In my father's house

[lighter]

Lately, sis and I are noticing, and mentioning, the way our parents seem to have taken up residence in our chests..... we notice when things pop out of our mouths..... that sound like one or the other parent. 

Usually, mom resides in sis, and father resides inside me. 

This is pretty new.  The noticing, or the residing, not sure, but it's a thing.

Just to get it out, so I can move past it this morning.... in my father's house we don't load the dishwasher from the front... it's always back to front.  NOthing on it's side.  Everything rinsed well, (might as well already be clean) and we don't wash dirt or dirty water INTO corners, or cracks, or crevices of any kind.   

And that's the thing... when I look at a countertop, I either see nothing.... I'm clutter blind, and I think it's bc I see the cracks, and surfaces when I DO LOOK.  All cleaning begins with deconstruction, complete cleaning, a thorough rinse, bc the clean is IN THE RINSE, and then cleaning of stuff, then I place things back where they go, and I'm not great at organizational tasks.  It's a process... very time consuming.  I would say it's appears like a perfectionist thing, but I don't think that's it at all.  It's just the way things were done in my father's house, and I DID IT THAT WAY.  Loading the dishwasher, at mom's, at the end, was a problem bc sf and I had different ways of doing it, and he was outspoken about how I did it.  I knew my way was better, and my DOING it was important, not how I did it. In the end, he loaded it himself, and I was relieved to just let that go.  And there was no kindness in my letting it go.  I think I washed my dishes by hand, and left dishes in the sink..... very upsetting for me, bc actually cleaning the sink is another thing we DID in my father's house.  My brother does that too.  His ex commented on that... how brother and I did things the same way in the kitchen.  And she was a master at decluttered spaces.... open, and lovely, and I noticed that, but I also noticed the corners, which meant nothing was "clean", at least not to my eye, which isn't necessarily a good thing.  Well, it's a bad thing, bc every job is a major job, and takes lots of time, and doesn't get done regularly, but when it does.....

::nodding::

My ex h said I worked harder than anyone he'd ever seen work.... but there were cracks in my routines.  They puzzled him, while impressing and disappointing him, I have to say.  I guess there's pros and cons to everything, if you think about it.

My sister lived with mom, and her way is different.  Not better or worse, just different, and I hear mom come out of her mouth, and we laugh every time.  Mom was funny, and very much like Lucille Ball.... from the show, and over the top, and overstated....
the opposite of me, in other words.  It's funny that the IL's ongoing "story" around who I am is so blatantly opposite who I truly am, and I think I'm at the point I just don't give a rat's arse any more. 

How difficult must it have been  to be around me.... someone who didn't like anything she liked.  I remember going to the mall with her, and my kids sat at the book store, and read.  Mom looked dazed, and bewildered.... she wanted to know if that was something we did often?  Yes, it was.  She was almost overwhelmed with the sitting still of it.  And I'm sure it was boring for her.  Just shopping, when we shopped, bleck, was problematic, bc I shop slow, and she shopped fast.  She had a swirl mark on the ball of every right shoe....her pivot foot.  She was a "mover and a shaker."  Till the end.  She just was.  That was her.

 And what a revelation those final years were for us both.  We got to know each other better, during her cancer years, and I got to be honest, once, and.... well.... I was honest twice.  Both times I made mom cry.  I pulled back the Lighter curtain, and my sib's curtains, and forced mom to LOOK.  I have a THING about outside reality lining up with my inner world.  Mom never had that problem.  Anyway, I painted furniture for her, and used spray equipment, and sanders to distress, and she marveled at that, bc she didn't paint or sand, or distress.... and it was one thing she could appreciate.  I wielded tools, and she appreciated that.  She looked at me differently, and it was a really nice feeling.... to be admired by her.  I didn't think I missed it, but having it felt very warm, and I think I did miss it.

Anyway, that's enough to get me on with my day.

It's comforting to feel my parents nearby. 

[Hopalong]

I'm so glad you've been able to internalize the good parts of your parents and feel support from them today.

That is absolutely wonderful, Lighter.

I am sometimes surprised by a tender memory of some of the things my Nmother did devotedly. Not interpersonal, dutiful. But lovely in an old-school elegant poverty way. Her impeccable sewing. Her regular bread baking. I can conjure up memories of watching her doing these things, rituals in her own temple, that are lovely. What she went through to build some beauty and harmony in her life, after a Tobacco Road/Elmer Gantry nightmare of a childhood, really was impressive. (It backfired on me in many ways, but at this age I can look back on her with more understanding of what her needs/drives were about.)

My inner Dad is more like the ghost of a sweet beagle. An utterly trustworthy soul with not a lot to say but a completely gentle spirit. I talk to him now and then.

xo
Hops

[Twoapenny]

Gosh, Lighter, yes, I think we do pick up on those habits and routines of other people, and it's funny how it's often over simple domestic chores like loading a dishwasher.

I love the story about reading at the bookstore.  I think seeing people read (especially kids) is one of the nicest sights on earth.  There was a second hand bookshop where we used to live, a great, rambling, tardis of a place, literally stacked floor to ceiling with thousands of books.  The children's section was very cramped and tucked into a little vestibule; every book shelf rammed and then boxes of books on the floor, then some just stacked in piles.  On Saturday mornings you'd go in and there would be parents squeezed in between the boxes with little ones on their laps, enthralled by something they'd just picked off the shelf.  I loved seeing that.

I have a thing about reality lining up with my inner world and I just can't keep quiet when I see other people ignoring what's under their noses.  It's not even a conscious decision to speak, it's out of my mouth before I even know I'm talking.  I find it enormously frustrating to be around people who don't engage with the reality of their situation, even though I get that it's something they're trying to avoid for a reason.  But because I can't, I feel like I've spent my whole life carrying other people who do and that's very tiring xx xx

[lighter]

I loved being tucked away, reading with my girls.  Oldest dd was the one who loved to be read to.  They were the happiest days of my life, and my mother looked at us like we were bugs.... she couldn't understand anything about it, and that's OK too.

Her brain didn't work that way,  and I don't think I expected it to. 

That she expected our brains to work like hers was the problem.... and there came a time where she was on top of us allllll the time, with expectations, and her fears of how I'd be judged and perceived, and the cool part was, she could SEE what she was doing, name it, and try to step back.

But image, and how we appeared to the world WAS so important.

I know I care so very little about how I dress, and about make up, still, bc of how much she cared.  It's a little oppositional defiance on my part.  I can see that now.

Like a door closed, and disdain pops up when I think about opening it, much less dealing with it.

I also notice what comes up when emergencies pop up.....
WHAT WOULD MY FATHER DOOOOOOOOOO! is what comes up.

So capable, so competent, but SO immature, and poking at your sore emotional spots, to see what makes you tick, kwim?

And with gleeful laughter.... so inappropriate. 

Lighter

[Twoapenny]

Yes, I get the image being important thing.  I think a lot of it (in the UK, at least) still stems from women needing to be attractive to men, and the home being their primary domain.  Things are changing but it's very slow and I know most of my friends still revolve their lives around their partners rather than doing what pleases them, and that includes things like dying their hair, wearing certain types of clothes, shaving their legs and so on.  The house becomes something like a status symbol in some ways, a way of showcasing what you've achieved in life.  Clean good, scruffy bad.  But I am the opposite as well and, like you say, I think there's an element of defiance to it.  Our house when my son was small was always covered in glue and glitter and train tracks and books, stacks and stacks of books.  No-one had to tidy up or worry about making a mess, we just had fun and then cleared it all away later.  It was very different to our home when I was a child, which was always spotless, we had toys but they were in our rooms, we never did craft or sat reading together or anything like that.  Just different ways of doing things, I suppose and yes, we often do it differently ourselves!  And it's good that your dad had that "how do we deal with an emergency" sense about him, that's very handy in a crisis! xx

[lighter]

Tupp:

My dad did have that sense of action in emergencies.  He was very competent, and capable. 

I notice I truly do think "What would my father do?" when something goes wrong.  He's been an inspiration during tough times in my life.  He looms largest in my mind, and I think I'm a bit surprised by that really.

Lighter