February Family Reunion

The invitation came in the mail, on email and via text.

My cousin planned to hold a surprise birthday party for his dad in Oregon, 800 miles away.

All of the rest of the family planned to come, some from as far away as California.

Really?

A family reunion in February?

Only Schmidts would think this is good timing and immediately jump on board.

In my cousin’s defense, nobody gets to choose his birth date, but I can’t leave the ranch in February, especially for the three days it would take to get there, party hard and come home.

The water might freeze.

The cows and sheep need hay every day.

The weather can change unexpectedly.

The roads along the 800-mile trip can be dicey.

Amtrak might or might not get me home on time.

Lately, airlines delay and cancel flights regularly.

I felt stupid for even considering an attempt to be gone for three whole days.

It’s irresponsible.

It’s too risky.

I recited my top three priorities – keep my daughter safe, take care of the animals and don’t get hurt.

A birthday party didn’t even register on my priority list.

But my uncle should be seated on a tall Pedestal of Respect.

He is kind, wise and humble.

If the Apocalypse comes, I want him to lead the defense and I want to be next to him.

He deserves the honor of this party.

I haven’t seen some of my family in 5 years, some not for more than 20 years.

Sometimes February offers a week-long window of mild weather.

I found myself checking the forecast.

I watched for any sign of a developing massive storm so my decision would be made for me.

A window of mild weather appeared.

I realized the weather had made my decision for me.

When I hit the Columbia Gorge I rediscovered pouring rain.

It felt oppressive.

Stifling.

I wondered if I could tolerate the heavy clouds for another minute.

But my aunt had graciously invited about 20 of us for supper that night.

I pulled in an hour late, greeted with hugs and smiles.

That rainy weight vanished.

The next morning was full of nieces and nephews, more hugs, stories and preschool songs.

All that I miss by living 800 miles away punched me right in the heart.

My uncle’s party was all great food, lots of time to visit and good background music.

We heard more stories about our shared experiences – times my uncle rescued one of us from jail and times he prevented others from going to jail.

Fifty years later, I found out that he wasn’t really looking for my cousin and me when he spotted two 7-year-olds seeking adventure in the highway ditch. It was just drive-by coincidence.

Or serendipity.

This was my uncle’s celebration, but my cousin gave us all the priceless gift of time spent together.

The party was too short.

We decided we needed more time.

I honestly thought my sister-in-law knew we were coming to her house before I invited all of the cousins.

Apparently, the memo got lost.

She panicked at the thought but rallied, put on her game face and left the birthday party 15 minutes early to clean the bathroom.

Nobody cared about her bathroom.

We cared about reconnecting.

Even though we rarely see one another, we share similar views and interests.

We care about the cousins who don’t live on earth anymore and we had a chance to talk about how their deaths impacted our lives.

We remembered weddings.

We laughed about divorces.

We planned to get together again.

Next time, they will come to the ranch.

In the summer.

As I drove the 800 miles home, I moved family up on my priority list.