I know I’ve talked about my “other” family. My two “brothers” and their mom, who is more like my sister. Mark, Dan and Carol came into my life by way of my dad’s best friend, Merwin. Carol married Merwin when her sons were young; thinking back I want to say they were 13 and 9 or thereabouts. I was 17 at the time, and while the age difference seemed big back then it didn’t seem to matter as Dan and I played midwife to his dachshund. Or maybe she was a beagle. Perhaps a mix. The bonding was the thing, and I can remember Twerp, the puppies’ father, yowling and pacing outside the window.

I, off and on, lived nearby, and we always seemed to find each other wherever we all ended up. I’d spend Christmas at their house in Vermont. Mark taught me to ski. Well, sort of, if taking me on too difficult slopes with skis too long for my ability, and then disavowing any relationship with me to ski patrol as they pulled me up from the side of the mountain counts. We were housemates for a short time, too.

Dan worked for me at several businesses I ran. I still have fond memories of driving him home as he fed me Hagen Daz coffee ice cream in the car with those pathetic wooden spoons you get with Hoodsie cups. I flew all day from Boston to get to San Francisco for Dan’s wedding, and then turned around a few hours later and flew home. We have all had the late night conversation where we solved the problems of the world, told each other things we’d share with no one else, and have behaved more like siblings that I ever did with my own.

Carol is the conduit for my relationships with my brothers. She and I have shared many a time as well. I fondly remember being invited to a dinner party at her house (just up the hill from mine) where she was so late I cooked the dinner myself. And on my 50th birthday weekend the young girl ghost (yes, I said ghost) who resides at the Norumbega Inn in Camden, Maine couldn’t help but reveal herself to Carol, ever the psychically clear one. No one mentioned a ghost, but Carol did. Scared the bejeezus out of my friend Teresa who shared a room with her. It was apropos that Dan bought her UFO Abduction Insurance for Christmas one year.

Well, Carol is turning 75 in October this year, and since the family, now spread far and wide, was returning to Vermont for a family reunion it was fitting to celebrate her birthday when we could all be together. Plans? Hell no. I get last minute calls and texts and we figure it out. So when we were told to meet in Brandon, Vermont, at Café Provence for a birthday dinner with “surprise guests” we made sure we got there.

Carol, twice widowed, has decided to give this love thing another try, and we met Freddie, her lovely friend from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. There’s a bit of a language barrier; I guess some things you don’t really have to talk about. The other surprise guests were Lennart, their Swedish exchange student who has remained another sibling to them since his year with them some 40 years ago, his wife Claudia and their son. And Bill, Merwin’s son who is Mark and Dan’s step-brother. And I love spending time with my brothers’ spouses; Mark’s wife Jan and Dan’s husband Ken. It did my heart good to see these people all in the same place at the same time.  As far afield as everyone lives it doesn’t happen often enough.

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We had plans for the rest of the weekend so we couldn’t attend their BIG family reunion with Carol’s siblings and their families the next day. That’s where they were to really celebrate Carol’s birthday with the cake from Café Provence that I’m sure was divine. But I was happy to have my little family all together if for only a few hours.

I did give Carol her birthday gift, actually 75 gifts: a beach bag for her winter in Mexico, the accoutrements to accompany it and 70 lottery tickets. As Dan said, “If her ship comes in we’re all the crew.”

Happy Birthday, Carol. Or should I say Feliz Cumpleaños? I hope you celebrate all year and in many languages!

Deborah