Stupid House!

My offer on my new home had been accepted before I told very many people about my plans to retire and relocate back to Batavia.  As I brought more and more people in my life up to date, almost everyone got around to saying something along the lines of, “I bet David is so excited.” 

Ya think? Well, David was definitely not excited. I wasn’t particularly surprised by this, considering how well I know my little brother. Since our mom passed away 10 years ago, David had gotten used to the practice of going to NYC for his birthday at Thanksgiving and at Christmas, and sometimes around our summer vacation. This was a big deal. Driving across the Tappan Zee Bridge. Pulling onto the ramp into my garage. Taking Metro North to the city. The subway. Eating spinach pie at The Flame diner. Going to my office and being greeted warmly by my friends and colleagues there. Radio City and the Rockettes. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center and all the decorations in midtown. Seeing Broadway plays. Walking around Time Square and taking photos.   Meeting my daughter, Julie, who often took him out and about if I had to teach a class. This was great fun and something he looked very much forward to. I knew that he would see my leaving NYC as a negative because he would think it would mean the end of that fun. So I was prepared for his denial when I told him that the house on River Street was mine.

It didn’t really compute at first. It wasn’t real for him because I was still living and working in New York City. But he “got” enough for me to broach the subject that my moving didn’t mean that he wouldn’t ever get to go to NY again. “Of course, we’ll go to New York City,” I told him more than once. I reminded him that  Julie, still lived there and we could still go visit her. I explained that I wouldn’t be moving until September. 

He adopted an attitude not unlike a teenager when you tell him/her to clean their room. Every time I took him to River St or talked about the house, he would smile like he was humoring me and say, “Maybe soon,” but in a way that conveyed, “In your dreams,”  or “Not now, not ever.” 

The months ticked by.  Pretty soon it was a matter of a few weeks before my life would change completely. My apartment went on the market, was sold very quickly, and closing set for mid-August. I hired a truck and a couple of movers on the NYC end. My sister and brother-in-law were on board to go to NYC to help. I lined up a few friends on the Batavia end for the unload. My brother’s jaw would harden as I kept him in the loop, reminding him that pretty soon, I would be there all the time. “You work!” he told me one day. “I am retiring from my job, David,” I patiently said. “I told you before that I won’t be working at school any more.” He sputtered, “You make money!” Translate: How are you going to take me on trips and out to eat and bowling and to the movies if you aren’t making money??

I explained that I had saved my money, and maybe I would work a little but I was very tired and I was old enough to not work all the time. Again, as I had so many times, I told him that we would have more time to have fun together. We could go do something on a Tuesday. We could still go to New York City. 

He wasn’t having it. My sister told me that when she called him a few days before they were coming to move me, he had vehemently told her, “Stupid house.” 

I had been very patient with his denial. Gently reminding him that it was going to happen. Bringing him over to the house during the renovations which went on all spring/summer. But now that my moving was imminent and he was being so negative, I had to admit that his attitude was starting to get to me. For 10 years I had risked life and limb driving 700+ miles at minimum twice a month to see him. Dodging deer, driving in all kinds of weather, sleep deprived.  Putting my life on hold. Had made sure he had what he needed and wanted in terms of clothes, food, fun, magazines, sewed his buttons back on, changed his blown light bulbs, helped him decorate his room every holiday, made sure he had gifts to give to family and friends at Christmas and birthdays – the list was endless, and I wasn’t one to ponder it ever. But his pushing back on this hurt. A lot. 

Despite his feelings about the matter, I moved in. I brought him over for meals. Had picnics on the back patio. Picked him up on Tuesdays for lunch. Took him to concerts. Got him back into ceramics. Made cookies together.  DVR’d his wrestling shows so he could catch what he missed when he fell asleep during them at home. I kept my promise and took him to  New York City for his birthday in November that included a visit to Fordham, lunch at the Flame, spending time with Julie, and going to the train show at the Bronx Botanical Garden.  

Now, six months into it, when people comment that “David must be happy about your move,” I can finally say, “Yes, I think he is.” I missed a call from him tonight when I didn’t hear my cell phone in time. He left a message. “Um, Dee,” (that’s what he calls me, don’t ask), “I call you. You pick me up Friday night. 5:30 fish fry. I out of yogurt and snacks for my workshop. You buy for me? That stuff for my foot? You have more for me? Please. You call me. 345-xxxx.”  My heart melts.  I'm crazy about this dude. I think he’s adjusted.