Three French Hens

Sister Act.

You learn a lot from your sisters about being cool in high school. Painting tiny stars on the corners of your eyes for a concert, cool. Wearing just enough white lipstick, cool. Stay away from blue eyeshadow, cooler. I had a lot of coolness just by association. "Hey kid, you Chronicler's little sister?" "yeah" "Cool." Yeah, cool. The fact is, all of my siblings were high score on the cool charts. Big brother was such a geek he became cool for that. Kind of like the geeky guy who is in the "in" crowd for balance. But he sang and danced and acted and could do voices and off the top comedy to make you cry. He was a really talented guy. But all in all he was the poster boy for the 98lb. weakling.

Chronicler was next in the pecking order. Always tall, slim and somehow managed to be in fashion no matter what she wore. We grew up poor and with a lot of home made stuff, but she was "model-esque" in those days, and everyone looked to her for what was new and hip. She sang also, fluently spoke more languages than anyone else, and had big teeth and dimples that got her in a lot of places. She was smart and bright and pretty and everyone wanted to be her friend. Yeah, she was cool.

In addition to Chronicler being hip, she dated a bass player in a band. A long haired, black finger nailed, face painted guy in the band. Woo - Who! Yup, he was pretty hard core back then, Mr. "Mom's Worst Nightmare" cool. They introduced me to things like Alice Cooper, burgundy velvet high waist pants and lighting a cigarette lighter at just the right moment during a concert. She went to San Diego for college. She got a job as an tour guide on the Queen Mary, bought me my first real pearl necklace, and lived in Long Beach. She had her own place. Yeah cool.

The other sister (she hasn't a handle or tag yet) was way cool. She had the perfect hair, the perfect skin, the perfect shape and the perfect group of friends. She was hip to the lingo. Pretty to a fault, eyes that stood out, and always knew what was on the horizon. She was "A" list. All the teachers liked her and most of the school wanted to be her. She was the poor kid in the rich kids' group and no one cared. She had blond hair and blue eyes, and a tan to rival George Hamilton. She eventually got a mustang and it had a license frame that said it hailed from Newport Beach, because hey, she's just that cool. She was the one to get a summer place on Balboa Island and a job on Fashion Island. She bought me a bathing suit that year. Pretty cool.

The other sister was also into Rod Stewart. It was due to her fascination that all three sisters spent one summer (in a v.w. bug that enjoyed starting the back seat on fire) chasing the band all over So CAL and eventually caught up with him. She was the one who met him (had lunch with him, got a back stage pass from him, um, sat by the pool with him). Him, Rod the bod. Yup. But as a consolation prize, I got to sit in his limo and get my picture taken with his Japanese drummer. She had written a biography about him and she got all the other stuff. Oh well. None of my other friends ever came that close to a celebrity sighting. But this sister also dated one of the Wayne boys, as in John Wayne's boys. (yeah, she's that kind of pretty) I forget which one, but hey, that was cool. I remember going to a dance club with her. She snuck me in and, after some goof balls followed us out to the parking lot wanting our numbers, she was the one who taught me you smile, say yes, and then give them a number; just not your number.

I could go on and on about my sisters. The three of us have been through a lot. Most of our childhood would make an interesting read although most folks who find it too "over the top" or "un-real". It has made us who we are. Three sisters who have a few things in common and yet are so different some folks are surprised to find out we are even related.

Chronicler has always been in the lead and now she is once again as she has gathered us together and formed another group blog. Three French Hens is launched today. Cool.