44 hours of rare family time: the first 11

In the early to mid days of mid-May, we had reason to celebrate and be together.
My mother is retiring from teaching. So despite all plans that would have made more sense, my family gathered for 44 hours of celebration. 44 hours from the time the first person stepped off the plane, from 1705 miles away, to the last moments of goodbye before everyone went back their separate ways.
It was wonderful.
We honored my mother and all she has done for her students, her schools, her community, over the years.

A reception provided cake, flowers, punch and conversation with people I hadn't seen in ages. While the adults reminisced, the children entertained themselves. Owen with a book (one that he had read 3 times in less than 2 days ) and a quiet corner. Lauryn with a new found friend and lots of exuberance.

Afterwards, we recreated a memory from my childhood -- taking flower to the grave sites of grandparents, great-grandparents, great uncles and aunts, uncles we never knew.

We gathered on the neatly mowed grass and learned lessons of long ago, remembered old faces and memories, laughed at old jokes, bowed our heads at solemn remembrances. My mother-in-law joined us. It was some 20 years ago, far before I would start dating her son, far before I would know her name, far before she would become my family, that she, as a Hospice nurse, cared for my dying grandfather. It was special to have her be there, to have her memories of my grandfather, intermingled with ours.

Then it was another drive, to another cemetery, to remember more lost relatives and to gather with loved live ones. A main street restaurant, with old walls and antique desks, drawers, shelves. A new Sierra Mist wall clock next to 100 year old photos. An original hardwood floor pounded with years of hard work.

There was time for learning, reading in German, finding out where our ancestors lived.

And then... the food.
If there is a better slice of heaven ANYWHERE in the world, I certainly haven't found it. Verenike with ham gravy, sausage, fried potatoes and a zweibach. This food may mean nothing to some of you -- but this, THIS, is the food that has filled stomachs and clogged arteries of my people for generations. And it, quite frankly is amazing. It is the kind food that can only be found on main street America, in diners that aren't listed in Google restaurant listings, that will take cash and checks, but no credit or debit cards, in historic buildings where the memories seep into the food, marinating them in a way a sorry Applebee's steak will never understand. I left with a full tummy, heartburn on the way, and another fond memory.

Finally, by night fall (having survived on only a 3 hour nap in the past 29 hours, but too excited to realize it) we headed back to mom and dad's house. We giggled, we laughed, we fell into bed.
It was an amazing 11 hours.
33 left to come...