A Wrinkle in Time for the Weekend

There's nothing like a family reunion to stir up the past. I landed Sunday night back at home, feeling like I'd had a trip in a time machine. My husband's family hails from the Lincoln/Washington/Thomson parts of Georgia (near Augusta). Our daughter, the youngest, had not spent time there since she was a little tyke, so Ken used the weekend to show her his history.

First off, Ken's dear Aunt Frances let us stay in what they call "The Townhouse." Since we are from the suburbs and not the outer reaches of rural paradise, "Townhouse" means it's a condominium. In Washington, Georgia, however, that only means that it's a "house, in town." No one actually lives there, but it is simply charming and full of delightful touches. She loves foxes, so at least one rendition can be found in each room. We drove after work and arrived late at night, to little snacks and fluffy beds. We woke to realize that we were, virtually, in town. Then we drove out to their farm where real biscuits, gravy and sausage were served up with love. I have never mastered those elusive biscuit skills. It's amazing that that man still loves me. But even more amazing is the fact that Southern hospitality really does still exist.

After a long, lovely day of visiting with dozens of relatives, Ken insisted on rushing back to the Townhouse for naps. I realized his ruse when he flew into the house and turned on the Georgia game. Liz and I crashed into our separate rooms for a long summer's respite.  There was no cell service, the phones stayed silent, the laptop useless. Sheer bliss. Later that night, after another delicious meal with extended family, we pulled back into the Townhouse driveway, noticing how clear the stars were. My 27-year-old daughter and I pulled out our pillows, laid on the driveway and saw four shooting stars, remembered my Daddy (we were honoring one of his favorite pastimes -- driveway star-gazing) and talked a blue streak while seeing the whorls of the Milky Way like you can't see it in suburban Atlanta. Sunday was memory lane, with Ken driving all over Lincolnton and Washington, showing Liz the old family places and reminiscing about his younger days. We visited his grandparents' and his birth mother's grave sites, trolled down country roads, laughed, cried and ate some more. The trip home was quick. Bleary-eyed and sore from riding, we stumbled out of the car. 

It was rather like waking from a dream, a sweet lazy one where time stood still and all the precious people that you remember and love are there. Life is an ever-changing kaleidoscope. We bump along in our existence, surviving, living, playing, working...the past constantly mingling with the present. Circles of the decades swirl around us and we wake up wondering where it went. It is here, now. We must lift our eyes past the tyranny of the urgent, to embrace what (and especially who) is in front of us.