Cheers to Mom

Home, ready to recover from a summer of travel, I realized there was little time to prepare for our annual blues concert with JW-Jones. Misha outdid herself, as usual, producing a feast worthy of the Canadian King of Blues (my moniker). The balmy evening was comfortable for the smaller than usual audience who were energetic and supportive; i.e. they applauded enthusiastically and tipped generously.

Preparations for Thanksgiving followed immediately. Unusually, all my siblings, their children, and grandchildren congregated in Arizona for the holiday. The week included C-boy and P-DiL hosting high school friends and families, an adult Lake Pleasant boat cruise, cousins party, cousins bar hopping with $30 shots of Malórt (really?!), Drunk Shakespeare, golf, Topgolf, puppet theater, Wicked for Good, happy hours, escape room, and other events no longer in my memory.

Dinner at our house was crowned by a commercial-size bounce house allowing the Lilliputians to terrorize any adult brave enough set foot inside. Thankfully, there were only minor injuries forgotten with the traditional viewing of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. The unseasonably warm weather allowed us to relegate everyone to the outdoors, although the little ones found their way to the treasure of toys brought to the living room for their visit.

My body reacted as it does, landing me in bed for ten days with asthmatic bronchitis. Positively, it gave me time to dry out, alcohol repulsive when I am sick. I’m continuing on the dry train since I feel better.

That’s the litany. Here’s the insight. The gathering of C-boy and P-DiL’s friends brought on nostalgia for the house filled with the comings, goings, and antics of the young people who displayed the character we all want in our children. Watching them supervise their young children would restore any cynic’s faith in the future.

The camaraderie of the first cousins, ages spanning 53 to 23, who have had little time growing up together, testified to the power of blood ties. The next generation (my grandchildren's) enthusiastically embrace each other. (When visiting my sister’s granddaughter a couple of weeks later, I was greeted with “Did you bring the kids?”). That Mowgli, socially anxious, spent several days in the company of the crowds was heart-warming and reassuring.

Most of all, I am grateful and overjoyed that everyone in our clan appreciates each other, looks forward to time together, and remains connected despite geographical and age separation. Much of what holds us together are memories of our family matriarch, my mother, whose life and wit provided fodder for conversation for the rest of our lives.

So, here’s to you, Mom. And yes, you raised a bunch of boozers.