For weeks recently, I was obsessing over the prospect of a block of time now past (March 16-20) loosely referred to as SibFest ’11. Making travel arrangements. Delegating or automating certain must-do everyday tasks because I wouldn’t be around to do them for real (hello, midweek and Friday RAMH posts!). Packing. Touching base with the other participants. Pretending to focus on the day job for eight hours a day…
SibFest ’11 was the second time my sisters, brother, and I turned a chunk of the calendar into an island, insulated by design from our “normal” lives. I’d visited my brother for a few days a couple years ago, and my sisters, too, came by for a day. For SibFest ’11, though, we all traveled to a location roughly midway between New Jersey and Florida.
The plan, you wonder? None. Between arrival and departure, we just winged it.
Here’s what we did, loosely: talked, ate, slept, talked, laughed, talked, ate, drove to the store (or restaurant, or “attraction”), talked, walked around, talked, laughed, slept, talked… Two of us might go out to run an errand, while two of us stayed put. We took some unscheduled time to ourselves each day, with little or no interaction (reading, doing email and other quick online activities, napping). But really, we just made it up as we went along. “What do you want to do now?” “Anybody for a walk?” And so on.
It was great — for me, especially. I mean, I know the other three (who live within an hour of one another) welcomed the opportunity to see me and to “get away from it all.” But when I moved to Florida in ’93 to be with The Missus-to-Be, I never imagined that whole years might pass during which I wouldn’t see Connie, Cindy, and Mike. Not that I’d have decided otherwise, but I never considered the psychological implications of going that long without seeing their eyes light up (or fill, as the case may be). It seemed impossible that they might someday sit at a table with me and talk about people with whom they’ve been friends for ten, fifteen, almost twenty years… but whom I’ve never met.
But that didn’t matter, from mid-day Wednesday through Sunday morning. There we all were at the South Carolina coast.
People who know us have said they’d love to have been a fly on the wall to overhear the conversation at SibFest ’11. But you know what? I think no one but the four of us could have made sense of it for more than ten or fifteen minutes. We fell instantly into the familiar mode: speaking English, yes, but a peculiar sort of English needleworked onto and through a warp and weft of memories — in-jokes, lightning-bolt events in our pasts, old neighborhood characters, things we’d once promised and never delivered, things we’d delivered without advance warning, things small at the time but hugely inflated in retrospect (and vice-versa), wishes and dreams and deliriums and disappointments, people we’d forgotten, places we never got to and places we saw far too often, ice-cream flavors and TV shows, music and gardens, the theater fire, the church, the schoolyard, lilacs and hollyhocks and lacecap hydrangeas, how-come and I-always-wondered transitions, childhood crushes and kids who freaked us out, whatever-happened-to questions, the swallowing up into history of people we’d sat next to for years, first library cards and wardrobe accidents, run-ins with police, misfortunes (and near-fortunes) of love…
The best thing about being alone with the other three? I think it’s the utterly effortless unguardedness. We sometimes talk about competing as siblings — living up to some standard set by one or more of the others — but that’s got nothing to do with how we interact. We don’t have to squeeze words in edgewise. We don’t have to match rhythms, playing catch-up or slow-down. Do, or not, but there really is no try.
What a great, great, great time.
Thanks so much, kids. Love you.
Nance says
So happy for the good time. Makes me wish I had siblings! Saw from FB comments that you visited some of my favorite, funky spots, like The PIT, and found your way to Roz’s Rice Mill Cafe. Pawleys is a lovely place to take it easy.
Now, tell me you all promised to do it annually from here on out!
cynth says
The feeling is mutual, oh, brother of ours. Getting back to the everyday was a challenge. But the joy lingers of the laughs and the hugs and the “just hanging out.” It was a soul-restorer for sure.
DarcKnyt says
How awesome for all of you. I’m so glad it was the grand time you hoped for and remember.
John says
Thank you, Nance! Appreciated your commentary before the weekend on places to go — especially Brookgreen Gardens: a real jewel. Sister Connie had been there already, and highly recommended it… but knowing how much you love it gave me even more to look forward to. :)
Annually, well, that remains to be seen. The Missus and I will be going up to NJ in the fall so, who knows, by the time that trip is complete we may all be roundly sick of one another. Ha.
John says
cynth: I know what you mean about the everyday. On Monday, everything seemed to have this metallic shimmer — I couldn’t quite believe I was back in those “normal” settings again. By mid-afternoon, though, the shimmer had passed to recent South Carolina memories.
And, if you (you wallflower, you) will allow me to add: your own bloggish tribute to the weekend (“douglas’s” comment aside, ahem) was pitch-perfect.
John says
Thank you, my Darc friend!
One thing I didn’t get into in the post is a knee-jerk reluctance to sound too, y’know, Pollyanna-ish. I know so many wonderful people who (a) are only children, or (b) or have very unhappy relationships with their siblings, or (c) have lost cherished siblings, one way or another. This sort of post almost feels (to me) like pouring salt into those dear people’s wounds, y’know?
And yet… and yet…
s.o.m.e.one's brudder says
J, What a difference a year makes, too. When we discussed doing this a year ago – I was all angst and tribulation. The ability to capture that cadence and exchange among us – with no plan other than arrival and departure was blissful. The arrival night hiccup and ensuing morning diversion didn’t really impede. Blissful – it really feels correct. The absolute worst part for me, was simply having to walk out the door on Sunday AM. Seriously a challenge to keep my wits together. Re: your response to Darc – I have often marveled at the relatively non-judgmental nature of our collective sibling-hood and familial relationships. Yes, I know we have all had our moments of crossing the “judgment” line, but relative to so many other families (blood or otherwise) that I know, it feels so “not that” in ours. Yes, it is a bit Pollyanna-ish, but inherently true. The will to be in the company of one another is something worth treasuring in times that are so damn troubling otherwise. I think we all tread so lightly last week, regarding world news, in that we didn’t want it to trouble our balance and 4-day bubble. And I think we did right. Love to you, too, from “The Little Boy”. And thanks for sharing it here, too.
jules says
This is truly sweet and all wonderful-ness. “Effortless unguardedness.” Best thing about family, who can come in all forms.
So glad you had a great time.
s.o.m.e.one's brudder says
John, BTW – do we have to start calling you Yoda? I’m not sure I could take that…I mean Obi Wan, yes, but Yoda?
John says
brudder: No, you do not have to start calling me Yoda. (In fact, if you’ve already started, please stop.)
One interesting wrinkle this year: technological. Two years ago, I still had a plain-old-phone phone, and (if I recall) several books because I couldn’t decide what to read. Actually, I think the closest object any of us had to a smart anything was your MacBook, or iMacBook, or whatever the hell it was called. This year, we came equipped not only with smart phones but with two Kindles, one Nook, and an iPad — and two laptops. Aside from their obvious value for entertainment/reference/communication during the “down” times, they also helped ease us into and out of the weekend: texting one another at various points of our journeys there and back was, I think, the most satisfying text-messaging I’ve ever done.
How many Tamiflu do you have left? *laughing*
John says
Thank you, jules! I knew you’d “get” the family thing, and I sure appreciated the good wishes you sent along before it all started. :)
Ashleigh Burroughs says
So the whole family is literary, eh?
Wish I could stand to be around my sister so that I could do a similar event…. alas……
Glad it was all you wanted it to be, once the health issues were cleared up :)
a/b
John says
a/b: Literary. Well, as they say: that’s as may be. They might argue the point (“No, John’s the literary one”); on the other hand, they’d supplement the claim with well-spoken (and funny) footnotes and asides about books, movies, memories of watching The Flintstones on Friday nights, how eating cookies-n-cream ice cream with pretzel sticks compares to eating vanilla-fudge ice cream with them, The Beatles…
…and before you knew it, the footnotes would somehow have become the content. Master subject-changers, they.
Jenn says
I miss ALL of you!!! How ’bout we finally plan a family reunion somewhere????? I love you guys
John says
Jenn: a family reunion, well, who knows?
I can pretty much guarantee, though, that the rest of us won’t be able to keep up with you whippersnappers. Memories of your cousin’s bash from a couple years ago still make me feel out of breath — and practically all I did was watch. :)
Connie says
Brother John
I loved reading your words about the weekend and am grateful you did not dwell on the “illness factor”. Despite that possible big glitch, it was such a great several days. I felt so loved and taken care of by each of you. The coloring books and crayons were the sweetest ever. Not sure how I feel about the pig shirt but I am sure someone at the gym will notice.
I am grateful that we all still enjoy one another at this stage of life. I cannot wait until SibFest 2012!
John says
Connie: nice to see you here. :)
The coloring book and crayons were a sweet idea and gift, but I can’t take any credit for them. (The You-Know-Who Twins get the credit, appropriately.) When I came around the corner of that aisle at the drugstore and found them debating which of several coloring books would be best, the only thing that kept me from laughing out loud was that my heart suddenly filled.
I’ll take the bullet for the Piggly-Wiggly shirt, though. Hey, you visit the South, you gotta expect surprises.