Don’t Ever Put Down The Pen!

My family is big on tradition. When my grandparents, Ed and Clare Jones were still alive, the Jones family would gather together at their home every Thanksgiving. When they passed we gathered at my mom’s house. We had done this for a very long time, as long as I can remember and well before that.

At their generation’s level there were five Jones siblings, a sister and four brothers and they personified what we call the “Greatest Generation”. They lived here in Washington and their families were mostly still here as well and the group as a whole was very, very close. Two of my great uncles, were graduates of West Point. Uncle Biff, was an Army football star and went on to coach the Army football team and later he took the Nebraska Cornhuskers team to the Rose bowl. His son, Cousin Larry, graduated West Point and Biff’s daughter, Barbara married Grady, a Colonel. Biff’s brother, Uncle Herb, was a year or two behind Biff and traveled the world with his army career as a Major General. My grandfather, Ed, accepted an appointment to West Point as well, but struggled with the math requirements and so went in another direction, Banking oddly enough. Sister Ruth’s son, James graduated from West Point as well and rose to Major. Donald, the middle child, pursued a successful career with the government here in Washington, raising three wonderful kids and was an avid gun collector. As a child, I was always enthralled to hear Uncle Donald talk about his guns, Uncle Herb tell his “Futt the Duck” story and then talk Washington Redskins football with Uncle Biff. The first fifty years of the Twentieth century created this group of amazing people who still inspire me by who they were and what they stood for. I stand on their shoulders every day.

There was a strong sense of family loyalty shared by these five siblings. I still feel it today. Whenever the family was together and there were always at least three occasions each year, the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and my grandfather’s birthday in December, it was quite a crowd and the parties were legendary. The five siblings, children and grandchildren numbered forty-seven, throw in a few in-laws plus some very close friends and that number grew to over sixty nearly every time. Naturally, as the years passed, our family grew smaller at the elder end and larger at the youthful end. We spread out over the country and world and it grew harder and harder to have everyone together. Finally, each family celebrated Thanksgiving separately and we always remembered the great family gatherings that were no more.

Going back five years, Marti, Scott, Kevin and I started a run of tough life events, and this past year has been the hardest of all. A few weeks ago while remembering those who are gone, I fondly recalled the great times our family had together. I thought the great gatherings should be revived if possible. So I decided to renew the Jones tradition and invite everyone I could reach to our home for Thanksgiving. I sent an email out to all my various cousins and extended the invitation. A day or two later I realized the enormity of what I had done and what could happen if all said, “Great idea! We’ll be there!” Fortunately, I think, these things start off slowly. But start it did.

Marti and I had nineteen people for dinner at our home this Thanksgiving, all family. Roy, her brother, said their mom’s special prayer in German and we tearfully remembered those who are not with us. In the dining room, my 1830’s Grandfather clock I inherited from my grandmother, always faithful and reliable, chiming the hour from the hallway for nearly fifty years, suddenly and mysteriously stopped ticking at precisely 12 Noon. I noticed it an hour later and stared at the still pendulum. I touched it gently. Once more grandfather tick-tocked comfortably and chimed twelve times. Somehow, somewhere, great things are still happening, I am certain of it.

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Trackposted to Blue Star Chronicles, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe