Sweet Sisters

The title of this post may throw you a curve. I don’t have a sister, let alone sisters (plural). Well, I had a sister but she’s passed away. Anyhow, she and I didn’t know one another very well so I cannot say for certain if she was sweet or not. So, then, what am I talking about???

The family next door to me is Catholic. Ah! So now it begins to make sense. Sweet sisters must refer to the sisters of the big Catholic family. . .and it is a big family! No wrong again.

Last night a minivan drove into the neighbor’s driveway. Out popped 8 young nuns. I know nothing about what they were doing there. Thank God. I am not overly curious about my neighbor’s business and they are not too curious about ours. What I do know is that it is rare to see young nuns these days.

They all were in full habit dress. Pale grey. They piled out of the minivan laughing and obviously having a very good time.

So, what makes them sweet? I did not grow up Catholic and never went to Catholic schools. I have none of the myriad memories, negative memories, that my Catholic friends and colleagues seem to have. No nuns with rulers chasing me around the classroom.

A couple of these sisters waved and greeted me as I mowed the lawn. What made them sweet was just their presence. I felt calm and peaceful when they were here. I somehow felt safer. Given how bad my PTSD and anxiety are, this response on my part was most welcome.

The nuns stayed for about 24 hours. Sweet sisters. I am grateful for the few hours of relief they provided.

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