We are on the downslope of the Holiday break and are back home trying to catch up from all the travel and eating and more eating.
New Year's Eve was spent at my parents house along with 60 close friends. My sister got married. It's a hectic time at my Parents for reasons I won't go into here and then the fact that we were having a Wedding made things just nutty.
On the day before NYE (New Year's eve's eve?) the entire family reported for duty to clean and arrange the house for the wedding. My brother the hospitality specialist had been working with Mom all week to come with a detailed checklist of exactly what tasks needed to be done and we all pitched in and chose something and got it done.
I was assigned the back basement to shop-vac and arrange for storage. It's not a sinister as it sounds, the back basement. It sounds like somewhere you would keep bound teenaged love slaves if you were so inclined but really it's a more of a workshop or tool room. It does have it's own entrance so that would make it perfect for kidnapping, again if you were so inclined.
Even though I am slowly turning into him, my Father and I are very different people. He is meticulous to the point of being monk-like and I am... well, a lot of time I could care less where things are. Of course my philosophy has it's down side like yesterday when I spent the better part of 2 hours looking for the digital camera software from last year to put on the new PC, but for some reason here I was in charge of picking up the heart of the monk-dom, the tool room.
The tool room is strictly my Father's domain. He has things sorted and stored in there in a very specific manner and so I was assigned to store as much delicate stuff from upstairs as possible in there.
I know why I was assigned this. I was assigned the tool room so that later when we play "where did you kids put my monkey wrench?", I could take the fall and I'm OK that. They could all shrug their shoulders and point to me. It's my fault anyway. I probably lost the Monkey wrench in the woods when I was 14 anyway. Don't ask what a monkey wrench was doing in the woods.
It was the vacuuming of the rafters that I was borderline on. For some reason my Father had in his head that the exposed joists of the ceiling of the tool room needed to be vacuumed. Ohh and the smoke detector need to be dusted. These were the kinds of things I was assigned.
But I was a good soldier and I did them. It was like I was 12 again. The whole time you are thinking "Do we really need to vacuum out the smoke detector?" and "Do other people vacuum the smoke detector?" but you do it.
Others tried to position themselves for good jobs. Wasn't I proud when Youngest son tried to choose "Grind coffee beans" from the list. It's not that he had any special expertise in coffee bean grinding, I'm sure he thought that it was an easy job since he has seen me do it at home. I'm sure he was thinking "How hard can this be? You put the beans in and then you press the little button" but he had never seen Mr Monk do it.
My Father times how long the beans grind. Here is the prescribed method: set microwave timer to 25 seconds; start timer; when at 20 seconds, hold the grinder down with the left hand until the 20 seconds counts down to zero. At exactly the end of that cycle, the grind is precise.
Not so cushhy is it now, huh? And stare deeply into your future.
I'm not sure who ended up the choice bean grinding assignment but everything got done in time for the wedding.
It's my sisters second wedding and for years I've been calling her fiance by her first husbands name. Sorry. It happens. It kind of shows the thinking there. When I think of him, I think of my sister and then think oh its the person with my sister who used to be S and so I start to say that name, then my mind catches up and I remember it not S it's J.
It's happened so often now that I have officially just named him St-....John.
He laughs. That's good. It's a tough family but it looks like he can get in there with the best of them.