This weekend, I went to visit with my father’s family. Not the whole thing, obviously, just a few. My uncle has cancer and he was in town. It seemed like a good idea. And so it was
I didn’t socializing with new people this week, unless you count my uncle’s friend, who just fit right in and seemed bizarrely comfortable with the family. I just hung out with the family. I love how when you get enough together the stories start coming out. I love hearing the stories of all the things they have done, the happy self-mockery, the stories of each other’s exploits and mistakes and adventures. I wish I knew them all, but am glad that there always seem to be new ones i haven’t heard.
I love my uncles, my aunts, my cousins. And I love the bitty children of my cousins.