I made a pitcher of iced tea, and
had a pot of coffee ready to brew.
We would talk for hours, so I
prepared a few things to nibble on,
nothing too fancy...these were home-folks.
Second cousin on my mother's side,
cousin Denny, now in his eighties, and
his wife Marge,
visit our home once a year.
Today, we continued our annual tradition
of sitting around the table for
refreshments and great conversation.
Denny is a born storyteller, and
I could sit and listen to him talk for hours
as he opens up a world of yesterdays,
about family members known only by name.
Their last name was Tabor, ten children
in the family, six of them boys.
"They were rascals, he would say. Loved
to fight and rumor has it, they could make
some real good moonshine."
With a smile on his face and a sort of
twinkle in his eye, Denny spoke with pride
of family notoriety, saying they were well known,
just not in a good sort of way.
We sat together and talked over four
hours this visit. I think I've got enough
to ponder until the next time.
We all grow up with the weight of history on us.
Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains
as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge
hidden in every cell of our bodies. ~Shirley Abbott