Truth and consequences

I should warn you now, fall is approaching and after that is winter. I get all contemplative and daydreamy during those particular seasons. You may want to rejoin this blog come spring.

So, let's get started with all of the deep thoughts and sad notions. For some reason I'm feeling a bit in the "journaling" mood. I used to journal, quite a bit actually. There are volumes tucked away in my "studio" now. Which reminds me, that since it doubles as a guest room, I'd better hide them as I am in big trouble if some visiting insomniac starts searching for some interesting reading.

My brother called last night. He does that sometimes, calls late and talks for a long time. It's usually after some sort of gathering at his house. I suspect that he, much like me, gets all reflective when the house is suddenly emptied of guests and perhaps, just like me, he likes to talk to someone familiar to fill the gap just created. I guess I fill that gap much like puddy fills a crack. And I don't mind that. It's kinda what I always wanted to be to him, someone to talk to, when he just might need to talk a little or a lot for that matter. I have two brothers, he's the middle child. I'm the oldest. We haven't always gotten along. In fact, I think as teens were very closely despised each other. And then there was that long awkward phase when we were becoming adults where we tried at a friendship, but it didn't take.

Now that we're older and have long let go the grudges and the harsh words, writing them off to youth and some disfunctionality in our household, we have some good talks and say some really honest things.

We aren't honest by nature, my family, that is. We aren't liars, really; we just can't say what we are truly thinking, or be completely vulnerable and forthright.

We can't admit fault. And we most certainly can't offer others sincere, heartfelt, encouraging words and phrases without feeling that somehow that reflects poorly on who we are individually. We often refuse to admit any flaws or defects . . instead we fill in the holes with semi-truths and braggery. In fact, most of my family has turned judgmentalism into an artform and into their own personal ego boosting mechanism, as they truly believe they have found the one good way to live, the only path. It's inherent in every conversation, present at every gathering. It's something you can't get away from.

On the other side of the coin, however, it's something both my brother and I work diligently to supress. It's not easy, tucking that angry lion to bed and letting the gentler lamb out to play. I tend to go to the extreme, pointing out each and every personal defect. . . much to the chagrin of those around me. He has his wife to keep that in check.

So, we talked for a few hours, both letting ourselves be vulnerable and open, contrary to what we'd been taught. We didn't spend the hours boosting our own egos, being pretentious or even overbearing, we talked about the mundane; we simply reviewed our house blessing party which he'd missed, discussed the fact that our parents (Cynical's and mine) failed to mix and mingle with each other in the slightest, talked about tension with my youngest brother, approached the topic of politics and debated the merits of planting a fig tree in the yard. He truly believes he can convince me to plant a fruit-bearing tree in my front yard.

And when we hung up, I remember him telling me something I needed to hear: that he loved me and that I was a good sister.

Following the rules carefully set before me and in a quest to receive approval and love, I have been a good daughter. I have even, at times and against the odds, been a good mate, but Cynical may debate this. Sometimes I am a good friend and once in a blue moon I can be a good employee.

I have, however, failed miserably at sisterhood often and without apology. I didn't have a good model when it came to nuclear familial love. I always thought that you didn't find love at home, you had to go out and find it in your chosen family. I never understood that in families where love is hard to find, someone needs to step up and show it. I should have done that more. I should have shared my "mothering" equally between my younger siblings. I should have hugged him more, boasted about him generously and told him he was a good brother. I did that last night, repeatedly. Because it's true and it's honest.