Full House

The grand cats are the first visible signs of life on Sunday morning. They work hard to convince me that they are starving waifs, lost in the still dark of night. Unfortunately, for them, there’s a little note on the food container that says, “Fed cats at 4 AM.” A full house needs communication tools.

We’re into week two of the multigenerational, refugee household. This weekend added another couple who flew in from the south, but the wife is a good friend from Asia. We’ve met her before and now know her new husband, recently back from Iraq. Lowest on the totem pole, they got the basement “suite.” No grumping – they are happy to be here and reconnect. The bonds forged overseas are strong and deep. Conversation runs around the world and includes the hard side of returning this direction.

Mealtime is interesting. I am reminded of years ago when multi-family would arrive at Grammy’s home and meals morphed without much planning. Here, too, there are many cooks and many bottle washers. Food gets to the table to find that someone has set the table. The dishes are stowed in the dishwasher and land back in the cupboards. I sort of mastermind the menu, but it’s open to diversions.

Last night the “boys” took a walk to Panera for bread and returned with bread and more. This afternoon a girls’ trip to the corner Asian grocery brought home familiar – to us at least – goodies. My great foray of the weekend was a run to Sam’s.

Midday on Sunday is The Gathering. The clan is larger today than usual, but the routine seamless. Early Sunday morning one cook starts the main meal before breakfast. The other cooks pick up after breakfast and finish the pre-church prep. The post church final touches are also shared. By that time the little kids are hungry and speed is essential. Dinner, that Sunday institution I choose to retain, is only a little about food. It is far more about conversation and dialogue and debate. All ideas are welcome, even those that get shot down quickly.

A home with more lefthanders than righthanders tends to send food in two directions at once. Noted, accepted, and laughed at. Children are part of the mix, but not the focus. They are quite welcome to join the conversation, but somehow understand that this is not about them.

They will be the adults some day and rule the conversation.

Full house. It’s working. Laundry gets brought down, tossed in, dried, folded, and returned. No one keeps track of who’s doing what. Housework is the same. Everyone shares. Inside and outside.

Perhaps this is how our ancestors lived in multi-generational community. Who knows? It won’t last forever, but for now, the full house is a warm haven for wanderers – all of us.