It’s very hard to put into words the feelings and experiences of a lifetime. My sister...is hard to put into words. Bold comes first, I think, strong certainly; smart is an understatement. Fun comes to mind often when I think of her-even if sometimes my exasperation was its source. At least it seemed that way to me. I often describe her to others as the happiest person I know. Eccentric, of course, and outlandish-her favorite colors were purple and orange. A color she chose for cars as well as her hair. Adventurous, suitcase packed and ready at all times. No matter where you were going, she had been there and would give you advice about what to do. I was once in New Orleans on a trip for school and called her to ask where to eat breakfast-she sent us to a great place and impressed the group I was with. Musical, she played the coronet and the guitar. Her taste ranged from the Gaithers to the Indigo Girls and everything in between. As a youngster she introduced me to The Beatles and Three Dog Night and once on our way to a Fleetwood Mac concert, I was following behind her and we both got pulled over for speeding. It’s no surprise that we both got tickets. She never seemed to mind that I played her records when she wasn’t home-as long as I was careful with the needle. Extravagant, absolutely, she enjoyed life. Ordinary, never. Irreverent, often-she liked being the salmon swimming upstream. Well read-she loved books and could talk to anyone about anything. Storyteller extraordinaire, YES, most definitely...things got bigger and better with time, as they often do. We shared a room, we shared family, we shared some long conversations-no one could talk as long as she could-we shared some very good times-fun times-happy times, and we shared some very hard times. We shared prayers. We shared love. I miss you, Sharon, everyday.