Oh, Those Cousins

This is one of those “sometimes you are so random, Iris” blobs. Yesterday, we rented a car so that I could go home, and David could keep shooting and not have to move all his camera crap from one place to another. As oft happens with different GPS systems, , they each give you different directions. We decided the smart thing to so would be for me to follow him .

the alleged GPS guidance vehicle Turns out, it was not so smart, because he does not know how to drive in a motorcade. He lost me at the orange light in North Brunswick – which he sped through as if he didn’t make it he would be punished for male hesitation. We were in rush hour traffic, so I turned on my GPS, which took me to the front of the hotel instead of the garage. It took me an hour to make the turn necessary to get me where I wanted to go. Actually, it took me only an hour because I took two illegal left hand turns. OK, I did give him the finger as I followed an ambulance past him. But that was appropriate behavior. Here’s the point, if he was a volunteer driver in my campaign motorcade, I would have fired him. Yes, I am sorry to share this information, but I think it’s only fair for every blob reader to know that you should never try to follow David Burnett, or any guy who has set the Land Speed record as their lifetime goal. But that’s not what I wanted to blob about.

Who knew? It was not really a surprise, but it was certainly not something I expected – it was always there but never articulated. My cousins are really special. I guess I have always known that. But it took so many years for me to see it as clearly as I do now. Maybe it’s because the first generation is gone and we wanted to make certain that we “carried on” in the way they would have insisted we do. It was without the fighting and the yelling – but we still heard their voices in our heads. (And also we do pretty good imitations of them.) Or maybe it’s because you take for granted those things that you have always had, but they are not be taken for granted—ever. Passover was an eye opener. My cousins all came together to make sure that the legacy continued. Everyone participated in whatever way they could. Even if was just to enjoy. It was all good. We had such an extraordinary time. There were sixty people in attendance. Originally, we thought there would be maybe, 30 –maybe. Then, when we started counting, it was fifty. Ultimately it was sixty. The comments I get are usually, “Geez, sixty people, the service must go on and on.” It doesn’t. We tell the story of the Jews making their infamous getaway. We say and then sing the Four Questions, and Dayenu, we eat, we talk, we drink (grape juice of course), we laugh, we catch up, we celebrate being together. Most importantly, we remember those who gave us this amazing gift of family, and we hope that, as Aunt Peppy says, “it continues long after we’re gone.” There was no drama and no politics. The people who could come, came. The people who weren’t able to attend, sent notes, or regrets, or hopes that they would see us all next year. It was a living, loving tribute to the past, and hopes for the future. It was a partnership. It was at my house, but that was just the place —like it had been at Aunt Sophie’s, Aunt Peppy’s, and Rosalie’s. It was everyone’s Seder and it will come as no surprise to know, it was perfect. We’re Just Sayin’ …. Iris