Writing My Life

Now and Then

Tag Archives: Cousins


by 2 Comments

… thinking about cousins …

Note: A week ago I learned of my cousin’s tragic death. I have been hurting all week as I’ve thought of her life and death, but I found some solace in hugging my other cousins as we met to memorialize her and her husband. While I can’t possibly write of this event, I will eventually write of its impact. In the meantime, I want to share an article I found about cousins. I am fortunate to know and love MANY cousins – after all, my grandmother birthed 13 children!!! My cousins were an important part of my childhood, including the one and only Beckie Sue.

My Cousin

The role of cousins is an often-neglected dynamic within the intricate workings of family relationships. It can be a powerful bond and profound influence on our children. By fostering the unique ties that cousins share, we can nurture a sense of familiarity, stability and family history that will enrich their lives.

Cousins provide an instant peer group, where children have the chance to mingle with kids of different ages and the opposite sex within the comfort and safety of the family setting. Knowing that they have a history and a bloodline in common gives them a sense of connectedness and a greater appreciation of their roots. If close family ties are encouraged, the pattern of maintaining family unity can be preserved across successive generations.

Relating to cousins allows children the opportunity to expand their social circle. Rivalries between cousins are usually less intense than among brothers and sisters, therefore that relationship is often less conflicted. A cousin is like a sibling without the baggage. Not as close as a brother and sister, they still share a sense of family without many of the negative emotions associated with nuclear family problems. They can explore and witness close interpersonal relationships at a comfortable distance.

In befriending a cousin, a child can find a convenient ally when confronting siblings or other adult family members. Because cousins relate on a different level, the love and companionship that they develop can blossom into a friendship that is longer lasting and deeper than with a traditional friend. An older cousin can serve as a mentor and role model, providing guidance and support to a younger relative.

Often cousins only get together at eventful family gatherings (such as weddings) or times of family adversity (like funerals). They turn to each other for fun, comfort and support as the entire family navigates its way through the various stages of life. Grandparents, especially, can be instrumental in strengthening their grandkids’ relationships with each other. They can be the vehicles by which family members keep in touch. By reinforcing the importance of these ties, the connected extended family can strengthen the fabric of the nuclear family and forge kinships that can last a lifetime.

By making an effort to keep in touch with each other, aunts and uncles/ mothers and fathers/grandmas and grandpas remind youngsters that relatives, especially cousins, are valuable family treasures. It draws attention to the fact that children belong to a something bigger in this world and are part of a unique group that is different yet the same. Mining this often under-appreciated resource can perpetuate the special ties that exist between people that share common, blood, history and experiences.

Maria MacFarlane



by 2 Comments

… her birthday was yesterday … I didn’t forget …

Cousin Bonnie was on my mind yesterday, February 22. Had she not died 26 years ago, she would have turned 62 on Monday; 3 months older than me. Because Bonnie was such a talented poet, and because I am proud to be cousin to the Utah Poet of the Year 1983, I decided to pay tribute to her this month. I also love  many of her poems because they speak of people and places I know and love. But there is another reason I felt prompted to remember Bonnie, and I wrote a little bit about that in earlier posts. I mentioned that this cousin haunts me. Maybe I should say her words haunt me. But I’m talking about more than her poems; I’m actually referring to the inscription she wrote in my copy of Wake the Unicorn.

After the poetry readings of Bonnie’s work, she signed copies of her book during the reception honoring her. I waited in line to hug and kiss her and to get my autographed copy. We exchanged warm greetings; I offered my warmest congratulations to her, and told her how very proud I was of this tremendous accomplishment .  I remember Bonnie absolutely glowed in the joy of that evening. Finally, she picked up the book,  scribbled a short message, and hugged me again as she handed the copy to me. I didn’t immediately read what she wrote, but when I looked over the inscription, her words startled me.

While I’ve often battled with my own jealousies, I didn’t really see how anyone could be jealous of ME! (Except for my little sister Connie – but that’s normal because oldest sisters get to do MOST things before younger sisters, including growing older!) I never DREAMED Bonnie might be jealous of me, and I could only guess why because I wasn’t close enough to her to understand how or when this developed. I immediately realized I hated being the object of jealousy even more than BEING jealous.

In a scanned copy of a photo, I present Bonnie in yellow and me hiding behind my hands from what, I don't know!

I’ve often read her poems to learn more about her, and as I do, I see reasons to envy her short life. Those who peopled Bonnie’s world are painted as such interesting characters: the teacher of her one-room school house, the American Indian woman who “speaks of the Sun Dance,” the gypsy with the “black oiled hair” and “luminous eyelids,” and the witch who is  “old as your fear of the unknown.” When I add in the landscapes and the seasons; the pains, the joys, and the love Bonnie saw and felt, I marvel at how intricately she observed and how deeply she breathed in everything around her. Not only in reflection, but in the very moment. To find, then pen perfect words, I think Bonnie must have lived the world – simultaneously breathing in experiences through every one of her senses, and then freeing her heart to examine each sensation. I doubt that this makes much sense because I am trying to describe the indescribable. I should just let her poetry do the talking.

Bonnie, happy birthday.

Renae


by 5 Comments

… mamas, daughters, and washdays …

As I mentioned in one of my tributes to Bonnie Howe Behunin, my cousin wrote several poems about her parents. I shared the poem she wrote to honor her father, my Uncle Pete, and promised to include lines dedicated to Aunt Ida, too. Actually, there are several poems about Bonnie’s mama, and it is too hard to decide on one because each reveals a different facet of this kind woman who was large in stature and heart. (In fact, Meryl Streep’s physical appearance as Julia Child in Julie and Julia reminded me of Aunt Ida’s height and breadth.)

As I reread the tributes, some verses stimulated my own memories, and I realized that’s another reason I feel compelled to share Bonnie’s work. For example, the following poem talks of a time LONG past, but many of us can remember that in our childhood,  household tasks were backbreaking chores! Take wash day, for example ~  now we can throw a load or two of dirty clothes into the washer and dryer EVERY day, completing the job in under an hour. (I don’t particularly care for that task and have often repeated that I hate to RUIN every day by washing clothes, and so I still leave that chore for Saturdays.) Back in the “olden days,” however, moms NEEDED at least one WHOLE day to process shirts and blouses, pants and skirts, sheets and table cloths through the wringer washer before hanging them on clothes lines strung between poles in every back yard.

I remember our family’s “wash room” was located in the basement, and Connie and I sent our soiled clothes sailing down the laundry chute,  that was disguised as a drawer located near the baseboard in the hallway. I was terrified of the washer as I was sure the wringer or the cogs would grab my pudgy little  fingers along with the pillow cases and crush them, thus forcing immediate amputation! (Sadly, that horrible scenario actually happened to G.E.’s mom when she was a little girl, causing a life-time of embarrassment for her as she always hid her 1-jointed pinky behind the folds of a hankie.)

Pencil Art by Don Greytak

Maybe my mom worried about the same thing because I don’t remember helping with the wash as much as I do recall sprinkling and rolling up  handkerchiefs and pillow cases after pulling them from the clothes lines. At some point I also learned to iron those items. While none of this may sound the least bit fun, the companionship of working together as mother and daughter is what often lingers in our hearts and minds. Here is Bonnie’s recollection of those days.

WASH DAY

~ Bonnie Howe Behunin

Slick and soft, and smelling clean,

The soapy laundry smell

Of when Mom rubbed the extra lotion

From her hands to mine:

Mom and wash day.

A round washtub for soaking clothes,

The agitating, guiding of each piece

Through wringer to the rinse and bluing,

Then to the line.

We brought the clothes in:

Mom piled them, fresh, high in my arms

Until I could not see over

Or breathe past the clean to the sky.

We folded and stacked and finally finished,

Sprinkled the clothes to be ironed tomorrow.

Then Mom shared her lotion,

Cupping my small hands,

First one, then the other

In her big ones.

I think of those nights in my bed

With my hands on my face,

Breathing my mother

As I cling to wash day.


by Leave a comment

… a time for wishes and dreams … another storytale …

Once upon a time, a grandma who liked to read and tell stories found that snapshots of her grandchildren contained wonderful tales needing to be told. And so the grandma decided to create “story-tales,” based upon the GranDarlings in the photos, some fictional details, and a few facts. Here is the second one!

“She’ll grow out of it,” her parents assured one another after tucking their oldest daughter into bed. They could hardly find her amidst the scores of stuffed horses, unicorns, and ponies. A quick glance around her room didn’t build their hopes as they gazed at posters, paintings, and drawings of Appaloosas, Palominos, Mustangs, and quarter horses. Then Dad nearly cursed when his bare foot landed on the hard bodies of plastic Pintos and Arabians scattered across the floor.  My Little PonyBefore her father shut the door, a colossal collection of “My Little Ponies” grinned at the parting parents thus adding to his aggravation.

Certain that Mom and Dad were downstairs in their own room, the daughter awakened from her pretended sleep and stared up at the skylight just above her bed. Momentarily, the clouds masked the stars until one twinkling light pushed its way from the mass of particles. Its gleam triggered an instantaneous response from the dreamy child.

“First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have the wish, I wish tonight.

I wish for a pony.”

No sooner had the words whisked from her lips, when the glittering star sank back into cloud’s cover. The girl smiled, rolled over, and pulled the quilt snuggly over her shoulders.

A few years passed, and the parents’ prediction came through. Their daughter’s bedroom now housed posters of Hannah Montana, Taylor Swift, and the Jonas Brothers. The stuffed unicorn was the only equine reminder of her youthful obsession, plus she finally stopped asking or wishing for ponies. While she no longer talked of horses, she did think about them, and sometimes wondered what happened to that middle-of-the-night wish on the lone star that showed up in the center of her skylight.

Until one summer day, the girl dismissed this curiosity as something from her “childhood.” She knew she was growing up, and so she had less time for wishes and dreams. But that particular day, she was watching her little cousin who was just about the same age she had been when she became fascinated with ponies.

After twirling through “Ring-around-the-rosies” at least a dozen times, the two cousins collapsed onto the grass, dizzy with exhaustion.

“Now what can we play?” the three-year-old asked.

“I dunno. What do you want to play?” her older cousin replied, pulling her pink hat over her eyes to block the sun.

“I wish we had a pony, don’t you?”

Taylor and MiaSuddenly, the sky clouded over, and a wind swept down from the graying, swirling mist. The little one squealed first in fright and then in delight, as she looked up into the green eyes of a beautiful pony wearing her cousin’s pink hat! Without hesitation, she climbed onto the pony’s back and hugged it tightly. Off the two went amid joyful shrieks and whinnies.

With the setting of the sun, the two playmates again found themselves lying on the cool grass wondering how, when, and why wishes come true, as they often do.

Note: Nothing is more delightful than watching grandchildren frolic in the backyard on a warm summer evening.