Cousin's weekend

Sitting out here on the back patio waiting to see if it will rain in Texas today. That tropical depression is posting a few promising pictures via Facebook friends. The weather apps are predicting rain here in  the North Austin area for the best part of the week staring early this morning right here in my backyard even as the overhead sun is burning my feet, also where my hair has fallen into a part. Later today I plan to wash it, wrap it up in a towel and take a nap with it still wet. The rest of my cousins left right after breakfast ... dishes still sitting in the sink ... sitting here on the back porch waiting to see if it will rain seems like the most important use of my time.

They'll been forecasting rain for two days now and my plants are feeling the neglect. We remain hopeful.

I learned something about myself this long weekend while my cousins were here. I learned that I sometimes think I mean what I say when I really don't.
Like when I say, "I don't care."
I really thought I meant that every time I said it, even when it was said only silently.
Turns out, the truth is is, sometimes I may really mean "I care so very much that I can't afford the emotional cost that caring may need to collect from me". Last night I remembered that I told myself right here in this very journal that I have "liked to keep my relationships spacious, and by that I meant "distant", "detached". I'm realizing that these people are my people and I don't even know how many children they have much less what their childhoods were like.  I didn't know that Momma sent them my out grown clothes or that one of my favorite dresses was also one of my cousin's favorites.  I didn't even remember I remembered that dress until I finished her description of it before we broke out in laughter.

I asked everyone to write a story about their momma and ran out of time to write mine, instead making sure every detail in the guest rooms was in order. I thought they might measure me as my momma did, by how my cleaning compared to theirs.  I didn't want to fall too far short ... just short enough to "let them win" if they needed to (dust bunnies nesting inside the lampshades stand ready to attest to that). They didn't need to. They didn't come all this way to criticize.

The first two, sisters, arrived as it began to get dark on Friday. I could tell that the cousin who self deprecatingly identifies as "the bully" of her family (number two of five in her birth family) was really the one who accepted the burden of steering their "team kid". I think even as adults they still look to her (or hide from her) when something in their lives is shaking. I've heard her momma say "She is just like Meg (my momma)" and it was never intended as a compliment. I can see my own strengths when I look straight in to her eyes. I can also see tired, from the road or from life ... I'll know pretty soon I thought as we took each other's measure. So she could see me too I noticed as we embraced. I very rarely experience being seen when someone looks at me so that was note worthy. Our life journeys and choices have made us more alike then I would have been able to believe if I hadn't seen it for myself this weekend. Maybe we started out that way too. Maybe God was interested to see how two vessels from the same puddle of mud dried to clay would would bear up under different heat loads. My soul nods at hers in recognition, we came out of the furnace and we don't let everyone close enough to smell our smoke.

(Now the rain is turning in to bubbles that form on the surface of the pool then immediately pop. Drop pop drop pop. It's falling fast as a string of firecrackers and I can't see the radiating rings).

The younger sister has the razor sharp brain of a person who has optimally managed their ADD combined with a sweetly sarcastic sense of humor. She has dialed sarcasm back so far that it's as delightfully refined as a piece of candy found in a purse. I immediately felt the kinship. Later in the weekend we discovered that we count, count as in counting 1, 2, 3 ... when some of the subroutines in our brains noticeably stills when we focus. Okay like when we climb stairs or walk from here to within reading distance over there. She said counting is control and I'm thinking about that.  I'm not sure what that meant. I'm wondering if it might be my way slowing my self down enough to stay "in the moment". I'm wondering if we fell on the stairs a lot as children. I know my moments are measured in breathes and I have learned to be more mindful. I don't like it when I notice myself counting. Doing that seems to happen when I am "getting through" something unpleasant. I seem to do it as a way of measuring "here" when I'd rather be somewhere else.

The oldest sister, a retired professional photographer and still in such excellent shape to look good in her daughter's swimsuit, was to be picked up later that day which turned to night as we stood in my foyer becoming family.

(Oh now it is raining hard enough to blow the fern on the outdoor coffee table where I'm still typing away. The rings, clearing defined on the pool are now making me wonder if Van Gogh was inspired by rain. The bubble are jumping themselves in to splashes. And back to gentle as quickly as I could type those two, no three sentences. I do love rain and a pool makes it even more fun.)

After they left to go pick up their sister at the airport, I realized (probably right after the first turn off of my street) that I should have gone with them.  They didn't invite me, and I thought it might be a preplanned interlude to discuss their impressions. Spaciousness at work - I might have gracefully offered. It would have been as considerate as I'd really like to be if I were courageous enough to not consider the potential costs. Or if I'd been thinking more about their comfort than mine.  That's one of my airports, I could have made the drive over and the pickup easier.

(Now the rain is falling silently and silver in the puddle that's not 'posed to be on the patio.)

the wings beat that fast, faster if they want to

#121/1000 That I don't have to mow yards in the rain like the men working in the backdoor  neighbor's back yard are doing.

I had a great weekend with them. They pick up rocks found along the way, like Tommy did, and like Momma did (but I don't think she keep them). The other's have/had actual rock gardens. Tommy had rocks from all over the SW which he began picking up as early as our child hood. I doubt that he ever went anywhere without being mindful of a rock he might want to pick up. When he moved, his rocks moved. Sometimes I wonder where they are now. 

Those cousins were fun to hang with.

Momma was the oldest of eight, four girls and four boys. I wondered what stories our time together would tell.  And I wondered if we might be able to help each other sort out the hardness of stories half told or even told just half true.  It's turning out to be a good thing - getting together.  We are already thinking ahead to doing it again next year.