With Abandon

Someone once said to me, "You are so lucky that your family knows how to laugh."

Laughter doesn't do it justice. It's shrieking. It's being doubled over in belly pain. It can often become a "Depends" moment.

Last weekend, we had a lovely dinner and then played cards with some relatives. The husband does a great impression of Aunt Ann. Patty's laugh is so contagious that I get the giggles just thinking about it. Aunt Judy's facial expressions crack me up. I would swear Wild Bill was in the room. Peggy can hoot and holler with the best of them and she would win. My mother and I could laugh watching paint dry.

Our men were there. They played some games with us and then watched tv. No offense to them but the girls had more fun.

I combed my hair for Uncle Harry. He griped about it anyway. Then, I beat him at cards.

We laugh out loud. We cry at funerals. Sometimes we cry for no reason other than it feels good to get it out. We're kind to each other and we forgive the occasional emotional outburst.

Actually, we embrace it.

The husband and his brothers had a running punchline during the Belle's and Hangdog's funerals. They would introduce themselves and then say, "I'm the emotional one." They were telling the truth and once again I realized why we fit.

Chop Chop

I worked downtown for many years. Every few weeks I went to a nail/hair salon on the next block for a manicure. Occasionally a meeting would come up and I would have to cancel. Nail person was overbooked. She was very kind but I didn't have time to mess with the scheduling. I went to the chop/chop shop by my house. (Her description -- not mine.)

When my business changed, the chop/chop shop became way more convenient. Then, the oldies came to live with us. She visits the same chop/chop shop. They speak a different language there but yelling at each other is yelling at each other in any language. I pretend not to notice. The mother-in-law camps there and asks questions. She's southern and she charms them. They are there for the long haul -- manicures and pedicures for both of them. Then, she gets the scoop. We know way too much about the lives of our Chop/Chop people.

Sometimes I try to pinch a few pennies with my hair stylist so I'll have my roots done but no haircut. This can go on for a while but then I start looking a little Pentecostal. I have to bite the bullet and go whole hog: Do the roots, do the foils, wax my brows and chop chop away with the hair.

We were watching television the other night and Big Daddy made a comment about women who don't "keep themselves up." (I don't know what that means but I got a little paranoid that he was staring at my roots.) Coincidentally, I had a hair appointment the next day. I did it all, including chopping about 3 1/2 inches off my mane.

He didn't comment. I truly believe he hasn't noticed. Nor did the oldies. All of my girlfriends noticed immediately.

Roots

Lots of people are tracing their roots. The Internet has opened a new world of information and made it accessible in a way that was never available before. I have no desire to trace my roots. I have the family albums. I know the family stories. My wildly imaginative mind can fill in the rest.

Big Daddy's family lives forever. Longevity is on their side. We will all see Willard Scott salute them on a Smucker's jar.

Are you cracking up that Lynne Cheney was doing research for a book and discovered that her husband, our Republican vice president, is an eighth cousin of Democratic presidential candidate, Barack Obama? Well, I am. Instead of making some long and lofty speech, the Obama spokesman released this statement: "Every family has a black sheep." Funny and classy.

I care about roots. Mine have grown out about an inch. I'm sparkling like a Christmas tree. So, you go track your family history. I'm going to go get my roots touched up.

Big Hair People

One of my goddaughters is a freshman in college. Her mom always teases me that she got my DNA. I tease back that I injected some while my friend was pregnant.

We share some scary traits.

She has my humor. She has my lack of patience with stupid people or stupid situations. But most of all, she has my hair. Like me, she has spent her lifetime trying to tame it. I don't have the heart to tell her it's not going to happen.

The running joke in my life is that my hair arrives on the scene about 5 minutes before I do. It's slightly true.

(Oh Emily, I'm sorry. I held you within seconds when you were brought into this world. I rubbed your little head. Did I do this to you?)

So, she called me the other day. The party she was attending had an 80s theme. I loved the 80s. Big hair was IN in a big way. I perfected the Farrah flip. I said, "Go with the big hair. Work it girl, Work it!"

She was skeptical but I think I convinced her. I asked for pictures.

Her parents were kind enough to take my first name and give it to her as her middle name. Her fate was sealed in that moment.