Where Three Sibs Meet

"Never have an odd number of children - there will always be one left out."
- Anonymous parent

In Milwaukee, Pittsburgh Street turns into Milwaukee Avenue which runs through the historic gut of downtown. Around the trendy Third Ward, Milwaukee Avenue intersects with Chicago Avenue. If you turn left on Chicago, you hit the shops, spas, and restaurants of the city that can play supporting roles to a great afternoon. 

This weekend, Pittsburgh, Milwaukee and Chicago collided figuratively as well. My sister, brother, and I flew, pushed a stroller and drove to be together in Lyla's hometown. And we spent Saturday afternoon relaxing on Chicago Avenue and Broadway.

The rest of the weekend was spent eating and drinking. Running and walking. Praying and playing. Spa-ing and shopping. And a lot of Lyla ogling.

It's hard to believe, but we're all in different cities than each other right now, and getting together is a little more challenging than the days when we could just meet by the (non-cordless) phone at the top of the stairs. We'd wait there for the 'go' sign from Mom and Dad on Christmas morning; we'd collide to harass the phone user and the gentleman called to the point of erupted fury; we'd meet to argue whether or not practicing the flute at 9:30 PM was allowed; and we'd join together and laugh after we each got a knock on our door by Dad, alerting us that the turkeys were once again in the yard.

An anonymous parent once told me to never have an odd number of children - say three. She said that one will always be left out. That two will always gang up. That three means one will always have to sit by a stranger on the Thunderbolt. I have to disagree. Because the three of us are and have always been there for each other. Sure, there were afternoons - backyard games - dinner time conversations that stirred some sibling rivalry. But you could always count on number three to bring us together again, instead of choosing sides. And reconciliation tended to happen at the top of the stairs.

Around 1997, when my sister went to college, the hallway and meeting spot that joined my path with my sister's and brother's became a little less connective. My brother and I still intersected daily, but it was weird not having my sister around the corner anymore. Then I went to college, and my sister and I shared a path to North Dining Hall, while the hallway in Pittsburgh left my brother alone. Throughout the next decade, there were years when I was more likely to meet up with my brother. And years when my sister was just a walk down Carson street away. Years when we only shared the hallway on the holidays.  

We're all apart now, and it leaves me wishing that we were closer.


After I got back home from Milwaukee yesterday, Peter and I intersected on West Street for dinner - a meal that brought together the hunt and my love of Italy. Peter had shot ducks early Sunday morning in southern Illinois, so I rendered them in duck fat, Burgundy and stock until they formed a ragout.

I made homemade pappardelle, and served the ragout over the noodles.

Peter felt very field to table as we feasted, and I felt thankful that the dining room would most likely always be our point of intersection. That when we had a family, this would be the place where our children would meet up to make fun of their parents, exchange trials of the school day, and compliment Mom's home cooking (wishful thinking). 

My Mom, one of eight, told me that my siblings would always be my best friends - I'm glad that I have two of them. And just as easily as the city of Milwaukee brings together our corners of the world, so too does the bond, the stories, and the compassion that we share with each other.

Lo.