her handwriting is as familiar as my own

My sister Annie sent me the perfect letter today. First off, it was a letter; how often do I get treated to a real live, brick-and-mortar piece of post? The vehicle was a card; the front of the card was adorned with a photo [presumably taken by her] of the Red Sox mid-play at Fenway. Inside, the letter described a lovely visual of a roomful of babies instantaneously hypnotized by the first moments of Petra Hayden’s The Who Sell Out [thanks forever for turning me on to that, Tom]. The letter continued, and it ran through humor, tragedy, thrills, spills — the whole enchilada. I hesitate to tell her how much I enjoyed it, as she gets embarrassed by praise sometimes. If I can’t tell her that, I definitely can’t tell her that my relationship with her is one of the best things in my life.