Last Saturday we drove up to Marathon City, Wisconsin for the big Rader family reunion. It was a really good time, and a huge labor of love (super job, Dad) as evidenced by the color-coded name tags, the many, many geneology packets photocopied and triple-hole punched; the inventive Rader beer bottle flower vases, the Mason jars of dilly beans and homemade maple syrup, set out as party favors.... One hundred and forty plus Raderish people converged in Veteran's Park, some flying in from as far away as Connecticut and Georgia. Some of my favorite things: talking to our cousins Mike and Kristin; playing music with my brother Andy and our buddy Pat Somerville; the good-looking groupies; the old familiar small town feeling in George's grocery store; Mom holding Arlo for approximately 17 hours straight; the baked chicken; and watching all the people wander over to Dad to shoot the shit, crack jokes, impart valuable information, thank him, laugh. It was wonderful to be there. Here's a little proof:
We live for the harmonies.
Arlo accepting his award for youngest attending Rader while smushed into his mother's clavicles.
Dad making a fine point, while Uncle Bob gamely stands in as the third leg of an easel.
The giant cow ass that lured us off the highway and made us buy cheese.
A future crib buddy for Arlo.
We live for the harmonies.
Arlo accepting his award for youngest attending Rader while smushed into his mother's clavicles.
Dad making a fine point, while Uncle Bob gamely stands in as the third leg of an easel.
The giant cow ass that lured us off the highway and made us buy cheese.
Are you sure it's his mother's clavicles he's smushed into? I think you misspelled it: it's CLEAVAGE.
ReplyDeleteAnd you know, cow asses will do that.