Well, it would seem that I took myself a bit of a bloggy vacation. And do you know what? It wasn’t planned, but it was delightful.

Last week I got to spend a lot of time in my hometown with my family (thank y’all so much for all your sweet comments on the post about Joe), and even though we were together as the result of some sad circumstances, we talked and laughed and reminisced and laughed some more. Joe’s funeral was absolutely beautiful, and there’s a post brewing way down deep in my heart about all the sacrificial acts of kindness I’ve witnessed over the last few days. Being able to see so many of the families that I knew when I was growing up left me teary-eyed and oh-so-grateful. My little hometown has its faults, but when push comes to shove I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was a pretty wonderful place to grow up – and the people there are precisely the reason why. The way that they reached out to and loved on my aunt and my cousins ministered to all of us.

After the funeral we had a BIG OLE LUNCH over at my parents’ house, and I wanted to take pictures of the food but felt a little self-conscious about it because, you know, AWKWARD. So you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that there was a chicken pie that would’ve rocked your world. At first it seemed like it was pretty standard chicken pie fare, but then I tasted the crust and angels sang and then I realized that THERE WERE DUMPLINS INSIDE THE CHICKEN PIE.

Those dumplins totally revolutionized my chicken pie-eating experience. I will never be the same.

Oh, no. I will never be the same.

The next 48 hours brought all manner of family togetherness, and then, in an unexpected and very spontaneous turn of events, Sister, Alex and I hopped in the car Saturday afternoon and drove to our favorite place on earth.

Oh, glory.

It was such a blast. We rang responsibly and cheered until we were hoarse and had ourselves a fine time. We sat with my friend Daphne and her family, and the one-liners coming from Daph and her brother kept me laughing the entire game. Plus, Alex decided that he was going to be Ernest P. Justice and keep an eye on one particular person in our section who was struggling a little bit with the new cowbell rules, and I promise you that if I’d had a citation pad, my child would’ve written that man a ticket. It cracked me up. I would’ve encouraged him more in his pursuit of Cowbell Control if I didn’t hold the personal opinion that the Southeastern Conference (of which I am a decided fan, by the way) doesn’t really need to concern itself with our MOST PRIZED TRADITION, because if the cowbells did in fact afford us some sort of unfair home field advantage, then WE PROBABLY WOULD’VE MADE IT TO MORE THAN TWO BOWL GAMES IN THE LAST TEN YEARS.

I mean, seriously. Are we such a perennial threat for football conference championships that the SEC has to find a way to level the playing field? Because while I don’t know much, I do know that I’ve been a State fan all of my life, and last time I checked on that “perennial threat” front, um, NO.

The cowbells are a beloved tradition. Plain and simple. They’re fun. They may be a bit of an annoyance to the other team, but they’re not a game-changer by any stretch of the imagination. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Until I decide that I have more to say, of course.

(I LOVE YOU, SOUTHEASTERN CONFERENCE.)

(YOU’RE JUST OFF-BASE ON THIS PARTICULAR ISSUE.)

(BUT ON ALL THE OTHER ISSUES, YOU’RE ACES.)

(((((HUGS)))))

So. That’s what we’ve been doing. Also: late this afternoon Mama, Daddy and Martha arrived for tomorrow’s Grandparents’ Day at the little man’s school, and I took Martha to Steinmarts about five minutes after they pulled down the driveway. But that’s a story that will have to wait because I’m tired.

(She bought two jackets!!!!!)

(And one of them was only $3.95!!!!!)

(CAN YOU BELIEVE?)

(CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE?)

Happy New Week, y’all.

p.s. Don’t forget about the great discussions about kids and texting that are going on over at BlogHer.

p.p.s. Don’t forget that the Bulldogs are currently ranked #20 in the BCS Standings.

p.p.p.s. Don’t forget that our current ranking has NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY SORT OF UNFAIR COWBELL-RELATED ADVANTAGE.

p.p.p.p.s. I’ve missed you terribly.

Yesterday morning my Uncle Joe passed away. It wasn’t unexpected – he had been battling dementia and other health problems for several years and was admitted to hospice over the weekend – but it has been every bit as bittersweet as you would imagine. On one hand there is such relief from knowing that he isn’t suffering anymore. He’s not confused. He’s not agitated. He’s not frustrated.

He’s free.

Even still – in the most earthly, temporal way – Joe’s death leaves a void in our family. He was, as long as any of us can remember, the fun uncle. He always laughed the loudest, cracked the most jokes, stirred up the most mischief. He loved being outside – especially on the water – and I can’t even begin count the number of Sunday afternoons when he was at the helm of his boat, pulling one of the family young’uns on an inner tube or water skis or whatever happened to be hooked to the ski rope. He liked to FLOOR IT so that the front end of the boat was at what felt like a 90 degree angle, and right now, if I think really hard, I can hear the way he would laugh when we would HOLLER with excitement. He was such a blast.

Joe was a storyteller, and he was usually the life of the party. When he walked in a room, you were likely to hear a chorus of people saying “JOE!” to greet him. As a result of that, Alex actually believed for the first four or five years of his life that his great-uncle’s name was “JOE!” He never, ever said it without the exclamation point at the end. Neither did the rest of us, come to think of it. Joe was larger than life, kind as could be and one of the least critical people I’ve ever known. He was just as tickled as he could be to see other people happy. And even after the dementia started to take over, he never met a stranger. He might not have the foggiest idea who you were, but by diggity he would treat you like you were one of his closest friends. We all loved that about him.

Night before last my cousin Paige and I were reminiscing about some of our favorite JOE! moments, and after a few minutes Paige passed the phone to my aunt. We talked for a little bit, and just as Choxie was getting ready to hang up so that she could talk to some friends who had stopped by to visit, she said something that I will never forget: “He’s been a mighty sweet husband.” I know that Paige and Benji would say that he was a mighty sweet daddy. That legacy will last.

A couple of years ago at the beach, Joe spent a lot of time in one of the chairs on the balcony. He was fascinated by the water and kept talking about what a “big lake” the Gulf was. As it turned out it was his last family trip, but nobody knew that for sure at the time. One night after supper my aunt and I were sitting around, running through the geneaology of my hometown, connecting long-forgotten dots between families. And about that time Joe opened the door to the balcony, looked up, and said, “Come here. That, that…” and he pointed to the sky in frustration as he searched for the word that he needed, for the word that would not come.

So my aunt and I walked outside, and we looked toward the sky, and Joe said, “Looka there. It’s shining right down on that water.”

Sure enough, there was the moon. In fact, it was the most stunning, full moon I’d ever seen, hitting the Gulf like a spotlight. So we stood there, and we stared, and we sighed. It was beautiful.

In the last few weeks I’ve thought over and over again about that night at the beach. And yesterday, when I read Paige’s early-morning text that her daddy was finally at peace, one of the first things that came to my mind was that Joe not only knows the moon now – he has seen the One who made it.

He has seen the One who made it.

Amen.