This week, I am hosting Cousin Judy, who settled in California (by way of Montreal) many, many years ago, after moving away from here as a young married person.
She and her husband had two children. Judy has been a widow for at least the past fifteen years. One day, she came home from work to unexpectedly find Steven dead from a damaged heart.
If you met Cousin Judy, you’d come away saying that she was as nice as she could be, and in her case, it isn’t an act. I can verify that she has always been a kind person. In my long experience, such individuals are as rare as precious stones.
Of course, Lee was the kindest person I’ve ever known, so I do have some firsthand experience judging this trait. Therefore, I can also say unequivocally that I am not.
Being kind doesn’t guarantee happiness, and without talking out of school, I can tell you that Cousin Judy has had her fair share of disappointment and regret. The same undoubtedly would have been true for Lee, but I was too close to judge it clearly.
Fortunately, in her dotage (she’s even older than me!) Cousin Judy reports a busy and satisfying existence. She is devoted to her children, actively involved in several philanthropic causes, and enjoys the good company of many close female friends. She and her friends travel extensively together. These days, Judy even has a gentleman caller, whom she is holding at arm’s length. Her kids are successful.
It appears that all is right in her world. Were this not the case, I’m certain I’d have heard about it. Cousin Judy is a gabber!
***
Cousin Kory and his family have arrived here from Paris, where he has lived for the past quarter century. He is Cousin Judy’s nephew, which I believe would make Kory my first cousin, once removed. Two months ago, while still in Paris, Cousin Kory had made reservations for us to have dinner together at a local restaurant specializing in Peking Duck.
***
It is Christmas Eve. Businesses have closed their doors early. The streets have thinned out of traffic. So quiet. So peaceful. All that is missing from this picture is gently falling snow.
However, Judy and I arrive at the restaurant to find the place is packed, and the joint is jumpin’! We gently muscle our way to the hostess’ desk. We are pleased to hear that Cousin Kory et al. have already been seated. I’ve eaten here once before today’s gathering. I can report that the duck is still served hot and crispy, and that the accompanying duck fried rice and duck soup are equally flavorful.
There is a tall young man seated at our table whom I don’t recognize, but correctly infer must be Kory’s son, Thomas (pronounced “to mah”), to my eyes suddenly grown up, a strapping young man of twenty-four.
The last time I saw him was a decade back, while Lee and I were staying in the Montmartre District, just down the street from the funicular, at the foot of a long staircase climbing to Sacre Coeur. I never forgot that it was Thomas, not Kory, who directed us to his mom’s favorite cheese shop, where we purchased a tasty but pungent cheese that so infested our tiny apartment with its foul odor that we were forced to dump it lest we be overwhelmed. The fact is, despite his many years in Paris, Thomas’ father remains an ex-pat.
Seeing Thomas sitting with his mother, snapshot images of our days together in Paris flashed through my mind. Suddenly, I thought of my Lee and smiled.
