You are a dancing queen

Weekend recap:

My mama and I drove around the big lake, that's Lake Michigan, through Chicago, through Milwaukee (with lots of annoying traffic stops and starts through those joints) on up to Appleton, Wisconsin for my cousin Sean's wedding.

This was one wedding I did not want to miss. Not because it was a gajillion dollar affair, or a destination wedding or because, ahem, the bride might start a brawl with the dj. No. (In fact, Stacia was a perfect hostess.)

It's because my Seanie and I go way back. Not that we see each other very often, or ever have. It's just that we've been soulmates from the start. I've just always loved that kid. No matter how much he tormented me, teased me or goosed me just to hear me say, "Shaw-awn, stop sticking your fingers in my craw-ock," I adored him. Maybe because he was so damn cute, or maybe it was that impish gleem in his eye (it's still there); perhaps it was that he was always in trouble and I was always trying so hard to be the good girl . . . or maybe it was just that we were the two biggest personalities around. We tend to be less afraid than most of looking like the fools that we are, of being on stage (even when it's your auntie's living room) and of sticking to our stubborn guns about whatever, even when we forget what it was we were so upset about and it wasn't logical to anyone else to begin with.

Most of all, we are kindred spirits in the dance. We have very different styles, both pretty balls out, but man, can we cut a rug. But Seanie, well . . . he's in a category all his own:



And in the end, that's what I have to say for my family--that extended group of people that so often don't get along and have squabbles over silly trifles and annoy each other just because it's what we've always done--no matter what, we can all get out on that dancefloor and boogie. It might not always be pretty, but who cares? We sure have fun. So even when certain members of our group aren't speaking to other members, we can always move through space together, broken funky chickens that we are (unless we park our arses on a bar stool and refuse to move for any reason the entire night--not even an 88-year-old granny's desire to have a photo of all her present grandkids. . . . but that's neither here nor there, is it?)

It's nice to know that you can go home again, and it is in fact wonderful to see the people who have known you the longest and who like being around you.

Congratulations Sean and Stacia, and thanks for the fabalous party!

And it was great seeing Shasta and Carlos, if only for a minute as we swung back through Chicago on the way home!