When my children, Samantha, Abigail, and Meredith were young, we lived in Spokane, close to my mother and stepfather and three of my aunts and uncles. On the first Friday of every month, we had a potluck dinner. What made the event unique was its setting. Aunt Lois and Uncle Lawrence (an architect) owned a forty-acre orchard on a hill overlooking the city and the valley. In 1973 they built a large, multi-unit complex with apartments for Lois’s sisters and herself when they were ready to retire. An indoor swimming pool and a large entertainment room were the center for large family reunions, wedding receptions, and birthday celebrations. It also became the gathering place for our monthly dinners.
My girls got acquainted with the older generations– a great-grandmother who lived to be 88, four great-aunts and great-uncles–as well as cousins and second cousins. It gave them many opportunities to hear stories about pioneering in Washington territory, living in somewhat primitive homes, frequent encounters with rattlesnakes and other wild creatures, and the challenges of nine siblings living together. Most of all, the sense of honor and respect for their elders was instilled by little things, such as which generation got to line up first for dinner.
Since those days, my family has grown. I am blessed by the near proximity to four adult children and seven grandchildren (although three are nearly launched as college students or living away from home.) We gather monthly. Someone is always having a birthday, graduation, or even a Quincenera. (The Hispanic culture’s celebration of young women turning fifteen.)
Although when my mother was living, some family events felt like command performances–my siblings and I made every effort to come at her request–now our monthly meals and our special occasions are a priority. Busy lives mean we are not always all together. In-law relationships and other family groups sometimes win out on holidays, but we manage to gather within the season–second Thanksgiving dinners are often enjoyed on Friday.
The “littles”–two fifteen-year-olds and a fourteen-year-old born within fifteen months–are no longer little. Our reluctant eater at five is now eighteen, interested in culinary arts, bringing his own contribution to our gatherings. The noise level has dropped considerably. Instead of table games, each one may be looking at a handheld device or, more often, seated at the grownups’ table, engaged in conversation.
We enjoy each other’s company. My heart overflows.
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