Happy Birthday to Me

I recently had the wonderful experience, as I entered my eighth decade on this earth (for those of you in Rio Linda, this means I just turned 70), of entertaining my sister, my sister-in-law, and my three-year-old niece in my little corner of the world right here in these United States. I haven't seen my sister since 2009. I'd never met my sister-in-law. Or my niece.

What a blessing family is.

Random observations:

My little niece is a pistol. I don't know her mother's side of the family well (hope to fix that in the next couple of years), but I can see her determined nature and sense of humor as representative of much on my own side. She's very bright, and very verbal (imagine my surprise). Some of her most charming moments surround her not always getting the phonemes quite right, and so--when she substitutes "N" for the difficult-to-pronounce "L" she comes up with a description of her favorite tee-shirt (the one with the appliqued animal figure) as her "snoth" shirt.

"Snoth..." some of us illiterate adults, who haven't yet caught on, wonder.

"Not 'snoth,'" the little girl says, and--digging in, becoming more determined, and louder, as kids do, "SNOTH!!"

"Sloth," of course. She hears the difference. She knows the difference. But her tongue won't quite put itself in the right place to make the correct sound. She'll get there. As I did, when I was about five.

We had so many moments like this. Her accent is English and regional. I love it. "Let's go SHOPP-ping." "Have some 'CHOCK-lit' ice cream" (the "L" works fine in this case). "Oi don't knauw." Or, reverting to childhood again, "Would you nike a snice of cake?"

What a sweetie.

We had a blast. Fed the chickens. Took care of the sheep. Cuddled the dogs. Patted the cats (eventually). Went to Sarris's, upon which her verdict was (repeated over and over again), "This is a-MAZE-ing!!!" Bought her something at McDonald's which I can only describe as "tschips" which she thought was the most delightful food imaginable.

And on and on. Simple things. Those that make life meaningful.

But one of the most unexpected and disarming moments from the visit, when it came to family, was a gift from my own granddaughter (who's 16). She very gracefully showed up and participated in the family activities, and somehow one evening at dinner, volunteered the information that she'd been asked--as a school assignment--to identify a "comfort food" that she'd loved in her childhood.

Her answer--her "granny's pancakes!" Those would be mine. Something I've made for her hundreds of times.

I'm actually a step-granny. But that little dodge hasn't mattered for years and years. It doesn't have to, and we shouldn't insist that it must. That she wrote--without telling me--that my pancake breakfasts made her feel special and loved, is a tremendous gift, and a reminder that it's not the amount of time we spend with those we love, it's the quality of it. I've known that for almost three-quarters of a century, and I'm delighted to pass the thought on.

Family is the greatest gift there is, across and among the generations.

Never give up on it.