Sitting in the midst of relatives is always a blast. Even if you don't see each other but once a year, there's no denying the common bonds that family share that make you a special combination in the universe. Along the way, we observed that every one of the descendants of my grandparents has an innate ability to write well. We observed that while most of their descendants inherited the weight genes of my grandmother, one line inherited the weight genes of my grandfather and will always be that perfect, willowy thin that the rest of us battle to attain. (We love them anyway.) We observed that with no exception, all of us move to the beat of our own drummer. That fierce independent streak probably comes straight from the Scot-Irish strain, and I'm proud to be a part of it. We may be difficult to understand and especially to control, but we're never dull.
Grandparents Horace & Lucy Hodge
On the bad side:
Getting a call first thing Thanksgiving morning announcing that your father has fallen and broken his hip. Little brother caught the brunt of this festive round of hospitalization, since Mother can't be left alone. While I enjoyed the company of family on Saturday, he kept the vigil in the surgical waiting room. All is as well as could be expected under the circumstances, but the fact remains that our parents are in decline and the future for them is clouded. One bright spot has been the instant support received from my father's family in the way of emails and phone calls. Another unique family unit that I'm proud to be a part of.
Great-grandparents Will & Amanda Frankum
On the ugly side:
My house. The kittens are in total destruct mode. Things I put in wastebaskets are taken out and shredded into a million pieces. Boo is determined to explore the great outdoors and I have to dash out in my tattered nighty to retrieve him, which is no doubt going to get me a call from the neighborhood association to cease creating a public eyesore. They resent being shut out of my bedroom at night (I have to get some sleep, after all) and run down the hall to slam their little bodies against the door in protest. Sounds like hurricane BooScout has hit. They get into my clothes hamper and drag my underwear down the stairs. And then they crawl into my lap and start that crazy purring. Only thing that keeps their little hides intact.
Gee, I can't wait for Christmas.