A beautiful piece of coral
David and I spent the weekend with my two sisters and their husbands at youngest sister’s wonderful, new Florida home.
It was the first time all have us have been on vacation together because our lifestyles, jobs, kids’ ages, and other factors, prevented it.
Although the six of us dined as a group every evening, we were never all together during the day. David swam an hour every morning, then sunned himself non-stop; Brian fixed his ailing computer, went to pilates and biked with Heidi and hung paintings with Rusty; Shelley, Heidi and I walked every morning for an hour; Heidi, Brian, David and I went to the beach; Shelley, Rusty, Heidi and Brian went shopping for housewares and food; Heidi, David and I went shopping for exotic shells for her new home.
No matter what we did and with whom we did it, it was a treat to be under the same roof with everyone much of the weekend. I especially loved coming downstairs in the morning to have coffee and chat with my sisters. Dinners were delicious and conversations were lively.
Shelley and Rusty went back to New York via the auto train, since they drove down South; David and I took the plane back, and Heidi and Brian are staying in Florida for a two-week vacation.
I kept thinking of our mom during the three days. Although she wasn’t a big fan of Florida, I know she would have been thrilled her daughters were there together. No matter what separates us during our lives, our DNA joins us.
Rusty and Shelley
Heidi found these "three sisters" in South Africa
The other three sisters: Geri (oldest), Shelley (middle sister), Heidi (the baby)
View of the bay from the back of the house
My FOF friend, Harriet, was lamenting that twenty somethings today don’t know how to have real conversations. “Real,” as in on the phone. When she suggested to her son that he call a contact of hers to discuss employment opportunities he might have after he graduates from college next spring, he told her, “I’ve emailed and didn’t get a response.”
“You’ve got to call and talk to him,” she responded. “People like him are extremely busy and he probably never saw your email.
“I know what I’m doing,” her son answered.
Computers are the primary–if not exclusive–modes of communication for young adults, many of whom have no idea how to confront any kind of situation head on. They hide behind their computers.
And no one is going out of their way to try and find them.
I’ve known many young, working women over the years who stayed home when they got the sniffles, a scratchy throat or a twinge in the tummy. Then there’s Gabby Giffords, the Arizona Congresswoman who was shot, comatose, braved months of grueling physical therapy and returned to work because she wanted to cast an important vote on the budget.
Just what is it that separates the women from the girls? Why do some of us baby ourselves, while others are stalwart, even if we’re feeling dreadful? Is it because our mothers didn’t comfort us when we needed it most? Or maybe it’s because they did fawn over us whenever we felt under the weather.
I once left on a business trip to Dallas feeling awful; achy, feverish and weak. When I arrived, I could barely stand, no less walk the trade show I was supposed to cover. I went to the hotel to sleep, and by the next morning, I felt worse. I managed to get myself into a cab and to the hospital ER. They suspected what was wrong and took a chest x-ray. I had pneumonia. The doc gave me antibiotics and advised me to get to bed. I asked if I could fly home and he reluctantly agreed.
The idea of missing school or work always scared me. That’s the kind of nut I was. When I became a boss in my twenties, I resented anyone who gave into their physical discomforts. Therapy helped me empathize with those who don’t feel well enough to work. Except, of course, if they’re bellyaching all the time.
I used to think that single, adult daughters who lived with their single moms (divorced or widowed) were a sad lot. But I had an epiphany today: If mom and daughter enjoy each other’s company, and respect each others’s space, why not be roommates?
Of course, lots of moms and daughters like to spend time together, but wouldn’t survive a week living under one roof because their lifestyles are wildly different. Daughter likes the TV or radio on all the time; mom wants quiet. Mom leaves dishes in the sink, crumbs on the counter and clothes on the sofa; daughter is obsessive compulsive about order.
Not all single women want to live alone, even if they have great careers and loads of friends. Living with their mothers could be a fine alternative to living with friends.
My “maiden” aunt Sylvia lived with her mother (my grandmother) until grandma died. Back in the day, most single women were expected to live at home. Today, they’d feel demoralized to stay with their moms. But when they marry and become moms themselves, they’re usually thrilled if mom moves in to help.
Go figure!