After a summer of utterly brutal heat and stifling humidity, we are enjoying gorgeous early fall days.  Crisp, clear, blue-skied, sunny, and warm-ish.  Perfect, splendid September, we welcome you.

This past weekend I found myself in several iconic Philadelphia locations:  the Pennsylvania Historical Society, Rittenhouse Square and the Phillies ballpark.  Early drafts of the Constitution were on display in the first.  People were pursuing happiness in the second.  And in the third, celebrating a thrilling hometown win with a walk-off home run by Jayson Werth.  As the T-shirt worn by the man in front of me at the Phils game said, “Life is good.”  (That is copyrighted, by the way.)

My brother Jim recently visited from St. Louis.  He’s a good sport, up for anything, from sampling lots of Philadelphia hoagies and cheesesteaks to helping Chris remove window AC units, from hanging out in the city while I had a meeting to visiting our gym with us.

Jim and I also did some quick research on our family at the PA Historical Society.  We found many cards in the catalog with the last name Crabb, including four in a row pertaining to Thomas, Robert, James and William – the names of my brothers and dad.  Good old Anglo Saxon monikers, all.  If we wanted to actually see these letters and documents from the 1700s and 1800s, we could just visit the Society, pay a small fee, write a list of the papers we wanted, and they would be brought to us.  I’m adding this to my list of things to do someday.

As I’ve said in this space before, I always loved summer the most.  Not anymore.  Fall, you are my new best friend.

In our case, it was getting rid of the pasture that was our old yard, and turning some of it into a garden, that has made us want to sit in a rocking chair on the porch while we’re still young enough to have children at home.

The process took years.  Scrubby grass used to come right up to the porch.  The steps were flanked by two enormous, scraggly yew bushes.  I never understood the use of yews, until I read in a book, perhaps The Other Bolyn Girl, that the English prized the wood  for making arrows.  With new respect for the shrub, I nevertheless concluded it was irrelevant since we were unlikely to be crafting our own arrow shafts any time soon – or ever.

As I’ve mentioned before in this space, everything changed the day Chris and I took a walk around our yard with a landscape designer, a conference we had won in a silent auction.  She spent an hour with us, and immediately suggested that if the yews were removed, their spot would provide the perfect place for a sunny garden – the only sunny spot in our yard.  Chris was sold. 

Removing the yews was a huge adventure involving SUVs and chains and much cursing, but finally they were vanquished.  

Replaced by hydrangeas, beebalm, and hollyhocks, the garden draws hummingbirds, butterflies and bees every day.  Interestingly, it is not the bees but the hummingbirds who love the beebalm – and they move in counter-clockwise fashion around the blooms.  Every time.  This is the kind of observation we are now making, in our front-row seats at the Nature Show.

The porch is where we head first thing each morning, with our reading glasses, newspapers, and mugs of tea.  Clearly the floor needs to be repainted, but that can wait until fall.

Once a lonely, desolate place that nobody cared to go, the porch is now a destination.  And we owe it all to the library silent auction.

That dirt patch at lower left?  Future home of tomotoes, peppers and basil.  In my opinion, a huge improvement over what the house looked like way back in 1995 when we bought it.

Although the addition of Jim and Sam meant another two guys in the house, with Laura and daughter Jane and Sam’s girlfriend Becca here, we females were actually a force to be reckoned with.  And I could wrap up girly things like lip gloss and cute books in angel paper with pink ribbon.

We were wowed by this huge surprise of a family present from an overly generous friend.

An amazing feast starring Chris’s brined turkey was served (the only casualty was the smoke alarm, which had to be beaten down off the ceiling to stop its incessant wailing).  My brother Jim was with us for the holiday week, helping with cooking, cleaning, errands, and driving.

A long-lost first cousin, David,  came out to have lunch with us on Boxing Day and to share memories that are known only to a few people on earth  (i.e. how did Grandpa John serve ice cream?  In slices!  Which, we all agreed, is the perfect way to present Neopolitan).   For me, it is wonderfully surreal to have another blood relative living East of the Mississippi, let alone in the very same neck of the woods.  Thank you, David and Alison, for relocating to Philadelphia!

Games were played.  Pit, Scrabble, Big Boggle, and Pictionary were hauled out on various nights.  Although the team of Chris and Malcolm ended up winning Pictionary, I am proud of this one particular victory that Jim and I had in the game during an ALL DRAW turn.  Each team was trying to illustrate the same thing.  Luckily for me,  Jim inherited the art gene and did this detailed little drawing. 

After guessing “cowboys” and “cattle rustlers,” I threw out “posse.”  And got it right.  The best part was hearing the wails from our boys, who were busy on their own drawings of “posse,’ which involved limosines, bling and gangsters.  They demanded,  ”What does the word posse have to do with cowboys?”

Yes, I felt old.  But victorious.

One great feature of family reunions is that you find other people with the same likes/dislikes as you.   Banana-hating has been found on the 18th chromosome of our DNA.  It is expressed most clearly in the forms of my son Hugh and brother Richard.

Hugh shared a story from third grade (calling Mr. M!) when he was playing tag at recess.  A kid shoved him, Hugh fell.  His hand landed in a blackish mass on the ground.  The gunk proved to be a rotten banana.  Hugh started gagging.  He went to the nurse and told her he was feeling queasy.  She listened to his tale of woe, then rasped out harshly:

“Let me get this straight.  You feel SICK….because you TOUCHED…a BANANA.”  She gave him a Tum (singular) and sent him packing.

While the rest of us guffawed at this story, Uncle Richard took Hugh’s side.  I think he was ready to file a lawsuit for school nurse incompetence.   Banana Solidarity.  Another reason to love family reunions.

When a friend sent us this photo he snapped of Ian graduating on Friday, I was so grateful.  Let’s just say I had a view of the back of his mortarboard.  I’ll spare you the details of the chaotic hell-ride-in-the-rain to graduation that caused us not to be able to sit with my dad in the four posh seats he scrupulously saved for us, and which remained empty for the entire ceremony as we were allowed only into the bleachers after 6 PM. 

The important thing is that three generations were there to see Ian receive his sheepskin. 

His two remaining grandparents, one from each side of the family.  His two parents, two brothers, two uncles, and one aunt. 

The following things struck me about graduation:

Kids these days don’t have that us versus them feeling my peers and I had about adults in our lives.  Lots of the grads hugged the principal and the faculty advisors as they crossed the stage.  Which is impressive.  (Also perhaps symptomatic of a hugging pandemic in schools – that’s another story).

Elgar’s composition is still beautiful, even though we’ve all heard it countless times.  Someday I’d love to hear it played outside in the summertime in London.

Hugh was a genius to bring the high school newspaper that listed the post-graduate destination of every senior, in alphabetical order, so we could follow along.

I was a fool to iron that graduation robe, as Ian dutifully reported we were to do.  Who was going to sit there and hiss to a neighbor, “Oh my God, Ian’s mom obviously didn’t get all the creases out of that billowing polyester!”

Kids today are lucky to go to schools that are full of attentive, creative, nurturing teachers.  Ian’s high school mentors ranged from an art teacher who recognized his talent to an English/physics teacher who called all his students “scholars.”  (He would literally call on them as “Scholar Last Name,” without fail, and Ian thrived in his classes).  During senior year, Ian had several legendary teachers who challenged him in English, in Spanish, and in a cross-disciplinary seminar. 

It is truly hard to believe it’s over, but he’s got the diploma to prove it.

Back home now, I’m looking at pictures from our fantastic week in Colorado and reliving all the fun.  We broke out of our rut and mixed up the character combinations.  Normally Hugh & Malcolm are two peas in a pod.  This time, Ian & Malcolm took snowboarding classes together, while Chris and I skiied with our middle child Hugh, who is almost never alone with us.  

We played Pit, the official game of my parents and brothers, and this time, the boys really got into it.  So did my nieces and their friends,  Much hilarity ensued.

At my brother’s request, I taught my niece Logan to make the family holiday requirement, Ice Box Rolls.  Here she labors under the scrutiny of the Bossman, her dad.

Chris the car nut got to play with Griffin the car nut.

Logan turned 13 and Malcolm turned 12 right after New Year’s Day.  Another board shop T-shirt for the collection.

And speaking of Infernos, we struggled somewhat hilariously through knee-deep powder (thigh-deep for the kids) in Tom and Wendy’s backyard to burn the Christmas tree late one night.  Throwing ours in the compost will always feel hopelessly boring from now on.  A bonfire cannot be beat.

While it’s good to be home and lay my head on my own perfectly squished pillow, memo to self:  do not let the suitcases get too dusty in 2009. 

Everyone slept until nearly noon today.  We took our time having lunch, lounging in PJs to chat or play games.  Pente, Operation, Apples to Apples, and Scrabble were on today’s agenda.  My big boys even agreed to play Hungry Hungry Hippo with their 4 year old cousin.

There was also some modern technology.  We watched some football, a movie (Bedazzled), a few clips from the Onion, some YouTube highlights.  I made cookies with my niece, Chris grilled chicken, Ian made his incredible pizza from scratch (honey in the dough is the secret ingredient), we plucked some champagne from the snowbank outside the front porch, and laughed ourselves silly.

The brand new year has started with a lot of togetherness, and a lot of old-fashioned fun. To quote my favorite line from A Christmas Carol, I’m happy not to be leading the life of Scrooge, “solitary as an oyster.”  

Emily and I are having so much fun with this blog, and are grateful to you all for stopping by and reading Mothers of Brothers.  It’s been a huge part of our 2008, and we look forward to what 2009 will bring.  Happy New Year to all!