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Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Teenage Mutant Ninja Cousins

If my family was New York, then my Grandfathers house would be Grand Central Station. Like good little New Yorkers we are coming and going at all hours of the day. Now my family is neither in New York or New Yorkers, but it seems in the city I live in that if you see a kid at the bus stop or walking down the street- you can bet I am probably related to him. This is the case when my cousins have blossomed into teenagers, succeeding in welding drivers licenses and making me feel ancient. In addition to the my teenage mutant ninja cousins, I have Aunts, Uncles, my Mother, a Brother, a Father , the Boy and family friends who can also be found munching on something in the kitchen, snoozing on the couch or about to leave for the grocery store to replenish our food supply. It is well known that anyone at anytime should feel free to pursue the contents of the white kitchen cabinets and help themselves to a snack.

Its an unspoken rule.

What I love best about the house is beside the white front door there is a large picture window that looks into the kitchen. Anyone ambling up the walkway can peer into the window and see who is about to great them. Often times the site through the window is my aunts pouring wine, or a cousin with a cookie in hand and waving at me with the other. A sign of welcome, that I am moments away from comfort and relaxation.

We all joke about what the neighbors must think. The house is situated on a lovely neighborhood street that faces a cul de sac. Much like the shape of a T, my Grandfather’s house being dead center where the two roads join. Everyone can see our recycling bin, and the 3 cases of empty wine bottles sprawled around and in it. We hold our consumption to 2 main reasons, the first being that we are Irish after all, and second that there are A LOT of us. We get together on Sundays nights with out fail, to celebrate someone birthday or any other reason that sounded good at the time. We never shy away from a reason to throw a party. Never the less, ‘Trash day’ is our most humiliating day.

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