I know just where I was eighteen years ago this morning and exactly what I was thinking. It was clear and warm and very springlike for so early in the year that morning too. (Today I awoke to unexpected darkness. Yeah, I know it's always dark that early in January, but last night there was snow to brighten things up. This morning it was raining hard, banging the tin porch roof like a kid with a new drum. Perhaps I should check the weather channel now and then. Going to have to dig out the boss's extra rubber boots for the barnward slog this day.)

In 1988, I was debating at this hour of the morning, awake and who wouldn't be, how early I dared call our dearest friends who were going to take Liz to spend a few days with them, while the big doin's went on at our house. We lived in town then so the boss went up to the farm to milk and do chores and left me alone. (Good grief I was an independent fool.) I guess it was around nine thirty that they came and picked up our little one for her "vacation" with her favorite people. She actually took her first steps at their house, not so many months before that day. They didn't mention it because they thought we knew. It was wildly funny when I called Caroline a few days later and said, "Elizabeth is walking," and she said, "Oh, wasn't she walking before?"

Anyhow, by the time they came I was enthroned on the sofa in the living room, wishing the boss would forget the darned cows and come and get ME. St. Mary's was calling me loud and clear and it was TIME with a capital T.

By noon-thirty Liz had a sister. She was sure a keeper. Happy eighteenth birthday Becky, our quirky, funny, quiet one, Emerson Drive fan extraordinaire, middle kid, that oh, so hard spot in the family lineup. We thank you for all the years of help and fun and cooking us great dinners, especially your best-in-the-world macaroni and cheese. Many happy returns new voter, soon to be driver and ready for college young adult. We sure do love you!