Getting to Know Them...All

I bolted from my first encounter with my friend Wayne's grandchildren. We had only known each other a few months and suddenly there was a confusion of three-year-old twins and a daughter, a son-in-law, and visits from not one but two ex-wives.

"I'm having a problem with woodchucks," ex-wife #1 announced. She had planted herself across from me at the kitchen table and was fixing me with an appraising glare.

"Vermonters?" I stammered, "Or, you know, the animals?"

"Woodchucks in my garden."

"Oh," I said.

"They're eating my plants. One was standing up on his hind legs reaching through the chicken wire to get to my raspberries," she said.

I giggled.

"It's not funny," she said.

Later, we all went to her house for dinner, and I found myself on my hands and knees in her soil, exchanging banter, digging a circular trench in which to plant marigolds, while she reigned above me beneath a floppy straw hat, hoe in hand. I threw small rotten green apples into a plastic bucket with the twins, Maggie and Ollie, while everyone else milled around, knowing each other and sharing years of history.

When ex-wife #2 arrived with her boyfriend the following day, I broke out in a paroxysm of panic. I was new to the all-embracing Buddhist concept of family. I hid in the bedroom.

"Are you ok?" Wayne asked, when he came to find me.

"Sure," I chirped. I was part way into a chartreuse linen dress.

"You look beautiful." he said.

But still. It was a question of place. After bocce on the lawn, endless platters of food, and cocktails (I don't drink) came dinner. Exes 1 & 2 knew where the plates went. They had a system.

"Hi Mollie," I sang to one of the twins the next day.

"It's Maggie," Samantha corrected gently, again.

I fled after pancakes. But, after a few days, and yes, everyone had left by then, I came back. Maybe my perception of family and relationships could stand a tweaking. Just because you're no longer married to someone doesn't mean they turn to smoke. After all, I have a few exes myself. There are one's children to consider and, in my case one's future grandchildren. There are bocce balls to roll on a summer lawn and fireflies to collect and stories to tell and future history - years of it - to share.