A stitch in time only makes evident the need for more in other places.

Last Thursday I went to the airport at 1:00am to pick up some family members and head to a family reunion in Ogden, Utah. I hadn't been to one of these things in 15 years, so as one might expect, there was hardly a familiar face in sight. I made small talk, helped teach my sister to canoe,  got my trademark shoulderless sunburn, and drank homemade root beer. Not bad for a holiday in the boonies.

I did my best to fit in (only not really because I don't believe in "fitting in") with my distant relatives. My dad who is not a hat person wore a red trucker's cap; it was perfect.

The scenery wasn't bad, and the heat was just right. it was a lazy day for everyone. I also got to hear a few stories about my grandmother and talk with my cousin about fishing. I haven't thought about fishing in over a decade.













My grandmother passed away earlier this year, so her (and my grandfather's) estate is in disarray to say the least. You might say my kind have two major hobbies. Family history and food storage. In the basement of my grandparents' home, my dad discovered what can be modestly described as enough food to outlast the apocalypse. Most notably, he found several thousand pounds of wheat (yes, that's two zero zero zero POUNDS), a thousand pounds of sugar, three hundred pounds of rancid pinto beans, and maybe two hundred pounds of bacon scented, home made soap. We decided to take some of it ourselves as most everyone else didn't want to deal with 55 gallon drums of unprocessed wheat. They only weighed around 350 pounds; people are so lazy sometimes.







Here I am with a hundred pound bag of sugar. Eat your heart out Costco weenies.

In other news, I spent the better part of the following Saturday working with my dad on my truck. We learned that my truck likely needed medium octane fuel, my drum shoes hadn't lost any mass the five years I've owned the vehicle, and despite the instruction of the Haynes manual, the ignition timing could not be altered. We also replaced the distributor cap, drive belts, and front break pads. Not bad for a day's work, $120, and twenty billion trips to Checker Auto Parts (I have nothing but good things to say about that place; they even let me return the timing light).

 On Monday, I left Logan, confident that my Atlanta-bound transport device was ready to go. I was wrong; it promptly overheated as I reached the outer rim of Sardine Canyon. Sigh...a redneck's job is never done.