Mom's Monday Musings

Axl spent much of this weekend with his Nana, my mother with whom he is in love. The hours before Nana arrives pass like those spent watching grass grow. Painful. Forever. Christmas morning doesn't evoke an equal welcome. Time with Nana is a coveted treasure.

Friday we were joined by Aunt Faye, my mom's sister and story-teller extraordinaire. Her stories are big and lively, made all the more entertaining by the laugh she can't contain from the onset.

"Again, again. Start from the beginning and tell it again." Axl pleaded over and over.

I love that he was old enough to understand, to grasp the humor, to appreciate the art of a well told story.

The time together made me remember long summer days, far from home, where I would sit on a front porch shelling peas I had picked through complaints and cries for mercy. Surrounded by cousins, and aunts, and Grandma. We would sing loud and out of tune; I can still hear her voice. Not at all melodious or soft. It was old and raspy and wonderfully Southern. I know now, but couldn't understand then that it was soulful, drawn up from an inner well that never did run dry. A lover of Jesus, a saint if I ever met one, a woman with stories to tell. But I never asked to hear them, and I feel sad.

So many stories buried with the ones I love, missed opportunities, and history forgotten. How many stories are still waiting to be told? Who will they tell them to, if we don't long to hear and absorb them? Who will tell our stories, if we don't.

This week as we gather with family, let us take time to reflect on the history that surrounds the table. Imagine the world's events that are represented in the faces you see. The holidays can be trying. Consider what tension might be eased, by engaging crazy Uncle Joe in a conversation about where he was when Elvis passed away? You may find yourself pleading, "Again. Again."

Find interesting questions to engage relatives with here.