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It happened again. I’m talking to someone, and out of the blue, they say, “Wow, you look just like Barbra Streisand!” It used to annoy me because although I loved Barbra’s voice, I wasn’t such a fan of her nose. Which, I knew, was the main reason I looked like her. Or at least I did once I started straightening my hair. But before then, there was the time that my sister (long before I started calling her “Black”) first made the connection, albeit it in a very unexpected – and public – way.


You see, it all started with an innocent visit to Saks Fifth Avenue in the Houston Galleria. She was about to get married (not for the first time, I might add, and I probably shouldn’t mention how many engagements she had but called off), and it was only days away from the wedding. I was in from overseas, and we were doing some last-minute shopping (she liked to call it “retail therapy”) for her as I’m definitely not a “shopper” and Saks Fifth Avenue has never been my price point, although Black has often tried to explain the concept of calculating cost per wearing.

So, you may be wondering, what has any of this to do with my looking like Barbra Streisand?

I can’t remember if we started at the shoe department and were heading to cosmetics or vice versa, but we cut through an accessories area that included hats. Before I knew it, my sister tossed one at me that seemed like half hat/half wig as it had straight hair attached to it. And then said, in that older sister way that’s somewhere between a dare and a command, which leaves you no option but to “obey”,

Put it on! [Slight pause followed by uncontrollable laughter and then trying to speak while still laughing …] Look in the mirror. You are the spitting image of Barbra Streisand.

I suppose my theater degree didn’t help matters, as once I glanced into a mirror and saw she was right, I went into a really bad impersonation by singing (off-key, no less), the first few words of “People,” complete with crossing my eyes (not to make fun of people with strabismus) to achieve just the right Barbra “effect”.

Over the years, we’ve laughed at how we probably should have bought that hat, but maybe it’s better that we didn’t. At least for me as, in the years to come, my sister would put my life in a book, so heaven knows what she would have done if she could have had a photo of me in that hat. Better to leave it to your imagination.

Red's two Labradoodles

Photo taken by Red

If you asked Black about National Pet Month, she’d probably quote you statistics about the number of people who have pets and the health benefits, conveniently “forgetting” what she told Red about unconditional love. But Red would tell you that she celebrates Moo (read the original post to learn about the other “unusual names” of her four-legged family members) every day, letting her know with a hug and a cuddle how much she’s loved.



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Well, this month marks 18 years since you changed my life, so I wanted to thank you. Again. For bringing such happiness into the lives of the girls and me, although some heartbreaking sadness, too. But there's nothing like unconditional love.


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OK, but can you tell me what you are talking about?


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Do you remember when I moved to Houston after living overseas, and we started going to the Hyatt Hill Country in San Antonio for Memorial Day weekend? You were married to Larry, and his girls were young, and Natasha and Sawyer were even younger. Well, in 2003 you asked me if it was OK if you got us a puppy.


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You had always talked about getting a dog but wanted to have children first. The timing seemed right, but given your allergies, the options were limited. Until I learned about a new breed, well technically a mixed breed, originally developed in Australia to be hypoallergenic guide dogs.


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I'll never forget you showing me photos of the most incredibly adorable dogs I'd ever seen. The fact Labradoodles were half standard poodle, which was what I had initially thought we'd get, and half Labrador Retriever was amazing. But only you could find the perfect dog from an article in a business magazine.
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Photo courtesy of United States Holocaust Memorial Museum
Last night began Holocaust Remembrance Day, which ends today at sunset. A day when Jews around the world stop to reflect on a horror beyond comprehension. Yet, in light of the atrocities being committed in Ukraine, it should make us all stop, think, and promise to “never forget.” As we see images that are hard to believe are happening now, there are some Holocaust images that will always be imprinted in our minds and hearts … all serving as a reminder that, regardless of your religion, evil is evil.

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Shoes. Seemingly endless shoes. That’s all I can think about.


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I know you cannot be talking about my closet.


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Far from it! It’s an image that’s forever burned in my memory. A pile of shoes, each one representing a life lost. Each one a story onto itself. Each one proof of something we should never forget.


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Normally, I would ask you to tell me what you are talking about or accuse you of being overly dramatic. But, not this time.
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For golfers, spring means another Masters golf tournament. Last year, everyone talked about the 35th anniversary of Jack Nicklaus’s amazing come-from-behind victory to claim his 18th major championship. What made it even more amazing was that, at 46, no one thought he would ever win another major. This year, the talk’s all about Tiger Woods (now 46) competing on the 25th anniversary of his first Masters win. It’s a comeback story straight out of Hollywood as a serious car accident 14 months ago initially left people wondering if he would survive, let alone ever play golf again. (Which is reminiscent of when Ben Hogan, one of golf’s all-time greats, came back after a horrific car accident in 1949 to win The U.S. Open in 1950.)

For most golf fans and lovers of great sports comebacks stories, those are inspirational examples of never giving up. And although I was in the crowd around the 18th hole in 1986 when Jack Nicklaus raised his putter in triumph, that was my second favorite Masters memory. And my greatest memory at the Masters didn’t actually take place at the Masters. Well, not at the golf course, anyway.

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