This is an excerpt from a piece by John Amato: “Our ‘Cousins’ remain in the front row of ancient family history – in the window of our memories with all the fancy curtains pushed back; with all the crispy plastic upholstery taped up and hidden from the company. First, second, or third cousins – doesn’t mater — they are the direct line to the mother ship across the mighty Atlantic–they are the red vein of striking the friendship ring before friends on the block.”
The other night, I had dinner with my cousin JoAnn and her husband Frank who were in London before taking off for Wales and Scotland. JoAnn is technically my first cousin once removed. She is 7 years younger than me. Her Mom, Marion, my first cousin, is 19 years my senior. I mention this because we are blessed to be part of a rather large family. Marion’s brother Steve is 23 years older than me. His oldest child is less than a year younger than me. My youngest first cousin is ten year younger than me-33 years younger than Steve, our oldest first cousin. There are 20 first cousins in total. JoAnn is among, at least 40 of the next generation. JoAnn’s mom and I have always had a special bond. We all lived within a few blocks of each other and were regular parts of each others life. Marion’s kindness to me stretches back to my earliest childhood when my dad was in a terrible accident and she smothered me with love and attention. It continued through college and beyond when I knew Marion would always have my special dish of struffoli waiting for me when I came home for Christmas. But here we were, all grown up, having dinner at one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants in London.
As London’s late Summer heatwave has continued, I have taken things pretty easy. I find that my first week of this long visit is a week of transitioning and taking it slow. After a few days of bustle, I took a “neighborhood day. I revisited several favorite spots, including, Russell Square. The park was full of life. People from around the world were strolling and chatting. Kids were running and squealing. The fountain shot water into the sunshine. Caffe Tropea, the lovely Italian Cafe was doing a booming business. Ah London!
Mark In London 