Tag Archives: Tom

F is for my Fisky sister!

Because I can’t let my dear friend Dawn down, ever, let’s return to the letter E for just a quick moment.

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There they are– all the earrings in my right ear. Every day the same 🙂

Now on to the letter F!

April 9th, 1987 was the last “normal” day of my life. I was three and already an old lady in my mind.

The next day, I was sitting in the living room of a family I barely knew when a tall, glasses-wearing, balding man in work clothes came walking up to the door. I yelled out, “Daddy!” and was absolutely mortified when it wasn’t him. I was so embarrassed that the lady I was staying with thought it would be nice to give me some jello. Green jello.

Green?! Salt in the freaking wound! Of all the jello colors… green?! Ugh.

(Note: I have no opposition to the use of green jello as one of many layers in a delicious multi-layered jello salad, which incidentally counts as a side dish rather than as a dessert in the great state of Wisconsin. But green jello on its own? No thank you.)

Before that, I remember being in the hospital with my mom and dad and leaving without my mom. What the whaaaaaat?! As far as I was concerned, it was my mom’s job, passion, life to take care of me and now I was to be abandoned. Abandoned to the not-dad and lady with green jello.

Why?

Because Abby.

On April 10th, 1987, Abby was born and I was no longer an only child. I had a sister.

I’m a jealous and self-centered person by nature. I realize that sounds super self-deprecating, but it’s the truth and certainly not unexpected of a three year old. (Not so hot at 30; I try to be better.) My sudden realization that I was no longer alone, no longer the sole focus of my parents’ combined adoring attention was basically devastating.

In the months that followed, I came down with a severe case of what the doctor called “Abby-itis”… constant nagging, yet invisible, ailments that required frequent trips to the doctor. Ahhh… attention. Very astute diagnosis, Dr. Stone.

Sometime around high school or so I stopped calling my sister Abalucus (and singing the accompanying song that ended with “Abalucas, you smell like rotten po-taaaa-to peels!!!”) and switched to calling her Shabsky. I don’t know why. It just came to me.

Then she got a middle name– I started calling her Shabsky Balu. Short for Shabsky Baluga. Last name? Fisk. Why? No idea.

(Imagine my shock when I went to google an image of a “baluga” whale only to find out that it’s actually spelled “beluga”… too late to change the nickname birth certificate now!)

Most of the time I call Abby Shabs, short for Shabsky. When I use it after “I love you,” it’s Shabsky Balu (on account of it rhymes and rhyming is awesome). When I’m feeling a little more formal, it’s Shabsky Baluga Fisk. When I talk about her as my sister, I call her my fisky sister. And now you know.

This was probably near-ish the time Shabsky became Shabsky.
This was probably near-ish the time Shabsky became Shabsky.

Turns out, Fisk isn’t a terribly uncommon word. Johnson and Johnson’s CEO’s first name is Fisk. Fisk Johnson. And there’s a historically black college called Fisk University in Nashville. I doubt very much that I had ever heard of either of those things back when I started calling my sister that, but it’s good to know that I may actually be able to purchase a Fisk sweatshirt someday when I finally make it to Nashville. (Shhh… don’t tell Shabs!)

My fisky little sister is freaking amazing.

You don’t even know.

(Unless you do know, and then I have no doubt you agree.)

She’s gorgeous, like so gorgeous you want to hate her, but then she opens her mouth and you think “oh, poor thing, such a ditz” and you love her… except then she suddenly puts on some steel-toed boots and a hard hat and tours you around her million story chemical plant, knowing all the ins and outs and pipes and valves (she’s a chemical engineer) and you realize that, actually, she’s freaking brilliant, and you want to hate her all over again. Except you can’t, because she’s ridiculously and crazy and genuinely nice. She’s just so… fisky! It’s the only way to explain it!

Oh man, you should have seen us getting our grooves on later this night-- we love dancing together! Love it!
Oh man, you should have seen us getting our grooves on later this night– we love dancing together! Love it!

After I skipped third grade, Abby and I were far enough apart in school to guarantee that we were never in the same building. I never really knew how exceptionally sad that was going to be though until I went away to college and moving away from my sister was like leaving a little piece of my heart behind.

Imagine the surprise this warranted for the three-year-old self trapped in my 17-year-old body!

I’ve always loved her, but it took distance for me to really appreciate her. She told me when I moved away, “Don’t get drunk. Don’t get pregnant. I love you.” and then made me a bunch of killer soundtracks for life to take with me. I came home that year to watch her run in a cross country meet and to do her hair for her Homecoming dance (I colored the ends of her exceptionally bright blonde hair red with a washable marker– it was genius, she looked so great). We got closer that year, after I moved to the very opposite end of the state, than we had ever been before.

No amount of cold can keep us sisters apart!!
No amount of cold can keep us sisters apart!!

Since then, I’ve felt like my fisky little sister and I are basically intertwined. I love every single second of time I get to spend with her and I miss her always when I can’t. But, to be perfectly honest with you, I got really nervous about our relationship in December 2011 as her first due date rapidly approached.

I knew I already loved my niece more than anything, but I was jealous all over again. I like thinking of my Shabs as Rachel’s sister… I didn’t think I would like very much when Abby stopped being Rachel’s sister and started being Emma’s mom.

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Shabsky makes such an amazing mom!!

Good news, though! They’re one in the same! And as much as I think babies are cool and whatevs, no one is as cool as this crazy little Emma girl that my sister (and her husband, the illustrious Stu man) managed to produce– she’s amazing! A little mini-Abby! And I adore her!

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I just love, love, love them both! My sweet Abby and Emma!!

Abby’s got another due date rapidly approaching at the end of June… she’s going to have another little girl, I’m going to have another niece, and Emma, that lucky ducky, is going to have a sister. I know how it’s going to feel for her at first; her world is going to be turned completely upside down. Little does she know, it’ll be the best thing that ever happens to her… because there is nothing better in this world than having a sister. Especially if she’s a real fisky one 🙂

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Emma, darling, what does your shirt say?! Big sister?! You’re going to love it– trust me!

Abby and I have always said that if we ever have a girl, we can’t stop having babies until we have another girl because every girl should have a sister. I know my mom and Aunt Susan would agree. So would my Grandma Rita and Great Aunt Judy. So far, my Shabsky Balu is batting a thousand– good work, Fisky!

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Fun! Always, always fun!

What about you? Do you have a sister? Is she fisky? I hope so!

 

PS: My brother, aka my Stubby little Stubnitz, is pretty dang ah-ah-ah-mazing too. And he’s lucky enough to have TWO awesome sisters. If you ever wondered how wonderful life would be with a sister, he’d be the one to ask. Eh, Tombo?

Believe or not, Tom's the tallest of us all these days!!
Believe or not, Tom’s the tallest of us all these days!!

Also, he’s going to write a book. He’s really good at writing dialogue. Like reeeeal good. Sometimes he sends me snippets of said book via text message in the middle of the night and I always, always, always want to read more. I’ve given him permission to use a couple of my more spectacular blog sentences (mostly because it flatters me when he says he likes them) and I fully plan to be acknowledged right at the beginning. Look for it someday!

 

Even Seth is a pretty big fan of my fisky sister-- he sang Soft Kitty to her the night before her wedding. Nothing calms the nerves quite like Soft Kitty!
Even Seth is a pretty big fan of my fisky sister– he sang Soft Kitty to her the night before her wedding. Nothing calms the nerves quite like Soft Kitty!

 

 

 

 

A Scientifically Sound Algorithm for Calculating Your Ideal Weight

I have always been a big fan of my little brother’s sense of humor. It’s like Will Ferrel, Carl Sagan, Andy Samberg, and Friedrich Nietzsche got together to have one, very tall, very skinny, very fascinating love child… and that is my brother. (Steve Martin and Bill Murray are his exceptionally influential God-parents, in case you were wondering.)

We don’t get to chat terribly often, but when we do, it’s always good. (Especially when it’s a long text conversation that involves cyber-bullying our sister… but that’s another story for another day.) When the Superbowl got Superboring this Sunday we struck up one such conversation and although it never really ended, I went to bed.

Such glorious things were waiting for me when I woke up!

First: a list of genius movies for a Vonck-style film fest. Ummm, yes please! Where do I sign up?

You so want to come, don't you?!
You so want to come, don’t you?!

Still not the point though– (and I am taking my sweet time getting there, aren’t I???)

The final text awaiting me on Monday morning was a novel and brilliant way to think about your ideal weight (my brother– he gets me, you see) and I couldn’t get it out of my head all day. I believe my brother and the person he quoted were on to something spectacular, and I would like to propose this genius algorithm as the ultimate way to calculate your ideal weight.

The holy grail of health and happiness!

And it starts with considering how much you love puppies. Because of course.

First, on a scale of 0 – 10, how much do you love puppies? That’s your input:

Ideal Weight Algorithm

The algorithm output is your ideal weight and it’s actually a very simple calculation.

Say, for example, on a scale of 0 – 10, the amount you love puppies is 8. Then your ideal weight is simply the weight of you holding 8 puppies.

Let’s try another example, if the amount you love puppies is 5, then your ideal weight is the weight of you holding 5 puppies.

It even works if you don’t like puppies (for the love of all that is holy– what is wrong with you?! but no judgement…). In that case, your ideal weight is the weight of you holding zero puppies, and you’re there!

So the actual algorithm inspiration was this quote that my brother sent: “My ideal weight is the weight of me holding eight puppies.” Tom’s addition: “I think that’s a level of physical and emotional and psychological comfort everybody should strive for in so many different ways… in all of the ways.”

B-I-N-G-O!

My sister responded with these:

ooooooo... mmmmmm... ggggggg...
ooooooo… mmmmmm… ggggggg…

But seriously, puppies are amazing. And puppies do not care what you look like for even a second— not even one! To a puppy in your arms, you are at your ideal weight. No need to worry! And that’s probably the best attitude you could take about it. The puppy attitude.

If you’ll excuse me please, I need to gain same pound(puppie)s…

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(Seriously, that was a genius play on words, was it not?!)

 

Tom… Hanks-style. Brotherly love.

So, I’m sure you guys remember my desperate pleas for help regarding this illegible inscription from Adam Bucko:

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I got a lot of really great responses about what people thought it said and the general consensus seemed to be in favor of “May you be the change,” but I was still having some trouble making that out.  It just didn’t seem quite right.

Fortunately, my brother Tom was on the case.  In a somewhat obsessive way…. but I think he solved it!!

This is what he sent me:

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And what he said was, “I think this is correct.  I traced it out until I could roughly free-hand the last two words then exaggerated the markings to separate out the individual letters.  Pretty damn fitting, if you ask me.”  And he went on to explain other hand writing analysis techniques he explored…

The conclusion?

MAY YOU BE IN GRACE.

YES!!

I was so pumped!  But my favorite part is when Tom said this:

“I have a huge adrenaline rush right now 🙂  I just read the grace post and then that one and then felt like Tom Hanks in the Da Vinci Code piecing it all together.”

So I’ve got his address (you’d think I would have already had it, but alas, I did not… terrible sister) and his book is on its way.  Such a good brother!!  Thanks, Tom!

 

PS: My brother is a bonafide genius, but he is brilliant in a way very different from my sister and me.  Abby and I tend toward the sciences with a focus on the concrete.  Tom has a degree in philosophy and manages to wrap his big brain around some really crazy concepts.  In addition to being brilliant in that way, Tom is an AMAZING writer… and has been since he was like, I don’t know, eight?  As such, knowing he’s following along with my blog makes me feel CRAZY good!  Also, Tom’s hilarious… like if Will Ferrell and Andy Samberg had a tall, skinny man-child… and yet, sometimes I can make him laugh!  Nothing better than that!!