Family

As a rule, Lori and I take the world on solo during our missions of mercy. This year is antithetical. A confluence of events have resulted in a massive gathering of the clan. The wheels were put into motion with an invite to the wedding of my Mancunian cousin Judy Lyon’s son, Jamie (or as he was better known in his magician’s day – Jimbo Jolly). Never one to eschew an opportunity to visit one of my favourite cities, the die was cast. We would be in attendance. Trevor, who had been on the road since early July, was in Israel with his Finnish girl friend, Juli. Christmas in Helsinki was on their agenda. Hearing of the impending nuptials, he was excited to book a stopover in England and schnorred himself an invite. Andrew, hearing that Trev was going, wasted no time inviting himself and Jessica to the affair as well. The Burnett contingent continued to grow. My sisters, Maureen (with husband Michael

and daughter Ellie) from Toronto

Katie Marcus, Jasmine Lyons, Ellie Lampel

and LA Pamela along with offspring Sam, and Katie were next to enlist.

The numbers continued to multiply. Judy’s late sister Sally’s husband, Earl, was coming in from California and would be accompanied by his children Jessica from NYC and Willie from SF.

The Manns, Jess, Earl, Willie

Between family, family friends, and friends, things were shaping up to be, using classic British terminology, one heck of a hootenanny. It would be a party for the ages, all ages. From two year old Joshua Lyons to ninety year old Uncle Merton Zonis, ten decades were represented. People began arriving Wednesday for the Sunday bash. Judy’s mate, Johnny, and Johnny’s right hand man, Roy were operating a personal shuttle service between the airport and the hotel. Most of us were sequestered at the Bull’s Head Lodge situated in Altrincham, mere minutes from the homes of the various families who would be hosting the hodge-podge of upcoming events.

Winter solstice. Noon GMT. Sun is barely above the hotel

The opportunity to watch all the cousins’ kids get to meet and hang with new family members was a huge treat. We were witnessing the genesis of the next generation’s coming together. And in the old days we would have to write letters (a task that admittedly my cousins were much more diligent at than me). There’s this new thing called Facebook or something that apparently facilitates and speeds up the process. I hear Skype and Face Time are good for these kind of things too.A little bit of background – despite my father having left England in the late 50’s, his ties to the motherland remained deep throughout his life. As a result I have been back and forth with and without him about a dozen times since my first trip at age twelve. Between my trips to Machester, my cousins traversed the Atlantic many times, often staying with us for large chunks of the summer, bringing along friends of theirs that I’d gotten to know during my visits. Fifty years of back and forth, on a semi-regular basis, has allowed friends and family alike to keep in touch and stay aware, if only tangentially, of each other’s lives. As the other Bruce says – “It’s the ties that bind”.

The first major get together was held at the home of Jacki and Michael Edelson.

Michael is the husband of Jacki, who is the sister of Johnny who is married to the daughter of the sister of my father. Johnny’s other sibling, Anthony (editor’s note – the ‘h’ is silent, pronounce ‘Antony’), is also married to a Jackie.

Reading this, one would not necessarily sense the level of closeness between the families, perhaps more so the confusion amongst the names. But rest assured, the cousins, in-laws, bloods et al represent extended family in the truest sense. And the gathering of the clan was a monumental event. Hugs, kisses, and quick catch ups were the order of the day. Then fifty or so diners sat down and ate as laughter and good cheer permeated the dining room. Additional entertainment was provided by an extremely amateur magician who was brought in to distract the children. That did not work out as planned. When the kids and Merlin moved to the next room, a couple of the childrens’ raucous behaviour were more than he could stand. They made him disappear. The entertainment continued in the main room with a slide show, hosted by the silent H brother. Anthony, clad in a long orange beard and skin coloured bathing cap accentuated Jamie the groom’s recent physical attributes, put on a one man tour de force that had young, old, and in the middle doubled over with laughter. And that was just Shabbat dinner – the main event was still two days away.

Saturday morning featured a visit to synagogue for Jamie’s pre-wedding call up to the Torah. The service was shared by a bar mitzvah featuring a Lubavitch orthodox family, whose immediates numbered close to 100. I’d not seen so many black hats in one place since watching ‘Gunfight at the OK Corral’. Following services, Judy and Johnny

hosted an all afternoon cocktail party at their home.

The house was devoid of furniture. While I thought that they’d been moved out to make room for the guests, Johnny confided that he’d had to pawn everything to pay for the party. Don’t send cheques, he’ll be fine. Simultaneously, Manchester United was playing a home fixture against Norwich, a team that had not won at Old Trafford since 1989. Over the past decade or so, I’ve tried timing my trips to coincide with Man U home games. Only the Montreal Canadiens elicit a more rabid response in my sports club repertoire. I attempted to cajole Judy into a few hours off to attend the match with Michael, who as a Director of the club, had fairly good access to the place. She was hearing none of it. Ultimately, it was a good thing not going. The rain was falling as fast as United’s 26 year dominance of the Canaries. A 2-1 loss to an inferior team, watched in the pouring rain, would have been a low light. And with half the family ardent Machester City fans, the ripping came fast and furious toward the Man U’s. Fortunately both teams are playing crap. When it comes to crow, there is more being eaten than ing. And to put the City-United rivalry and antipathy into perspective, remember the US civil war, 1861-65? That would be a Thanksgiving Day dinner by comparison.

Sunday arrived and the big do was upon us. We relocated en masse to the Midland Hotel, a Grande Dame of a place situated in city center. Manchester continues to astound and confound as arts, architecture and finery have resurrected this once moribund mill town into a twenty-first century city, with all the trimmings. Improved public transportation, renovation of classic buildings and a burgeoning young residency has transformed the city I first met in the sixties.

Manchester Cathedral. Built in 11th century. I said Kaddish for my father in there. Probably take another thousand years until the next time.

We had the afternoon off and, thanks to a tip from my bro-in-law Mike Lampel (also known as David Lapel, but that’s a different story), I discovered a new favourite shoe store. Jeffrey West. Check it out. Great acesso’s also.

The wedding itself was an event exuding style and grace. Held in the hotel, Jamie and his bride-to-be Abigail, had their imprimatur all over it.

The flower arrangements and lighting defined elegance. The wedding aisle had a ninety degree turn that afforded all guests an up close and personal of the bride and groom as they made their way to the chuppah and the band rocked! Jamie’s choice and not negotiable. Good call, Jimbo Jolly! Normally crowds need to be coaxed onto the dance floor. At this affair, by contrast, nobody wanted to sit down and eat.

The ceremony was fraught with emotion. The aforementioned Merton Zonis, grandpa of the groom, was very ill a year back and general consensus was that he wouldn’t survive long enough to see the event. But Uncle Merton is a tough old bird.

When he puts his mind to something, even something such as his personal survival, he’s pretty determined. It was truly heartwarming having him there. On the other side of the aisle stood Abigail. Resplendent in white and full of happiness befitting the occasion. But inside her was a deep longing for what was no longer. Her father had passed away not long ago, having already left her years earlier as a result of the disparaging condition that comes with Alzheimer’s. Watching him melt away over twenty years and simultaneously dealing with her mother’s successful bout with cancer was a one two punch that might have felled lesser people. As a gifted writer and editor for The Guardian, Abigail used her talents to blog and write articles about what she was living through. Both cathartic and inspirational, meeting Abigail or George, as she is and will always be known to me, was one of the true highlights of the trip.

Last night, with Lori, me,

Jessica, Andrew,

Juli and Trevor

moving back to The Bull’s Head, Andrew proposed [he’s getting good at that] that we all go out to see the new Star Wars movie. Two hours later, my immediate family was sitting in a movie theatre in Manchester, England, all of us set to head off the following day to different corners of the globe (for a change), sharing an experience reminiscent of the times spent in Palm Desert, California, where we used to visit my folks over Christmas. Much has changed since those days of yore, but the most important elements remain constant. The love and good times go on. And nothing replaces family.

Trev, Mimi and Mark Lyons, Jimbo Jolly, Juli, Jessica W., Andrew, Jessica M., Will

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