Last week I went back to Portland to return a visiting Grandpa Joe and get in some more cousin time. I just knew that you all would want me to share the action-filled photos from the trip:
Ah, yes. Feet on coffee table. Butts planted firmly on couch. For three days straight.
What you can't see in the photo are the stacks of videos ("Lars and the Real Girl" is my new fave,) stacks of books, wads of kleenex from the multiple good-cry sessions and empty cups that were continually being refilled with warm and boozy Tom and Jerry's. Also not showing is the bit of moisture on the corner of Keri's mouth from drooling as she watched her boyfriend on t.v.
Mmmmmmm. Can you say, "Bob's your uncle?"
No, it wasn't the most adventurous trip we've ever spent together.
It was much better than that. There's something exceptionally wonderful about spending time with someone who feels like home. Who represents where you come from and reminds you of your roots. Someone whose life will be interconnected with yours no matter where you go and what you do. Someone who will sing the Swedish Chef song with you in perfect harmony. That's what Keri does for me.
And for those of you who are worrying that my crazy road trip days are over, don't be. I'm going to San Francisco this weekend, so prepare yourselves now. Big hands and drag queens go very well together.
