Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Christmas Letter Five


Lucidity has returned in Y2K, as some of us expected.  The muddy mind of yesteryear was bade a much needed farewell.  Having grown tired of pondering, clique-ing and monkeying with the meaning of the turn of the century, many in my fold and the near periphery diverted to what I can only term, “blind sanity”.

Cousin Jimmy “Coleslaw” Parksnip developed a new plan.  He went out into the world after near graduation from high school to make his way. He took with him a prized formula that included hedonism and turnstile paranoia.  His plan was simple.  Go to the big city, make a lot of money, and retire to the country within 3 years to raise milk badgers.  He envisioned lazy days sitting on the porch couch eating badger milk coleslaw and whispering to no one specifically.  The plan, though poorly devised, went not as well as one might imagine.  Jimmy’s mom, Ardella “Momma Weevil” Thurston-Parsnip informed us of Jimmy’s fate at the Blastenfink-Parsnip family reunion this fall.  She had received a call the prior month explaining that Jimmy had been incarcerated. He had been apprehended a few feet away from a turnstile in the US patent office.  The informing party continued that Jimmy was noticed fear frozen, mumbling, “Weevil Slaw”.  The informing party went on to document that Jimmy was not being held for psychological evaluation or Freudian analysis, but as she went on to explain, “fun”.

Favorite terms or phrases overheard at family dinners this year

“Hold on a minute while I get the tweezers out of the freezer”

“Would you like to hear what my cat sounds like inside the piano?”

“Throwing up is not performance art just because you’re wearing tights, Paul.”

“You got a brand new pair of roller skates, I got a brand new strain of the mumps.”

“Persimmon upside down cake anyone?”

“No, Petey, your aunt Beverly is wrong, Van Gogh did not cut off his ear and use it as a hood ornament, he merely mailed it to someone.”

“My name is not Carol, Mom.”

Obsessions with prior pop culture continue to haunt the family in the new millennium.  Uncle Grover traded his silver dollar collection for several wooden nickels bearing stamped likenesses of Elvis in which he promptly drilled holes and constructed a necklace.  Uncle Grover II, named after his father, continues to join the annual Christmas parade midway through and proceeds to do a sort of marching “safety dance” wearing parachute pants and a “Where’s the beef?” t-shirt.

As the great magician Doug Henning said, “There’s always time for magic.”  This statement could be none more true in anyone’s existence than that of mine or many members of my family.  Many have surrendered on the cusp of normality while others would require the Hubbell telescope to get even a glimpse.  It may be that Old uncle Willie “honk if you love honking” Taylor said it best, “If you can get an isle seat next to a fire exit, do that.”


Bats go in the belfry.  Soup goes in the pantry……………………No one needs a belfry full of soup………………………………….Happy New Year.

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