Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 4, 1995 TAG: 9506050007
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: ELIZABETH OBENSHAIN
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It takes a cat to have such sense. I stretched out beside him, finally taking time to notice my mother's coral bells outlined against the sky, the hum of the tractor as it mowed the hayfield in gigantic circles, the blue line of mountains that frames the back of the farm. It was a perfect, peaceful summer day.
I'd better enjoy this while it lasts.
By next week, the house will be full. Brothers, nieces and nephews will tromp up and down the stairs, overflow the kitchen, and spend hours leaning back in the dining room chairs after dinner chewing on politics and family happenings.
We are gathering for two family celebrations.
My aunt, fragile but romantic still, will don her wedding gown on Sunday, stepping into the curving slide of satin and fastening the long line of buttons as she did 60 years ago. Then she and my uncle will greet family and friends at the family homeplace near Fincastle.
The next day, my father turns 91.
"How's your father?" people always ask me solicitously.
Well, he had to have six stitches after splitting his finger building a fence. But don't worry, he finished the fence before going to the emergency room. Other than that, he's been spraying weeds and doctoring cattle on the farm most days. No, you can't reach him by phone. He's out of the house from dawn till about 5 p.m., working and supervising two college students as they whack weeds and dig post holes.
He's also been busy around town.
A fascinating thing about people you know almost too well is the new perspective you gain seeing them with others. At dinner with old friends, I silently marvel as I listen to my father tell a story or analyze a political event. The insight, the wit, the graciousness. Life is still full of surprises at 91.
At 91, you can also say what others only dare to think. Take the minister's going-away party. As the evening wore on, my father rose for his chance to speak. "More than anything else in the world," he told the patiently polite crowd, "I want to be home." Immediate applause. Everyone's secret thoughts had become socially acceptable. He had gracious words for the pastor - but brief words. He was eager to be home.
So this week, after Sunday's party for my aunt and uncle, we'll have a birthday dinner Monday night to celebrate my father's 91 years - and the family. It's not obligation that still brings us all back together - it's a sense of belonging, a relaxed comfort you only have with family, a real pleasure in each other's company.
Woody Allen once said that 80 percent of success is just showing up.
Perhaps that's also true with family.
It's the big and small efforts that cousins and aunts and brothers make to gather each year, to stay in touch, to celebrate each other's marriages, to welcome the new babies, to lean together at family funerals.
Friends come and go with a sort of tidal pattern of our lives as we move and change jobs and houses.
But family survives. They are there to mark the significant moments of our lives. We see in their faces the genetic heritage that ties us together and makes us unique.
So Monday, the house will be a comfortable chaos of cooking and conversations. We'll catch up on the latest girlfriend, the new job offer, graduate school, politics. My father won't talk as much as the rest of us, but he'll be there listening, savoring the overload of people, the energy, the comfort of a house that is full of family.
by CNB