“See your children
gathered from west and east at the word of the Holy One, rejoicing that God has
remembered them.” Baruch 5:5
In our family, sometimes we call my mother the
sheepdog. She likes nothing better than
to herd all her charges into one place.
My mother has always loved big family gatherings: the heaping table,
decorations all in their places, music playing in the background, children
shouting and dogs barking underfoot. When
we all get together there are fourteen now, the majority of us under seven. It can make for quite a racket in a house
built for smaller crowds. Sometimes one
of my brothers or I will suggest that it would be simpler to host us in batches. It really is easier to talk at a smaller
table. There’s no need for quite so many
dishes. But she’ll have nothing of
it. Since my father died ten years ago,
my mother spends most of her time alone.
For a woman who gave so much of her life to the things that make for a
happy family, that’s sometimes very difficult.
When we are all together, I think that for her, it’s a bit like putting
life back together again, recovering something of what was lost and can never
quite be again.
Of course, this is the season for big family gatherings,
when we endure hair-raising traffic and the nightmare of airport security to
head back to our home places, to sit around the family table, among old, familiar
things.
I met a man who lives in Tennessee
He was headin’ for, Pennsylvania,
and some home made pumpkin pie
From Pennsylvania, folks are
travelin’ down to Dixie’s sunny shore.
From Atlantic to Pacific, gee, the
traffic is terrific,
For there’s no place like home for
the holidays.[1]
