Now I know how the other half lives. Literally. My other half.  While our guests slept in  our apartment on Third Street, we slept at my twin sister’s a few blocks a way. 

My twin sister and her husband, who were away for the weekend, have an immaculate place – no clutter, no mess. And everything is brand new – coffeemaker, televisions, stainless steel refrigerator, granite counters. It helps that they don’t have kids yet (they’re adopting a little girl from Russia in a few months) because they’re both neatniks and everything has to be just so. 

Much as I would love to live this way, it just doesn’t seem possible in our apartment, with our children. Our’s is chock full of things – clothing, books, computer equipment, school papers, toys. We’re four people with lots of combined interests, activities and STUFF.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of the way my sister lives. It’s so calming to be here. There’s nothing to distract you from the lovely colored walls, the Arts and Crafts pottery, the framed prints on the wall, the view of Prospect Park out their window.

In this regard, we couldn’t be more different, my sister and I. Or maybe we’ve just made different choices. She’s always been the more visual one. Even in elementary school – she was the artist and I was the musician. Now she’s in film and I’m a writer. We’ve always staked out different areas to throw ourselves into. It was a coping strategy, a way not to step on each other’s toes.

And our husbands are quite different, too. Mine is a lovable packrat with an inability to part with even the most mundane piece of paper. He collects cameras and computer equipment, books, and strange things like Greek diner coffee cups.

My brother-in-law  is compulsively neat.  His closet says it all: suits, shirts, pants and ties are arranged in something akin to alphabetical order. He has not one, but two dressers full of perfectly folded clothing, and his shoes are lined up on the closet floor.

Serenely elegant, thier apartment is like a hotel. They’ve got a sumptuous brown leather sofa, an upholstered headboard,  an entertainment unit, built-in bookcases, a dining room set – it could be featured in a shelter magazine. It’s that nice.

To be honest, our place is a little more rococo, decorated as it is with antique furniture handed down or found on the street. There are a few items, like the green leather couch from Ikea, and the Noguchi coffee table, that we actually picked out and bought. It’s a hodge-podge at best, a well-intended one, but a hodge-podge just the same.

So I spent the weekend comparing myself to my sister, it’s a natural thing for siblings to do. But it’s not really all that fun as it bring up subtle shades of sibling rivalry. It wouldn’t be that hard to redecorate, I kept thinking, to throw things away and organize what we have…

So despite the calming decor and the world’s most comfortable bed, I didn’t sleep that well at my sisters. The traffic noise on Prospect Park West and  the rain on their bedroom air conditioner had me up at one-hour intervals. It’s always strange sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar noises.

I guess I have to admit, even if it’s not quite right, there is no place like home. Simply because it’s mine.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB