Homo Escapeons Incarnate

It may not win any awards for photography, but this is a photo that simply must be posted here.

Last night, my blog-writing man and I drove down a familiar Winnipeg street straining our necks to discipher a house number in the early evening dusk. I could see the form of Homo Escapeon and his wife Alice through the glass darkly, but then: through the yellow door, and face to face! Feeling like we'd been family forever, the hugs we exchanged were big and genuine. I knew we were in for a memorable evening.

We'd been forbidden to monopolize conversation with blah-blah-blogging, so as not to alienate the 50% of the guests who were of a different persuasion. So, we did what any considerate guest would do. Sit back and watch our hostess wow us with apps and drinks.

Clearly in the presence of fine wine connoisseurs; I felt obligated to swish and sip graciously and repeatedly. I suspected the hostess would be displeased at the sight of empty glasses, so I selflessly did my part to keep her happy and appreciated.

The entertainment was top rate. We had joy, we had fun... singing along to Donn's favourite 1970's musical selections and cheering on a couple of uninhibited dining room dancers. I knew that a homo escapeon of Lutheran roots who learned his numbers from the holy sisters would probably be blessed with the ability to move to music. The Mennonite uptighted-ness in my genetic background robbed me of rhythm many years ago, but not so for Alice's cousin, who easily kept up with Donn's choreography. The rest of us cheered them on, singing at the top of our lungs and gratefully sipping our liquid campinos.

Seven hours. Here's what I can tell you for sure. Out of the four people who we had the privelege to meet last night, 100% of them were the real thing. Don is funny, sweet, kind, wears the best party shirt ever (cocktails and olives) and doesn't bother to pretend he's something that he is not. Alice is sweetness incarnate. She is a lovely, serene, genuine gal who has lived through some storms without allowing them to etch rivulets of bitterness or hardness in her face. The third couple were the sort that you felt you'd known all your life, and half expected to run into at a Christmas family reunion. I loved how the hours slipped away. I loved the belly laughs which wove in and out of it all. I loved the lack of pretense. I loved the fresh air of the back yard, sharp with the winds of impending winter. I loved the recognition of the pain in life, without the celebration of pessimism or hopelessness.

In life, lucky are we who love and are loved.
Lucky are we who can struggle together. Laugh together. Dance together. Eat together.
Be together.

I feel like my family has grown again, and perhaps this season, several more holiday reunions will be in order. Andrea, Cherry pie, Pamela..... your invitations are in the mail.