"The great gift of family life is to be intimately acquainted with people you might never even introduce yourself to, had life not done it for you."

- American writer Kendall Hailey

One day, a young woman stepped into an elevator.

Two floors later, a young man did the same.

Thanks, Fate, I'm tickled. Overwhelmed.

You introduced my daughter to her soul mate, now her husband.

But more.

Out yonder, scattered everywhere, Colorado to Connecticut, are members of a vast herd of brothers, aunts, cousins, fathers-in-law, nephews, mothers. They're now all mine, courtesy of my son-in-law.

You'd be correct in pointing out that there are no blood ties.

But there are heartstrings. Please, allow me to play them for you someday.

It's been a very long time since I've had an extended family.

The ones I did have are long departed, through death or divorce.

Then, magically, elevator doors opened, and so did all sorts of possibility.

Thank you. Thank you. The Dow Jones hit a new low last week.

An astronaut goofed during a space walk.

Pirates demanded a $10 million ransom.

Iran, they say, has boosted its uranium stocks.

But for this week, this coming week, I'd rather concentrate on cranberry sauce.

That, and blessings. If all else was lost what would it matter if our families were safe?

A 4,600-year-old grave in Germany with remains of two adults and two young sons is providing earliest DNA evidence that even prehistoric tribes attached importance to the family unit. This classic nuclear family was buried, the members facing each other - an unusual practice in Neolithic culture, Reuters news service reports.

"Their unity in death," said one researcher, "suggests a unity in life."

My guess is we humans all have much more in common than our stated differences of age, race, ethnicity, education, geography, religion, culture may at times imply.

The desire for strong, satisfying family ties is one almost-universally shared longing. Those who have them are inclined to feel secure; those who don't, often felt impelled to keep on seeking.

Thanksgiving this year is at my place. My grandmother's frayed tablecloth has already been hauled from storage in honor of what once was. But I've hocked my belongings to buy a bottle of my son-in-law's not-so-guilty pleasure, good Scotch, a tribute to what is.

Family, wow. They're on their way - and I'm so very glad for it.

BETSY SHEA-TAYLOR, a former editor and writer for The Sun Chronicle, is a freelance writer.