Visit was better than directions

I told him not to cross the bridge.

Perhaps if I had access to a troll that made its home under the bridge, it may have made a difference. As it was, my instructions were ignored. He crossed the bridge. To his credit, he found a place to stop and call me.

I put on some shoes and went to the church that was just past the bridge. My cousin was sitting astride a beautiful blue motorcycle in the parking lot. I turned around and motioned him to follow me. I probably should have done that as soon as he left the fairgrounds.

He had come to town for the Indiana Military Vehicle Show and Swap Meet. Having no interest in vehicles, military or otherwise, I had no intention of attending. In fact, I wouldn’t have known it was happening until he mentioned that he was going. At that point, I remembered the ad in the newspaper. I asked him to stop by while he was in town as we hadn’t seen him in a long time.

After getting lost on the way up, enduring multiple intense but short-lived rainstorms and having a delicious free dinner at the show, he was on his way to our house for a visit before heading home.

Lee is a cousin whom I hadn’t met until his dad’s funeral. He is also our black sheep. Everybody needs a black sheep in the family. Lee and my brother, Michael, are the same age. For the longest time they were tied in the quest to be the family black sheep. I I think that Michael has conceded the title, at least for now.

Although they have both mellowed a lot, they both have that fierce independence that I love. Michael looks like my grandmother’s side of the family. Lee doesn’t have the height of his father and the voices are different, but every time I looked at Lee’s face, I saw his dad. I don’t dare say this to him. He maintains that they are nothing alike.

He asked where our cat was. We told him that Gracie is afraid of storms. She doesn’t like people and was probably hiding somewhere. I am not sure where she was during his visit, but she made a reappearance as soon as he left.

I also wasn’t sure that Lee wasn’t going to have to spend the night. When he tried to start his motorcycle it made a horrible screeching noise. It took awhile before the bike finally started and he left with directions to head south until he got to the interstate then go east. I checked and he said he made it home with no problem.

Even though he is a cousin and I enjoy his stories, he is not one of the three original cousins I grew up with. His sister, Kim, and my other two cousins, Tim and Norman, were a lot closer to my age and visited often. Lee wasn’t born until I was 15 or so. By that time, everything had fallen apart and the two out of the three original uncles that were still alive didn’t visit as often.

I think cousins are important. They are like mandatory playmates that don’t overstay their visits. We have lived through the same times and remember many of the same things. My grandchildren have many cousins to choose from. They visit often and sometimes stay for days at a time. They don’t realize that they are building a network of people who love them.

My cousins and I have gone our separate ways. It is rare that we get together. When we do there is a lot of talk about what used to be and what is yet to come. We promise to get together more often, though that rarely happens. One cousin is in either Louisiana or Texas. We haven’t seen him in decades. Two of the others don’t speak to each other. Therefore, it makes it extra special when I see any of them.

Then again, perhaps they don’t visit because I give really bad directions. They just have to remember to not go over the bridge.