A Family Present

It began last summer when we all got together for my mother’s family reunion. My sister had this idea of gathering up our old 8mm film canisters and taking them to a company and having the old home movies put onto a DVD. So instead of drawing names and buying a present for each other, we could all pitch in and give ourselves a family Christmas present.

We all agreed it was a great idea, one which I promptly forgot about three days later as I drove home to Colorado. But my sister persevered and offered to help Mom gather every thing up. My mother is a very organized person; not only were all the canisters in one place, they were all dated and labeled with events. My sister did all the leg work. It cost a little more than we expected (so what else is new) but the finished product is so worth it. I was excited when the mailman delivered my copy and I tore open the wrapping just to look at it. The DVD is labeled: Price Family, Home Movie Memories, 1967 – 1971.

I waited to pop it into the DVD player till my son could join me for Christmas dinner. We sat back after opening our presents and I started the show. Walker doesn’t remember ever seeing these old movies and it had been a really long time for me. Of course there was no audio feature with that original camera, and we did not add music to this DVD, but this really does allow for allot of commentary from the viewers. It gets to be a very interactive process. Walker and I were giggling and laughing out loud at the outfits and the stilted antics of me and my younger siblings; we were 14, 12, 10 and 6 years old when the movie begins.

I had really huge hair, my sister began her movie career as a gawky pre-teen, and my two youngest brothers are absolutely adorable. My mother and dad are so young and thin, boy did they have their hands full. All of our relatives, holidays, and family vacations are right there, and my Dad did a really good job as an amateur film maker. The hair-do’s alone are certainly historical (read hysterical).

Well, let me tell you, there is a really good reason that none of us went into show business. I can still hear my Dad saying, “This is a movie camera, so MOVE !!” And in our awkwardness with this new adventure, we flopped around like fish out of water. It is as hilarious now as it was embarrassing then. However, this was a tremendous gift that we gave each other this year and I want to thank my mom and my sister once again for putting this together. Our early family history did not all fit on this first DVD but we will definitely get the remaining years transferred to one more DVD.

Pop the corn, dim the lights, and grab a spot on the couch, the fun is not over yet.

* annette

HOME - a Family Reunion

My son and I recently went to Missouri to attend my mother’s family reunion which was twice as sweet as it was only days after her birthday. There was a special program this year at the reunion to recognize and honor James Edward H., who died in battle on French soil in WW1. His gravestone had never been appropriately decorated, but the VFW had a memorial plaque installed recently. And now his story was told to the dozens who gathered round his gravestone, by the nieces and nephews he never knew, some reading letters that he had written home to his parents. This was followed by a 21 gun salute from the local color guard and taps, played by two bugles, echoed over the country side. Many were moved to tears, as was I.

Afterwards, my immediate family drifted away from the crowd, for this is the same small country cemetery where my father was laid to rest two summers earlier. Mom wanted to see if the grass seed they had scattered earlier in the summer had been embraced by the abundant summer rains, and we were all thankful to see that it had. Finally, the right combination of seed to water to sun.

My mother, noting that others had marked their family plot with wrought iron hooks, had installed one near my Dad’s stone. Stating that she was sure that my father would have liked it, my Mom chose a kinetic sculpture with cups of bright colors that moved with the motion of our presence. My brother had securely wired the metal mobile to the hook. I stood with my brothers and sister and we were happy with Mom’s inspiration. I gazed over the small farm pond nearby and listened for my fathers beloved quail, who had called out so gently during his grave side service … but I did not hear their voice this day.

As we drove away on the old narrow gravel road, I noted out loud that the colorful baubles were no longer in motion. My brother quietly acknowledged that they were not moving as we drove in earlier. Had they only been in motion as we gathered round to spend these precious moments with my father’s memory? moved by …..?
I am not surprised that I was not the only one who felt Dad’s presence.

* annette

Dinner Rituals, 2009

About 4 pm I start working on dinner for my family on the days I’m not at my part-time job. Habitually I turn on “Oprah” to keep me company. I enjoy working with the food and not having to dodge around actual human bodies. Having the girl talk on the TV somehow helps my domestic goddess to emerge.

On the first night of our turn to have Evan, Victor’s 7 year old, I always try to cook child-friendly meals – tacos, spaghetti & meatballs, minestrone or chicken noodle soup. Evan has developed a strategy for not burning his mouth on my homemade soup. He puts ice cubes into it. It’s his ritual now. He does it even if the soup isn’t too hot. I guess the comfort of that ritual might help make up for the adjusting he has to do to eat dinner in two different homes with two different cuisines and routines.

My daughter, Alana, 19, surprised us a month ago my eating dinner with us 3 nights in a row. Usually she waits until we’re done and scavenges or fixes her own meal according to her latest dietary rules. She is finding her way to a sustainable way to eat through her food addictions.

Matt, also 19, comes up from his basement lair to check on dinner plans about 5 pm. “Cool.” He never complains about what we have to eat, merely avoiding what doesn’t appeal, sometimes picking out specific morsels which he puts to the side of his plate. He likes lots of paper napkins available. He usually has a second supper about 10 pm, just after his dad and I have retired to bed. This must sustain him for his late night on-line video games.

Victor’s dinner rituals are as old as Holland, so old to be translucent. He eats as regularly as clockwork. He holds his knife and fork in the European manner, fork in his left hand with knife poised in his right. His immigrant parents taught him so. But none of his children follow the tradition.

And so we sit at our table together, each with their own rituals, the dinner table being the life raft of our fantasies of family.

--by Terra Rafael

Gifts My Family Gave Me

Grandma Johnson gave me a pile of books, a green thumb and an ear for music.

Grandpa Johnson encouraged me to dress beautifully, praising how I looked int the new clothes he bought me.

Grandma Moan gave me the taste for freshly baked bread, hot from her wood stove, slathered with lots of butter and for water, freshly pumped from deep in the earth.

Grandpa Moan gave me a vision of an angry Norse God, shaking his cane like Thor shaking the lightning bolt, followed by the thunder of his big voice.

Uncle Manley gave me the chance to heal and grow past his abuse and my shame, leaving me with an acute awareness & enjoyment of sexuality.

Dad gave me a two-wheeled bike that I could grow into, a canoe I could paddle alone around Side Lake, and a love for a neat & clean home.

Mom gave me the experience of being responsible for my sisters & brothers, a childhood with a soundtrack of crooners & show tunes, and a warm cuddle now & then.
- by Terra Rafael

To the Farm

When I was a little girl, my parents drove us to Grandma and Grandpa’s house a lot, sometimes two or three week ends a month. I was the oldest of four, my sister is two years younger than me, and my brothers arrived two and four years later respectively.

I loved every moment spent at the farm but the trip from Kansas City to Union Star was another story. When we traveled on vacation, our parents always encouraged us to set up and watch the country going by. We played all the typical car games but we also searched the landscape for white horses ~ the first one to yell out “Zip” won a point ~ this was our own personal family game. As we drove the same route to the farm so many times, we kids came up with a different strategy; we made a game of who-can-fall-asleep-first. Now that I think about it, I bet my Dad came up with this idea, but we realized that it made the tedious two hour trip seem so much shorter if we could sleep through most of it.

With four of us in the back seat, staking out a territory to call your own was always an issue. Often my brothers would curl up on either side of the floorboard, possibly sharing this space with our little dog Frisky. But the most coveted spot was the back deck ~ that carpeted space above and behind the back seat where the rear window curves down to meet the trunk of the car. Either curled into a ball or folded nearly in half, there was enough room for a skinny kid to ride up there in our blue Chevy Impala. The only down side of this location was that you may arrive at your destination grumpy from the heat and resembling a baked meatloaf. However, for the duration of the trip you had traveled above the reach of thirty annoying prodding fingers, and that was a good thing.

As we neared the farm over the last final hills whoever was awake would strain to catch sight of the familiar white buildings and then begin the singsong chant, “I see Grandpa’s house. I see Grandpa’s house.” As each napping child came to, they would sleepily take up the tune, even though their eyes were still closed. By the time we rolled into the driveway of our farm we were wide awake and ready for our next adventure.

* annette

Prose: 4th of July, 07

Last year the 4th of July had a typical Colorado summertime weather report – mostly clear with a chance of scattered thundershowers. There were some dark clouds over the mountains as we planned our neighborhood trek to the Louisville golf course, but the sky was mostly clear. Victor, Evan (our 5 year old) and I rode with Patty and her 4 & 6 year olds in her SUV, following Betty & John & Juliet, their 5th grade daughter, in their CRV .

The crowd was forming at the golf course as we arrived and we had to park blocks away. The wind was picking up. We walked the sidewalks, pushing our small ones in strollers, making a game of dodging the sprinklers on the way. It was beginning to sprinkle from the sky too. “It’ll pass over.” was our mantra. We found a place we could all sit for the show, spreading out our blankets.

Dark clouds roiled above us, suddenly letting loose with all they had. The crowded lawn was roiling with humanity trying unsuccessfully to evade the fierce raindrops. We lifted our blanket up to serve as a feeble refuge. In a minute its swollen wetness was too heavy to hold up so, we wrapped it around Victor holding Evan. Poor Evan was cold to his tiny bones. And he began to cry. In the confusion we’d lost track of all our neighbors.

We retreated to a covered area where a 20 piece band was still cranking out patriotic party music. We squeezed under the open brick & mortar shelter through the generosity of those already packed in along the edges of the music stands and musicians. We searched the crowds for our ride home.

We knew we couldn’t stick it out—we were soaked. Even if the rain stopped immediately, we would be too chilled to relax and enjoy the fireworks. And Evan was still whimpering. Victor spotted Patty and we fell in behind her in the stream of people heading for their cars. The rain continued. Everyone was running. We splashed through monsoon fed rivers sweeping from the side streets. The sprinklers were still running too, pelting us with water from yet another angle. All the adults could do was joke and laugh hysterically. The kids alternated between laughing and whining and crying.

Finally we got to the SUV sopping wet. We plopped into our seats and Patty started up the engine and cranked up the heat as the rain continued to beat against the roof. We’re homeward bound. As we breeched the ridge near home we noticed that the fireworks had finally begun. Laughing, whining and crying stopped. We looked out at the colorful explosions from afar, oohing and ahhing on cue to their distant yet still captivating displays. The little adventure of the running and rain became the background that highlighted the happiness of being in a warm car while, in the end, getting to watch those celestial lights.

By Terra