Doesn’t Anybody Stay
in One Place Any More?

That’s the opening line from “So Far Away,” a song in Carole King’s record album “Tapestry” released in 1971. I’m reasonably sure that anyone born before 1955 will remember that album. The cover featured Ms. King and her cat sitting on a window sill. “Tapestry” won four Grammy Awards, including Album of the Year.

I will be attending my family reunion later this month, and the song “So Far Away” keeps running through my head. Our daughter and son-in-law won’t be attending; they live in Chico. Our grandson won’t be attending; he’s a student at Whitman College in eastern Washington. My cousin Heide won’t be there–she lives in Wisconsin. My niece Sara won’t be making the drive up from New Jersey. 

Every year I see a decrease in reunion attendees. The family is growing, but it is growing in locations far from the old family farm, now a subdivision. We may live in an age of social media and smart phones, but it is difficult to stay in touch with relatives on the other side of the country who are tenuously connected to you by family ties you hardly remember.

When my grandfather Martin was courting my grandmother Lillie, he rode on horseback to her farm four miles away. My mother and father grew up on farms about six miles apart. Before World War II marriage to the boy or girl next door wasn’t just a cliche, it was common. 

I did not marry the girl next door. Linda is from Gregory, a tiny town near Corpus Christi, Texas. Her father was born in Missouri, and her mother grew up near Tuscaloosa. They met during World War II when he was stationed in Alabama, and they ended up in Texas. 

Linda and I were married in La Honda, California, the home of author Ken Kesey and his “Merry Pranksters.” (I should make clear that we were not Merry Pranksters.) We lived in San Jose, San Leandro, Danville, and Fairfax before we moved to eastern Pennsylvania. As the song suggests, people don’t stay in one place anymore.

My friends are scattered more widely than my relatives. It takes effort to keep the bonds of affection from fraying, and my address file is littered with moribund friendships. Some months ago a former co-worker from California stopped writing and doesn’t answer the phone. I checked the on-line obituaries and did a Google search but found nothing. This does not feel like it will have a happy outcome.

In order to avoid that happening with me, I’ve prepared a list of emails of far-away friends and relatives to notify upon my demise. That way they will at least know when I’m gone. In the meantime, try to stay in touch. As Carole King sings, “It would be so fine to see your face at my door.”

~ Roy Christman