A Family Holiday

Just before Christmas I returned to my hometown in Michigan where all my family gathered for a celebration. “Go Tell in on the Mountain” played from the stereo, snow piled in the yard, and Grandma’s Curry simmered on the stovetop. One by one everyone started arriving. Aunt, uncle, sissy, brother-in-law, nieces, nephew, cuz, mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, friends, and pets. And those that couldn’t be there in reality where there virtually. My mother awaits at the door for each arrival, then whoops and screams when the door opens throwing her arms around the guest. Dad, close by, extends his hand.

“I’m not a kissing person.” He once told me. “But your mother’s entire family is. I remember when I started dating her.  I walked into the room and it sounded like a platoon of men marching through a swamp. Their feet getting stuck in the mud, and as they lift each foot, ‘Smmaaack, smmmmaaaackkkk!’ Everybody kisses…and they kiss on the lips!” But extending his hand doesn’t always work, so he puckers up too. 

We aren’t just a kissing family. We are a laughing family, a sleep-in late family, a loud talking family, and a Pictionary family. Its always late at night when we sit down to play. The game began with Uncle Denny trying to demonstrate “Dirty Dancing” instead of drawing it, and me hollering to him across the table, “This is Pictionary not Charades!” That was the kick off for the competitive spirits and loud voices. This year, Niece Haeli joined the game as a full team member. On her turn, we would all quiet down, turn toward her, and wait to see if after she read the word, she knew what it was. “Yes, I know what it is,” she told me, “I don’t need any help. The timer turned over, and we all began to draw. In just under ten seconds Uncle Denny won the round by identifying correctly Marissa’s masterpiece.

The word was nipple. We all turned to Haeli to see what she had drawn. “Oh,” my mother said, “that must be the baby bottle, and the nipple on top.”

“No!” said Haeli. I could see in her eyes the frustration. Her drawing obviously depicted the word better than Marissa’s. “That’s the fish,” she said pointing to the paper, “and that is the fish food. The fish nibbles the food.” Another round of laughter. Loud laughter.

The highlight of the holiday was baby Dominick, the new addition to the family, and the first boy following my father’s five daughters and granddaughters. Yet he still calls Dominick a “she” instead of a “he.” “It will take some time for me to get used to it,” he said, “I’ve always been surrounded by girls.”

There was a lot to celebrate. Haeli dancing for us, baby Tessa singing her original composition of “Charlie the Santa Clause.” Marissa actually making a dinner. Aunt Angie receiving an award for her business. Grandma in good health. A table full of food. And a well decorated tree. But eventually the tree comes down, and we all return to our own homes.

When I returned to my boat, it looked like the loser in a food fight. There was gull poo everywhere, things I had taken off the deck and stowed in the cabin blocked any attempt to walk in or sit down, and the condensation watered a garden of mold on the cabin walls. But Daphne smelled like boat, and that smells like home. Then the dominoes began to fall and things stopped working. First, the engine, then Dory’s bladder, then my debit card. Now, begins the transition from living simply, in harmony with nature to finding a balance of simple living and city life as I settle in and look for a job, community, and a home.

For those of you who have been following on Facebook, thank you for your support during Dory’s illness and ER visit. He is much, much better now, and currently sunning on the cabin top. If you would like to follow more of my journey, click here or on the Facebook icon on the right join FB and become a fan.

Dory, home from the hospital and with a bandage from his IV.