My eldest niece, Whitney, will become a bride next Saturday, the first in the youngest generation of my family. I won't be there for a bunch of reasons, but ya'll send some good vibes toward Atlanta next weekend. I know she'll be beautiful. She wakes up that way.

Linda Lou Jane, who both of my readers will remember as having (1) had a heart attack last year and (2) written two marvelous guest posts for me around that time and (3) the best singing voice I've ever heard in a caucasion female, will be getting married in a few weeks to the one guy who's worthy of her. The music at her wedding will be so good that if I weren't part of it, I'd gladly pay a cover charge.

Note: It seems to be the season around these parts for mid-life-love.

This afternoon, I attended a neighborhood porch party. A friend of mine handed off his little blue bundle of a one-week-old baby boy for me to hold. I (neurotic babysitter that I am) poked the little one a few times to make sure he was breathing. He made the *tiniest* little squeeks, then went back to snoring. (I think I ovulated just from holding him.) As of tonight, holding that child, swaying with him to a Hank Williams record, I've officially danced with three generations of Boggs boys.

Stephen and Melissa are celebrating their first-of-many-anniversaries this weekend. (I've never had the pleasure of meeting either of them, but I hope to ere long, and I must say that Steve's blog is my favorite of them all, hands-down, no questions asked.) I hope that these good people enjoy the kind of relationship that my own parents have -- Dad's in his 70s, Mom in her 60s, and both of them have parts missing after 45 years of marriage and multiple surgeries . . . and they still crawl all over each other to the point where I have to remind them to get a room.

They went through some creepy times, like you can't imagine, but laughter is the predominant noise in my family home.

Peace to everyone.