Fireworks On the Lake

We did the dreaded cleanout of my Father-in-law's apartment last week. I've been privy to many of these scenarios, as much of my real estate career involves the sale of estate homes. Often (unfortunately), there's crabbiness, hurt feelings, competition for the bits of things left over after death. I've seen normally-sane people reduced to toddlerhood when the grabbing begins. Thank God, this wasn't how our weekend went down. I don't know how this is possible, but my husband, his brother and sister are all Alphas. That means they're strong-willed leaders of whatever pack they find themselves in. Each one is bossy, opinionated, almost military in their ability to organize and get things done. There's The Chairman of the Deacons, The Manager, and The Teacher...they have other titles too. My life with the Chairman has been fraught with mutiny and convoluted versions of Capture-the-Flag. Job One is to keep things off-kilter just enough to keep his brain from turning into one giant, immoveable groove. I think often of that old movie, "No Time For Sergeants," (hilarious) where the head Sergeant aims to train his unit so that everything is quiet and peaceful, like a lake. Similarly, Ken's Dad, Ken and his siblings all have had this desire to level all the worlds around them to run smoothly. It's really best you go along with their plans. Now think about three of these Alpha dogs in one room. Seal the door and just imagine what kinds of fireworks could conspire. But God...

We had the sweetest of days. Everyone rustled through the necessaries, speaking up when something mattered to them, but also giving way to the others. A spirit of cooperation made the work light and the feelings kind. Trips were made to Goodwill, the trash was placed at the street, boxes and bags made their way to our trucks, as if we need one. more. thing. We finished up our time up in a loud, bustling restaurant and talked, laughed, ate. As we wended our way back to our vehicles, my thought was that the day could not have gone better. 

Now my house is crowded up with things to hand out to our children and maybe the Goodwill store. One thing we brought home was a giant credenza that needed paint. Ken knew that I was toast, so he set everything up on the carport, even bought the paint and primed the boombox with one of my playlists. It was a cool evening and he promised to sit out there with me while I worked. He knows that my FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) is pert-near a sickness with me, and the best way to get me to do something is to make a party out of it. He is not allowed to get near a paintbrush in my presence. This is not because he's sloppy, oh no, far from it. He takes extreme care not to make a mess and paints very carefully. One time, we were painting about 20 doors in a new house. I painted five doors and went to check on him. He was still on his first one, with nary a drip anywhere. But the paint on the door was so thin, I had to do it all over. That's the day I fired him from ever painting again. Sometimes I suspect this was actually part of a grand plan and I am the one who has been duped for the last fourty years. I'll take it. I love the smell of paint in the morning. Or pretty much any time. Now I have a beautiful, creamy white credenza for our lovely guest room and we had our little soiree on the porch. Meanwhile, Dad's having a party up there, with his very own serene, quiet lake and Jesus. Life is good.