By Lorry Myers
I belong to a family of crazy people who seem to believe that life is a game. There is no end to the competitions and challenges and charges to the finish line that happen when we are together. Since we are a multi-generational family scattered all over America, the “cousins” created our own family Facebook page so we could share photos and still feel connected.
As a direct result, the number of family competitions has increased. Last year, I barely survived the Sewell Bunny Cake Bake-Off. This annual contest involves baking and decorating a bunny cake according to a specific set of rules. Each bunny cake must have a theme and a name and posted on Facebook by a certain time. After twenty-four hours of voting, we have a bake-off winner.
It is never me.
Shockingly, my clan is full of talented people who manage to keep life interesting. I have a sister that sews and a sister that sings and another sister that is good at everything. Both my brothers are athletes and I have children and nieces and nephews who do remarkable things every day.
Then there is me.
Growing up, my siblings were daredevils. Hide and seek could turn dangerous and a race around the yard was considered a race for your life. Often we made up our own games which involved jumping out of trees or barn lofts or second story windows.
I’m lucky to be alive.
When the six of us grew up, we never really grew up at all. The competitions continued via the annual Sewell Family Olympics where teams are required to do things like tuck rocks into body cavities and race to dump them into a bucket. The last night of the Sewell Family Olympics, trophies are handed out and each family is obligated to prepare a skit for the closing ceremonies.
No pressure there.
Among us, we have bakers and bloggers, crafters and creative thinkers whose cocky challenges on Facebook turn into battle cries. Each competition seems to involve a talent or skill that apparently I don’t have. We have karaoke contests that I’m never going to win and Pumpkin decorating that involves knives my husband would never allow me to use.
Still, I keep on trying.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.
