True Story: "What are we doing out here?"

Memory, like family, is a strange thing. Each have the same capacity for both good and bad. You can cherish and/or dread what comes out of the pair. The Memorial Day holiday* and my relatives hold that special property for me. Through no fault of my own, I was raised mostly by my mother's herd -- who are just this side of sane (although, they have been known to stray into the land of crazy from time to time). However, I still consider myself lucky I was stuck via blood and marriage with these people. My father's clan, as luck would have it, reminded me of a scant version of the familia that brought the bounty upon Alfredo Garcia's head. But, that's for another tale...

This post has been moved to my current blog, which can be found here.