You Can't Stand On One Leg

So, I’m finally getting around to my resolution to write more this year.  Writing, not just typing, just for writing’s sake.  Now it’s not like I haven’t gotten around to fulfilling any other resolutions.  I’ve sold off a bunch of musical gear, some of the proceeds of which went to fund the camera equipment I wanted to get to start doing some photography this year.  That’s one down.  But as my Dedushka (that’s “grandpa” for the uninitiated) used to say after the first round of vodka at the Sunday dinner table, “You can’t stand on one leg!!”

I’ve also hit a few open mic nights with just me, a guitar, this voice of mine and no other safety net.  And while I can’t make the claim that, “No animals were injured during the filming of this event”, in spite of my best efforts, I’ve at least been able to stay committed to inflicting additional pain on whatever captive audience decides to stick around.  And with that we have two down.  But once again, Dedushka and the other old Russians around the table will let you know, “Two?! You can't have only two!!  How many legs does a stool have?!”

Now, I can guarantee most Americans are at least a bit confused, right?  “Stools have four legs!!”  Sure, at least in most bars they do.  But a good stool, a real stool, only needs three.  In fact, the three-legged variety is a lot more stable than what you, or I, might have fallen off at one time or another.  It’s a tripod, not a “quadpod”, that you’ll find supporting cameras and other equipment worth thousands of dollars, because of the stability.  For stability sake then, if for no other, I will finish my To-Do-List with this third task.  Provided that this isn’t the last thing you read on here.

But I won’t limit my family’s contribution to my inaugural blog to that of a drinking-related analogy, though for some people that might merit sufficient content for its own post and a reason to brag about your family.  But family has been on my brain lately, no doubt due to the fact that every living relative from my Dad’s immediate family was gathered around our kitchen table yesterday.  Every aunt, uncle and cousin I've ever had on his side (there aren't any), my mother, father, brother, and his family.  Eight chairs were all that was necessary – though perhaps eight stools might have been more appropriate.  How many people do you know that can hold a reunion for an entire side of their family in one kitchen?!  I would have roasted a pig for the occasion if I could have gotten all of them to at least eat some of it.  

It doesn’t happen much, maybe every other year or so, which is a real shame.  But it’s the way things are now that we’ve spread ourselves around the state and around the country.  We don’t necessarily talk as much as we should – or even as much as we need to.  We’ve learned, rightly or wrongly, to go about our lives independently, while keeping each other clued in when necessary – or at least when we remember.  Our own excuses as weak and yet as acceptable as anyone else's for why we can’t make it up, down, over, under or whatever. But not this week, and not this time.  For five hours on Sunday it was like we'd never been apart.

To anyone reading it probably doesn’t sound like much of a big deal.  But I can guarantee that to those gathered around that table yesterday it was everything.  And the joy of being together far outshines the melancholy that sets in the moment we part company.  That hangover will stick around, in one form or another, until we’re all together again, three small family units at one table.  So, while there may not have had a bottle to pass around the table with our meal yesterday the words of my Dedushka wouldn’t have been out of place.  You can’t stand on one leg.