Blindfold

The end of the weekend and vacations is always pretty bittersweet--sweet only because you have some great memories to linger in. I always hate that ending, though, and this was a particularly heartening Christmas.

Last weekend I drove to my mom's house to be with my brother, who flew in from Los Angeles on that Saturday after missing his original flight. We picked him up in Philadelphia, and immediately he was taken aside by some shaky security fellow who wondered why my brother was taking pictures on the flight. Like Al Qaida would be so obvious.

My brother is a hilarious person who is constantly seeking your attention. I don't say that to pass judgment, but what I mean is that he loves to engage people. I definitely have that side to me, but I can just as likely be the passive rider, daydreaming my way through a situation in search of some personal understanding, while he'll confront you with a series of voices, accents, gags, and photographs. He's never without his camera. A very creative guy who needs a huge easel.

I could describe the fun we had with friends or certain outtings, but the real pleasure of the week was in catching up. It was the sharing. I hadn't seen my brother for a year, and with him as well as the family it was just blissful to exist side by side. I've always had a lot of trouble opening up with my family, or just feeling comfortable in a casual way, because growing up there was such little communication. This holiday I felt comfortable with them and felt the solidarity that they probably feel. As much as I enjoy the presents I got, or the great food my sister prepared, it was sitting in the hot tub with my brother until my hair froze, talking about life, that makes me feel sad and fortunate now. It's my dog's hair on my winter coat, and the fact that I forgot it, meaning it's an excuse to visit the family home. It's my mom's pancakes, my dad's obsession with Fox News, the way the water runs down our driveway from the field across the street and freezes at night, making it difficult to leave. I really love that stuff. Those are the things that make my eyes well up, which is something that surprises me. The last time that happened regularly was when I was with an ex. We would cry a lot together, in a happy or bittersweet way, parting. She was the person who first allowed me to really open up. And she introduced me to tea, an obsession these days, shared with my brother often this week. So it's fitting in several ways that I've had watery eyes all day.

Despite all of the alienation, frustration, anger, and joy I've felt from my family, I don't think I've ever emoted like this. I enjoy it. It makes me feel closer to them and want to be closer to them. And it reminds me, again, of how useless so many of our jobs are. Why do we settle for making others wealthy when we'd rather share and function together? Wouldn't it be more fulfilling to farm and cook among your loved ones than sit in a chair that will ruin your back, while typing until your fingers are ruined and looking at a computer that strips your eyes of their functionality?

I miss my dog snoring and my brother's robe, while we watch movies at night. The most banal, familiar poetry. It is beautiful. In a way, it makes me want to blindfold myself to anything else, to live in those memories, but I know I can't. I'll create new, great memories with these people and find ways to be closer to them, as well. So the bittersweet feeling is more a reason to do than to dwell.