We have had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend thus far.  The holiday itself was spent entertaining Kathy’s family,  and the next day we were delighted to host my dad and Sonja.  And today brought still more fun when we met Marshall and his folks,  Roger and Amme Anderson, in Lake Geneva (a nice halfway point between Racine and Whitewater) for lunch at Culver’s and a chance to catch up with these dear friends.

Marshall and I grew up about five houses apart, went to the same school and to the same church, and shared a number of similar interests . . .  so it might have seemed absolutely inevitable that we would become best friends.   But then one has to stir into the mix the fact that he was Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison,  at least in matters of orderliness and cleanliness.   But just like those memorable characters in Neil Simon’s play,  we found a way not only to be friends- but eventually even best friends.

I chuckle sometimes when I think about the incredibly different worlds represented by 213 Crescent Dr. and 111 Crescent Dr.   The former was a rather chaotic, disheveled sort of household with kids who were positively masterful at making messes but essentially illiterate when it came to cleaning them up.  The furniture was inexpensive to begin with and badly beaten up to boot, and although there were some nice pieces of interesting artwork (pottery and paintings, mostly) they were isolated pearls in what we kids repeatedly turned into a veritable pig sty.  And with both mom and dad working,  there was no way their cleaning efforts could keep up with our energetic mess making.   (They would have had better luck cleaning up a mudslide with a toothbrush  while the monsoon was still raging. )

The latter, by contrast, was like a shrine- immaculately clean and orderly- a home where the games were stacked neatly on shelves and none of the pieces were missing- where desk calendars stretching back a decade or more were carefully stored in a drawer for easy reference- where you could have eaten off of the floor- and where the rooms were exquisitely decorated in color-coordinated loveliness.   The perfection even extended to the Christmas cookies which Mrs. Anderson baked and frosted and plated with such excellence that they could have been sold at Macy’s for a handsome price.

And yet,  two families so drastically different from one another came to love each other and appreciate each other- which just goes to show that loving homes come in many different shapes and sizes and flavors and styles. . . and that one isn’t better than the other – or more fun – or more nurturing.  And Marshall is living proof that one can grow up in a household of strict rules and faultless order and still emerge a unique and vibrant human being with a dash of craziness in his personality.   And I’m living proof that. . . that. . .  I have no idea.   (Once a slob, always a slob?)

Yes, there were certainly times when I envied the quiet order of Marshall’s home –  and I have no idea but suspect that maybe once in awhile he thought that living at the Bergs , with all its craziness, might have been interesting and entertaining.  But I think we’re both ultimately grateful that we grew up in the homes that we did – but grateful as well that our parents became such good and fast friends even across a lifestyle divide that from a distance must have looked like the chasm separating Neil Simon’s original Odd Couple- who, it should be remembered,  were dear friends.  I know that I am forever grateful that Marshall’s mom did not seem all that bothered by my mom’s shortcomings as a housekeeper,  but instead was too busy appreciating all of the qualities that made her such a warm and loving and vibrant person.  And likewise,  I’m sure her warmth towards my mom was one of the things that made my mom feel comfortable in that intimidating college community to which we moved in 1965.   My mom was scared to death at how different Decorah would be from the tiny town of Colton, South Dakota –  but it was friendships like the one she had with Amme that made all the difference in the world in making her feel welcome and valued.    And in the end,  that’s what counts most in this life – not in how immaculately we dust but rather in how generously we love.  And in my opinion,  that’s why the Andersons are neat people – because they are so very loving.