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As my older sister, KK, can attest, when we were little, the Carenbauers were held up to us from an early age as the epitome of perfect children, who ate dinner every night at a perfectly appointed table with Bone China and heirloom silverware, never spilled a drop of milk or food on their perfectly creased trousers and crinoline petticoats, and had perfectly intelligent dinner conversations, punctuating every sentence with a “yes, please,” “no, thank you,” “may I. . . ” or “of course, mother, whatever you say.”  We believed in these mythical creatures and couldn’t believe that we were actually related to such quintessential children.  And they were older than us – they’d had practice, and obviously perfected, faultless behavior.

When George and Ellen visited us in California at various moments of our youth and adolescence, we WORSHIPED them.  No matter what they did, they were role models for us – they were older, they had already lived through the experiences we only heard about on the evening news (or our parents), like hippies, the Beatles, astronauts (Mercury and Gemini), Grandma Greene, Oglebay Park, McCullough’s Leap, The Mount, Georgetown and San Francisco.  They went out on DATES.  And they were as perfect as we had been promised. Ellen was gorgeous.  George was a perfect young gentleman, who held KK’s hand as the rode all the rides at Disneyland.  Michael helped KK and me get a compliment (our first) from the waitress at our neighborhood pizza parlor when we took him alone, without our parents.  Carl never made the trip out west to visit us on his own, so we worshiped him from afar.  Christine was in the rarified air, having made the transition from perfect child to perfect adult.

And so, as I headed east to attend the wedding of decade (at least to me), this image of perfection is what was stuck in my 54 year old brain.  I was nervous – I knew I had never achieved the state of perfection that had been dogging me since my childhood. (Although I did notice that I am now taller than all of them) And here I was, about to meet them all, teeming with perfection. I mean, really, the last time I had probably seen most of my Carenbauer cousins together had been at Grandma Greene’s 80th birthday in 1970 – when they were all at their collective height of coolness.

YIKES!

They are all still so. . .cool.  I still look at them with my 5 year old, 8 year old, 15 year old eyes.  They are the cool cousins, still perfect, still gorgeous, still the perfect gentlemen, gracious and welcoming and most importantly, fun.

I just had a blast.  I got to sing with Christine (and found out my mother had a recording of Annie Get Your Gun that she listened to with Chris)  while Michael played the guitar! I got to to take Ellen to Hannaford’s for ketchup and mustard and horseradish!  I got to talk to George about swimming!  (remember:  20 second intervals and hand paddles will strengthen your stroke)  Carl invited me to his room for beer!

PERFECT!

Here they are:

Carl

Georgie boy

Michael and Laura

Sam and Ellen