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Dept. of Nerves

Family Visits

I think I've mentioned that my little brother, the now-retired RCMP officer, is driving down to Chicago with a friend, bringing along a couple of pieces of furniture (my great great grandmother's china cabinet and a couple of chairs, plus a lot of things that will end up in the china cabinet) and some of my Nana's paintings. He takes off from Nova Scotia on Oct. 1 and will probably arrive in Chicago Oct. 3 or 4. 

I've slowly been realizing, and talked about the realization yesterday with BB and FB, that I'm nervous about Mac coming to visit. I hurried up the replacement of the dining room floor (and I'll have pictures at some point, I promise) because I didn't want him to see the completely grotty dining room carpet. I'm looking around and wanting to clean our windows, and I'm wondering constantly how Mac - who has a huge three bedroom, two story house in a semi-rural area, decorated in "clean, spare" - is going to regard BB's and my crowded, dusty (but generally not dirty) 950-square-foot condo in a rough Chicago neighborhood. 

Part of my nerves - which BB had been semi-seriously joshing at me about, possibly trying to make me realize that I was being irrational - stem from the fact that, while Mac is my younger brother, his life as a cop has given him a demeanor, a persona - terse, no-nonsense, unwilling to talk a lot about any issue - that makes me feel constantly wrong-footed, and like I'm the younger sibling. Put simply, my beloved brother, of whom I am eternally proud, has the superpower that all cops, good and bad, have: even when your'e innocent, being around a cop makes you feel as if you must have done something wrong.

Of course, I've done nothing wrong, except perhaps for living a rather different type of life than he would. But it's a lesson I have to learn over and over again. As FB reminded me yesterday, he's going to be in my court. 

And the truth of the matter is, I don't think he disapproves of me in the least. I think, I think, that he thinks of me as his older sister. Whether he thinks of me as his wiser sister? Well, I'm not going to push my suspension of disbelief quite that far. 
This entry was originally posted at http://kaffyr.dreamwidth.org/380297.html?mode=reply, where there are currently comment count unavailable comments. You can comment there or here; I watch both.


( 10 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 29th, 2015 02:43 am (UTC)
Cops do that, don't they? Even without intending to!

I know he'll love to see you. And I'm sure he'll be so happy to see you, he won't really notice much else. If anything he might be envious. He's likely ever-vigilant and has to have everything just so. And while you may carry some of those traits to some degree - you aren't ruled by them.

Either way..he will be happy to see his older sister. I just know it!

Sep. 29th, 2015 02:54 am (UTC)
I'm pretty sure I agree with you. At least judging by the number of phone calls he's made to me to discuss things, I know it's been on his mind, and I'm hoping that it's because of positive excitement on his part.

You're right about us sharing traits, although we put them into the service of different politics and different outlooks on life. Heh.

(I shall have to take pics of us together, now that I think he's OK with pictures, and put them up for people to see him.)
Sep. 29th, 2015 04:13 am (UTC)
*Hugs* I'm sure it will go fine.
Sep. 29th, 2015 07:37 pm (UTC)
I'm sure, too. Mostly.
Sep. 29th, 2015 08:11 am (UTC)
Aw, I'm sure it'll be all right when he's there! I hope you a lovely time together. ♥
Sep. 29th, 2015 07:38 pm (UTC)
I'm really looking forward to showing him the city I love. I just wish I wasn't such a worry wart. Not that I think I'll change that much. Sigh.
Sep. 29th, 2015 02:00 pm (UTC)
I'm mostly blown away that your great-great-grandmother's china cabinet still exists!
Sep. 29th, 2015 11:40 pm (UTC)
Heh - I grew up in a 100-year-old house (it's actually 148 years old or so now; really old furniture and furnishings were a part of growing up.
Sep. 30th, 2015 02:27 pm (UTC)
That's so incredible to me. We have a couple of pieces of furniture my grandfather (? maybe great-grandfather) made that are about the oldest things in my mother's house. The rest of the stuff is unremarkable. Most of my ancestors were too poor to have anything really valuable, and most of their everyday stuff I think got lost, broken, sold, or given away--lost in the shuffle of multiple moves.

My father's father lost all his money in the stock market crash (they did manage to hang onto their house), so Dad grew up in kind of "genteel poverty." My mother grew up in the dirt-poor kind of poverty. Incredibly, when they combined forces, they were able to raise their own kids with a decent standard of living. (And my sister still to this day complains because "we didn't have phone extensions in our bedrooms"--ROTFL!)
Oct. 6th, 2015 08:38 pm (UTC)
We were genteel poverty types, I think, or certainly lived that way, although I found out in my 30s and 40s that my mother and my Aunt Peggy had benefited from my grandfather's estate, the remainders of which are devolving upon my brother and I. It's weird to realize at my time of life that I may actually have a little bit of money that I can, if I'm careful, nurture into some sort of retirement fund.
( 10 comments — Leave a comment )

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