Ah, the joys of family. I really, really like mine. I went down to the Honeycreek Inn in Cannonsburg for dinner with some out-of-town aunts plus most of the rest of the W. Michigan brood. When I got to "the bar," as we call it, my aunt and uncle were there, at the bar, chatting with two women. My uncle Rich is of the gregarious elite, able to make friends in a second and always looking for more people to talk to. Once, after a memorial service, my aunts and mom and grandma and I were itching to leave and Rich said, "but this is such a great party!" My family on my mother's side is large, loud, and made up of really good cooks. My maternal grandparents owned a restaurant back in the day, my aunt Sue is the family baker/patissiere, and as my father says, my mother may be the only Rockford woman to cook breakfast, lunch and dinner for her family in one day. I kid, my mother is the cook I emulate, and she deserves higher praise than the fact that she practices. I was talking to my father today about present-day technology. He had spoken to my little sister's teacher who bemoaned the loss of human interaction since the internet and cell phones. I kind of love it. I love that by being even halfway courteous I am blowing everyone else out of the polite waters. A thank-you note written and sent through the mails is unique today; I love that. I love that by cooking sugar and cream for an hour I am a candy-making domestic goddess. My pot roast puts everyone else's non-existent pot roast to shame! During a recount of my maternal grandfather (the man who's name I share) and his propensity for flying off the handle at restaurants if he thought they were not up to par my dad said that his parents wouldnt have cared as long as the drinks were good. I have a good heratige. We cook, we eat, we drink, we argue politics and take things we know are jokes really literally. I am my family; I love us.