I was so sad to crawl out of bed this morning and go back to work. I wanted desperately to be back in San Diego hanging out with the cousins, playing with my nieces and nephews, hugging my grandparents. A full day's work later now and the reunion already seems like a fading memory. But I have a peeling sunburn and oodles of pictures to prove it happened. And I can't wait for the next one!
A big thanks to my Aunt Jo for planning the whole thing and Jack and Jan for giving us 60 wonderful years to celebrate!
This is one of our classic cousins photos.
Grandma likes us to line up tallest to shortest.
The short ones are always the jokers, aren't they?
Hey. It's been awhile and I've been missing you. Last we were together I remember thinking I'd see you again soon -- a matter of months maybe. I never imagined we'd spend this long apart. And now I can't quite remember when that was - Hawaii maybe? A year and a half ago? Too long.
Less than 24 hours now before we meet up, at a long last. I'm unreasonably excited just to hear your voice again. That rumbling, hissing, metronomic melody. I'm sure I'll kick off my shoes the moment I see you, fighting the urge to tumble straight into your embrace. You're the keeper of my happiest childhood memories. Your many moods keep me coming back.
I'll see you soon.
I know bragging is not attractive. But seriously, is that not the loveliest quiche you've ever seen? And if you could smell it . . . oh if you could smell it, you would be tempted to dive in before it's cooled. You'd burn a layer off the top of your mouth and then every time it made you wince at something hot or tangy during the week, you'd remember that tasty, tasty quiche you had on Sunday.
I wasn't a fan of quiche when mom used to make it as a kid. Then I lived in France and things changed. My quiche concoctions are rarely triumphs, because I'm not much for details when I follow recipes. Too much improvisation, I suppose. But this time I followed carefully - only replacing the bacon with ham. It's a Quiche Lorraine I plan to take to the park tonight for our Sunday symphony feast.
If I can wait that long to taste it.
When my middle sister was a teenager, she had a moody side and the lip color to match. It was a drug store variety called "Real Raisin" and we teased her about it all the time. All these years later, would you believe that my lipstick - the one I absolutely must have on to feel even remotely attractive - is nearly the exact hue of Real Raisin?
I tell you this to illustrate how my sister has been setting an example for me for many years - even when I didn't know it.
When she became the first of the siblings to marry, I thought she was doing it way too young. But here's the thing: over the last ten years she has become the most remarkable mother, wife, daughter and sister.
I love talking to her. I love spending time at her house. I love the warm and fun-loving atmosphere she fosters. I love how she treats her darling sons like conspiratorial best friends and teaches them to live full lives. I love her new blog! I love how she geeks out over a new computer game or gadget. I love the way she gets giddy about a new recipe and slaves for hours to bring us gourmet delights. I love that she has a movie-grade popcorn machine and a huge candy dispenser in her house and a penchant for karaoke and Guitar Hero. I love that she's always the one instigating a family get together, a sister's night out, a treat for mom. I love how she remembers everyone's birthday and makes each one special.
I don't know how she does it. I do know that every time I'm with her I want to be a better me. And if that's not the most amazing gift a person can have, I don't know what is.
Happy Birthday Liz.
When the mailman comes to my house it sounds like someone is trying to break in. He flings open the screen door, shoves envelopes through the metal slot and let's the screen door slam shut behind him. The first time it happened, I was in the other room. I grabbed my phone and was dialing 9-1-1 when I realized he meant no harm. "Just bringing the mail, m'am."
Today Mr. Postman delivered my power bill. I've been dreading it since this is the month I finally turned the A/C on in my little apartment. I had to. It's been 90 degrees or hotter for 3 weeks straight. I've had two fans running 24/7 all month. So I was certain the electricity bill would be ugly. I left it lying there on the mat by the door where it had dropped for a few hours before mustering the the nerve to tear it open.
$37.87.
I'm pretty sure the power company made a mistake. But I'm not going to call them on it.
I've kept the thermostat cranked up pretty warm most of the time - letting the cool air flow only when I'm around on weekends or trying to fall asleep at night. It's been nothing like the unbearable heat of my oven/apartment in SLC. And for less than $40 a month during the first big heat wave of the summer!
Hey Southern Summer, is this all you got? Seems like I was worried about nothing.
The folks who make my new favorite drink also make Cheerwine. It sounds fishy enough that I've put off tasting it until today. Kind of expected a cherry coke wannabe. No sir. It's all cherry like a super-fruity Fanta with a caffeine kick. A tad sweet for 9 a.m., but I'd been up for five hours and was already having lunch.
I'm thinking it'll be the perfect summer weekend treat diluted with some soda water of over ice and a twist of lime. I love these southern snacks.
One of these days I'll try the fried gizzards, too, just don't rush me.
Work requires me to wake up at 4 a.m. for the next few days. Driving to the office in the dark it was just me and the trucks on the freeway this morning. Had sort of a road trip feel to it. Drowsy. Dark. Semis on all sides.
It's now 6:33 p.m. and I'm tempted to go to bed. But the sun is still high in the sky and it's 90 degrees. The next few days will not be easy.
This is one of our classic cousins photos. 
