Scenes from a Reunion

We timed our reunion perfectly to collide with a major late winter storm that shut down the power and caused landslides and flooding, but ended the week with a string of idyllic, sunny days in the 80's. We had rented a house near Jenner, high in the hills on the Pacific coast in Northern California.

House near Jenner by the Sea

My brother, aged 75, believes he has a built-in, hard wired expiration date, but unlike the simple milk carton, that date is not in plain view. And so, with our expiration dates lurking, my brothers and sisters and I gather periodically while the circle is still unbroken. As the six of us are geographically scattered, we can only converge by strategic planning, starting months in advance.  


The designated gathering day began with news that our elegant, yet reasonably priced rental house had become abruptly inaccessible due to a wide-spread power outage; the fix-it date was uncertain. My sister, our official retreat manager, went to check out our options but dropped her cell phone in a puddle and was forced to rely on antiquated phone booth technology with the inconvenient necessity for exact change. The rest of us kept our cell phones out of puddles and waited for guidance. Off season motel vacancies in Monte Rio gave us refuge for two nights; modest accommodations, perfectly adequate for exhausted travelers. When power was restored, our classy, upscale relocation left us giddy even as the hard rain continued to box us in for another day. The summer-like days that followed were golden.

On a balmy day, overlooking the ocean.

My memories of the reunion don't fall in a straight line, of course. I experience random memory clips with a very personal point of view, and relive them as if they are happening now:

My oldest sister, brother-in-law, and I are sitting in a not cozy, supermarket coffee nook, wet with accumulated rain and snow, listening to locals talk of the storm and power outage that has temporarily derailed our reunion gathering. Another brother and his wife are in the air, out of communication, and not yet knowing we have no clear destination at this point. I am not a graceful plan switcher. I am feeling somewhat despondent as I wait for my other sister, our retreat manager, to call from yet another phone booth, scraping for coins. We decide to adjourn to the local library to wait for further instructions; we are all avid readers and libraries are soothing. It is usually my intention to make the best of whatever happens, but sometimes I feel like the sorcerer's apprentice with the lemons coming in faster than I can make the lemonade.


My two sisters and I are somewhat aflutter as we attempt to work out sleeping and eating arrangements with our affable, chatty proprietor at a wide-open, off season motel. It's been a long day with no lunch, too much coffee, still feeling cold and damp and we all forget to ask for our rightful discounts. Our brother, the horse-trader, arrives and takes up the following night's negotiations with the affable proprietor, scoring all possible discounts. "Ah, you sent your tough guy," says the affable proprietor gamely.

Dinner for eight; no problem.

It's our first night with all siblings and assorted in-laws present and I am cooking a spaghetti dinner for eight in a wee small convenience kitchen at the off season motel. Conversation in the large one room unit has the hum and good cheer of a successful party. I share the feelings of good cheer but am focused on the sauce and on keeping the dinner organized. When the food hits the table, my mind goes immediately off duty. I'm lighthearted; I'm home again. It's the rare occasion where we can reminisce about our ghost, given that ghosts are generally an awkward topic of conversation. We grew up in a very large, old brick house where a ghost we couldn't see walked about in seemingly heavy boots that we could hear distinctly. He rocked invisibly in the rocking chair, threw boxes and shoes about in upstairs rooms, and once sang with a disembodied voice above our heads. Our in-laws practice admirable forbearance; they've heard the ghost stories many times.

We've made it to the hill top house with walls of windows; the cold, steady rain persists. People talk, eat, drift off to read, rejoin the conversation. I'm photographing the readers. Later, when a friend saw the pictures on Facebook, she was incredulous. "Didn't you have a tv?" she asked in wonderment. I guess so. It was upstairs somewhere. Never thought about it.



The storm front has finally passed, the sun came out and we're free to roam about the countryside! Definitely fortuitous; I'm feeling the introvert's need for space and time alone. The rental house is part of a gated community, a pricey collection of homes scattered artfully along a steep, winding road that makes a fine morning walk. I occasionally encounter a gated community resident as I pass the homes; I pull out my relax, I'm not riffraff smile, nod, and move on. Near the top, my view down to the Pacific Ocean is unobstructed. With a reasonably short ride, I could be walking on the beach below, but I am perfectly content to wander the hills and not get into a car again until I'm forced to.

My three brothers and sister-in-law depart, to return at the end of the week. My two sisters and I amuse ourselves by doing laundry and hanging it to dry on a clothes line on the deck. Had we been using an old hand wringer washing machine too, we'd really have been reliving our childhood. I practice sitting doing nothing in particular on the sunny deck; my laptop keeps me company and I peck at it occasionally. It's a great way to run a reunion. When the brothers return, along with my sister-in-law and my younger brother's mate, there's a new round of jubilance at being all together again.


Since I have my laptop along, and therefore have access to Excel spreadsheets, I volunteer to sort out the receipts and figure out how to spread the costs among us. Should be simple; take no time at all. But it morphs into a protracted middle school reading problem and I'm at the same time frustrated and intrigued by the puzzle. I'm set up like a banker in a small bedroom, and I find myself calling in different family members to confer and help me work the puzzle at various stages. It's fitting. My brother, the horse-trader and I shared a paper route when we were kids. I made precise and careful lists of our costs, outstanding payments, and net profit. My brother had a much more cavalier approach which seemed to work just as well. He bought the candy and pop right up front, and assumed the profit would show up. We probably should have used his method.

But really, it was all perfect. I'd change nothing.

Siblings in birth order; left to right.

Birth order by height; youngest brother not with us yet.