The other day I was sitting at my kitchen table that was covered with illustrations and the story board for my next children's picture book. My sister/illustrator and I were visiting as we worked. We lost our father to Alzheimer's a few years ago. I asked her how long she thought our mother had to compensate and cover for our dad. She said for many, many years. I then asked her in hind sight, how old was she when she noticed the effects of the disease on our father. She answered that she remembers Dad acting a little eccentric clear back when she was three years old. Then she added that his father, our grandfather, was gassed in some forest during World War II, and it effected Dad and all his siblings. They were all a bit strange. As she continued talking, she hopped up and began smacking the kitchen bay window with her hand in attempts to try to get rid of a fly. She hopped up and down like a frog on a hot stove. I smiled at her and thought, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I love you my goofy big sister!
