I loved being an older sister to my younger sister Jane. For the first fourteen years of my life we shared a room. I loved the closeness, the talks, the sisterly fights, the unspoken words and knowing we shared a history. When we moved to a bigger home, each with our own bedroom, I missed Jane.

On November 7, 1981 that changed, I changed. After forty one years a hole remains in my heart, but not my love for my cherished sister.

Jane and I were polar opposites. When she was younger she tagged along with me, I babysat for her, protected her and in her own way she looked up to me. One of the biggest thrills was the summer she came with me to overnight camp. For the first time I got to ride the sisters bus. I had a little sister at camp. She drove me nuts coming to my bunk every day and crying about not wanting to take horseback riding. We resolved the issue but secretly I missed her visits and felt important watching out for my little sister.

Banished to the kitchen for her sweet 16, not cool enough for her friends, I took it in stride and knew Jane would outgrow the behavior. Sadly we never had a chance to watch Jane grow up. What I do know is the unconditional love based on the cards and letters I still have and cherish and read and reread. Jane told me she was proud of me when I landed my job at Bloomingdale’s out of college.

In looking at the pictures, I was astounded to see the resemblance between Jane and I. She is standing in the living room in a long navy dress, hand on the piano. It could be a dead ringer for a picture of me in college where I stand in a long navy dress. Jane had a dimple on her right cheek, but side by side no mistaken we are sisters. It warms my heart to look at this picture.

I will never know who Jane would be today and dream of her often. I had the gift of her for twenty two years. A special sister I love then, today, and forever.

October is my birthday. A day for the past forty one years filled with many mixed emotions.

I recall birthday parties with Margie and Jane held in our basement. All dressed up in our party dresses, white ruffled socks, Mary Janes, sitting at long rectangular tables with paper party hats secured to our heads with a thin elastic, eating Hoodsies with a small wooden spoon and birthday cake. Different themes of party – Come dress like your father, Come dress like an animal, or basic birthday parties with pin the tail on donkey. Margie wearing my father’s suit jacked draped over her shoulders dragging on the floor. Jane dressed up as a bunny, eyes squinting never liked having her picture taken, surrounded by adorable friends in assorted animal costumes all smiling.

I hold onto the birthday cards received from Margie and Jane – precious words of love amongst sisters read over and held close to my heart.

Birthdays in our family traditionally celebrated with a cake, candles, and happiness marking the day.

The last time I saw Jane I came home from New York to celebrate my twenty fifth birthday. For decades my birthday held a cloud of sadness. Unable to disassociate a celebration with the harsh reality of the loss of my cherished younger sister. I put up a front for my daughters and parents marking milestone birthdays with large birthday parties, trying to mask the sadness and hollowness inside. When I met with one of Jane’s friends who told me Jane would want me to celebrate, I tried to switch the directive of my birthday. I attempted to find some happiness for several years. Sometimes a new plan distracted the heartache but always in the subconscious.

Now I am conflicted. I know in my head I need to celebrate the day. I have much to be grateful for, but my heart remains with a hole and missing my sisters. There is much I want to share with my beloved sisters as our beautiful family grows.
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Birthdays are a day to be celebrated. When my grandson calls and sings Happy Birthday to me I melt and how can I not smile? The joy on his little face, the innocence, and love. 

I do not know how I will feel this year but I have grown in allowing myself permission and compassion to feel whatever the day or week leading up to my birthday may bring. I will skate on the actual day, something that brings me joy and peace When I step on the ice and think about how Margie and Jane would be laughing how their sister Judy is now on a synchronized skating team and still as timid as she was at eight when we all started skating.  I know Margie and Jane are with me as I glide across the ice, wind blowing in my hair, each one on my shoulder, forever in my heart.

​The weather turns a bit cooler, the morning sunlight sleeps a little longer, daylight a bit shorter, we celebrate the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. Translated, Head of the Year, a time of prayer and self-reflection. We review our actions during the past year, and we look for ways to improve ourselves, our communities, and our world in the year to come. The holiday marks the beginning of a ten day period High Holidays or Days of Awe starting with Rosh Hashanah and ending with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.
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A day I remember my sisters, Margie and Jane, traditions past, with the attempt to orchestrate new traditions cementing a balance of the two as we welcome new members of the family. Finding the right mix is not an easy fix and requires years of tweaking, challenges, and a constant work in progress. The staple are the apples and honey in the hope of a sweet new year.

Reflecting on the past year my heart beams. I am grateful for the gift of family, friends, time, dreams, and hope. A milestone birthday of sixty-five and joining the ranks of many enrolled in Medicare, a decade of the Celebration of Sisters ice skating fundraiser, the publication of Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve, a move out of the city after eleven years, and the opportunity to meet new and wonderful people after a global pandemic. There is work to be done and more to learn and grow each day.

This past year not without challenges and mistakes, hopefully lesson learned and progress made, and where opportunities lie to do better.
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To you and yours, I wish you a Happy, Healthy and Peaceful New Year!

August first is fast approaching and each year the anticipation up to the day causes heartache, sadness, and sweet memories of my beautiful older sister Margie. The girl with the wide smile, big brown sparkling eyes, long silky straight brown hair, and bubbling, sweet and generous personality. 

I look through the photographs from out childhood and the love amongst sisters shines through. Our father had a Polaroid camera. The birthday party favors consistent of your black and white photo dressed up from the theme of the party. Margie stands wearing my father’s suit hanging off her shoulders down to the floor, a hat to the side, her hands gestured in a pose, perpetually the actress.

I spent years being jealous of Margie – her numerous talents as a skater, and cheerleader; her slim figure and numerous friends and boyfriends. I idolized Margie and our times together filled with laughter. She knew me better than I knew myself.

One of my favorite memories I would like to share, an excerpt from Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve, epitomizes our relationship.
 
Margie was ten and I was eight. We went snooping for Chanukah presents in the basement in my father’s office. Typical of our relationship, Margie was the boss. When we opened the door to the basement, I wanted to chicken out. 

“Margie, we can’t do this. We’re going to get into trouble.”

Margie smirked. “Come on, Judy, no one will know. It will be our secret—promise you won’t tell?”

“I promise,” I said.

As we crept down the steep linoleum stairs to our father’s study—Margie first, then me—we pinky swore never to tell. We stood in the front of the door for a moment, then Margie twisted the knob and pushed it open. Sure enough, the presents were stacked on the desk. We quickly rushed over and squealed with excitement over the large boxes and stifled our laughter so we wouldn’t get caught.

Margie grabbed a medium-sized box and carefully started peeling the tape off the corner.

“Margie! What are you doing? They’ll know we opened them,” I gasped. I thought we were just on the hunt for the presents, not knowing that she had intentions to open them.

“Don’t worry, you scaredy-cat,” she giggled. Then she continued to peel the paper back.

“How are we going to rewrap them?”

“Look, the tape peeled right off,” said Margie. “We’ll put them back just as we found them.”

My heart pounded as I watched her pull back the paper to reveal the name underneath. It was an Easy-Bake Oven. I was so excited, and together we peeled back the tape on all of the presents: Creepy Crawlers and button-making toys, which were the cat’s meow.

For Chanukah, the presents were placed at our assigned seats at the dining room table. As we each opened one present, Margie and I acted surprised. “Wow, just what I wanted. Thank you so much!” We ran to give our parents a kiss. Our performances were worthy of an Oscar award. Margie eyed me with a twinkle in her big brown eyes. My non-poker face did not give us away. We held this secret between us until decades later when it was finally revealed to our parents.

My dear sister Margie, I will always love you. You will forever be beside me and in my heart.

Dreams do come true! I never imagined at 65 to be attending skating camp. I spent five glorious days  at the Music City Adult International Adult Skating Camp, The Scott Hamilton Skating Academy in Nashville, TN. My nerves off the chart. This was my first trip in three years since COVID and will I have the stamina to keep up? I skate three times a week for an hour, at camp I will skating at least three hours a day. I am excited to with fellow adult skaters. The energy and excitement from the skaters and coaches is electric.
We begin our day with a fantastic off ice warm up led by Snow Urbin, a ballroom dancer with grace. At the completion of the warmup we hold hands, form a large circle, and are asked what one word describes how we feel. For me the word is gratitude. Next we proceed to patch tracing figure eights on the ices practicing edges. A few sessions graced by the talented Scott Hamilton giving us valuable insight on skating and the sport of figure skating – the basics.  Next, an ice warm up from Ice Flow, Dance and a drills exercise proceeding single file up and down the ice four lines varying elements – all skills in my toolbox.
The remainder of the morning wonderful workshops to chose from including spins, jumps, moves in the field dance, and choreography. Your choice and the opportunity to try some other discipline of skating. Often times I took a break and/or sat and watch in awe of my fellow skaters. Lunch served every day and a good time to relax, rest your feet and chat with fellow skates. Each day meeting and getting to know more of the skaters, sharing skating stories, all ages, all levels from all over the country.
Freestyles sessions filled the afternoons and the opportunity to take private lessons from an esteemed coaching staff which I took full advantage of. I participated in the group choreographed Spice Girls number and performed in the exhibition along with twenty of my fellow skaters, and practiced during my private lessons. I revisited ice dance and like riding a bike, I was pleasantly surprised it came back to me!
Best of all – thank you Christine – the very first time ever I have sparkle on my skates -purple of course, my favorite color!
Thank you to all my fellow adult skaters – you inspire me, you encourage me, you share our passion for figure skating, and you are wonderful human beings each with your own unique story.
Thank you to Music City for welcoming us, hosting us and to everyone who made the week so spectacular. Thank you to the coaching team for giving us you unwavering generosity, kindness, knowledge and fun – Kaitlyn Weaver, Elin Schran, Russ Witherby, Snow Urbin, Paula Trujllo, Peter Sasmore, Shawnee Smith, Becki Hendren, and Scott Hamilton. A special shout out to Paula Trujillo for all your hard works and efforts – the swag was great!
I am so grateful to be able to perform something I never envisioned doing. To my other exhibitors, you were all spectacular and your love of the sport shone through!
My heart is full of beautiful memories, new friendships, new skating knowledge that I will treasure forever.

In the chapter entitled “We Get Up", I write,

“I was about to practice a spin on the ice. My skates newly sharpened, I skated to the end of the rink near the mirrors away from the fast skaters. One foot crossed over the other. I stepped into the spin, one arm overhead, the other arm extended, and then – nothing. Complete darkness.”

Little did I know I suffered a concussion, bruised the left side of my face, and required eight stitches on the corner of my eye. At age sixty-two, would I skate again? With stern looks from the doctors who advised me to stop skating. What? This did not register. Skating was my joy, passion, and the connection to my beloved sisters Margie and Jane.

The accident occurred two weeks prior to The Skating of Boston Ice Chips where I was to perform in two numbers; The Bostonians, a synchronized piece and an Adult Number celebrating U.S.A. Figure Skating outfitted in hats, scarves, and mittens reflecting the logo. I was crushed not to skate with my fellow adult skaters, enjoy the thrill of an ice show with costumes, makeup, and lights. The crowning glory taking a bow with an ensemble cast, meeting skaters of all ages, crammed into our dressing rooms talking and laughing, sharing stories while waiting to perform, and being nervous backstage.

Concussion protocol forced rest. Unable to do much of anything except for a light daily walk, I received a phone call from The Skating Club, asking me to the hold the flag during the singing of the National Anthem signifying the opening of Ice Chips. I would have a part in the show after all! In full regalia of costume, bruised face without a stitch of makeup, finding solid shoes to stand in, I proudly held the flag and enjoyed a brief time in the dressing room with the fellow skaters. Honored and proud when the emcee boldly announced over the Harvard’s Bright Landry Hockey Center, “the flag is held by Judy Lipson, our Adult member.”

Three months after the fall I returned to the ice. Not a patient person, forced to be during the recovery. Knowing the severity of concussions and cautiousness from medical professionals. I had no expectations and knew baby steps no grand gestures. Tentatively, one foot on the ice, the other, one foot glide, how wonderful to be on the ice, the breeze flowing through my hair, the smell of the rink, crossing one foot over the other. Surprised, better than anticipated, I lasted fifteen minutes. Little by little I built up endurance, but I was skating!

The greatest obstacle became the fear of falling. When a skater zoomed by, I held onto the boards nervous of being knocked over. I realize I am not the skater pre concussion, but I am skating. I find joy and the precious gift every time I step onto the ice.