Most of my cousins are so much older than me that we were never super close, and since my dad was one of 9 kids and my mom one of 6, I have a lot of them. If I think about it hard enough, I can name all my cousins, but not their spouses and kids.

I could not believe my husband didn't know about how old his cousins were, what they were doing, that he'd sometimes not talked to them in years and had no idea how they were.

Oh, god, this is me. But I have an assload of first cousins, and second cousins are mostly like first cousins, so they make it a metric buttload.

I have one cousin, and I couldn't tell you where she is or what she's doing. She's a year older than my sister, I know that much.

a night spent catching fireflies

I remember doing this (and smearing them on the patio if we didn't have a jar), even though we didn't get paid for it.

Shorewood was a relatively new village while I was growing up. Our subdivision was being carved out of the cornfield street by street (our street was the second of four that were put up at about the same time), and the whole town was about a mile from north (our end of town) to south (where the first strip mall went up when I was about 8 or so). That strip of stores had the quickie mart, liquor store, drug store (with post office inside), hardware store, and later a few restaurants, as well as the Tasty Freeze ice cream place (hardshell chocolate topping on a vanilla cone was always my favorite!) and library. For years, that was it for any retail in town--the McDonalds didn't open until I was in college, even though I-55 ran just east of town.

Now, it's a completely different story. Mom's family farm (established in 1862) a few miles west of town was sold off to the developers two years ago, and my uncle was the last one east of the railroad tracks to sell. Every time I drive through town, I have no clue where I am since there are no longer any familiar landmarks. The aunt and uncle who used to live next to the farm moved only four blocks from where I grew up, and when I went to their house the first time, I was blown away by how much everything had changed. Even our street had some houses that had been changed from the standard ranch to a 2-story, and all the trees that were brand new when I was growing up had, of course, gotten much bigger!

The summer I was 10 was spent in the Upper Peninsula with my grandparents. Most of the time it was just them and me and my dog. But for 2 weeks, a bunch of friends from Detroit would come and stay in the campground we lived in for the summer.

Swimming in the morning. Lunch. Swimming in the afternoon. Campfires with Hobo Pies and s'mores and guitar playing and sing alongs and satellite watching.

I am sitting here and I realize that David doesn't even know how glad he is that I don't have a camera phone after all, since I would take 100000 pictures of my cat asleep on my belly.

FYI.

There was always the one- or two-week family vacations, as well. Michigan/Mackinac Island one summer, the drive around Illinois/St. Louis, the week at Bear Island Resort in Ely, MN, a few trips to my grandparents in Arkansas, the trip with those grandparents to visit my Greatgreatuncle Gus near Minneapolis (a very cool elderly man of small stature with a thick Swedish accent who loved to play pinochle until the wee hours and watch pro wrestling on Sunday mornings). We never ventured out of the Midwest until I was 14, when we went to Florida and I first saw the ocean.

jesse, there is always: [link]

( or [link] if that fails)

Man, I love Homer.

Hee! But you know what? I think we've both lost weight since that picture. He isn't that fat anymore, I don't think.

That is an ENORMOUS cat.

I have an urge to go to the east coast to see sarameg and friends.

He also just...spread. He's spready.

And you look awesome in that picture. OK, the flash got you, but still.

Kat! You should! But not the first weekend in August.