Sister is back for the third summer in a row, and the week has somehow developed into some kind of sports camp with every day offering an introduction to a different sport.
She watched We are Marshall. When we explained that it was based on a true story she insisted on staying up late to find out what happens. The funny thing is that because it was a school/work night, Joe and the boys went to bed early so it was just the two of us: one who didn't know a thing about football, and the other who didn't know much more.
She played pool . . . holding the cue stick in one hand like a javelin. Timothy loved playing with her because she thought it was perfectly fine to move balls around to more much convenient locations . . . like directly in front of the pockets.
She joined us in watching and cheering the track and field events during the World Championships.
And one rainy afternoon, with Joe at work and the boys in school, I decided to take her bowling.
First we picked out shoes. She looked very cute in her dress and bowling shoes and she couldn't stop giggling.
Then I helped her pick out a bowling ball. We decided that ten pounds was about right, and she giggled some more as I showed her which finger went in which hole.
We walked to our lane, and after spending more time then I should have signing us in on the computer scoreboard, I gave her some pointers and turned her loose.
She picked up her ball, walked to the line, came to a complete stop and swung her arm back and forth a couple of times, finally releasing the ball in mid air so that it landed with a loud thunk. It very s l o w l y rolled down the lane and . . . STRIKE!
I don't know who was more shocked.
Then, when she did it again her on very next turn, I had a very Grinch-like thought: How, how can a nun from Tanzania, who has never bowled in her life, beat me? I will never, ever hear the end of it from my boys.
I know, I know . . . very uncharitable of me, but being the sole female in a house full of males has turned me into a competitive monster. Very unbecoming.
So to make amends for my grinchiness, that evening she and I stayed up to watch the television version of Titanic, which had us boo-hooing in grand style.
And I felt much, much better.