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This weekend was very full and very crazy. It was a whirlwind of adventure and entirely too short. We went to a wedding up in Seattle. It was in a big Catholic church. I think the last time I have been in a church was for Brian C’s wedding, and before that was probably summer bible school (back when my age was in the single-digits.) Fortunately, there was not a lot of pomp and circumstance. It was a simple affair and short enough. Admittedly, there was some off-key, out-of-step, painful to hear singing, but I guess that is expected in church. The real fun was through a door, down a hallway, and into a large-ish basketball gymnasium in the basement (the church is also a school.) The reception was very Southern, as were the families. Instead of champagne, there were shots of whiskey. The majority of the food was barbecued animals (pigs, cows, and chickens) and the stuff that was not directly meat was flavored with that special southern ingredient: bacon fat. All the folks had that genuine southern hospitality.

Also on the trip, we got to see Kim’s great aunt. She is very likely in her late 80’s, but has all the vim, vigor, and spunk of a 30 year old. It seems she is quite well off–having been married to a famous Seattle restaurant owner, living in a house that has over the past 40 years grown to be multiple millions of dollars, with the company of a housekeeper and jet setting son. I can only wish that I will be that healthy and well off in another 50 years.

Sunday was a great lunch at an Ethiopian restaurant for just the married couple and friends. Unfortunately, we met up at their house and waited for family to wind down and depart. The kids were cute. For 10 minutes. Then, giant piles of dishes in another room became fun and Kim and I got to reinforce our thoughts on kids. But eventually, we did have lunch and it was quite the tasty treat. The food was arguably better than the place locally up on Broadway. It was family owned and run and the little girl after which the place was named was there and obviously loving the attention.

The drive home was just as long as the drive up, but didn’t feel as long. Much like a tired horse will get a second wind when you turn him around and point him toward the stable, the drive home just felt much more short, knowing that my own bed–not a stiff Travelodge mattress–was waiting.

All sorts of fun stuff happened upon arriving home, but I am going to do the rule 6 thing and leave it at cryptic hints to an unstated event.

Posted in: Dear Diary

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