My brother and I are like the Donny and Marie of innkeepers, except he is so much younger than me, he doesn't even get my joke.
Until we became co-family innkeepers, we never even lived under that same roof. I was a 15 year-old sophomore at boarding school when Max was born. I graduated from college when he began 1st grade. We celebrated my wedding and his bar mitzvah on the same weekend and when I divorced at 45, he was 30 and ready to settle down.
For 26 years our parents ran the Wilburton inn in Manchester, Vermont.
When our Mom was suddenly diagnosed with cancer, Max and I rushed from our very different lives in New York and Boston to come home and help. When mom passed away just 10 weeks later, she left us with an inheritance we hadn't yet appreciated: we discovered each other.
Max is a little bit rabbi, I'm a little bit Broadway schmaltz. I am amazed to discover that this soft spoken, handsome scholar is my brother. We inherited binary sides of the family gene pool: I have grandma's chutzpah, he has grandpa's kindness. He has dad's intellect, I have mom's fondness for hot pink.
I confess that I adamantly did not want mom to have another baby. I was a bratty teenager and embarrassed that she was pregnant at 40. I felt mom was hiding from her personal potential by having another baby. I wanted her to have a career like her professionally successful siblings.
I was insensitive, but mom was wise. She let me pick the baby's name as a way to bond with my inevitable sibling. I chose Max because I thought it was unique. (This was three decades before every preschooler was named Max.) When Mom spent the final trimester in the hospital, I chose 'Maxwell' instead because I truly did wish my new brother well.
Max is far more then well. He is tremendous. He made our family richer, sweeter, funnier and incomparably more spiritual and joyful.
Country inns are typically run by couples. Young, retired, straight, gay or lesbian, it takes two people working shoulder to shoulder to handle the many hats of running an inn. Our mom handled the weddings, dad handled the maintenance. Now Max and I carry the family mantle. He handles catering, I take care of lodging. He whips up breakfast. I serve it with a smile. We are porters, receptionists, gardeners and hosts. And we are completely and unexpectedly having the time of our lives. I wrote this Family Inn Theme Song to celebrate it.
Max doesn't get my unbridled love of my designer dog. I wish he'd trim his Rasputin-like beard, but we delight in our differences and tease each other like rascals. Together we are infusing energy and life in our 113 year-old Wilburton Inn and our guests and family are thriving.
Our father took us to Aruba this week to relax from our non-stop days. It was the second anniversary of mom's death and the perfect chance to reflect and dream.
We rented a catamaran and Max and I took turns sailing as dad relaxed in the sunlight. We returned to shore drenched and in a completely different part of the beach, but the adventure symbolized our new life perfectly: we are all in the same boat together.
Our final night coincided with the island wide celebration of Carnival. Max ran out of clean pants so I lent him a pair of mine. As we went out, I had to laugh because we wore different versions of the identical outfit. Like Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger, we were twins.
He's a little bit earthy. I'm a little bit rhinestone bling. And I am the luckiest sister and innkeeper in the world.
