Rehab

Even I knew the only chance I had was to shut up and go to rehab. It was bad, the condition of my life,  and I didn't care.
I did alienate my entire family.
And then I changed genders, and I did care again, a lot, but in terms of family public relations, an unbridgeable double chasm of weird.
In 2008 my sister Marilyn was the first of the sibs to take a chance and meet up. Cool.
In 2010 my brother Bob took the plunge, traveling from Salem to Scappoose to meet up on the Felicity Jane at the dock of McCuddy's Landing, not exactly the dock of the bay, but close enough. And then we were friends again. That Fall the three of us kids (all 60+  or as close as makes no difference) met up with Mom for lunch down at the coast, on the bayfront at Florence, Oregon.
Nice.
But the other sister, Suzy, didn't buy in at all.

Mom is shrinking.

 Nor did my kid, Jeff, yield hardly any slack. He was busy, in Azerbaijan, and I failed to make even a blip on his radar. Fair enough, I told you already it was bad.

A tall, handsome, terribly serious and exceedingly polite young man.

 My stepdad, Alan, died last fall, 2011, and we all of us met up in Coos Bay at the cemetary and then the church for his services. Tell the truth, him and me didn't see eye to eye about very much, but I was sad to see him go, and he did me a solid on the way out. The meet-up.
I kept my mouth shut. I felt humbled and priveleged to be there. Really.
This year we all of us got together at Mayrilyn and Jim's place up the hill one ridge over from Mount Ashland.
Suzy and Larry were very nice, Larry let me tag along on him and Jim's whirlwind Black Friday shopping extravaganza, Mom was old as weathered granite and we all ate a lot of very good stuff. I made Ambrosia, which seemed to have hit the mark, and coconut candied yams which fell considerably short. I have an idea for a sweet orange-pineapple reduction which should make a difference and I shall try it again next year.

Larry is an actual Rocket Scientist

I went shrooming, soaked in the hot tub, and me and Jim chopped up some Oak Bark to tan my spritsail, the day after this massive and highly successful family dinner.

These are not Chantrelles, you can tell because the gills do not connect to the stem. The color is roughly similar, but Chantrelles have a fluted irregular trumpet shape.

 I kept my mouth shut.
It seems to be working.