Polka allowed

Cake
Originally uploaded by private idaho.

“Maybe that’s all family really is, all the same people dreaming of an imaginary place.” Zach Braff said it in Garden State. I heard the line playing through my head as my father and uncle playfully teased one another over the fact that Money Magazine had rated Moorestown, New Jersey the best place to live and Naperville, Illinois #3 (my uncle lives there) Pissing contest . . . that’s only the beginning.

We’ve all been homesick for a place that doesn’t really exist. It’s a strategy, a strange idea, and our imaginary world. Of starting and ending sentences with prepositions, home baked cookies and home made perogies with real sour cream. Some would cringe at the mention of a reunion. Your knee deep in relatives and questions; deeper than a canyon with no escape.

Blood + Life = FAMILY.

After arriving in Ohio my brother said he would be waiting at the car rental, “You’ll see me when you walk outside I am in a SUV.” I saw him . . . or so I thought. I opened the back hatch, threw my luggage in the back, and climbed in the passenger seat. The man driving smiled and said, “Where are we going?”

My unprotective brother sat watching the entire thing. Ha Ha.

It’s “awesome” to think that we are family knowing we get along like champagne and strawberries. More than friends and deeper than soul – a baritone Barry White gliding through life with hugs and cheers. A family of practical jokers spread out like the Star of David. Boston, New Jersey, P.A., Florida, L.A., Manhattan, San Fran, S.D., Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Chicago, and Houston.

I miss them already but don’t miss the questions. I’d make a horrible celebrity.