My sister is visiting with her daughter, Lily.  A more lithesome, light and lovely girl you couldn’t conjure–unless you grew up with Liza, her mother, who very nearly floated through her first 16 years on long legs and pointe shoes.  Now, before those of you who know me too well roll your eyes and take bets on how long before Liza and I cross the Rubicon of sisterhood and kill each other, let me just tell you this; I have not stopped laughing since she got here.