Marta
My work is important. Of course I love
my family, reliable support and humanizer.
When we were so much younger, Mom,
Dad, and rambunctious kids, our home felt
bursting with love, tangled up in daily
work, play, serious, silly, we learned to
be independent people, interdependent
for celebration, solace, help as needed,
place to belong. Mother, Julia, wise,
strong pioneer, eschewed fear or hesitation,
Always sure to exercise intense preparation.
"Pay attention so you don't have to pay with
unnecessary pain," she liked to say, admonish.
Stern words were the only punishment we
expected her to mete, yet certainly enough to
stop us from acting with poor judgement.
Papa Eli, her lifelong partner, foil, the first
word he brings to mind is emotional, over the
top feelings expressed without censor. He
would lovingly carve his wooden flutes,
goatskin covered wooden drums, to distribute
to everyone, sometimes for exchange of value,
usually just to allow for more music to flow.
He liked to orchestrate our repetoire of highs
and lows, to create an engaging atmosphere,
nightly parties for sharing tunes, dance,
exuberance, including whoever would join in,
family and friends. How could we ever forget
his sumptuous meals, his magic with mundane
ingredients, to far greater than sustain us
bodily, rather fill every day with exquisite
flavors to savor, familial memories to honor.
We sisters and brothers, I among us, blessed to
be raised with this legacy of good fun, abiding
love, along with serious endeavors, callings,
responsibilities, always aware that we are cared
for, have people close enough to take in the care
we have to share. Precious work, dear sustaining
cherishing, what more could I ask to fulfill me?
This special night we are overjoyed to find our
darling little sister returned to us, glorious reprieve
from years of unbearable bereavement. Far from
fading out completely as we had helplessly feared,
somehow, mysterious as her unexpected illness when
it appeared, she has been freed, restored. Surely,
a marvelous surprise to celebrate, an ebullient
awakening to a future in tune with our deepest
desire. Late as I tend to come to our parties, caught
up in professional chores, still they all understand
that I am very much part of the collective spirit we
call home. My physical presence will show just as soon
as I can leave my laboratory without jeopardizing care
of execution, complete attention to each next step as
my goal, my vision, manifests. I know it is overly
ambitious, yet I feel compelled to ever more efficiently
feed, clothe, dispel disease, ease maladies for my
surrounding community, beyond my circle of family,
that we may all be well, able to default to joy. I know
Sophia, my beautiful partner and co-conspiratory muse
understands with full sympathy. Here she is, grabbing
my hands, swooping in for a lingering kiss.
Bobby
Surrounded by bequeathed names, their
associations. Here, my life, my loved, those
who compose my reflections, my affections,
my greater good to belong among. Alee,
my little sister (my birth midway between
her, our youngest and our oldest, Marta, with
buffering brothers on either side), named
herself, switched from our parents' decision,
Alegra, to Alee when she was learning speech.
This encouraged her closest brother and friend,
James, to take on Jamee, another game within
their pair bond. I was named for my then
recently departed Uncle Bobby, who, of course
I never knew. He was Mom's much older
brother who had stayed in the apt next door
to Julia, her parents, and disabled brother, Sam,
to help care for them while keeping a separate
space. For some years he used the larger bedroom
with attached bath for fermentation of his
father's fruit garden to produce wine for sale
and parties, and his own consumption. When
my Mom and Dad got serious, they moved into
one of his spare rooms, she continuing her aid
to Dan and Liz, while accepting more responsibility
for Liz's experiments, to enhance the healing
possibilities of her family Garden's herbs. In short
time, Julia and Eli decided to settle in, get ready
to begin their next generation of family within
a kin environment. I hear that elder Bobby was
kind, thoughtful, fun, if a bit of an inebriate.
Marta, eldest of our sibling crew, knew him best,
as Cas was still a toddler when he passed. She
admits vague memories, that he was an Uncle she
felt safe around when left under his supervision
when Mom and Dad were out pursuing their
endeavors. I guess Bobby named me, but then
I named my older sibs, with my baby pronunciations.
Martina has since been forever Marta, Lucas, Cas.
On to the next generation, Camille and I continued
the tradition, giving our sons, each in turn, the names
of their great-grappa, Dan, when he died while his
next descendant gestated, and but three years later,
Eli was named for my father, taken, an innocent
bystander, in a grievous crime, or accident since my
parents were not the intended victims. The boys,
named for remembrance after I guess strangely getting
born so close to the deaths of their older kin. Camille
enthusiastically agreed to this, a small gift she could
offer in those months of grief. Then, there's little Julia,
Cas and Bonnie's younger daughter, born over a year
later, named to honor our mother, who was to us beloved,
wise, inspiring, always available as we each required,
despite long hours of dedication to her scientific inquiries.
Thus her family has become no stranger to tragedy. I was
but 21 when that cursed bomb blew up the core security
we thought we had, as we were learning to become the
adult people we could be. Just a bunch of stupid teens,
lacking obviously needed supervision, who figured out
how to use the School chem lab equipment obliviate their
schoolyard enemies. This violently hostile teen rivalry left
five innocent bystanders and their circles of reverberation
destroyed, as well as their own lives, relegated to jail for
the duration, since none would dare to try to get them
freed. Enraged neighbors had clamored to tear them
apart then and there. Our Mayor at that time, trusted
friend among the community, instead insisted that extension
of the violence would not promote healing of our
devastation. We needed, rather, to grieve together,
with the knowledge that the miscreants who caused this
misery would never again be free. Incarceration in our
underground, beneath the Towers cages, long since built
under the auspices of the City to keep their most vicious
out of their space, soundly punished for their misdeeds
and as warning, meant brutal loneliness, aging in darkness,
void of activity or stimulation, most certainly a more dire
punishment than the peace of death. Alee, our youngest,
was a mere 16 that year, similar in age to the perpetrators.
She must have seen them in School, thought of them as fellow
students. Mere months since her birthday, she had started
working part time for Gus at the Diner, as one of his short order
cooks. She was there at the time our world exploded outside.
Later, when life again seemed to have become more normalized,
she flew into a much less home-oriented existence, ever greater
community engagement. A dynamo, her days and nights became
filled with her theater obsessed friends, participating in their whirl
of creative projects to enhance the general ambiance, give
assistance to those they could see were in need, extend their
youthful energies to make their world more easy and fun for
everyone, a lively flock of a feather, together greater, happier,
than on their own. We rarely saw her, except of course for Jamee,
Paul, Jay, her closest confidantes, with whom she played,
made plans, shared explorations every day. We never thought
we would need to be concerned about her well-being with them
always her reliable support.
Cas, Bonnie, Camille, the kids, and I, since no longer caring for Dan,
and Liz, now as well gone, have developed our own familial crew,
sharing chores (though mostly Cas attends to our household, meals,
cleaning, the children when the rest of us have other responsibilities),
and support. Camille and I eventually moved into the master bedroom
to use both for sleep and creating art, different from Uncle Bobby's
creative pursuits. All of us recovered from that infamous day, each
finding our ways to move forward, to discover who we were, what
we could do. And then, in an unexpected instant, our Alee was gone.
She was suddenly no longer our dynamic whirlwind, showering
brilliant grace in dance, spontaneous song, spinning glorious
fantasies, swirling through daily plans, work, companions.
Rather, she had become a wan, barely living presence, covered
in blankets, unable to rise for simple self-care. Yet tonight,
tonight we have her back, fully charged, ready to take on this
new start, relight our hearts with that effortless effulgence, a
shining future we can feel allowed to hope for, again. Alee
as we had known her, lifts us all. I suspect Camille will not miss
this early April family birthday celebration, given over to a
truly worthy cause.
Cas
The serious one, the dutiful son, following, honoring my
father's legacy, my mom's wise counsel, my elder sister's
sense of responsibility. Focused, not like Marta with
her scientific endeavors to improve community well-being,
focused on service to family, and by ripple effect, our
greater world. It truly pleases, fulfills me to take on these
daily ministrations. There is no better life I might aspire to.
All the precedent preparations to enjoy our meals, seeing
that our home is clean, pleasantly appointed, providing
aid in any form, for any issue that presents, giving our
kids the attention desired, a source of comfort my people
can depend upon, no matter why needed, these acts of
loving grace are me. Back in my later teens, while our
parents were still there to take care of us, I moved
next door to more readily help our grandparents with
chores and health requirements as their aging infirmities
made them less able to sufficiently do for themselves.
I began then, as well, to work a shift at the Factory,
to pay for their comforting treats, and to invest in
exercise for greater strength as I grew. My dear friend
for many years, though Marta's age, Bonnie from
upstairs, who I also knew from her volunteering at
Mom's lab for the experience to feed her endearing
curiosity, had earned a place at City's Uni-Med,
so disappeared from my company for those years
away for schooling across the River. While attending
Uni it was forbidden to maintain communication with Barro
friends or family. Her basic high intelligence, intense
focus, grit, and natural empathy had so impressed the
City representatives teaching in our School, they
knew with appropriate training she could be an
amazing medical professional at the Clinic the City
had long since built, back when they had plans to
grow soldiers from later generations of those they had
evicted. Way, way back in Barro history. I like to put
the pieces together like puzzles, understand the past,
its secrets and ripples, how we evolved to now, who
those people then, in their struggles to continue,
shaped us. Anyway, Bonnie did eventually return,
to serve an internship at the Clinic before granted
full Med status, be given the position she had long
worked to attain. Meanwhile, once we were reunited,
we decided that she move in to one of the extra rooms
and help with Grappa and Gramma's care, here, rather
than deal with the pain of the home she was raised
in, where her younger brothers remained. Around
that time, Bobby and Camille joined our next door
extension to this enlarging family, being serious
enough a couple to want the independence of more
private space, as Bobby shared the bedroom I
had abandoned still with Jamee. Grappa Dan,
ever sicker, passed on. He had already bequeathed
his Garden, and fermentation operation, to his
oldest daughter, our Aunt Sylvia, and her family.
Then, after mere months, Gramma Liz joined her
lost partner. Bobby and Camille moved into what
had been their larger room for both bed and studio.
When their son was born not very long after his
great-grandparents' passing, they named him Dan.
Once no longer an infant, he was given his parents'
former room, later to share with his younger brother.
Little Danny, Eli, my and Bonnie's Diana and Julia,
bit by bit increased our crew. Ever abiding, I provide
what comfort, sustenance, gentle atmosphere of
surrounding care I can. In fact I am aware that we
all take care of each other in our unique ways.
As a teen I had lopped off my long dark braid
for greater efficiency, inspired by Marta's
practical example. These days I am attired in
the beautiful flowing clothing Camille has
created, decorated to look like a peaceful
starry night, equipped with cinches as required
for convenience when doing chores. Well
integrated, my extended family, my happy place.
Today we have been given an infinite blessing,
our sister Alee's miraculous recovery. Not an
occasion for solace to sorrow, but for grand
celebration, enjoying the party.
Camille
