The Cousins Came to Town
you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but do not pick your friends nose
This morning, a friend announced with gusto to a group of us, “you don’t love ANYONE as much as you love family!!”
I strained one of my eyes rolling it.
I am sure SOME people love their families more than anyone else. But others of us, well, family is something with which you are stuck. We choose whom we love with absolute abandon, not because of genetics but because the care and interest they have for us. My relatives, I mostly could never see them again and be fine.
Is that the lament of a lonely soul?
My wife is another matter though. When her cousins come to town everyone goes on hold to entertain them. They aren’t even close kin. Gabriel, Sarah and their adult daughter are cousins of a cousin. But in the 40 years I’ve known my wife’s family, he’s always been a fixture.
We used to joke my sister-in-law was secretly in love with Gabriel. Though many serious things are said in jest, nothing ever untoward ever went on. At least as far as I know. In my experience, the heart is more than capable of decades-long affection that goes beyond friendship but never quite blooms into romance.
Arriving at the restaurant tonight, the sun has dipped below the horizon and I wish I’d worn my corduroy hunting jacket. I am chilled and in a complete fog. The family has been trading around a miserable little head cold and while everyone else is either just starting to get it, or get over it, I am at peak feeling-like-shit. I’d rather be in bed. But duty calls. And love, love calls too. Just not of self tonight.
Coming late means everyone’s food is arriving and our waitress forgets to put in our order. The table is clearing before she rushes over with the wrong plate of food. No matter, we have pecked and grazed everyone’s meals and neither of us had much appetite to begin.
While we laugh and tell old stories we’ve traded a hundred times before, my wife has gotten stuck to the table. It is a patio setup and our table, one of two 6’ affairs, has oak slats with .5 inch gaps between each piece of lumber. It is attractive but also very practical for the outdoor setting. Rain cannot pool and the wood’s finish ensures a long, attractive life.
The gaps though, are the perfect size to capture her very elegant 18k gold bracelet that just happens to be .625 inches in width. Resting her wrist on the table allowed the flat chain to wedge between the slats diagonally. Tugging at it has only fastened it more soundly.
She is freed when I remove the bracelet from her wrist, but the gold is stuck fast. Pulling through below only wedges it deeper. The oak slats are new and fresh and have no give when pried apart with forks and knives. Fortunately, my nephew has a very sharp 4” folding knife (this is Texas, so that is normal) and I am able to very gingerly work the leading wedged edge up and out without destroying her bracelet.
We all cheer at the victory. Freed at last, she tucks the bracelet away as conversation shifts to other things.
We talk some of work, life in California (where Gabriel and his family live) and happy reflections on my wife’s sister who passed away in February this year. Many of our old stories have a new weight now that she is gone. God, EVERYTHING has more weight since her loss… I hear Lolly (the daughter) telling my nieces about her trips to Japan and Spain, Disney and Hawaii. She and her parents travel a lot. Gabriel and Sarah aren’t rich, but life in California necessitates a high wage and as Gabriel is a plumber, there’s plenty of cash for travel and experiences. I can sense my niece's jealously.
To my left, my other nephew trades stories about his recent purchase of a white and red 1991 Corvette. He has only owned it for a few weeks and is still very excited about it. I don’t engaged because my feelings are still hurt he wouldn’t let me drive it. I think he’s worried I’ll break the now classic vehicle. I am of the belief that sports cars, regardless of age, are meant to be driven sportily, not like your grandmas sedan.
Remembering his lumbering launch from my mother-in-laws house the night before, I smugly check the vehicles stats. The Chevrolet weighs in at 3400lbs with 245 horsepower. Compared to my old 5 series BMW touring sedan at 3600lbs and 282 HP, it’s not that impressive. I know the Beemer was a much better driving experience as sports cars are notorious rough rides. I know the 2005 540i was the best ride we ever owned. It carried us up and down the Eastern seaboard and across the country in the 5 or so years we owned the vehicle.
Everyone is tired. ARM and I because we got up early, volunteered most of the day, installed a shower in Campervan Beethoven, and cleaned up and dashed to a late dinner. The other 14 people because they spent the day two hours from home in the city. We will ALL sleep well tonight.
At least until some of us spring awake at 4am to reflect on the day.
Paying our tab and saying our farewells, we make plans for tomorrow’s festivity. Worship in the morning, a quick lunch, brief stint doing a little more volunteer work and then everyone is landing at our house for ribs and an animation festival in the evening. I am so tired, the thought does not excite me. But, soldier on we must.
When we arrived, I took note of a darling little Vespa chained to a light pole. As we exit, it is still there, across from the restaurant entrance. But now it has a new accessory: a windburned fellow in a dusty windbreaker and threadbare, greasy jeans. He leans cooly against his white and blue vehicle doing his level best to evoke James Dean.
At 50cc, it is the kind of bike you’d see in Europe ridden my much younger, more attractive men and women. This fellow is easily late 50’s. But I can tell he feels VERY hip. His attire and face are all wrong, but he has the countenance and posing of someone absolutely confident in their persona. A cigarette dangles carelessly from his fingers and he blows clouds of toxic smoke onto the cerulean night sky.
Doing the math, he is probably two strikes in on a DWI and has lost his license. In Texas, one does not need a drivers license for vehicles under 50cc, and his Vespa is technically only 49.
I wonder if he, too, has chosen his version of family—the open road, the night sky, his own company. Maybe not. Maybe he’s waiting for his wife’s shift to end, or perhaps he just needed a smoke break after gorging on spicy chicken sliders and fries.
As we pull away, the grizzled cyclist slips from my mind and I toss a final wave to the cousins and the rest of the family. I start to think of all the people I have chosen to love. Each of them lives in their own little room in my heart. Some exist in closets and some in penthouses. But they are with me all my days. It occurs to me that in this case, I DO love my family more than others. But, this is a choice. And a good one I think.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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