I never, not once, ever went to a family reunion as a child. Never.
Then I married a guy whose family likes to do it every year. And not just an afternoon potluck. Oh, no. They like to do a weekend event. Friday evening get together. All day Saturday. Sunday brunch and goodbye. No joke. They sit around and talk about old times. For three days. Three days of remember when and like that time and didn't we have fun.
Three days of getting nothing done. Of listening to stories about people I don't know or places I've never been. Three days! THREE DAYS!
I'm all out of talk on Friday.
You can tell how talkative a person is by the content of their blog. The more posts, the more likely they are a talker. My blog says it all. There are days, weeks, sometimes months between posts. It's not that I'm anti social, exactly, but to just sit and talk and talk and talk... aaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkk!
Can you tell what's happening this weekend?
Wish me luck. Wish me love. Wish me the gift of blarney!
Well, I realized as I was writing this some would think it sounded mean, but that was not how I meant it. Combined with the fact that this is my blog, where I get to decide what to write or edit out, I felt and still feel fine about posting my feelings. Some people are great at sitting around and talking. Some people are great at climbing mountains. Some people are great at laying out in the sun. I'm not great at any of those. I like to knit, or read, or sew, or crochet, or cook, or bake, or sit on the porch and enjoy the rain. As I'm off in the remote location, I'm keenly aware of just how much dust is in my house or that there is zucchini to shred or a garden that needs weeded. I'm not judging anyone else for their ability to do it, please re-think judging me because I can't. I'm simply saying OMG it's really not my forte and I'm frustrated and anxious about it.