Cousins and dinner out

 My husband has a lot of first cousins. I counted them up once; including those who have passed away, he has over 50 first cousins. Both of his parents came from large families, eight and ten children. And almost all of them had children.

The cousins on his father's side created a cousins' club years ago. When I joined the family (40-something years ago) they were having family club get-togethers every month or two. That fell by the wayside, I'm not sure why. Now there's an annual picnic in the summer. It's a boisterous group so get-togethers are a lot of fun.

As an aside, that side of my husband's family welcomed me with open arms and a lot of teasing. 

In my family, I have two first cousins. We didn't grow up together, as my family moved away from them when I was 6 years old. We only saw them on occasional trips back. They live 2,000 miles away. Because of political differences they do not talk to me anymore. I'm okay with that, especially as I have all these cousins-by-marriage.

I'm thinking of cousins today because one of my husband's cousins has made it his mission to keep family ties strong. We get together with him and his wife every other month for dinner in a nice restaurant. We have a date with them tonight, trying out a new restaurant. I am sort of an extreme introvert. My special talent is listening. (I tell people if I were on Star Trek, I would be from Guinan's home planet, the planet of listeners.) But when I am out with the two of them, I talk - a lot. 

So - good food, good conversation, a chance to relax and catch up. 

My very vivid kindergarten memory

 I started school in Seattle, but my memories of that year and a half are very faint. I remember walking to school to a whole gang of kids from our neighborhood and then walking home after half day kindergarten with my best friend Leslie. (Looking back, it seems unreal that two five-year-olds would walk home by themselves and no one thought anything of it. Though we were of course warned about stranger danger.)

Our neighborhood was new We had just moved there because my brother was about to be born and we needed another bedroom. Some of the lots were still under construction. When I was a kid building sites were a magnet for kids. Of course, we weren't supposed to mess around in them; there were a lot of dangerous spots in a construction site.

So Leslie and I were walking home and a wet day and we stopped to stomp around in the mud. I think this site was next door to my house, but memories are a bit foggy. We were wearing rain boots and having a fun time. Then my foot got stuck in the mud. I couldn't pull it out. Leslie pulled too, but my foot didn't budge. 

Leslie said, "I've gotta go home. Bye!" 

We were five years old. I said good-bye. Neither of us thought about having Leslie go get an adult. I don't remember even being panicked. 

So I started calling, "Help!" Over and over. 

On that particular day, my mother was in the hospital, having just given birth to my brother. My grandmother was staying at our house, taking care of my sister and me. It felt like I called and called forever, but my grandmother did eventually hear and come out to see what was happening. She pulled me and my boot out of the mud and took me home. 

That's where my memory stops. She probably cleaned me up and gave me lunch.

When I was teaching writing and story arcs to my elementary students, I used this story as an example. Everyone has stories to tell.