Monday 4:11 pm
From Kate's hallowed homestead bedroom (a shrine to her juvenile years) somewhere in Connecticut.
SO, I'm pretty ready for this whole thing to be over. By this whole thing, I mean: Saying goodbye to the family homestead one final time, leaving my loving father and sometimes (okay, more than sometimes) obsessive-compulsive, irrational mother behind, and returning to my more normal eating program of meat, veggies and dairy (as opposed to the non-traditional diet of pie or ice cream for breakfast, seafood always fattening mind you for lunch or dinner, wine or cocktails and nibblies at 5 o'clock, another truly indulgent meal and then pie or ice cream for dessert.)
I think I've stumbled on the building blocks for the next stages of evolution. They involve all remaining members of the human species eating themselves into oblivion and then collectively casting themselves onto the beaches of both coasts, where they will then slink back into the more comfortable, less constricting ocean waters, to retire for all eternity.
Just a thought.
Back to the family. My teen sister is a typical 18 year old, complete with arrogant attitude that any time spent with her is an honor and privilege "...Oh, and I'll only go with you if you give me ten dollars or buy my drink at Starbucks." So I guess water would be out of the question, no?
My 26 year old sister left for Atlanta yesterday, going back to the sanity of her career and her husband and the dog named Biscuit. I was a bit miffed when I discovered the anniversary present I gave her had been intentionally left behind, prominently sitting on the dresser in her bedroom. Fine, I didn't want you to have it, anyway. So there.
The parents are, well, they are the parents. My dad is the voice of sanity like always, although that sanity sometimes concedes to cow-towing to my mother for the sake of calm. My mother is heavily embroiled in a one woman crusade against all that is marred with imperfection. By that I mean fingerprints, wrinkles, strange odors and other general signs of use or human appreciation.
To that end, I have learned that opening the cupboards by any other way than a perfectly executed grasping of the brass knobs is enough to warrant a half-hour, simultaneous chastising and purification process. Bedspreads are apparently meant only to cover the other bed linens, and any resting of one's posterior on said bedspread is hereby considered a completely grievous crime worthy of a ten minute fluffing and further banishment from said bedroom.
I really cannot appreciate all the anal compulsions that run deep through my family bloodline. I tend to think I take after my father's more relaxed lineage than I do the precise, emotionally remote side side of my mother's German brethren.
Saying goodbye to the house is going to be hard. It's not so much a house as it is the total experience this home provides. We have a backyard about the size of a park, which is very rare in this South-Of-The-Post-Road neighborhood, where the yards are more like postage stamps. About half a mile to the left is The Sound, and steps away to the right is the Town Green. Madison is one of those spots just begging to star in a movie, what with it's old fashioned movie theatre and quaint American flags flying. There's only two gas stations on the main drag, and they're just down the way from one of the best independent book sellers in the country. We have horribly overpriced boutiques and I think at last check seven coffee shops (all for a town with a year round population of 15k. That's a lot of coffee.)
It's going to be hard to say goodbye to Heaven tomorrow, but I'm ready. Mom's got my bags packed and has decontaminated my living space, making sure I leave no little smudge, not even a wayward hair behind for the home's next owners.