I remember when I was a child how much I loved my grandmother Silverman's things. They were not just functional plastic items, earthenware and stuffed sofas that most families had when I grew up. All of furniture and things in her apartment were 'alive' with romance, magic and beauty.

For instance, there was statue of a beautiful lady that stood in her hall. Actually, she was a 'bust'. That meant that her shoulders, a bit of her bosom, and of course her head were all carved in ivory. She was so wonderful, with perfect features and a delicate smile. She rested forever on a black marble column that had streaks of light colors running through it. I loved her and I wanted her to be mine! I begged my grandmother, "Please, may I have that statue someday?"

She promised it to me, but reminded me that reason it was white on black was that originally there had been two statues. Over years, each had fallen over. The base of one broke and head of other, so I would need to be careful and always watch that children did not fall near statue. They could hurt themselves or break her. Even with warning, I wanted her. I promised that I would be careful.

Her furniture also had such presence. The front hall chair was carved dark mahogany. It was big and shiny and very heavy. It felt like it had meaning, not just a place to sit. Perhaps fascinating people had sat in it; perhaps stunning women in long white dresses holding parasols, even.

“The family…that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to”. Dodie Smith

As I reflect on week I spent with my family celebrating holiday season I am awed and humbled by precarious balance of emotions when family comes together. I was looking forward to my parents, children and extended family gathering at my newly renovated home to spend a few days of laughter, connection and great food.

My parents came a few days earlier than rest of gang. It had been a while since we’d seen each other. I have a close relationship with my parents and I was excited to be with them.

We spent first few days together happily catching up, laughing and thoroughly enjoying each other. Amidst sweetness of visit I remembered a quote I once heard by Ram Dass who said something to effect of, “If you want to find out how evolved you are, spend a week with your parents”. It made me wonder how I would pass test.

Predictably, at around day three ice began to wear thin. Suddenly familiar family dynamics began to show their first signs, particularly with my mother. She and I, both bright women, who have each done lots of inner work, began to subtly play out our “roles” with each other. Before I knew it I turned into struggling to be a grown up kid full of reaction, and her, afraid to let go mother full of control and fear. Yikes.

It was stressful and I could feel my energy draining; yet I got caught up in busyness and fun of rest of family arriving and didn’t deal with underlying, growing feelings of frustration.

Then there were amazing moments. Three generations of women in kitchen preparing dinner. My mother, my daughter and myself tied together by birth, all engaged in a dance of past and present, tied to our roles yet curious and exploring who we all are as women in world. I was witnessing family legacy; I wondered how was I doing with my daughter, will she feel same inner conflict with me when she is grown?

The visit had come to its end. In last bittersweet hour we were together my mother and I hit an iceberg. We had a difficult interaction that we couldn’t quite resolve before she had to leave. It felt like a bucket of cold water got thrown on an essentially successful visit.