The Mister’s clan has three family reunions a year.  Since we were in Georgia for seven years, we weren’t obligated to attend the last twenty-one reunions, about which we felt, generally fiiine. Because you know, we’re not fans of buffet food, hot weather, gospel music, or, of course, people we don’t like.
This is not to say we don’t adore some of the people, but there are always those people we’d see, and feel like, “oh great, you’re here.”  Generally, something out of turn is said to us, such as how city we are, how we don’t come down enough, or how we shouldn’t buy name brand clothes for our kids. (I was previously unaware that Old Navy was a brand name?) And there would always be plenty of talk about how God doesn’t like you-name-it-we-do-it.

Yesterday was not like that. I don’t know what kinda special dimension we entered, but it was a pleasant experience. No one said anything out of turn to me. I asked The Mister if anyone had said anything out of turn to him, and he said no. Puzzling, but lovely.

The drive down was glorious. (Well, it was glorious until we realized there were no restrooms for the last hour-and-a-half. Bout hadda get out and pee in the grass with my dog!)  We drove to the boonies. One stoplight and a water tower. People leave their unattended cars running.

But the scenery, Oooh! Aaah! Red barns, bales of hay, rolling green hills. Sheep, Horses, Cows. Amber waves of grain, indeed! Corn and soy, of course. Every kind of tree. Barbs of Milkweed and Goldenrod, sharp spikes of hot pink Bull Thistle and masses of Bristle Thistle, Fleabane and Yarrow, Chickory lining the roadside, winding Trumpet Vine and clumps of orange Daylillies, occasional spots of pink phlox or wild Honeysuckle, and oh! the smell of wild Honeysuckle!

If you are anything like my husband, you didn’t understand much of that, but if you are at all like me, you can appreciate my love of home includes even the weeds.
I spent six of those seven years in Georgia wondering what the Hell all that spiky shit was, only to find they were baby palm trees. Quel dommage. I only found out because several spiky things started growin in my garden, and I didn’t plant them. My mother said, “Oh, if you leave these, they’ll grow into palms.” I left them, because they’re natural, but I don’t fucking LIKE palm trees.

At the reunion, some lady tried to tell us the Florida Keys are lovely, and we would like it much more than southern Georgia. (Like the Army gives a crap where soldiers and their families want to live, pshaw!) Mostly we looked at her like she was bat shit crazy, but we offered up the knowledge that we’d been, and that my parents live a short distance from there, and that no, we would absolutely NOT have preferred that. She went on about how lovely her trip had been, so I nodded and smiled, and said, “We don’t much care for hot weather.” That ended the conversation, as people are often troubled by this.

MIL must have hugged and kissed me five times at the reunion. When we left, I had just hugged and kissed her, but she swooped in again. “Are you going home?” >hug.kiss<
“Well, to your home.”
“It’s your home, too. Well, for now. It’s always your home.” >hug.kiss<
It was like she was drunk. Or high. Crazy-happy lady, I guess.

We took our dog, and her crate, and we weren’t the only people who did.

At least there was air conditioning!

I had this sorta epiphany while we were there. You see, one side of the reunion was filled with more fundamentalist Christians, and the other side was filled with other people: people who might be Christians, and people who certainly are, but also, other people, whose religious leanings might be less than my own.

So, on one side, we had women in long dresses and long sleeves, with long hair in buns, and no make-up or jewelry. On the other side, we had women with short hair, long hair, bleached hair, permed hair, dresses, jeans, slacks, and even short shorts. The men dressed the same on either side, because God only cares that women cover themselves, because women are apple-eating harlots who need to be oppressed. *rolls eyes* On that side, the people sang hymns with a harmonica and guitar as accompaniment. On our side, we had some piercings, tattoos, and bralessness — and well, no gospel music.
The more fundamentalist Christians live in an area where those even more fundamentalists, The Amish, also reside.
But still….

It was a self-segregation situation. No one put up signs.

In this house, I am wildly secular and worldly.
In that crowd, my MIL is worldly, with her short hair, short sleeves, and pants. It took a long time for her to rebel, or as she says, “pray on it.”
Years later, even Granny’s in pants, with her short, white, permed hair.

I thanked one of the well-covered women for her sugar cream pie, because it was one of the best things I ever put in my mouth.
Another well-covered woman, although wearing make-up, whatta trollop, tried to talk to me about who I am and where I came from. She wasn’t an adept conversationalist, so The Mister intervened.
“She used to come down with my sister when they were only schoolgirls.”
I have no idea who she was, as I didn’t with so many people who asked me who I was, but never got around to telling me their own names. Who does this?!

One of the missionary cousins engaged me in pleasant conversation, and I talked to her long enough to find a pause to ask, “Who are you, Dear?” She’ll be coming to visit this week, as she’s in town for the giant Nazarene convention. *asks husband what it is* Nazarene International Convention. That means a whole lotta people downtown are havin this conversation:
“Oh My Gawd! Are those Amish people?!?”
“No, I think they’re Mennonites, cause those people are driving.”
“No, look at the skirts, I think they’re Pentecostals.”
“My cousin’s a Pentecostal and they speak in tongues.”
“Is that right?”
But then, there will be many, many more who look like my in-laws, virtually undetectable holiness people.

At one point, a man was taking a picture of Drew and me, and I while smiling for the picture, through my teeth, I asked, “Do you know this man?”  Fortunately, she did.

Many of them remain nameless to me, but I saw some people I just adore, and almost never get to visit with. Due to a blessed divorce, one asshole wasn’t there, and that may have helped my experience substantially. We were there for over four hours! Other than spitting out a very bad deviled egg, I had no bad experience. I can only hope the other two go as well.