Company Of Cousins

Queen Victoria is nearing the end of a long reign when Mary is born in 1898. Hugh arrives a dozen years later, along with Halley's comet. Mary's father is a sibling of Hugh's mother and thus the two are first cousins. Though living in the same small Southern town, I don't know how often the cousins interacted. Irish heritage infuses the youngsters who claim a parent and two grandparents born near Larne, Northern Ireland.



Mary's daughter (Anne) and Hugh's daughter (me) recently spent time together, eager to strengthen our kinship. Joining us was Anne's second cousin, Bert, whose grandfather was Mary's brother. (Family lineage can be incredibly confusing.) It matters not at all that we are a crazy combination of second, third and fourth cousins. We're blood. Who's counting anyway?

We gaze at the cherished 1903 family photo, gesturing toward a parent, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins galore. There's speculation about the memorable day captured so exquisitely for posterity. Conversations abound in which we discuss the once future, now long past, lives of those who sat so perfectly still on that capacious front porch.



Familiar phrases emerge from the charming visitors' drawls and I notice that my own words are acquiring extra syllables. These native Mississippi minds are alive with an array of topics and opinions. We talk about family constantly but we're also able to explore art, music, politics, literature, travel and most especially our ingrained love for Ireland.

Colloquialisms clamor from my dusty memory when I hear cousin Bert refer to her "Daddy" repeatedly. It's a sweet Southern thing, this truly endearing appellation. The ladies are generous spirits who arrive laden with 'happys' for the hostess. Yet another cherished tradition from our birthplace. No meal is prepared without ample assistance and the constant question, "Can I help you?" Together we set the table, carry food back and forth, settle the dishes to be washed, reposition leftovers in the "ice box," and carefully dry the stemware. Our kitchen easily accommodates this cadre of cousins.

Laughter resonates against the walls as we share snippets of life stories and learn how we each of us morphed into who we are today. We can still become close companions, so we do not lament the decades when we existed so separately. There is no simple explanation for why my hometown Irish cousins weren't a very visible part of my childhood. It may be that my family already included an almost excessive number of cousins with whom we spent our leisure hours, gathering frequently for reasons profound and whimsical. Rather than rejecting the larger circle of kin, it seemed that there was simply no space to add anyone else. I'm confident these ladies feel the same.

Within several days and nights of sharing, we deftly mix Play Station III auto racing with financial acumen acquisition tutorials from Henry. Driving through town one afternoon, we introduce our guests to the bliss of a desert winter and conclude that day with a perfect Mexican meal at Rio Azul. Genealogical files unfold family history as names and faces from our past vie for attention. A measure of joyous comfort arises as our collective heritage merges.

When the visitors leave the driveway, I know there's an invisible string attached. We're a company of cousins at last.