Peaceful chaos. That's how it used to be when we'd gather at G'ma's house and the first of the grandkids were young. Half of my generation kept an eye and a handle on their kids but the other half did not. It was up to the responsible ones to keep count of all the kids. That was a peaceful chaos. Now the grands are grown and there are great-grands and some husbands and wives who managed to hang in there and always transient boyfriends and girlfriends and "just friends" at the gatherings.

The grands have become much more lax than their parents about caring for their own. The great-grands for the most part resemble wild babies left to care for themselves or attach themselves to an elder-gener who will wash their dirty little faces, hands and feet, comb their tangled hair and see that their bellies don't cry with hunger.

The G'ma has aged in bone and flesh. She's less tolerant of wasteful youth and more sorrowful for wasted youth. She's lost time and agility but she does love the children. G'ma's house can no longer hold everyone in comfort but her heart has room to spare.

There is tension at the gatherings now eminating from the grand-geners. It's like a coiled spring threatening to unwind at a word or a look. Some are missing because certain others are there. The elders are trying to implant the meaning of family in the wild babies before these tender buds too are gone. Not an easy task but a necessary one if they are ever to experience the comforting sway of family love and belonging. A peaceful chaos.