An Experiment in Sibling-ship

“You've bought a new house? Are you swallowing the anchor?” and the unequivocal answer is “No”. Then why buy a house in the middle of the desert? Well, it's an experiment that seems to make sense. David has three sibs … all unattached. It seemed to make sense to pool our resources, find a large enough house to accommodate us all and live together. It's not a new concept. Multi-generational families having been sharing homes for all time. Some countries and ethnic groups do it more often than others. So sibs sharing a house isn't all that unusual. It's not as common in the USA, but we figured we'd give it a try.

Having family living together provides a built-in support system, a sharing of responsibility and finances and a wonderful way for families to meld and take care of each other as they age. There are drawbacks, of course. We've all been independent for most of our lives, living apart from the sibs and making our own way in the world. We have different philosophies, different politics, different tastes in decorating and style. Now there are others who need to be consulted before you paint a room lavender or buy new living room furniture. We don't necessarily need total consensus, but it's nice when there's some agreement.

Honestly, over the past few weeks when stress levels have been particularly high and we're all exhausted from the move, we've had our moments. We've bickered and squabbled a bit. We've disagreed. But so far, the experiment seems to be working. Everyone has managed to compromise enough to accommodate a peaceful co-existence.

Packing It In and Packing It Up

The whole household has been in an uproar for the past couple of weeks as the the countdown to the closing on the new house looms and the packing process progresses. (say that 3 times fast!) Yesterday Mary suggested we treat ourselves to one of the casino buffets for Sunday brunch. The food's okay, the price is right, we don't have to cook or do the dishes AND the champagne/mimosas are free.

The problem with buffets is that I eat too much. I've been sticking to my New Year's resolution of losing weight and it's been slow, but progress is being made. One walk through the buffet line and I can feel all those hard-lost pounds creeping back on. By the second walk-through, well, you might as well staple the French toast to my hips. Actually, I did quite well. I tried to choose healthy foods (hard to do), ate modest portions, chose a sugar-free dessert (read that “chemically sweetened and lots of fat”) and the hardest part, drank only one glass of champagne (no OJ).

Luckily, I had some incentive to eat conservatively. Ahead of me in line were two very obese people who waddled through the line piling their plates high enough to require sideboards … and it wasn't their first trip to the buffet line. Imagining myself doing the waddle was all it took to keep me on track. Despite my self-imposed eating limitations, we all had a good time at the buffet before returning home and immersing ourselves in some more heavy-duty packing.

In no time, we had black newsprint-stained hands as we emptied the contents of cupboards and closets, drawers and shelves. David assembled boxes and, once full, stacked them wherever he could find free place. Karen priced and packed items that were designed for the upcoming yard sale. Mary and I worked at carefully wrapping and packing everything we were moving to the new house, leaving out only a few basics to get us through the next week before the move. A sort of controlled chaos ensued. “Where's the packing tape?” “That's not for the yard sale, we're keeping that!” “No, don't pack that; THAT's for the yard sale.” “Did you mark that box?” “Where's the black marker?” By late in the afternoon, we'd accomplished quite a bit … knowing, of course, there's still quite a bit left to do.

All the pictures and decorations are off the walls. How dull and vast and empty all those bare walls look with only picture hangers and nails left to adorn them. Cupboards are empty. Boxes are stacked everywhere. All the little personal tchotchkes that make a house a home are packed up. And now … just more waiting to pack up more stuff, move the stuff and … oh yeah, to unpack it all at the other end, put away the stuff and dispose of all those cardboard boxes and crumbled newspapers.

I'm thinking we'll need another trip through the buffet line.

Biding Our Time

 

I mentioned yesterday that we were getting impatient … waiting, waiting, waiting. The house closing is still nearly a month away. Mary had decided to sell her house and is now waiting for a buyer. Nine of Cups is in need of some work and she, too, is waiting in Trinidad, thousands of miles away. Knowing that we've so much to do and can't dig into it is driving us nuts. It's like waiting for a weather window to sail to our next port!

There's work to be done at the new house before we move in, but of course, there's no access till we actually buy the place. Mary wants to pack up and get going, but she can't while her house is still being shown. Besides, other than piling boxes in the garage, there's no place to put them till we move. Unfortunately, we're also waiting for David's renewed passport to arrive, so our plan to work on Cups for a few weeks won't work. Poor Cups will have to be patient, too.

We take long walks and talk about all we have to do. We make lists. We provide and sign endless paperwork (sometimes the same thing five separate times) for the mortgage company. We write blogs about waiting. We've scheduled inspections and walk-throughs. We've done some window-shopping for furnishings, but no buying. David has sketched out the floor plan of the new house to scale and we're all trying to figure out what will go where, but until we're in, it's just an exercise. The days crawl by. We keep busy enough, but we all agree it's not productive busy; it's just busy-busy. Meals get cooked and eaten. Cleaning gets done. We try to keep our excitement in check. We're storing up energy for when it really matters. We feel like 5-year-olds, waiting for Christmas morning.

David is shopping for a used pick-up truck (a “ute” for our down-under friends...short for utility truck, for our non-down-under friends) to haul all the stuff we're waiting to haul. That has occupied much of his time (you know how guys are about researching vehicle purchases). I have no interest in a truck purchase whatsoever until, of course, I buy something for the new house that will require hauling.

So, here we are in mostly sunny Las Vegas, twiddling our thumbs, biding our time. Waiting, waiting, waiting.