The Longness of Things

I have been out of town. My Dad doesn’t like me to announce when I am going away on my blog, because he is fairly certain that all of you will conspire to rob me. That would have been okay – as long as you fed the dog on your way out.

I have been in Toronto, where my family is. As a matter of fact, we attended a family reunion while there. All of us in the same place.

I have no doubt that as the week goes on, I will pick apart our family idiosyncrasies and interactions to death (don’t you wish you were related to me??) but today I want to talk about the car ride up and back.

It is long. I don’t think I realized it as much as a kid (perhaps I forget) but as I get older it bothers me more. On the way north, we drove through rainstorms and hour long delays at the border and we were very close to being in a serious accident with a gentleman who was far more interested in his cell phone conversation than driving. The trip is usually nine hours, but we arrived twelve hours later, and my rear end was making it clear that it no longer enjoyed sitting on the middle hump in the back seat between two children. When I fell into bed at 2 am, I had fairly serious questions about whether it had been worth it.

Then I saw my family, and the longness of things became even more real. I have belonged to them a long time, and even though you would be hard pressed to believe we are from the same gene pool, there is something very deep and true and long that exists between us.

I enjoy great intimacy with some of them, and some I must confess are mysteries to me, but the longness between us is there – drawing us to meet in a park by Lake Ontario on a beautiful day to eat and play badminton and admire each other’s babies. And for one day the long becomes short and we are in each other’s presence – the ties that bind us have reeled us in close.

I have no doubt my rear end will brave the trip again – not too long from now.