We’re back. Trips are nice, and coming home is nice. Coming home to all of you is even nicer. I missed you. Yes, I’m talking to you.

I wonder if it is possible to have a nicer family than mine. . . . . I don’t see how it could be possible, I really don’t. I’m sure you all have lovely families, but I’m sorry: after meeting mine, you’d sell yours to the gypsies and beg to hang out with mine.

Music. My family is made of music. Music and love. They sing, and they play the piano, and they sing some more, and they listen to each other sing, and they take turns playing the piano, and they can play anything anyone can name or hum. The music flows from their fingertips and and from their incredible voices, and they sing alone and they sing together and the harmony is indescribable.

Harmony in music, and harmony in fellowship. Music, and love, and harmony, and fellowship. My family.

We had a joyful and food-full reunion.

We eat a lot, clear the table, wash the dishes, wrap everything up, sing, talk, and then we set the table, get everything back out, and eat some more.

Hey, I told you I was LARGE. And while I am not blaming the family for enlarging me, they certainly did their part by setting feasts of incredible yumminess before me for the past, um, “many” years.

This morning we went to Hub’s cousin’s church. I am a Christian. I do not generally attend a church. The past year has been so awful that my faith has been shaken beyond any kind of quick renewal. However, I must say in all honesty, that if I lived near it, I would attend Jeff’s church every time the door was unlocked. I think that if I lived near Jeff and his family, I would be a nicer person. I mean that sincerely.

I could twist this rationale to mean that if Jeff and his family came down to visit me more often, it would help immensely.

Call it a Missionary Trip, Jeff.

I will also ask you not to judge Jeff’s church by its website. We’re going to be working on that.

The music, however, could not be improved upon. No off-key karaoke warblers; just great music. The worst singer in the room was me.

Bad church soloists have turned more people off to church than anything else. Even bad theology makes people want to stay and fight, even if it’s just for a little while. But off-key soloists? I’m out of there. That is terrible on my part, but I can’t stand it.

And why are the worst singers always the loudest? Brrrrrr.

Yes, I understand that even those who couldn’t find the note on the best day of their lives, like to raise their voices in song. It’s not them. It’s me.

If I were nicer, I’d concentrate on the 99 in-tune instruments; but nooooo. All I can hear is the one sour note. It’s like a misspelled word; it just leaps into my face and dominates my enjoyment.

Like most good times, the reunion was over way too soon, and we had to hop back into the car and head for home.

But as I said before, coming home is good, too.

Most of life is good. Most people are good.

I’m sure some judges are good, too; it’s a shame that a bad one seems to have the power of life and death in his hands. And has chosen death.

Oh, and I PROMISED myself I wouldn’t mention that tonight.

Sorry.

And now back to our regular programming.

“My kids are awesome!”

The End.