I would assume that my family still gets together most Sunday afternoons for dinner, so when I say that it’s time for our family reunion, what I really mean to say is that I’ll be a part of the gathering.

I have time to fly up to Utah for a weekend in July, taxi over to one of my brother’s home to pick up a spare car so that I can drive up to Fruitland to be with the rest of the family. The Fruity cabin is my sister-in-law’s place, but one that I’ve been coming to since the late 1990’s. I have nothing but the best memories up here.

Grandma does the traditional family reunion matching shirts, as well as some old tried and true reunion games that are corny as hell, but of course we all love playing them.

Days are spent on the lake. Fishing with hardly a bite and only one catch, but the time on the water is so well spent. We switch to wakeboarding and to my surprise I see that my nephew has the same natural talent as his father on the water. My niece too.

I bring my newfound paint pour hobby up with me, and we spend on afternoon letting everyone try their hand at it. One of my other nieces showcases true artistic talent doing this, combining colors perfectly to create some mind blowing effects. She’s so crafty, just like her Mom.

Short and sweet my time up here was. I find these years though that I need to take quality time over quantity time.

And so, for just a moment, I remember how life used to be when I was part of those weekly Sunday dinners. I tuck that feeling away, deep inside, letting it’s slow, warm love grow close to my heart.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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