Happy Birthday, Vicky

1947 - 2009

She was the best friend I'll ever have. She was my confidant, my co-conspiritor, my foil, my front man. At one time in her life she was my complete and total nemesis. Then she grew up and really wasn't so bad after all. She was smart ~ really smart ~ funny, clever, endlessly inventive, deeply kind and loving. She was also the most disorganized and the messiest person I've ever met. She started dozens of projects and never finished most of them. But her delight in the undertaking of the project was total. She couldn't wait until the blanket or sweater or needlework piece was finished and given as a gift or used at home! When prodded about progress, she would just shrug and murmur something about buying something instead. She loved books, movies, staying in bed all day to read, orange juice, ice cream, beautiful stationery ~ although she never wrote to anyone ~ and ink pens, her family, her friends, her animals. She was uncommonly brave, or perhaps intrepid is a better word. She had a job with the Connecticut Department of Health as an STD counselor which meant she had to go into some less desirable neighborhoods of New Haven looking for possibly infected citizens. (Our mother never knew the exact nature of her job. She thought Vic worked in a doctor's office as a receptionist. It would have been too indelicate to explain to her what STD's were.). She was also brave about her deteriorating health right up to the end. She loved to shop. She didn't care what it was for; clothes, groceries, light bulbs, shoe laces, garden plants, gasoline, plastic household goods. Let's just get in the car and go see what's out there. She loved going to museums, movies, operas, out to breakfast, out to lunch, out to dinner, even out to tea. Other people intrigued her; their stories, their lives, their choices. She was a person of deep sympathy for others, deep empathy. She loved, loved, LOVED to laugh. The longer and harder, the better. She was a woman of strong convictions, a deep moral and ethical streak that gave her some trouble from time to time, but not much. Mostly she knew who she was, and most of the time she liked what she knew. She was always up for mischief. That's what I miss most; the mischief.

She was my sister.

Goodnight, Mrs. Roosevelt, wherever you are.