunt Kathy and Aunt Carolyn when we first opened on these very steps. And I think we need a plaque out here that says "This is where the Darbi Johnson had her first iced Mocha" because I know I've sunk at LEAST a couple grand into those since having my first one here. But when I opened the front door instead of hearing soft piano music, smelling a vanilla candle and seeing my mom's smiling face, I smelled must, saw re-painted walls, re-done everything and couldn't find her anywhere. Anywhere. I looked. As I walked into every area, slowly and tried my best to remember where everything was, exactly as she had it, and couldn't really, tears filled up in my eyes. Don't get me wrong. It was a great pub. But Dianne was gone. Still gone. And I wanted her to be there, to ask me how my day was at school, to tell me to go ahead and make myself an iced mocha and then to listen to all of my pitiful girl drama like only she could, to tear up when I teared up, to laugh at everything I thought was funny and then to just randomly walk over and kiss me on the head because that's what moms do and I miss her and that's her store and I'm still her kid.

Well, Mike and I found a table and we ordered and started talking and I didn't want to talk about the store or I would loose it so I asked him, "Do you want to play MASH?" and he said, "Yeah," so we got out some paper and we played a children's game in which you pretend to predict the future about where you're going to live, how many kids you'll have, what kind of car you'll drive and we laughed with each other and talked just the two of us and had a totally awesome date. I looked at him and I thought, "Do all people who have been married 11 1/2 years get to have this much fun? Are they this in love? I am sure a lucky girl because I am so in love with this guy. " After we ate we took a brief walk in a park. That's where a few tears came out. I told Mike, "I miss my mom." He said, "I know." I said, "I think she would have liked us." He looked at me awkwardly, "You mean still liked us?" What I meant is that I just think she would like the adults we are. We seemed to be kids when she died. She just loved to see Mike laugh. She'd just say, "Look it!" and we'd just watch him...and he still does that...wouldn't she still want to see that? And I think she'd want to see that I'm a lot like her. I mean, they can take my mom and all of her stuff out of a really important building, but they can never take Dianne out of me. So I guess tonight Dianne was at Sisters. =-) I really miss you mom.