family

As the snow fell like rain

soft and fast and serious

my family of four sat in front of the fire

warmed by the presence of each other.

Soft and fast and serious

our talk ran from weather to food to walks

warmed by the presence of each other

the sight outside was miraculous.

Our talk ran from weather to food to walks

and my grown-up son winked at me

the sight outside was miraculous

so he suggested a brisk walk in the woods.

And my grown-up son winked at me

as I pulled on heavy jeans and a warm coat

so he suggested a brisk walk in the woods

just mom and son braving the storm.

As I pulled on heavy jeans and a warm coat

I felt the frosty air and fierce snow billow round

just the mom and son braving the storm

walking into woods that quietly accepted this gift.

I felt the frosty air and fierce snow billow round

as our talk swirled round us likewise

walking into woods that quietly accepted this gift

of silence loud as snow hitting bare branch.

As our talk swirled round us likewise

my son told me his thoughts and dreams

of silence loud as snow hitting bare branch

of love and fears and theology.

My son told me his thoughts and dreams

as we crunched through tender white ground

of love and fears and theology

of a young man searching for answers to life.

As we crunched through the tender white ground

soft and fast and furious

a young man searching for answers to life

warmed by the presence of each other.

I’m not thrilled with shrimp.

I supposed they taste alright, but before cooked, they look like naked aliens. Or like the waste product of a whale.

So when my son-in-law announced “I’m making shrimp stew for dinner,” my stomach did a little ‘oh shit,’ dance, but my mind leapt in joy and my lips blurted out, “Wow! That sounds delicious!”

Whatever he prepared, I would have responded as enthusiastically and happily for three reasons:

#1 He cooked so daughter Nadine and I, the special guest for the weekend, could sit around the couch and drink wine while we watched. And on that Saturday night, my stomach would accept shrimp or lima beans or even sautéed liver, just because I was in the same room with my favorite New England family.

#2 While Dan cooked, my little grandchildren, Sophie and Clark, scampered in and out of the kitchen like soft fuzzy gerbils.

#3 And while the shrimp sizzled, my brother Chuck, who I see once a year if I’m lucky since he lives in Maryland and I live in California, found a way to Boston, and to this N.E. family, for a quick 24-hour visit.

The Cabernet he brought with him was too expensive: ruby red with expressions of cranberry and plum, which coated our mouths and minds like a soothing lubricant.

“My dog Oliver got in so much trouble this week,” Chuck complained as he petted Nadine and Dan’s sweet Golden Retriever. “He peed on the new rug, and he never misbehaves like that. I think he wanted to get in trouble.”

“Why would he want to get in trouble?” I asked, nibbling on the salsa and chips Nadine offered.

“No dog, or man, wants to be perfect all the time,” Chuck answered as if the comment made sense.

“Well, neither you nor Dan have a thing to worry about then,” Nadine said with a laugh to her uncle.

I gulped some wine as I looked for Dan’s reaction, but he was too busy chopping onions and green peppers and celery and throwing it all into his simmering tomato-based stew. Actually, right about then, Dan looked pretty perfect to me.

“I love shrimp,” my normally non-effusive brother announced. In fact, the more wine I poured in his goblet, the more he loosened up and the wider he smiled. I could have hugged Dan for making a dish I wouldn’t like, but that gave such joy to Chuck.

“I love shrimp too!” I said as I poured more wine into Dan’s glass and clinked it with my own.

“Cheers!” we toasted to each other, to shrimp, and to ordinary family get-togethers that are extraordinary in their ability to make us happy.