If anyone deserves their own post, it’s the Vanbibers.

[DeVotchka-How It Will End]

I just spent the weekend in a hotel room. That sounds like torture, doesn’t it.

When I think of sitting in a hotel room for hours, movie characters hiding from the law (even though they didn’t REALLY murder whoever) come to mind. Or some strong silent agent waiting on his next assignment from a cord phone.

Rarely does it bring to mind french press, a coffee cup in a pair of hands with a ring from India on the middle finger. Fiancees and wedding invitations. Aunts and Uncles. Lindor truffles being handed out during hour long talks about faith and relationships. The revealing of graduation presents- ecstatic reactions. Squeals about new boyfriends, squeals about old boyfriends.

A very patient uncle who looks over a pair of reading glasses at his daughter’s taxes among all this. Who calls his wife graceful and holds her in his lap after twenty plus years of marriage. Head scratches, Groove Armada and the affirmation of worth and beauty.

I have spent the weekend in Jackson with my family, carried there and back by the breath of phone conversation and Passion Pit.

How is it that people can recharge you? That hearing about someone else’s life, and that they are OK and that they are growing, can recharge you? In what scientific way does that make any sense?

It doesn’t, which is what makes it so brilliant.


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