THE ONE THING NEEDED

The first week of November moves my focus to holiday gatherings and visiting guests. Of the two biblical sisters, quiet Mary and fretful Martha, its clear who I tend to be. I shake up my family to clean up everything. Bud flits in water heaven as he scrubs our open kitchen. And the congenial host with the gift of hospitality, MBH, calmly handles the details.

I ordered a scrub-fest for our sole October visitor, my sister Debra Ann, who christens me, “Cynthiaaaaa.” Overhearing this moniker, a friend gleaned my pretty sister’s nature. It mattered not that after decades I am the “Até” (Filipino for eldest sister) and that she is the height-challenged of all six sisters. Whenever her manicured pointer finger arched into a flick, well, someone got up and cleaned.

Sisters, sisters there were never such devoted sisters . . .

The guest room and bathroom sparkled dustless, though Debra Ann planned to stay with us for less than 24 hours.

The first part of Debra Ann’s visit we took her to the largest hand-packed peach facility this side of the Mississippi, Lane Southern Orchards. These late autumn days their peach trees were harvested. The strawberry patch rested under black plastic sheets for frost protection. The golden cornfield became a cut maze to befuddle wandering guests. The orchards’ packing plant holds a barn-sized gift shop with fresh fudge and Georgia food products. Then there’s the restaurant, open midday, with an adjacent peachy dessert parlor.

Oh yes, we sisters shared a bowl of crunchy peach cobbler topped with peach ice cream. I let her enjoy most of it. Smooth, sweet tastes had us giggle as we rocked on white rockers outside, facing the orchards across the road.

I recalled Daddy driving us to the sun-blessed peach orchards on the cusp of the Sacramento Valley. My petite sister clambered up tree limbs in her red canvas, white laced, rubber top sneakers; rosy ripe pickings beckoned from the top. We filled several crates lined with newsprint. From those gathered freestones, Mommy canned jar after jar of delights. Hmm. Those jars of yore looked like those jars on the Lane display my sister photographed with her Blackberry.

Do you have family coming this holiday season? I’d say you better hurry, clean up, cook ahead, and pacify that spare room for a guest or more. However, when the doorbell rings follow my beloved hubby’s example. Go straight to the door to welcome them in “for a spell.” Take time to make memories that spark nostalgic connection.

Blessed be that Tie that binds us together in love.