things that occur to me when swapping stories about family

...did I ever tell you about that one time my first cousin once removed went camping in Arizona and died?  At least, they think he died.  He disappeared without a trace.  A body was never found.  It happened years before I was born.  I later moved to Arizona, lived there rather unhappily (but relatively happily) for a few years and did not go camping and then die.

Or the time my aunt shot and killed (I think) on of her husbands.  Obviously ex-now.  I believe it was categorized manslaughter.  She served no appreciable jail time, so all ya'll lawyers will have to let me know how that works.

One of my grandmothers was 13 when she had my parent; the other was almost 30.  Talk about disparity.

One of my cousins is extremely white and ginger...and also 3/4 Mexican.  Go figure.

My maternal grandfather loved puns and sang "I saw the salad dressing" whenever he...saw salad dressing.

I'm third generation Texan.  It's hard to tell until you put me in the same room with another southerner.

One of my ancestors (19th century) reputedly left to buy milk one day and disappeared for ten years.  He showed up on the doorstep ten years later as though nothing had happened.  I don't believe he ever did say.

One of my ancestors (19th century) was evacuated from a burning house one night and, upon being told that the baby has been left in the house, remarked, "Let it burn."

To be continued.  We continue to do things.  I continue to remember stories.  And sometimes write them down.