A Sardine's Task

This weekend we did something we rarely ever do.  We had guests.  We hosted not one, but four people in our hobbit hole apartment.  Strike that, our un-air-conditioned apartment.  B.’s pregnant sister, her husband and two toddlers of 3 and 1 and a half years all somehow found floor space with us for the holiday. 

It took some getting used to and after two days of the apartment staying above 80 degrees well past 9pm we finally had to succumb and buy a fan.  Then at least the 83-degree air was moving. 

We had a great time visiting with them and catching up.  Plus, babysitting, or even helping babysit is healthy for us.  A good dose or parenting practice helps keep the baby-fever away for a while.

We also just love being a part of the kids’ lives.  Being the oldest in my family, nieces and nephews are a relatively new concept for me; children with a return policy – brilliant.  We went to the zoo, we hiked to a waterfall, and we escaped to window shop in the industrial air conditioning of the mall. 

For the 4th we set off fireworks in the driveway to amuse the kids as the sun went down and then screamed at the hoodlums launching illegal bottlerockets in the parking lot 50 feet from our house.  Our house with sleeping kids.  B. thoroughly chewed out the obviously drunk pyrotechnician.   

She’s hot when she’s angry.

Not long after he left, someone else began launching their own private explosives in almost the same spot.  It was pregnant sister-in-law’s turn to chew someone out.   

She’s scary when she’s angry.

B. called the cops.  We returned to our overheated basement to try to sleep through the warzone outside that always happens when grocery stores sell fireworks like candy.

We visited family a lot, either going to see them or hosting them down below.  We saw numerous cousins, both sets of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and anyone else who hadn’t seen niece and nephew in a while.  We took pictures and tried our hardest to avoid getting crammed underground like sardines. 

Something my sister-in-law said has been ringing in my ears since they left Sunday. 

My brother-in-law is a fix-it man.  In addition to his experience as a welder, a foreman, a rancher, and essentially an all-around cowboy, he spent years working on cars with my father-in-law.  When we mentioned in passing our recent car trouble as they were preparing to come up to stay with us, he borrowed a $5,000 diagnostic automotive computer from a colleague to help pinpoint the problem and with luck reset the troublesome sensor.  When that didn’t work he made some calls to get estimates for the parts we would need.  When grandparents came to visit us and we all opted to hang out in the front yard, he adjusted the water pressure in our sprinkler system.  Amidst all of these favors and repairs, my sister-in-law cried in exasperation: 

“Just once I would love to go on vacation without you trying to fix everything!”

I laughed.  B. laughed.  She groaned.  And he gave his trademark wry grin before jumping back into his repairs. 

He could have been looking for something to do to avoid diaper duty.  He could have been trying to “earn his keep” while staying with us (we had to push him away from doing our dishes).  He might have just been bored.  But my money’s on something else entirely.

We might have been sardines in that apartment, but we all have a purpose.  An itch we must scratch.  A task that we must complete before ever hoping to get to sleep.

B.’s had a tough transition getting out of school mode.  She’s not a homebody like yours truly.  I can stay in my apartment for days simply because I do so much work there.  She goes crazy if she’s there more than four hours.  More than that, she has been studying and hitting the books at top speed for so long that to do anything else without the same level of neurotic commitment is unsettling to her addictive personality.  Hence her mastery of SuperMario in the past 48 hours.  She was eying a book of trigonometry practice problems in Barnes and Noble the other day.  She’s always been a natural student; she has to read, to study, to do homework. 

As I try to gain more of a following on social media, establish my presence online, and pinpoint a marketable “style,” I spend more and more time in front of my computer at home.  It’s the middle of summer, neither of us are in school, our work hours are more manageable than ever.  We should be relaxing, right?  No!  While B. practices trig and storms Bowser’s Castle I sketch and sketch and ink and color and post and share and vomit my images on tumblr, facebook, and my website.  We should be sleeping in, but we work late and rise early just like any other semester.

My brother-in-law’s a fixer.  B.’s a student.  I’m an artist.  For people who have that itch, there are no vacations.  There is only that driving, purposeful task that we must practice, study, and master.

What's your itch?

S