Remember how you and your siblings grew up and went your separate ways? Most often to form new families? Biblically, this is what we are to do – cleave unto our spouse. However, somewhere after my late 30’s, I wished that I could spend more time with my siblings because they were interesting and I really liked them as people.
After Poppie died in 2015, my sister-in-law, Flip-Flops, made it possible for me to at least spend more time with my brother, Bubba. She suggested to him that the two of them move into the house that Poppie built on the two acres where Momma, Poppie and I had lived together since 1985. The property had been in Momma’s family for 132 years according to handwritten deeds dating back to 1884.
It took our lawyer a while to iron out a deed and agreement to address our current property issues and our hopes for the property passing to the next generation. Then Priss, our sister the architect, drew up plans for an 8-foot “room addition” to the end of the house because Bubba wanted a larger bathroom.
Retired, he worked on the house 5 and 6 days a week. Flip-Flops still works but he often had her on the weekend work schedule, too.
On the weekend of December 10 and 11, Bubba and Flip-Flops moved in with about half their stuff and numerous small, unfinished projects around the house. The following day, I had knee replacement surgery.
While Bubba is very good at construction-related tasks, he falls somewhat short as a convalescent caretaker. A few times, he had a momentary lapse about my knee. Like that day at the bank. The drive-in teller lanes were higher than the street. Bubba pulled up to the teller lane exit, looked to his left and gunned the motor. His SUV shot across 3 lanes of traffic in a northeasterly direction. Only when we came in for a brutal landing did he remember to holler, “Hang on!” No less shocking to me was his rude eyeball rolling punctuated by loud sighing noises as if I were personally responsible for parts falling off my brand new two-wheeled walker.