There were a barrel full of favorite moments last weekend at the extended family reunion. Playing games that drew on drawing, and improv, and fabricated definitions made me laugh. The wagon wheel where people paired up for a brief time to describe their hero, or fears, or a beloved book was delicious. Conversations at meals were at least as nourishing as what was on our plates.  A clutch of us talked about creativity as our fingers turned yarn into friendly snakes. 

 

But the musical offerings touched me in a tender spot. At least a dozen instruments and the people who set their strings vibrating filled the stage. For some songs the audience joined in, and other times we were serenaded. People from three generations felt welcome to grace us with their voices, and I loved it. The second youngest person in the room whooped with joy, like an exclamation point. 

 

One couple did a love song, in which they promise to be there for one another. It is an original piece, if not an original desire. The human need to have a person who chooses us, defends us, believes in us is even older than the genealogy someone read of our maternal lineage going back three hundred years. The refrain "I'll be there" was echoed back and forth between them, like a birdie in badminton. 

 

That kind of love never gets stale.