Last weekend was the family reunion. I go, in recent times, every decade. Others go every year like a pilgrimage to Mecca.
I suppose it should be big deal; after all, this is my extended family. However, most of them are folk that I would never have anything to do with in the normal events of daily life. Not that they aren't nice people, but their expectations of life are in a completely different realm than mine. In fact, in the past it's almost like several hills out of the hills of Kentucky were lifted in entirely and transplanted into SW Wisconsin; that is my family: bible thumping country folk that I have absolutely no ability to relate to.
Kind of sadly, though, I don't think this reunion is going to survive many more years - the older folk are not attending (either through lack of ability or death, including my dad who was my most immediate link to these people). Some part of me wants to keep the family spirit going.
But let's just say that my last name is Smith. Since my mother, my daughter and myself were the only ones there with that last name, it has already escaped beyond my purview. There were a host of others with relationships to the family but no other Smith's in the party.
What does that say about this particular reunion? Over? Yep.