Brother Kevin

I'm sitting at this here keyboard, remembering how pleased I felt when both my brother, Kevin, and his wife, Julie, told me that Jimmy and I had done a wonderful job with our children.  "They're the kind of kids you like being around," said Kevin.  Julie went further with a qualifier, "Trust me.  I don't say that lightly.  As a teacher, I've seen enough kids to know what I'm talking about!"  As a mother of three, two yet teens, my doubts concerning my parenting skills come into play every now and again -- I'm not above accepting a well-needed compliment on a job possibly well done.  And, I'm enough of a little sister to still want to impress my big brother.    

Now, I haven't seen Kevin in fourteen years or so.  In fact, the last time we shared space we were both at our Grandma Opal's house in California, keeping a family-and-friend vigil of sorts because our great-grandmother, Roxy, was dying of cancer.  Her hospital-style bed filled the entire space of the small TV room just off the kitchen area.  Our sister, Laurel, ran interference between guests and the patient.  Even in her frail state, Grandma Roxy kept her hair set in the high altitude pin-curled updo which was her signature look.  And the fight hadn't left her by a lo-ong shot.

My oldest brother is the owner of a naturally booming tenor; his indoor voice would alarm Barney and Friends.  He receives a fair amount of teasing and flack about it but, you know, he doesn't go out of his way to fill the air with his dominating sound waves: in the words of Lady Gaga, he was "born that way."  So, he's talking at the kitchen table with someone waiting to have a last visit with our matriarch.  Grandma Roxy is trying to listen to the kind words of folks standing at her bedside.  Suddenly, we all hear this authoritative shout in a surprisingly strong voice, "Kevin!  You need to be quiet.  I can't even hear what [these people] are trying to say to me!"  The room falls quiet as it sinks in that our terminally ailing elder has just chastised her healthy adult great-grandson.

He downgraded to a whisper.

That was my most current memory of Kevin, the eldest of our mother's eight children.  As for my kids and husband, the visit to Kevin's and Julie's country place in California -- where horses and domesticated fowl shared outdoor living space AND where Zachary wobbled into his very first steps -- was their most recent recollection.  Zachary will be 16 this August; Kevin has lived in Nevada for the past twelve years.  It's been awhile.

That makes his visit in Middle Tennessee a truly big deal.  What bumps it into extraordinary is that his reason for coming here had nothing to do with me.  Maybe a full year ago, his two grown daughters purchased four tickets to an annual horsemanship event which happens to take place in Murfreesboro.  They were a gift for their equestrian mother.  Evidently, three highly respected 'natural' trainers were making a rare appearance together.  A very big deal.  A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a horse lover.

Kevin mentioned that he knew I lived SOMEWHERE in Tennessee.  I'm friends with his entire family on Facebook, but only his oldest daughter actually utilizes its social aspects.  For no reason other than being raised separately and the distance of age and miles, Kevin and I, and consequently our families, are not that close.  That would soon change.  A few queries were volleyed between me and my niece and my sister-in-law, and it was quite a surprise for them to realize that their venue was a mile from my home!  Me, too.  I immediately rolled out the welcome mat and offered our home to them.  They accepted.  And on Thursday of this past week, they rolled into our neighborhood in their airport rental car, ready for whatever might transpire.

After filling their bellies to burgeoning with homemade enchiladas and the remainder of those yummy coconut-lemon cupcakes, we set about really making them feel at home with an old-fashioned, first-of-the-season, pantry-emptying Tornado Warning.  Talk about your instant bonding!  It was a humdinger of a first evening.  Good stuff, Maynard!

Our second day opened with a sociable morning of chit-chat, coffee, and breakfast before everyone embarked upon their predetermined rounds.  My delightful niece surprised me with a box of Red Vines in the afternoon because she recalled my Facebook posts over the past year or so about this most tender and delicious of licorice classics.  What she actually did was leave the candy on the kitchen counter during their break from the show.  I wasn't home.  But when I returned, with Grandma Sharon in tow, my radar went haywire over the the mysterious Red Vines and their origin.  No one would fess up.  I didn't dare open it.  I moved it.  Scooted it.  Kept it under my watchful eye.  Finally, I decided my Ashley was teasing me.  She HAD to have bought them for me!  I gobbled down two whips before receiving her confused text message about my line of questions concerning concerning the sweets.  Worried I had wrongfully consumed candy belonging to one of my guests, I hid it on the fireplace mantle, away from me and my son!  Imagine my delight when my niece finally returned and fessed up to leaving it there for me.  Awww.

That second night was a wild and wooly adventure with the 'Salad Bowl' game.  Just imagine a three-layered amped-up version of Charades and you've got it!  The video clips I recorded are hilarious.  And a bit lengthy.  That'll be an editing project for another rainy day.  Our mom looked-on and laughed.  She shtayed the night.  All of the kids, including Sarah's boyfriend, got in on the action.  The television never came on once.  No extreme weather.  Just extreme fun and a very comfortable level of interaction between us all.  For me, seeing my brother in the recliner the next morning, with my mom on her couch bed next to him, was a good moment.  I amused them with my chatty morning persona for a bit before running off for those replete-with-cinnamosity cinnamon rolls from our local bakery.  They were a hit.

I snapped pictures at every turn.  Every hug.  Every opportunity.  Julie's sister was the fourth ticket holder and guest.  A splendid aunt to my 'long lost' twenty-seven year-old niece.  She told me this morning, before they headed back to the Nashville airport for the return flight home, "I wasn't planning on wearing ANY makeup for this trip . . . but then I remembered you, downstairs, with that camera, and I put it on!"

Saturday night was Tennessee BBQ night.  The local grease pit, The Slick Pig, closed before our company could escape the departing traffic from their event, so we waited for a table at a local sit-down chain restaurant by the name of Jim n' Nick's.  Our crowded corner table of eight had itself a real good time.  And there were eight very full bellies.  Again.  (Ashley had to work her hostess night shift elsewhere.)  It was after this dinner, on our way home in their new-car-smelling rental, that the subject of our sweet kids came up.  Once home, Jimmy broke out the acoustic guitar.  My brother's family sang several worship songs (they lead the worship music service at their church) while Jimmy and my niece took turns strumming.  This was followed by a round of Red Vine snacking and throwing.  At one memorable point, I caught -- WITH MY MOUTH, THANK YOU -- a section of Red Vine which Zachary first threw in the air and bounced off his face.  Where was my camera THEN?!

Sunday.  Our final full day.  Cowboy church for Kevin and family.  Church at Cross Point for the Valdez Bunch.  Also, my own version of Superbowl Sunday: the Oscars.  I whipped up a creamy fattening batch of baked mac n' cheese because I knew the guest auntie was fond of this all-American starch classic.  I chopped and cut veggies and fruit.  I set out the smoked wings my daughter picked up from that greasy BBQ joint before it closed on Saturday.  My husband begged for blueberry pie.  "NO!" was my emphatic reply.  My brother begged for blueberry pie, too.  "Call Sarah and ask her to stop by the grocery store!" was my obvious response.  Save for Best Actress and Best Film, I'm clueless as to the other awards or who wore what gown.  I even missed the clever opening vignette which is an annual highlight for me!

But I am now privy to a great deal concerning the who and what of my brother.  And his family.  And his life.  My children pointed out similarities in our personalities.  They noticed facial resemblances between their Uncle Mark and this Uncle Kevin guy.  Sarah graduated from calling them "those people" BEFORE they arrived, to asking if "Uncle Kevin and everyone got away okay" AFTER they left.  His low-key spouse is the necessary yin to his yang, much like it is with myself and my mate.  She is her own person.  And they, too, have raised some pretty good kids, if the one who tagged along is any indication.  Sheila is her name.  An intelligent, sociable, hoot-and-a-holler of a gal.  Everyone, including Auntie Lee Ann, has been doused in Gloria-hugs.  I've made promises I intend to keep in regards to crossing the Nevada border for the sake of staying in THEIR home and meeting my other niece.

Stormy weather which would later spawn yet another tornado warning, escorted them out of my neighborhood as I stood on the soggy lawn, in the rain, waving.  Maybe a touch sad but primarily happy for this 'chance' reunion which I don't believe was chance for one hot minute.  We aren't in Oz.  A violent windstorm didn't blow them in.  In my circle of faith, we call it "a God thing!"

So, with all of that being said, I'm sitting here at the Mac, tapping away on this sleek compact keyboard, thinking about those well-adjusted kids of mine.  The ones in the kitchen right now.  The ones whose bellowing indoor voices I can hear as they travel the length of the stairs and into this study.  Sarah is washing dishes.  Zachary is teasing her in a dangerous and desperate bid for some attention.  Ashley and her boyfriend are trying to watch Hillary Swank get her face bashed in under Clint Eastwood's tutelage in the living room. Kevin and Julie are missing the display of good manners and sensitivity.  But I'll record it here for them.

Sarah: "ZACHARY-Y-Y!!!Get OUT of here!  You are SO annoying!  Go-o!  Nobody WANTS you in here!"  Dishes clank.  The boy laughs loudly.  No distinct words.
Ashley: "MO-O-OM!  We can't HEAR our movie!  He shouldn't be IN here!  It's too loud!  Ooooh-h!"
Zachary:  "It's My house, too.  I can be downstairs.  You guys don't OWN the downstairs!"
Me:  "You KNOW what?!  Zip it!  All of you!  Right now.  Or I'm gonna cram each one of you well-raised rotten apples into one of those pre-priced postal boxes and SHIP you off to Uncle Kevin and Aunt Julie!  Phew!  Well, what did you expect?  We'd been storing it up for four days!