Relatively Speaking 1989

Relatively Speaking 1989 בס"ד
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SPRING 1989/L’AG B’OMER 5760 Volume 2 # 1

FOURTH COUSINS ONCE REMOVED?
Nu? So Who Would've Guessed!
by Rich Brownstein

    It was the tail of a very long December day; I wasn't sure it would ever end. After driving from Portland to San Francisco in a 24-foot U-Haul (with Mustang in tow) on my way to Los Angeles, I double-parked the vehicles in front of a friend's hillside apartment, pausing only momentarily in the hopes of finding an overnight resting place for the contraption. Of course, locating a suitable safe spot to retire five thousand cubic feet of belongings and engines -- even for just eight hours -- is a very tedious proposition.
    It was about three weeks before Reagan, too, would be moving to Los Angeles, but I was sure he would have considerably less trouble guarding his possessions in transit.
    Minutes later my Bay-Area friend and I embarked upon an eighty minute struggle in search of a 10-yard stretch of empty pavement for the monstrosity. Finally, after reluctantly deciding to risk my life's possession overnight at a nearby armory, we returned to the apartment for a cup of coffee. But before I could even contemplate relaxation, I scrambled in desperation to a late night phone hoping to bypass the same tortuous struggle the following day upon my arrival in Lake Land.
    "Hello? Is this the Rimmons?
    "Yes."
    "Joan?"
    "Yes."
    "This is cousin Rich Brownstein from Portland."
    "Great to hear from you Rich. Where are you?"
    "I'm spending the night in San Francisco. I'm finally moving down to L. A."
    "Great!"
    "Listen, Joan, I was wondering, I have a big favor to ask: I have this rental truck ... and it's quite big... and I need a good amount of curb space to park it until I can find an apartment and unload it. I have a place to stay when I get there and will move it as quickly as possible, but it's just that you guys have the perfect spot in front of your home. And I really wouldn't ask unless I had no other choice. I would really appreciate it. I know it's a lot to ask, but..."
    "Well, to be honest Rich, I actually don't mind ... except for the wedding this weekend."
    "The wedding? Really? Oh, the wedding."
    "Yes, Alissa and Kenny are getting married this weekend. But I suppose, just as long as the truck is gone by the time our party starts a week from tomorrow, I guess that would be fine. When will you be here?"
    "Tomorrow afternoon."
    "Great. See you then Cousin Rich."
    So, of course, I conspicuously arrived the next night just in time for dinner and it was great. And through this and other measured amounts of chutzpah, on my part, the Rimmons -- the keepers of the Langsdorf Legacy -- and I became friends late last year, but this is not how I first came to know them.
    A few month earlier, just before visiting Los Angeles, I was sent a ten-page computer printout of a portion of my mother's mother's mother's father's father's family tree. I figured if someone was nice enough to chronicle two centuries of my history for me, I would be nice enough to thank them.
    So at about 9:30 on an October week night I called the number on the family tree and asked to speak with Mrs. Rimmon. I introduced myself; she was overjoyed. Somehow I got the feeling I knew this woman. She asked where I staying, and upon learning that I was only a few minutes away, insisted I come down for some tea. Sounded good to me.
    After getting direction, Joan Rimmon mentioned that Adina would be home by the time I arrived. That sounded great too, except I didn't know Adina. "Well, sure you do," Joan insisted. "Adina and your brother Jeb spent a year studying in Israel together in 1979." Honest? "And Adina is good friends with your sister, Jois." Oh? "Sure. She even calligraphed your sister's wedding invitation last year." Gee. "In fact, I'm sure you two have met. Probably when Jois lived in Los Angeles a few year ago." Super.
    "And,... Joan added, "Alissa is also here, tonight." Well, I'll be happy to meet her too, I said. "Oh, but you already know her!" Joan persisted. Nah. Sure, you and Alissa also went to Israel together." No way. "Didn't you go to Israel on a UJA mission in 1981?" Yes. "Well, Alissa remembers everything about you." Fantastic. "So, come down now and you can meet Kenny, too, Alissa's fiancé. They'll be married in late December you know." Mazel tov. See you soon.
    Within fifteen minutes I was greeted by a few familiar faces and more hospitality than could be described by a single metaphor. And it was all true; I had, in fact met the 29 and 26-year old women in my youth. Yet -- as if these coincidences weren't astounding enough -- it had only been within the last 18 months that Joan had ascertained our relationship to her: fourth cousins, straight across, we shared great-great-great-grandparents. Joan had even give my father's mother a ride from Baltimore to D. C. within the last year. She knew the whole mishpucha.
    So the Rimmon women and I chatted about our families and about my intention to move to Southern California to become a screenwriter and about Jewish life in L.A. And we had a great time. Feeling very much at home, upon leaving I promised to call when I finally moved to town. But I'm sure they didn't quite have my U-Hal in mind.
    Two months later, with the truck parked in front of their inviting home, I visited periodically to grab a few clothes and supplies. Without hesitation, they continually offered food and friendship and favors. This, in itself, was quite extraordinary, but with a huge wedding merely days away, they still managed to offer a great deal of time and help. The Rimmons invited me to the post-wedding part and to the pre-wedding Shabbat dinner at sister Elana's )fourth cousin-once removed) house and often to dinner.
    As it happened, during a late night conversation with Adina I was sure to mention that I understood, perfectly, receiving no invitation to the wedding, itself. I made Adina promise that, if the topic ever arose with Joan, to be sure to let her know that I fully understood the preparations of a large wedding. I realized that, with tables having been ordered and RSVPs having been meticulously tallied, I could hardly expect a bid on such a late date.
    The next day Joan called to ask me to attend their wondrous event. I didn't need to be asked twice.
    Such a beautiful occasion was Alissa and Kenny's wedding that I almost wished to be married myself! The guests were very friendly, the food was fantastic, and we did enough dancing to last ten years.
    I still visit with the Rimmons about once a week. Their hospitality has meant more to me that they will ever know. Moving to a new city is difficult enough, but knowing that family like the Rimmons are there for me seems to have made my new life just that much sweeter. So the next time you hit the road, take along a copy of Joan's family tree and look up a cousin or two. The roots are deep, the branches are wide and you never know who you'll find.
                                                                        _________________
    Rich Brownstein is a 27-year-old writer who doesn't mind blind dates one bit. You can reach him with potential brides at (213)852-9786.

I want to thank Rich Brownstein for his delightful contribution to our "Relatively Speaking," and invite anyone else who so desires to become a contributing editor.

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