The Girls are Back in Town

Shall I compare a weekend with my sisters and parents to contained chaos?

Instead of the annual debauched weekend away with my five sisters, this year we conspired to spend the time at my parents' house on the river with them.

We figured the last time it was just the eight of us overnight was in a galaxy far, far away.

So in between eating meals what felt like round the clock (something the family seems to excel at), everyone threw out childhood memories to see who shared them.

As Sister #5 pointed out repeatedly, the three oldest sisters had a vastly different childhood than the three younger ones - and not all that much younger since the span from the oldest to youngest is only eight years, making for six stair steps.

Which means that, yes, all six of us lined up on the staircase in birth order so pictures could be taken. Repeatedly, since we're far less photogenic now.

The only saving grace was that we weren't in matching pajamas like we'd been in childhood for the same kind of picture.

Of a vacation we took on an island in Maine for a month, some remembered specifics - sleepovers with new friends, a first trip to a flea market, eating lobster endlessly because it was so cheap- and others just how cold the ocean had been.

Throughout the visit, there was barely a moment when several people weren't talking over each other, breaking into stories with their own references and laughing to the point of sore faces.

When Mom asked us if we'd change anything about our childhood, the only thing anyone could come up with was that it might have been handy to have an older brother.

Sister #5 disagreed (as she is inclined to do) because, as she pointed out, he would have gotten his own room so things would have been even tighter.

Other than that, we all agreed that it had been pretty idyllic, albeit in a far simpler time. The most difficult part had always been getting along with so many same sex siblings.

And only two bathrooms, mind you.

Once everyone was pleasantly mellow after a huge, late dinner, Mom brought up the topic.

The topic.

A couple of sisters were reluctant to do it, but my parents wanted to make sure we all understood their living will preferences and how their estate would be distributed.

They'd intended to make only two of us executors until their lawyer had wisely advised them to make all six executors unless they wanted to guarantee family squabbles once they were gone.

I'd have thought that after all these years with six daughters, my parents would have already known that it never works to single out any specific daughters for anything; it's always got to be about the group. The brood. The half dozen.

When we asked Mom where she wanted her ashes scattered, she said Tipperary, Ireland, her grandparents' birthplace.

Dad was quick with his preference. "I want to be scattered wherever the love of my life is being scattered."

Makes that easy and now I know I will definitely see Ireland.

Sister #2 and I recalled listening to (and believing) a "live" radio broadcast of Santa getting ready to leave the north pole and start delivering gifts.

Talking about such things brought up the topic of all my parents' accumulation of a lifetime together: a big, old house with all three floors stuffed to the gills.

Whenever I visit them, I try to bring a load of unwanted stuff back and leave it at a thrift store.

This time, since all the sisters were there, I went up to the third floor and brought down all the ancient board games up there.

Tripoly. The Game of Go. Monopoly. Trivial Pursuit, Pictionary. Scattergories. Checkers. Parcheesi. Only thing we didn't find was Twister.

Some great memories came out of going through them and lots of stories about playing them together, both as children and adults.

I also brought down my Dad's old army boots, figuring that the nephew who's about to start teaching high school history might want them.

That led to a discussion of the shoes' size and Sister #2 saying they were too big for her husband's feet.

"He's got kind of small hands,too," sister #3 commented, leading to some off-color talk of size correlation.

Mom walked through the room then, asking what was so funny.

"Nothing," Sister #2 said with a tone of dismissal. "They're just discussing my husband's penis size."

And that, ladies and germs, is the first time in a lifetime that any of her daughters said the word "penis" to Mom.

Did she get upset about the salacious topic or the over-sharing of information?

Not my mom. No, indeed, she said to us exactly what she's been saying to use since we could misbehave.

"Don't talk about people who aren't here."

Not the easiest of rules in a room full of women who've known each other this long.

Someone asked Mom if she still refers to us as "the girls," despite that we're middle-aged now and far from girlhood.

Yep, she sure does we learned. Old habits die hard.

And while yesterday had been a steadily rainy one at the river, today dawned much warmer and brighter.

And, surprisingly, with some contained burning.

I had chosen to sleep alone in the bedroom on the third floor, the least finished bedroom (read: unheated, but loads of thick bedding) but also the highest and the one with the most sweeping view of the Rapphannock.

By the time Sister #3 and I had wound down last night, the rest of the house was asleep, making for a juicy opportunity to talk about the others.

So sleeping in a bit this morning, I was disturbed from a dream by what sounded like the endless backing-up beep of a truck.

It went on so long, I briefly considered getting up to see what it was, but the bed was warm and I instead went back to sleep.

Until Sister #4 came in to wake me and tell me to come to the window to see the church burning.

That got me out of bed in a hurry.

The local fire fighters had arrived early on a damp Sunday to take down the rotting old church near the general store.

Some of the sisters had been up early enough to walk down and watch them light it, seeing the glass in the windows pop out once it heated up and seeing the earth next to it get scorched when the wind picked up.

Hell, Sister #3 had already made five videos of the conflagration by the time I was putting my first bacon in my mouth.

By the time I'd been roused, it was merely burning the last quarter of the building, although most of the chimney was still standing.

So I got dressed, went down and inhaled some breakfast so I could join Sister #6 and Sister #3 for a walk down to see the fire up close.

What was impressive was the bottom-most beams, the ones that sat on bricks for a foundation, were still relatively recognizable, nails sticking out of them.

We walked all around the low-level flames, marveling at how efficiently the old building had come down on a damp morning.

Every now and then, a bigger flame would dart out from under the collapsed metal roof, but then retreat to mostly smoldering embers.

It was a good metaphor for the weekend, with only occasional flare-ups from a sister or two, always followed by smoothing over and apologies if necessary.

Contained contact, especially post- happy hour when tongues got looser.

All in all, a thoroughly pleasant weekend full of conversations I can only have with these seven other people because they are the only ones who know all the references.

After breakfast, the sisters began packing up to leave, but I was in no hurry and Sister #3 was expecting her husband to drive down and stay over, so the two of us took a walk down to sit on the dock and enjoy the unseasonably warm and sunny day.

When I got ready to leave, it was with my car packed to the roof with those old board games.

I stopped by Diversity Thrift to drop them off and as I was unloading them, a woman with a young child came over and peered in to my car, saying, "You sure must play a lot of games."

Explaining that they represented 30 years worth of family game-playing, she responded by asking if the Monopoly game had all its pieces. "I think my kids would like it," she said.

There were actually two Monopoly games, so I pulled out both from the stack and handed them to her.

Hope your family has as much fun with them as we did, I told her.

Just when they grow up, don't expect too much of them.

They're still going to insult each other, they'll always discuss inappropriate stuff given half a chance and yes, they're going to talk about the ones who aren't there.

Aren't families the best sometimes?