On saying uncle

Tonight had melted butter poured over it.  The last night of a visit of a beloved brother and sister-in-law and baby in waiting.  Spinach salad and wine, roast ham and gratin.  Watching a little girl vagabonding in fairy wings under the tre lights and feeling puppies angling for the most perfect rub, and then another.  Fire burning, spinning wheel whirring while I listen to this brother, the last to wed and indulge in children, as he reads the cream of our childhood books to his wife and her tummy and our children.  The children’s shyness disappeared rapidly this visit, and they have had time to revel in each other — these people whom I delight in so incredibly much.  So special to pass on knitted baby clothes that were worn by our father, so fun to share books and stories and ideas.  Then glasses of milk and everyone down early — one round of banjo and “Do you Ever Hear Me” and one of “Across the Great Divide” puts little ones brilliantly out — legs up on the wall, head off the edge of the bed in an impossible kink.   Tomorrow’s early flight will put uncle and aunt back into their city, remodeling their houseboat for new life, changing work, preparing for the third person joining them, joining us all in this clan of the finest kind of fools.  


About Lorca Smetana

White doves. Retreats. Insects. Languages. Making.
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One Response to On saying uncle

  1. Beautiful snapshot of your holiday! Miss you–

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