It's my sister's birthday. In honor, my favorite memory of her this past year:
I'd never seen a James Bond movie before, but I'd heard Skyfall was excellent. It was showing on the cruise, part of the "Movies Under the Stars" program. There was a giant screen above the pool on the top deck of the ship. A movie played every night. Popcorn was made, hot cocoa stand. The title was accurate. The stars were visible right above, just beyond the film. Glaciers slinked past. Sounds gorgeous, but it was also ALASKA AT NIGHT--read: face freezin' off.
Yet, my sister, even though she'd already seen the movie, gave in to my pleading to go. We joined the eight other people on deck chairs, piled on the blankets, pulled our hoods up. I brought us a plate of all the desserts and fancy cheeses offered in the buffet. She a book. "I can't feel my toes," she said forty minutes in. I puppy dog faced her. She pulled her hood in tighter and kept reading. Periodically I'd interrupt to ask a question about Judy Dench or something. We laughed a lot. We shivered. The double chocolate cookies were the best. "This movie is longer than I remembered," she garbled into her scarf. The credits rolled, we discussed the best parts, we shuffled our Uggs to our cabin.