I was home in California last week for my sister Phyllis's wedding (No, my parents are not really that cruel, her real name is Emily, but born of the love her siblings have for her was the name Phyllis...but that is a story for another day) which necessitated a lot of family togetherness both with our immediate and extended family and the family of the groom. Now I love my family, truly I do, but not long after we had converged upon the family home I had a bit of an "Ah-Ha" moment. My father was regaling us with entertaining and brilliantly enhanced family stories and it came to me: family stories are like a push-up bra.
Every woman knows that a bra is a bra, but as with just about everything these days you can get the basic model, or one with assorted bells and whistles. The push-up bra, for example, takes what is already there - I don't think I really need to elaborate on what I mean by that - and adds to it so it is more substantial and is shown off to its best advantage.
Family stories are exactly like that. While the essence of the original foundation is there the time passed, and the teller are factors that add to and enhance the original story until the finished product resembles the original tale in essence only.
No you might be wondering where I am going with this...and I am sad to say that I am not really sure, I just wanted to share my epiphany with you.
Kisses!
