Outlaws

After I have coffee with asia from deconstructionist this morning, my sweetheart and I are on our way to his family reunion and a meeting of the outlaws. Now I suspect, as in my family, there are some inlaws as well. If they were all outlaws, nobody could get a reunion together. And I would be really surprised if my husband's Aunt Ida is an outlaw. Although, to hear him tell it, she was a Spanish dancer in her day, complete with castanettes.

In my family, we are the black sheep, with the exception maybe of my brother Kim (see earlier entry: eulogizing Kim Kinney) All drunks, writers, artists and heroin addicts to balance the militaristic, republican policemen who are my aunts, uncles and first cousins. My aunt Gertrude is said to be politically just a little to the right of Atilla the Hun. I did have an uncle who was insane and one who was a communist back in the McCarthy era, which was akin to insanity at that time, but the remainder are glaringly well-organized. They pay their bills on time. They do not go to jail or have to move in the middle of the night. I think it is unfair that some people get the book about how to do things, and we didn't. I think, to my unravelling, that many things are unfair: my hair, wages for nurse's aides, the inverse and possibly causal relationship between what you know and how you look.

Oh well, I'm going anyway. I love outlaws.