Columbia, MO; Memphis, TN; and family

My approach to family has always been something along the lines of, "This is my family. I love them; they're all insane. Good luck." As far as having a family of my own, it was somewhere between "I have a family already, they're PLENTY," and "I like children, if properly prepared."

So this next sentence can be taken as a sign of the apocalypse: I'm beginning to see the attraction in having a family of my own. Now, don't get excited. My biological clock is still firmly on Snooze. But after spending a day with John's family and another with my own (extended) family, I have a picture in my head that won't go away. It's a new and strange sensation, to have this sort of picture in my head. I'm not sure how to feel about it. In the picture I'm happy, and I don't feel oppressed, or trapped, or five inches away from drowning the kids in the bathtub. I keep circling the picture, poking it with a stick, trying to decide if this is temporary insanity from eating too much beef jerky or if the picture is there to stay.

John's family was lovely, in every sense of the word. I felt completely welcomed, and more importantly, like I fit in. I felt right at home the whole time I was there; in fact, by the end of the visit, I was casting about for excuses to stay and extend the trip by a day or two. I didn't, I didn't want to impose any more than I already had, dropping in at 10:30 pm with a day's notice, but it wasn't at all the awkward trial by fire meeting the family usually is. Maybe this is one of the benefits of dating someone you've alreay known for fifteen years--everyone already knows, or at least knows of, everyone else. Watching his family interact made me want to be a part of it, possibly with additions of my own.

(Bells! Fire! Horns! Apocalypse! I know.)

Then I spent most of yesterday visiting two uncles and assorted aunts and cousins in the Nashville area. One lives on a horse farm, way back in the country, and he was having a cookout. My cousin came over with his new baby and we all had beers and burgers and sat around playing horseshoes. I kept looking at the baby, trying to decide if my biological clock was actually turning on, but then the baby got fussy and wouldn't stop crying and any wayward maternal urges I may have had promptly shut down. Still. Watching everyone there interact, too, made me call John and confess to the picture in my head. He didn't laugh, or cry, or run screaming into the night. He confessed to having the same picture. I don't think I've ever once been on the same page in a relationship--always, always, someone wants more than the other one. Then the other one gets freaked out, and it's over. It's weird being able to just say whatever it is I'm thinking about, without fear of repercussions. Maybe I should beat that with a stick a little too, see what happens.

In between all this familial daydreaming, I spent the night in Memphis. It was the first time I'd been back since I lived there for the summer ten years ago. (Ten years ago! Sheesh.) I had ribs at Rendezvous--the best ribs ever--and bought an Elvis clock at Graceland. Today I continue the trek through familiar territory in Louisville, where I plan to go on some bourbon tours, buy some bourbon-smoked products, and drink some bourbon at dinner tonight, before I embark on the last big loop of the road trip. By Saturday, I'll be done...