This past Saturday, my family had a MASSIVE reunion, and I'm not just talking first cousins—I met relatives from branches of the family that I didn't even know existed. We have some relatives who live in New York, as well as the more Southern branches of the family here in Virginia, so it was an interesting blend of characters. My grandfather organized it all, and the reunion was held in an old country Methodist church near where my Great Great Great Uncle Cab was run over by a train. (How sentimental.)
Cousin Robert from Queens stayed in our house with his wife, Margie. Cousin Robert wears massive rings and gold bracelets, and slicks his hair over his bald spot. While his extremely loud New York voice booms out-of-place in our quiet town, there's something endearing about him—he tells hilarious (and exaggerated, I'm sure!) stories. He brings down chocolate truffles and (used to bring us) DVDs of questionable legality that my paranoid mother would always end sticking in the microwave as soon as he left to "destroy the evidence." (If you're an FBI agent who happens to be reading this, then don't get your underpants all in a twist, because he brought us real DVDs this year—perhaps he's made better friends who don't run sketchy movie stores.)
Margie is an angel—she uses expressions such as "Crumbs!" when she's agitated and "Oh my glory!" when she's surprised. While she was ecstatic to visit us for the first time in years, she missed her beloved cats (they don't have children) back home. (As I recall from a trip when I was very young, she fed them from a glass goblet.) Her eyes are beautiful and friendly, and she positively radiates joy and kindness.
On short notice, we found out that we would host two additional guests, Cousin Robert's brother and his wife who own a horse farm in Ohio. While it was hectic preparing another room for them, they were lovely people—Bill has caterpillar eyebrows, a friendly smile, and a booming voice (most likely due to his loss of hearing), and Carolyn has crinkly eyes and a soothing accent. Despite a recent freak accident on the farm that involved one horse bleeding halfway to death after another one kicked him, they (Bill and Carolyn, that is, not the horses, I imagine) were in good spirits. I enjoyed hearing Bill tell old family stories into the late hours of the night, especially the ones about his time as a trade school student in Chicago. He told me that the appeal of the city wore off after a few years (and bitter cold winters) for him—he hadn't fallen in love with Chicago like I have.
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