Christmas

The wrap for our Christmas day was getting takeout food* and going down to Home Farm. A lengthy, quarter-mile commute! Gone are the days of spending three hours in the car on Christmas day. Son's roommate had returned from visiting his family. We all sat around the table down there and had a nice meal; the first time we all ate together down there since Grandpa was alive. Tabby, Grandpa's cranky old queen cat, begged for pets and attention.

The boys' tree is lovely, decked as it is with a selection of my/my mother's ornaments and, of course, shrimp. One of my father's better decorating attempts was putting a large mirror across part of the living room wall, in a nook beside a chimney. The tree is right on front of that, which looks amazing. Twice the sparkles!

It was a lovely end to a lovely day. Who knows what next year will bring. In this moment, though, we are at peace. Nutmeg bossing Hanz and Juniper around in the red barn, pigeons roosting in a shed, Hero and Leo standing quietly their pasture waiting for their dinner. Five dogs and five cats between the two houses, which I will admit is a bit much.

My hopes for next year: College success for the kids. A better way to sell art for me; online, gallery shows, something. Better health for me (not likely, but I can wish). A good year for the garden and the various tree plantings. A return to full mobility and farm-dog hijinks for Rosalie. And a good working relationship for Hero and Leo.

'* In the earlier years of our marriage, we went to see my in-laws at midday on Christmas, and spent the evening with them. When Husband's older sisters started having their own grandchildren, that tradition died a natural death, and we were on our own for Christmas day. I, a person who cooks A Lot, put my foot down on the topic of cooking a dinner on Christmas day.

All's fun

Family Dinner was a little scattered this evening; everybody showed up on time but the dining room table was loaded with a bunch of study materials for finals. I told the kids to fill their plates and find somewhere to sit. It's hard for more than three adults to eat at my kitchen table; it's just a bit crowded, and there were five of us.

After a nice, filling, Mexican layered casserole with salad and corn chips, K and Roommate went out to get a horse ride. After that, when Roommate had gone home, my daughter and son had some cake and just . . got the worst case of the Sillies™. He was holding his ribs and barely able to stand upright, she was nearly crying laughing. Honestly, there wasn't even anything that funny happening - just pent up college stress and the happiness of being together.

We sent him home with a big chunk of cake, since Roommate didn't get any, and K went back to her studying. Golden moment, though.

(We hadn't made a Christmas cake in quite a while, but it very fun. I took one of the cat cookies that K made with friends and added it in.)

Until his sides ache

New weekly goal for Family Dinner night; tell family stories until Roommate is laughing so hysterically that he's on the verge of needing medical intervention. Since it was so fun tonight, we should do it every week. Although it's really, really hard to top the Ballad of Uncle Joe's Underwear.

Family Dinner

Because my son and his roommate were friends for years before moving in together, Roommate is frequently added to our family activities. Last night after Family Dinner, which we try to do once a week, my daughter speculated about how many 'extra kids' I've fed over the years. A lot, is the answer. I have fed so many extra kids. Several of whom were here so much they ended up calling me 'Mom.'

Sometimes in my head I conflate my kids' repeatedly finding - and adopting - Troubled Youths with dragging home abandoned kittens or puppies from the roadside. No! Stop "finding family!" Why did you bring that here! We don't need another . . oh, bother. I'll just. Set another place at the table.

Obviously, I'm never visibly curmudgeonly about this. I welcome them all and feed everyone who's hungry. Every now and then, though, I think about how much it has been.

Generations

My maternal grandmother died just a few months before I was born. That probably didn't inconvenience my mother too much, since they hated each other. But it meant that I never met her.

Then, thirty-some year later, MY mom passed away a few months after I had my son. So neither my son nor my daughter ever got to know her. It occurred to me, recently, that my kids are young adults, and my timeline for becoming a grandmother is probably around ten years, give or take.

So I have to wonder. Will I live that long? Because we seem a little cursed in my maternal lineage. I would like to beat the odds, break the cycle, whatever. But, damn. It weighs on me.

Do you take this man (very quickly)

We went to a wedding this afternoon/evening, my cousin's daughter. An outdoor wedding, in August. The overcast with potential for thunderstorms was actually a BETTER option than I thought we would get.

Just as the officiant asked if anyone had any objection, there was, I kid you not, a big rumble of thunder. Partly due to weather, partly due to the bride being a high school gym teacher (Go! Go! Let's get moving, people!) it was the SHORTEST wedding I have ever attended. They did all the Stuff, and it was clearly heartfelt, but by damn they did it briskly. We sat in a gentle rain for the last ten minutes of the service, then everybody hightailed it to the reception, which was indoors.

The reunion!!

Today is the family picnic!! My favorite time of the year. I've been the host since 2006. My father's generation kinda bailed on this obligation; it jumped from my paternal grandma and her brother (and their spouses) to me. Fortunately, my husband enjoys hosting* and how appreciative my family is.

Folks started rolling in Thursday night, two more arrive yesterday evening, one drove 8 hours from Indiana and got here in the middle of the night. The rest should arrive late morning and we'll spend the hot, hot day in festivities. Probably fewer yard games and no hiking this year - but we do have a good spot for swimming a couple of miles away. I went out early this morning with one cousin picking raspberries; it's crucial to get some one-on-one time with the quieter members of the Horde.

Oop, I just heard my son's car. Yay!

'* Is there a specific German Hosting Gene complex? Because, observationally, looking at Americans with German immigrant heritage, it looks like there is a German Hosting Gene. Feel free to add your opinion.

April Fools (a long time ago)

The best April Fools prank I can remember was when my father was cooking himself some breakfast, standing at the stove, and my mother shrieked, "There's an EAGLE in the back yard!!"

He leaped in the air, did a 180° turn, and reached out with both hands as if he had pulled a pair of pistols. So, the eagle thing . . they have actually returned to this area now, but at that time they were locally extinct. It wasn't 100% impossible, though, that one had gotten off course or just decided to re-settle in the area. Improbable, but not impossible.

No one, including him, could figure out why he had pulled imaginary six-shooters. Was he picturing the eagle carrying off the livestock? Attacking the patio door? Engaging him in a Wild West duel? It was forever a mystery.

Better late than never

I have decided, midway through February, that I, in fact, DO have a New Year's resolution I want to work on.

My son was born in February 2002, and my mother died (age 61) in December of that year. I did the memorial service, cleaned out her house, took care of her will/estate, mourned, and kept raising that baby. Little by little, as he grew, I started noticing things about parenting that I had never processed before. At one point, I went to an aunt I was especially close to, and asked her to 'memory check' me about things from my family when I was just a toddler. Because, you know, I didn't want to take my very early memories as fact. But I was noticing that my son, then three, had had NO serious injuries (because I was watching him!) while I had been seriously injured multiple times by the time I was four. Two emergency room trips, many scars, stitches, dislocated hips, etc.

Her mouth compressed into a straight line and she shook her head. "Yes," she said, "You were left to raise yourself. And then you raised your brother."

I had had what I thought was a decent relationship with my mother while she was alive. Like 95% good, 5% WHOA, NELLIE WTF! But as I aged, reflected, and parented, I started getting angry. And angrier, and angrier. And F*ing FURIOUS.

Not unreasonable, but . . man, it's been years. Decades. I need to - find a way to let this go. Make peace with her (very complicated) memory. Stop feeling so much rage. It's just TIME.

So this year I am going to try to get very intentional about that, and work on settling the issues rattling around my skull. Yeah, not completely sure HOW, but I have started working on it.

A picture one of my second cousins took at last year's reunion. These three are some of my late father's cousins, relatively close to him in age. He had so many cousins. Which gives me more second cousins can I can count! For guys in the 80ish age range, I think they look terrific.

Hey, Kid!

My husband just answered the phone and said, "Hey, Kid!"

Which told me that he was talking, not to either of our children, but to his younger sister. He is 57; she is 54. "Hey, Kid!" And for a short while, they are teens again; talking, pestering, amiably harassing each other.

Nothing, but nothing, feels like getting an exquisitely-crafted, unique, in-joke-based insult from a person who loves you dearly and knows you oh-so-well. This post is for all the people who have loving relationships with their siblings, but can also include other family members, coworkers, and old friends. I miss my brother (who lives far away) very much.

Sandwich Generation

Technically I'm no longer the "sandwich generation"; however, as long as I am trying to cope with my father's farm cleanup and his belongings, I still feel slightly. Sandwich-y. So this poem continues to feel meaningful:

A whirl of fragmented thoughts circle

The pot roast has enough salt? What am I

Too many assignments, how can I keep up

His finances worry him, if he would just stop

Need to prep a lasagna, too, for the weekend

Company coming,

But the shower curtain just fell right down

Beans need picked in the garden, I should

I can’t get the shower curtain rod to stay up

Losing focus, what is even the first step?

Always dusty, no matter how often I

His homework, yes, but what about Hers?

Something is forgotten, what is it

Another bill, but I just paid

Some kind of green vegetable

Paid the car registration, but don’t have the

Where is it

What was I

So lonely

Lean my cheek against the top of her head

Feel the quiet purr more than hear it

A moment, Just a moment