Another July, another Treba family reunion. Every three years, the tent goes up, the volleyball net gets staked into the ground, the bingo boards get dusted off, a port-a-potty gets parked next to the garage, and a roaster full of pig-in-a-blankets (not the sausage-wrapped-in-pancakes kind, those are heresy around here - we're talking pork wrapped in layers of cabbage, just like they made back in the Old Country) ensures that said port-a-potty sees plenty of action.
(Apparently, we were all supposed to wear red shirts. Some of us obviously didn't get the memo.)
It was a good time, as always. All of my grandma's surviving brothers and sisters were there -- ten in all, plus tons of first cousins, second cousins, third cousins...I gave up trying to keep track of all those a long time ago and just refer to everyone as my cousin at this point. Why split hairs? It would just distract me from the bingo.