Night and Day

So, there I was – at the Philadelphia airport with a first class ticket on a flight to Minneapolis, Minnesota.  The next morning.

You didn’t expect me to spend the night at the airport did you? 

Brother to the rescue.

Now, don’t get to thinking that he’s a prince among men and all that stuff.  In fact, through my whole travel ordeal, he was sending me texts and calling me saying such supportive things like – “You’ve been to London, you should be able to handle this.”  “You’re a world traveler!”  “Are you hangry?  I bet you’re hangry!”  “I’m trying to be supportive…like a jock strap!”  “Still hangry?” 

Granted, he did play a crucial part in translating for my parents who don’t do very well in the communication department in times of crisis. 

I think my brother realized that I was at the end of the rope when I was trying to make sense of the SEPTA train timetable and was crying again realized I had justmissed a train and would have to wait another god knows how long for the next one.  So, he said the magic word:  “I’ll come pick you up and we’ll go get dinner.”  Dinner being the magic word, of course.

My tears dissipated, everything became right in the world again, and I remembered that heroes do walk among us. 

And that’s the story of how I flew to Philadelphia to have dinner with my brother. 

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When we were kids my mom used to tell people that my brother and I were as different as night and day. 

He was artistic. I was not. 

I was a reader.  He was not.

He was athletic.  I was not.

I was a good student.  He was not.

He was intellectually gifted.  I was not. 

I was a morning person.  He most definitely was not. 

Things haven’t really changed in 30 odd years.    

We’re still pretty different. 

I believe strongly in punctuality.  My brother lives life according to his own clock which seems to be in a time zone that no one has quite discovered except for him. 

My brother’s house is decorated with a discerning eye towards detail.  The fact that the screws in my light switch plates aren’t aligned the same way makes him bonkers. 

I can’t smell an ashtray on fire right next to me (yes, it really happened).  My brother can walk into a room and get sick from the smell of cigarette smoke.   

My brother whips up amazing meals for family and friends.  I offer family and friends the bounty of my take-out menu drawer. 

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As we ate dinner that night and he told me a story about work, I realized that, in some respects, we’re not so different after all. 

My brother is an HVAC guy…he installs heaters and boilers and big stuff like that and he’s very serious and very meticulous about it.  Sometimes, I get the sense that his tendency towards perfectionism might drive his coworkers crazy.  I wondered aloud if he was being a bit tough on them.  He got very agitated and said things had to be done a certain way – his way – so that it was done right.  I thought he was on a very high horse, indeed.

And then I chuckled because really, when it comes to work, I’m the same way.  My brother flips out about ductwork.  I flip out about improper records arrangement, crooked labels, and people not spell-checking their work.  Sometimes, I ride a pretty high horse myself.     

Yeah, we’re still as different as night and day. 

But every night has some light and every day has its darkness. 

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(This morning person is eternally grateful that her not-a-morning-person brother got up at 4:30 to take her to the airport the next morning!)

That One Time at the Ice Cream Parlor

Last year, I royally screwed up the walls of my powder room when I got the brilliantly dumb idea to scrape off the painted-over (yes, they painted it) wallpaper.  Hint, when you scrape down to the cardboard-y stuff of the drywall, it’s not a good thing.  But hey, I’m not much of a DIY-er.  And this isn’t a DIY blog. 

So now my powder room is super scary with walls that are waiting for my brother to come fix them to be redone and repainted.  In the meantime, I’m left with interesting wall art to stare out when I’m on the toilet.  Oh come on, we all sit on the toilet.  It’s okay to talk about it.

This is my favorite -

Depending on how you look at it, it can either be a giraffe taking a dump or it can be a boob.  It’s all about how we interpret the things we see – or don’t want to see, maybe.  It’s funny how everyone has a different perspective on things, even if they’re in the same exact situation. 

And now, I will tell you about that one time at the ice cream parlor.

When I was 17, my family went on our annual summer vacation to the Jersey Shore.  One night, we went to Tory’s, the local old-fashioned ice cream parlor where the waitresses wore poodle skirts, the Cokes came in old-fashioned bottles, and the guys working behind the counter were jerks – soda jerks, that is!  It was a great place and the model for the ice cream parlor that I’m going to open one day and we went there a lot when we were on vacation.  This particular night, my mom, brother and I, and some cousins were waiting outside in line to get seats for our large party. 

Behind us were a couple of teenage boys.  It didn’t take long before they began making fun of me and the way that I looked.  Look, I’ve dealt with teasing and rude comments and stares for much of my life.  I took a pretty passive approach, well, by passive, I mean avoidance – duck my head, take the long way to bypass certain hallways, sit at the front of the bus – so, yeah, I’m an avoider, not a fighter. 

But that night, I was with my big brother.  And while my mother was completely oblivious to what was going on, my brother was there and he listened to these non-soda jerk jerks make fun of me.  How I wanted him to say do something.  I don’t know what - maybe punch them or kick them in the, well, you know where.  Basically, I would’ve been okay if he had hurt them anyway he could’ve.  But he didn’t.  He just stood there and he made lame little jokes and I just stood there getting madder and madder – not at those mean boys behind us but the very, very mean boy who wouldn’t stand up for me.

The whole situation made me so mad that for years I threw it up to my brother – remember that time at the ice cream parlor when you didn’t defend me?!  Remember that time when you didn’t do anything to help me?!  I held onto that anger pain for a long time.  Too long, probably.

With age, comes wisdom, right?  For years, I focused on what my brother didn’t do.  But here’s the thing, he didn’t do what I wanted him to do…but he did do something.  He tried to make me laugh and ignore those awful boys because, in the grand scheme of things, those boys just didn't matter.  But because I was so angry, I didn't learn the lesson from that night.  A lesson that I only pieced together while I was sitting on the toilet.  Oh right, like you’ve never had an epiphany on the toilet before?      

The world is filled with giraffes and boobs (stupid dumbasses, not breasts – although there are a lot of them in the world too.)  Back to the lesson. Giraffes stand tall, they rise above it all, they’re noble and graceful.  And they tower over the boobs of the world because boobs are just boobs and they don’t matter to giraffes at all. 

It’s up to you to either be a giraffe or a boob. 

Be a giraffe.      

Potty Humor

As a single woman who lives by myself in my own home, there are certain things to which I’ve become accustomed. 

This is not one of them:

Really?!

Do all men leave the toilet seat up?  I feel like I need to update my Eharmony Must Haves and Can’t Stands.  Like, right this minute.

My brother and cousin, C.P., (the toilet seat offenders) came down this weekend to watch the Phillies play the Nats in D.C.  They also did some work on my house which was most appreciated.  So despite the toilet seat thing, it was a fun weekend.  Not to mention, I got a cool new laundry sink and a fixed closet door out of the deal! 

A new laundry sink in the basement!

The fixed closet door!

But still, the toilet seat thing - Grrr!        

Happy Hendersons Go On Vacation

I just got back from a four day mini-vacation in Florida with my parents and brother.  Our family doesn’t exactly travel well together….two or three of us on a trip is okay but all four of us together is just asking for trouble.  There’s usually a little yelling, a few disagreements, a couple of accusations of favoritism, and at least one instance of someone storming off in anger.  We’ve been on a few memorable family vacations that would put even the Griswolds to shame.  Here are some highlights of our classic family vacations: 

Williamsburg, Virginia – I don’t remember too much about this trip except that it was really, really hot, my brother and I got those three-cornered colonial hats (I wonder where mine ended up?), and there was a huge fight about going to A Good Place to Eat because, well, I guess we didn’t think it was really a good place to eat. 

Washington, DC/Baltimore – If you’ve never visited the nation’s Capital, you should.  Just don’t do it in the middle of summer when it’s hot and humid and miserable because chances are, you’re going to be hot and sweaty and miserable.  Things were going well until we got to the Washington Monument.  Then my parents got into a fight and my dad left us on one of those sight-seeing buses to walk back to our hotel (he’s a mailman, he likes to walk.)  To add insult to injury, when we got back to the hotel, we were hot and sweaty and miserable and my dad was happy as a clam, swimming in the pool.  And I thought my mom was mad when he left us!  

Walt Disney World – Whenever I think that it’d be cool to go on vacation with one’s entire extended family, I remember our trip to Disney World.  Overall, it wasn’t that bad.  I mean, my dad only got mad and left us once but I can’t blame him…It’s a Small World is kind of an annoying ride.  We ate at this really good restaurant called Johnny Appleseed’s which must’ve been a good place to eat because we went there a lot.  But I learned a very important lesson on this trip:   when you’re nine, you should not buy the same pair of shorts as your cool teenage cousin.  Apparently, imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery for teenagers.  I still have those shorts though.

Caribbean Cruise – We knew this vacation was going to be rough when we arrived at the cruise terminal and our entire itinerary was changed.  Yet another important lesson:  never book a Caribbean cruise during hurricane season unless you’re prepared to spend nine days at sea and a Sunday in Bermuda.  Interesting factoid – nothing’s open in Bermuda on a Sunday.  As our ship docked and my mom shrieked hysterically about not wanting to be in Bermuda (I don’t know what she has against Bermuda…it’s a lovely place and the people wear nice shorts), my brother and I looked at each other and realized that our dad was on to something when he left us on all those other vacations.  So, we took off.  Dad quickly caught up and we ended up at the only place that was open on a Sunday – a bar.  Watching football in a bar in Bermuda on a Sunday…that’s called “making a memory” people. 

Just like all of our other vacations, our trip to Florida had its ups and downs and we weren’t always happy.  But in a few years, we’ll look back on this trip and laugh…just like we do when we remember that time Dad left us.  And that other time too.  

Happy Hendersons during
one of the happier moments
of our family vacation!