Best Party Ever:The Family Reunion

THE FAMILY REUNION

When I was eight years old, my sister and I sang “Redwing” in two-part harmony at the Schroeder Family Reunion. It was my first public appearance as a singer, unless you count the times my mother had to stuff her handkerchief into my two-year-old mouth to keep me from singing along with the church soloist. It would be the first of many thousands of songs I would sing in public over the next sixty years. No song was ever more meaningful than the one I led at my 70th birthday party--the biggest family reunion of all. “Bright Mornin’ Stars” had been part of my life for thirty-five years: I had sung it at church services, concerts and memorial services, and as a closing song at the coffeehouses I ran in that very same room. At my daughter Laurel’s request, we re-created the tradition of joining hands and voices in a circle. My children and I were not alone in being tearful.
     The first time we had all been moved to tears that evening was when my daughter Lisa sang a beautiful song she had written about me. The chorus says:
     “As life goes full circle and on, and your love passes on to my children, my sons, I teach your life lessons as mother to them, I see now so clearly that the circle won’t end.” As witness to that thought, three of my grandchildren then stood up to sing with her. Other dear  friends offered words and songs movingly appropriate to the occasion.
    My fondest dream, first verbalized over a year ago, had been to get all of my family together for the first time in many years, using my big 7-0 as an excuse.  The plan almost derailed when Lisa moved last year. She had initially expressed a desire to give the party--impractical from Massachusetts, but  impossible from Seattle. We all pulled it together--my friend Mary procured the building; Barb, Mel and Nina helped set up; my son-in-law, Arthur, and my granddaughter, Annalise, made the chocolate truffle cake; and all the other offspring pitched in to help them: daughters Laurel and Lisa, son Alan, grandchildren Marikje, Danny, Grahm, Dannielle, and great-granddaughter Maybelle (her job was to delight us). Laurel admirably stepped into the role of hostess (she’s the one who organized all the neighborhood children when she was five, and now works as a high-powered businesswoman, flying all over the country). We missed Lisa’s husband, Joel, who couldn’t leave his Seattle job, Alan’s wife, Laura, who was ill, and grandson, Tyson, who had just moved to Oregon with his new bride, Becky. All of them called or e-mailed  their good wishes.
    Twenty-five years ago, when Laurel and Arthur married, none of us had any money, so we followed the lead of some of our folk music friends and had a potluck reception. We observed then that the finest caterer could never have provided such delicious fare; everyone brought their best-loved recipes--love offerings in the form of casseroles, salads and desserts. We repeated the pattern for my party–-I requested only food as gifts--and we had a truly incredible feast. In spite of a huge snowfall the night before, ninety intrepid souls dug out of their driveways and managed to get there, a few by plane and train. Sadly, others couldn’t.
    Friendships have always been the core of my life, even more so after my marriage ended. I have always had extended families--communities formed around my faith and my passions. Never was that more apparent than in the blending of all those parts of my life at the party: relatives, two folk music organizations, two church congregations, a writers’ group, old friends, new friends and neighbors.  The purposes were served: my children and grandchildren reconnected, healed old wounds, and made plans for further family visits. I think my family understood better than ever before how important--even essential--my friends are to me, and what a good thing it is to nurture those friendships for a lifetime. I hope that my friends, many of whom have been with me through the hard times and some who are just now in their own hard times, could see that it really can come out all right in the end, if you can just hang in and keep the door open.  I am, indeed, the richest of women. My cup runneth over.