BACK TO WORK AFTER THE EASTERN JAUNT

Back to work.

After nine days off--trip to Pennsylvania with my sisters and my Poppy--today was that dreaded day in which one must, mentally, cast off all illusions of cocoon-ism and rejoin the rest of the world as they--we--slog through, primarily, eight-hour shifts so that we can have money/clams/greenbacks at the end of the week. (Or bi-weekly...but that's just confusing.)

Two words: it sucks.

I was really digging spending the time with my dad and my sisters, Alexis and Melmac th' Great (Melissa). It was great to hit the road in the Cherokee and drive through the hills of Pennsylvania and to meet family members of whom I have just the barest recollection. It didn't hurt that all of the kin that I met were kind and overly-hospitable. They just were.

I felt like an honored guest. And--shit!--the food was delish! Good ole home-cooking: can you beat it? The best home-cooked meal that I chewed and swallowed was served at my second cousin Kevin's house. He and his wife, Sue, are both successful real estate agents and so their house is a fucking beauty. Located in the historic district of...oh, shit, I forgot the name of the town. But, anyway, it's a hop skip and a jump from the Deleware River and, I have to admit, I felt the sting of Jealousy as Kevin gave us the tour of the house. Yeah. They're rich. And I'm very happy for them. Seriously.

But, anyway, the food. Sue cooked some pork loin and made a salad and they grilled about 1300 ears of sweet corn on the LP behemoth in the backyard, located right next to the immaculate in-ground swimming pool, said pool spruced up, redid, for the low low price of 30 grand. Yikes!

But, anyway, the food. It was fantastic. Throughout the whole trip it was fantastic. I gained eight pounds. :-O That's fine, though. It was for a good cause. Hell, they were offering and I was eating.

Speaking from a colon's point of view, the food was a bit--how to say?--heavy on the system. Just meat, meat and more good meat. (And also, sometimes, potatoes.) Texas-sized shits. But! Speaking from a tastebud's point of view, it was alllllll good. The marinades, the garlic...yum.

I have to say something about the B****** Farm. Established in 1913 and located in Waymart, Pennsylvania, the B****** Farm has been the meeting place for scores of family reunions, starting in 1915. My dad has gone to the farm since he was a boy, some sixty-plus years, now. There are a hell of a lot of memories bouncing around those hundred acres. But, the main thing, for me, is that when I go back to the farm, I am imbued with the feeling of coming home. Surprising, actually, as I am not coming home. I was born and raised in Royal Oak, Michigan. But the farm is so cool. They have cows and geese and pigs and barncats and, seeing as how I am a die-hard fan of all things Animal, I have a good time. Sure, the pigs stink. So what? I think that if I were around said sows and piglets for a couple of weeks, I would not even begin to register the permeating manure-smell. But, basically, the farm is nice place to visit, seeing as how 100 years of B******s have traversed the landscape, eaten in the kitchen, dropped loads in the bathrooms (and the outhouse). Family melts off of the walls. Generations of B******s. Tres cool.

While we were visiting, my dad's Uncle Tom said to me, "We've a quad. You want to take it for a spin?"

Now, seeing as how I have ridden a four-wheeler once in my lifetime--two weeks ago in Luther, Michigan--I felt more than qualified to take the 2008 Polaris automatic for a spin. I think--know--that I scared the shit out of Aunt Jean when I, somewhat unfamiliar with the Power o' the Polaris, gunned the thumb throttle and kicked up some gravel. I adjusted nicely, though. In no time, I was flying down B****** Road at about 40 miles per hour, enjoying the wind in my face, the sun on my bald pate. Quads are fun! But. I asked my cousin Tommy--42 years old if he's a day--how much he shelled out for the '08 Polaris. "Um, something like 9800," he said. "But it's got all the bells and whistles." I nodded sagely. I'll not be getting one. (Besides, I live in the Concrete Jungle of metro-Detroit. Where the hell would I ride it?)

Anyway, the trip was fricking great. It was great to see my dad hobnobbing (not a dirty word) with his cousins and his aunts and uncles and it was great to spend time with my sisters, whom I see far-too rarely, and it was just fucking great to get away from work for a week. Now, though, I am out of vacation time and personal days and I have no sick occasions, either. That's all right. I'd take a week off with no pay to experience Family.

Money comes and goes and bills are omnipresent, but quality family time is priceless. It really is.