surlyclown

So, went up to Placerville, in the hills of the Gold Country in No. California for Thanksgiving. It looks like this up there... so yeah, it's like pretty and junk.



My Uncle has a farm and it looks like this in the early morning out in his back yard.



When I was a child, my family would have many a Thanksgiving or Christmas here. I haven't been back in nearly 20 years. Allow me to express my emotional state through muddled, craptastic analogy, but I got pretty emotional remembering various childhood family gatherings through the prism of adulthood. Especially given the sober addition of mortality. My Uncle showed home movies. One of them was me about 1 year old. My father, looking young and fit, was in their pool, playfully tossing my cousins around, the way he used to throw me around when I got to be their age.

'Adulthood' is a strange thing. It seems alien to me and yet I'm fascinated by it. Particularly when I see my cousins now with their own children, preparing the meals and making the plans, much like my parents generation did. I don't feel quite part of it. I still felt like the youngest cousin at times, hopeless and gawky, though I was sitting at the 'adult' table'. I'm rambling. Just look back up at the pretty pictures.