OMAHA ROCKS

Hello, from Omaha. Scary I know, but we made it through, the funeral, the viewing, and the ultimate family feud without a scratch. Family is funny, even more so when someone close to them dies. I don't mean your usual fighting over things left behind, or funny as in "I don't know why she isn't crying." NO, NO. This kind of funny comes when you get together with family you grew up with and don't have the chance to see very often. This time around it is my brothers. Three of them. All older and equally as funny as each other. On more than one occasion this weekend, I woke up the baby I was wearing due to the convulsion I couldn't control in my shoulders. Seriously, do you know people like that? That just make you laugh so hard you almost wish it would stop? I do. Their names are George, Kristopher, and Shane.
We traveled the old neighborhood, checked out Mosquito hill, and stopped by Nani's (my incredibly short Italian grandmother) for pie and coffee. Everything made us nostalgic. Every corner stirred a reminiscing story. Orsi's bread shop was the first stop. We ate a whole loaf in the car as we drove around comparing stories and rewriting our memories to fit each others'.
My youngest of brothers proves to be the butt of many jokes. While visiting Old Town Omaha, we came across a "pull my finger, finger." It was too great for my brother to pass up buying, he just wasn't sure who the lucky recipient should be. Remembering we had yet to buy Shane a birthday present, it was settled; He would get the honor of such a strange treat. And use it well, he did. While waiting in line at the airport for about the one hundredth time he whipped out the finger. When you pull it, it makes a super great farting noise, different almost everytime. The woman in front of us couldn't have musterd (SP?)a more rotten look if we had paid her millions. It was just too much. I was rolling. My oldest brother had to turn his back to everyone because he couldn't control his laughter, the middle brother had to hide behind my very tall father. It was just too much. But there stood the prankster. Straight faced and actually looking relieved to be rid of such gaseousness.
Speaking of fingers, at the funeral viewing, my oldest brother, George, would make a cracking sound whenever someone approached the casket, as if they were accidentally breaking off my grandfather's finger. I am still giggly thinking about it.
A constant source of laughter also came from one of my favorite past times. Saying "is that a euphemism" after anyone says anything. Seriously, try it. Like everything, it works best really late at night after delirium has set in.
"Are you hungry? Do you guys want to go grab some tacos?" Takes on a much different meaning when you know, "is that a euphemism?" is going to follow! This in a nut shell was my weekend. A seemingly sad event cheered up fantastically by my big brothers. :) I hope that never changes.