Like a swarm of lemurs fired from a cannon, it hit me suddenly. I haven't told you about Christmas Day or New Year's Eve. Before I get into what's happened so far in 2010, I suppose I had better wrap up 2009 properly. That is if you're interested.
Christmas Day was pure-D marvy. The whole family-togetherness thing was splendid in and of itself. I haven't experienced it in two years, you see. Last year I was in South Korea, and though my expatriate posse and I managed to have a pretty good time over there (gathering in A & E's apartment, drinking Buck's Fizz, opening presents and eating fried chicken and beef stew), there's no place like home.
More to the point, I got EVERYTHING I wanted. I got a T-shirt with an F4U Corsair emblazoned on it; a leather cigar case, complete with cutter and butane lighter, spotted in the Russell's for Men catalog; an iPod (I got that a little earlier than Christmas Day, though); and a kneeboard.
Yes, I've sold my soul. I swore I'd never get an iPod. Compact discs and a Walkman would do me just fine, I said. I can still fit 'em into my pockets when I'm out walking. I can't run with them, and it's a bitch and a half to change CDs in the middle of a six-mile walk in the Mojave Desert, but hey, you can't beat an original. No MP3 players for me, thanks.
Ha ha, yeah. Those arguments withstood the test of time. About twelve seconds, roughly.
And just to clarify, a kneeboard is not something you kneel on and then get hauled rapidly across the water with. You know me better than that. It's aviation-related. A kneeboard is a portable clipboard that you can strap to your leg for those long cross-country flights. Unless you're in an Airbus or a C-17, you don't really have the benefit of a desk when you're in the cockpit. So kneeboards were invented to provide a flat space for you to jot down important information and figures while in flight. Mine is a premium model, a tri-fold kneeboard (meaning it unfolds in thirds, with lots of groovy pockets and suchlike).
I also got a customizable license plate holder, with a bunch of letters and numbers to create your own personal message to whoever's tailgating you (oh, you can bet I'm going to have fun with that); a Hershey's Kiss the size of a doll's head; some monogrammed hankies; a travel game set; a knife for my portable cocktail mixing kit; a new leather belt; an extra X-box controller (I also swore to give up video games in favor of comic books, darn it!); and some other good stuff.
Good, I got the loot-litany off my chest. Now we can resume the narrative.
For breakfast, Dad made his pumpkin pancakes. These are a relatively new dish in our family, entering Dad's repertoire after he had a delicious batch at IHOP just before Halloween. He downloaded the recipe off the Internet and has been making them for every special occasion this season. They're dynamite, let me assure you.
Suitably fueled, Harlan, Dad and I piled into my Jeep and headed across the valley, into the shadow of the Granite Mountains, to fulfill a promise made four years ago: summit the buggers. We'd attempted to climb these huge, rocky hills on New Year's Day a few years ago, and failed due to bad weather. Now we were back to try it again on this beautiful Christmas Day, with weather in the low sixties, sunny, and breezy. Our aim was Feldspar Peak, the Granites' highest point at [NOTE TO SELF: look this number up before you hit that "publish" button].
Well, we made it. It was a perilous journey, full of rocks, loose gravel, treacherous slopes, spiky plants and a surfeit of huffing and puffing. But we climbed a few key ridges and then had a fairly simple push to the summit. We stood up there, the now-cold wind caressing us gently, our water bags considerably lightened, sweat drying on our foreheads, surveying all there was to see.
We also phoned Mom to see if she could see us. Feldspar Peak is directly across the valley from our house, and Mom, in theory, should've been able to spot us. Harlan manned the phone, Dad got out his signal mirror and I waved my arms for all I was worth.
No dice. Mom's binoculars just weren't powerful enough. We were about six miles away, as the crow flies. She would've been better off with an astronomical telescope. She did spot the flash of Dad's mirror, though, if not the three figures behind it. At least that question has been answered.
Then we climbed down (giving our protesting quads another vicious beating), limped to the Jeep, went home, ate a delectable turkey dinner, and didn't move much for the next three days.
New Year's Eve was weird. I mean, it's never exactly been normal in my family. When my brother and I were little we'd all sort of cuddle up together on the couch and watch Lawrence Welk (not Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve) until the Big Moment. Mom and Dad would battle to keep us both awake, and stay awake themselves. As we got older, and it became less of a struggle to stay up, we'd have a dominoes tourney until the Big Moment came, when my brother and I would toast with sparkling apple cider and eat finger food while the folks sat, comatose, in the living room in front of the TV.
We sort of did that this New Year's Eve. We had finger food, and sparkling cider (which no one but Harlan drank), and a little bit of TV. But for the most part we just played Phase 10 (a kiddie variant of progressive rummy), listened to music, and drank champagne. Well, okay, not real champagne, seeing as how it's not from the Champagne region of France and all, but sparkling wine nonetheless. Oh, and we made cinnamon rolls. That was what was so weird about the night. We never bake anything on New Year's Eve. The whole point is just to be massively lazy and let the old year slither out on its belly like it probably wants to after a hard 365-day shift. The most intricate thing we make on New Year's Eve is the drinks. I busted all the 1.75-liter jugs out of the liquor cabinet and asked the folks to name their poison. And they did. I wound up making Long Island iced teas for Dad and myself, which we sipped as we mixed, rolled, cut, wound, and baked.
The remainder of the night is a bit fuzzy, but nothing anywhere near comparing to that embarrassing thing that happened last month. Don't ask.
We made the cinnamon rolls because we would be taking off at an ungodly hour the next morning for Benson, Arizona, to visit my great uncle and aunt, Bob and Barb. The cinnamon rolls would be our hi-how-are-you gift. For that same reason, Mom and Dad didn't stay up until midnight, for the first time in 20 years. They hit the sack about eleven, and as a result of this confusion, I actually missed the Big Moment. I looked at my watch as I was getting into bed, just in time to see it turn from 12:00 to 12:01.
"Happy New Year," I said to the sparkling lights of the town in the valley below, outside my window.
This was a fabulous holiday. I also enjoyed the pictures. I love the fact that your Great Uncle and Aunt are named Bob and Barb. I don't know why, but I just love that!
EC: Maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'll tell you. Perhaps in six months or so, when it ceases being embarrassing and starts being funny.
Thank you! I love it when people tell me they love my posts...
Well, gosh! I'm turning red! Dad probably would too if you told him he was adorable. Mom thinks he's pretty adorable as well. They met in Nevada one gorgeous summer through a mutual friend. Dad was at the friend's apartment and Mom knocked on the door, and when Dad opened it up, the first thing she thought was "WHOA..."
Sorry, but I'll take a rain check on the adjustable bra straps. My boobs have finally stopped growing, I think. Heh heh.
Oooh, award posts. Don't worry, I don't consider it a delay. I have at least five posts stacked up in the pipeline, waiting in the wings. I can't wait to see who you nominate.
Mom didn't want to climb because she knew it'd kill her. Not much into climbing, Mom isn't.
Postie! Perfect. Nobody's ever called me that before. Out of the phalanx of other nicknames applied to me (Postman, Postmaster, Fence Post, Age (short for "Postage"), Postal, and all the rest) you've found one that hasn't been used yet. Well done. You're a born go-getter.
And the New Year did slither out. Ahhhh...thanks.
Jennifer: Hey! Thanks for stopping in again! Glad you like the pictures. And I love it too: Uncle Bob and Aunt Barb. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? They're a lovely couple, too. Barb does all the talking (at a mile a minute) while Bob just sits there with a big ol' grin on his face.
An MP3 player, eh? The kids gave me an MP3 player a couple of years back. I had no idea what to do with it, so I put it in a drawer somewhere, where it is to this day. I'm pretty sure it was something they were trying to get rid of, wanting to upgrade their own models.
I sort of teased myself with this post. I loved the title so much, and it made me so curious, that I just sort of savored it for a bit before actually reading the post. I would see it scroll by on my reading list and just kind of go Mmmmm...
Is "swarm" the technical terms for a group of lemurs? Have you fired many from cannons? Just curious where you pulled that very interesting simile from.
You got some truly awesome gifts. I'm especially envious of the license plate and the kneeboard. I need a kneeboard just for when I'm sitting at the computer, or taking notes on a book I'm reading.
I was the same way about cell phones as you were about iPods. I got my first cell phone in like 2006.
Pumpkin pancakes! I'm getting a bigger and bigger crush on your dad all the time. And I second EC's comment about the adorability factor.
Lawrence Welk! My Nana was a huge Lawrence Welk fan and we watched his show often.
I pretty much despise the New Year's Eve hoopla - yours sounds just right. Mine was pretty mellow like that too.
Mrs. Witzl: See, this is exactly my problem. You get something technological and then in a year it's obsolete, and people are once again ragging you for being behind on the times. Not that I care what people think, but it gets old after a while. Thanks. I still refuse to participate in this whole "instant messaging" foolishness.
Polly: "Postie." I'm getting more and more used to it. I was wondering what kind of reaction the title would garner. I thought most people might go "ewwww..." Glad to know you found it savory! You're pretty adorable yourself.
This is how I see it. Similes like "a ton of bricks" and "a light coming on upstairs" are overused. We need some new similes. So I've taken it upon myself to think up some new ones off the top of my head. And I didn't think there's anything that would make a bigger impression on me, personally, than being hit by a swarm of lemurs fired from a cannon. Unless it was a gaggle of gibbons, of course. Or a range of rhesus monkeys. Maybe I'll even try it someday.
Say, have you ever read "An Exaltation of Larks" by James Lipton? It's a very, very worthwhile read. It's nothing but an extremely hilarious compendium of collective nouns. You, Madame Word Warrior, MUST read it. You'd get a kick out of it.
Yeah! There you go. You could make a killing! Go ahead and invent a kneeboard for practical note-taking in front of the computer or in your reading-chair! As an author, I could sure use one of those. I'm poring over some books about ancient Sumer and Akkad right now (see my next "recommended reading") and I could really use a better place to take notes than a notepad balanced on the opposite page.
I got my first cell phone in 2004, a bazillion years after everybody else I knew had one, and only because Mom insisted I have one before driving 1800 miles to college by myself.
Ha! I'm going to tell Dad that there are all these women on Blogger that say he's adorable. And would like to try his pumpkin pancakes. I can just see the expression on his face (and Mom's). Thank you!
Thank goodness. I was beginning to think I was the last person on Earth who actually knows who Lawrence Welk is. My favorite guy in his band was the fellow with the enormous accordion. He was GOOD.
Here's to a mellow New Year's Eve. It's the only way to fly. Thanks for stopping in, everybody.
If you're into creative metaphors, I highly recommend reading Tom Robbins, if you haven't already. "To specialize is to brush one tooth" is one of my favorites.
I've never heard of the Lipton book, or him, even. Sounds like a fun book, though - I'll have to look for it.
I was just thinking the same thing about making money selling kneeboards to the general public, but now that you've said it on your blog, EC's going to do it first, I just know it!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, you've got me all wrong. Much as I'd hate to avoid a beating by a medium-sized blond, I'd like to clear the air here. I thought people would go "ewww" at the combination of champagne and cinnamon rolls (i.e., the title of this post). Most people think "milk" after they think "cinnamon rolls." Or I do, anyway. My apologies for giving you the wrong impression (gulp)!
We also phoned Mom to see if she could see us. Feldspar Peak is directly across the valley from our house, and Mom, in theory, should've been able to spot us. Harlan manned the phone, Dad got out his signal mirror and I waved my arms for all I was worth.
No dice. Mom's binoculars just weren't powerful enough. We were about six miles away, as the crow flies. She would've been better off with an astronomical telescope. She did spot the flash of Dad's mirror, though, if not the three figures behind it. At least that question has been answered.
Then we climbed down (giving our protesting quads another vicious beating), limped to the Jeep, went home, ate a delectable turkey dinner, and didn't move much for the next three days.
New Year's Eve was weird. I mean, it's never exactly been normal in my family. When my brother and I were little we'd all sort of cuddle up together on the couch and watch Lawrence Welk (not Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve) until the Big Moment. Mom and Dad would battle to keep us both awake, and stay awake themselves. As we got older, and it became less of a struggle to stay up, we'd have a dominoes tourney until the Big Moment came, when my brother and I would toast with sparkling apple cider and eat finger food while the folks sat, comatose, in the living room in front of the TV.
We sort of did that this New Year's Eve. We had finger food, and sparkling cider (which no one but Harlan drank), and a little bit of TV. But for the most part we just played Phase 10 (a kiddie variant of progressive rummy), listened to music, and drank champagne. Well, okay, not real champagne, seeing as how it's not from the Champagne region of France and all, but sparkling wine nonetheless. Oh, and we made cinnamon rolls. That was what was so weird about the night. We never bake anything on New Year's Eve. The whole point is just to be massively lazy and let the old year slither out on its belly like it probably wants to after a hard 365-day shift. The most intricate thing we make on New Year's Eve is the drinks. I busted all the 1.75-liter jugs out of the liquor cabinet and asked the folks to name their poison. And they did. I wound up making Long Island iced teas for Dad and myself, which we sipped as we mixed, rolled, cut, wound, and baked.
The remainder of the night is a bit fuzzy, but nothing anywhere near comparing to that embarrassing thing that happened last month. Don't ask.
We made the cinnamon rolls because we would be taking off at an ungodly hour the next morning for Benson, Arizona, to visit my great uncle and aunt, Bob and Barb. The cinnamon rolls would be our hi-how-are-you gift. For that same reason, Mom and Dad didn't stay up until midnight, for the first time in 20 years. They hit the sack about eleven, and as a result of this confusion, I actually missed the Big Moment. I looked at my watch as I was getting into bed, just in time to see it turn from 12:00 to 12:01.
"Happy New Year," I said to the sparkling lights of the town in the valley below, outside my window.
10 comments:
"The remainder of the night is a bit fuzzy, but nothing anywhere near comparing to that embarrassing thing that happened last month. Don't ask."
YOU HAVE TO TELL ME! How are you going to do that?
Love this post!
You have the sweetest family. All you three boys are just adorable. Yes, yes, I know that's your dad. He's adorable too.
I'll trade you that Ipod for something I got.
Can I interest you in package of adjustable bra straps?
I don't eat pancakes but I think I'd like those- I'm going to look them up. I know for a fact Tony would like those.
BTW, I am going to post my award after I finish the next post. I am so exicted about it and I hope you aren't put off by my delay.
How come your mom didn't want to climb?
Happy New Year's to you, Postie.
I think I'll call you Postie because "Chloe", and "Polly". What do you think?
Love this:
"The whole point is just to be massively lazy and let the old year slither out on its belly like it probably wants to after a hard 365-day shift."
This was a fabulous holiday. I also enjoyed the pictures. I love the fact that your Great Uncle and Aunt are named Bob and Barb. I don't know why, but I just love that!
EC: Maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'll tell you. Perhaps in six months or so, when it ceases being embarrassing and starts being funny.
Thank you! I love it when people tell me they love my posts...
Well, gosh! I'm turning red! Dad probably would too if you told him he was adorable. Mom thinks he's pretty adorable as well. They met in Nevada one gorgeous summer through a mutual friend. Dad was at the friend's apartment and Mom knocked on the door, and when Dad opened it up, the first thing she thought was "WHOA..."
Sorry, but I'll take a rain check on the adjustable bra straps. My boobs have finally stopped growing, I think. Heh heh.
Oooh, award posts. Don't worry, I don't consider it a delay. I have at least five posts stacked up in the pipeline, waiting in the wings. I can't wait to see who you nominate.
Mom didn't want to climb because she knew it'd kill her. Not much into climbing, Mom isn't.
Postie! Perfect. Nobody's ever called me that before. Out of the phalanx of other nicknames applied to me (Postman, Postmaster, Fence Post, Age (short for "Postage"), Postal, and all the rest) you've found one that hasn't been used yet. Well done. You're a born go-getter.
And the New Year did slither out. Ahhhh...thanks.
Jennifer: Hey! Thanks for stopping in again! Glad you like the pictures. And I love it too: Uncle Bob and Aunt Barb. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? They're a lovely couple, too. Barb does all the talking (at a mile a minute) while Bob just sits there with a big ol' grin on his face.
An MP3 player, eh? The kids gave me an MP3 player a couple of years back. I had no idea what to do with it, so I put it in a drawer somewhere, where it is to this day. I'm pretty sure it was something they were trying to get rid of, wanting to upgrade their own models.
Welcome to the 21st century!
Yes, yes, yes - you are now "Postie."
I sort of teased myself with this post. I loved the title so much, and it made me so curious, that I just sort of savored it for a bit before actually reading the post. I would see it scroll by on my reading list and just kind of go Mmmmm...
Is "swarm" the technical terms for a group of lemurs? Have you fired many from cannons? Just curious where you pulled that very interesting simile from.
You got some truly awesome gifts. I'm especially envious of the license plate and the kneeboard. I need a kneeboard just for when I'm sitting at the computer, or taking notes on a book I'm reading.
I was the same way about cell phones as you were about iPods. I got my first cell phone in like 2006.
Pumpkin pancakes! I'm getting a bigger and bigger crush on your dad all the time. And I second EC's comment about the adorability factor.
Lawrence Welk! My Nana was a huge Lawrence Welk fan and we watched his show often.
I pretty much despise the New Year's Eve hoopla - yours sounds just right. Mine was pretty mellow like that too.
Mrs. Witzl: See, this is exactly my problem. You get something technological and then in a year it's obsolete, and people are once again ragging you for being behind on the times. Not that I care what people think, but it gets old after a while. Thanks. I still refuse to participate in this whole "instant messaging" foolishness.
Polly: "Postie." I'm getting more and more used to it. I was wondering what kind of reaction the title would garner. I thought most people might go "ewwww..." Glad to know you found it savory! You're pretty adorable yourself.
This is how I see it. Similes like "a ton of bricks" and "a light coming on upstairs" are overused. We need some new similes. So I've taken it upon myself to think up some new ones off the top of my head. And I didn't think there's anything that would make a bigger impression on me, personally, than being hit by a swarm of lemurs fired from a cannon. Unless it was a gaggle of gibbons, of course. Or a range of rhesus monkeys. Maybe I'll even try it someday.
Say, have you ever read "An Exaltation of Larks" by James Lipton? It's a very, very worthwhile read. It's nothing but an extremely hilarious compendium of collective nouns. You, Madame Word Warrior, MUST read it. You'd get a kick out of it.
Yeah! There you go. You could make a killing! Go ahead and invent a kneeboard for practical note-taking in front of the computer or in your reading-chair! As an author, I could sure use one of those. I'm poring over some books about ancient Sumer and Akkad right now (see my next "recommended reading") and I could really use a better place to take notes than a notepad balanced on the opposite page.
I got my first cell phone in 2004, a bazillion years after everybody else I knew had one, and only because Mom insisted I have one before driving 1800 miles to college by myself.
Ha! I'm going to tell Dad that there are all these women on Blogger that say he's adorable. And would like to try his pumpkin pancakes. I can just see the expression on his face (and Mom's). Thank you!
Thank goodness. I was beginning to think I was the last person on Earth who actually knows who Lawrence Welk is. My favorite guy in his band was the fellow with the enormous accordion. He was GOOD.
Here's to a mellow New Year's Eve. It's the only way to fly. Thanks for stopping in, everybody.
If you're into creative metaphors, I highly recommend reading Tom Robbins, if you haven't already. "To specialize is to brush one tooth" is one of my favorites.
I've never heard of the Lipton book, or him, even. Sounds like a fun book, though - I'll have to look for it.
I was just thinking the same thing about making money selling kneeboards to the general public, but now that you've said it on your blog, EC's going to do it first, I just know it!
We need more good accordion guys in life.
Postie,
You are in big trouble. You thought most people would go "ewww" over the name "Postie"?
You need a big whipping by a medium sized blond. And you better not enjoy it. ;)
Well, sometimes I'm a small. It just depends how the size runs.
Felt I needed to share that.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, you've got me all wrong. Much as I'd hate to avoid a beating by a medium-sized blond, I'd like to clear the air here. I thought people would go "ewww" at the combination of champagne and cinnamon rolls (i.e., the title of this post). Most people think "milk" after they think "cinnamon rolls." Or I do, anyway. My apologies for giving you the wrong impression (gulp)!
Heh heh heh...good to know.
Post a Comment