What’s the rumpus?

So yeah, the Xmas vacation.  Pretty cool actually.  I brought the best bottles from my dwindling stash. Leonetti and Pejut.  Pedestrian tongues drank Two Buck Chuck or beer and they were happy.  I’m only selfish with my grapes to the extent of anyone’s ability to appreciate them.  Know and understand what you’re drinking and you can have all you want. I will only share my wine with them gullets that can appreciate it. I’m a dick like that.

Some still call me The Cock.  

I was asked to say grace at Christmas. Heh. I took it upon myself to thank the powers of the universe for family, friends and health, as well as the wisdom of the American people in their overwhelming support for Barack Obama as President Elect of The United States of America.  The caveat intended for my beloved uncle Tyke, an unapologetic Republican. 

At least they laughed. I’m sure they saw it coming.    

Dinner was excellent.  Culinary rockstardom visited upon us by my sister bearing an extraordinary mixed green salad with pomegranate seeds and an absurd pumpkin soup.  Dear cousin Marlow played an excellent solo with her fresh green beans, almonds and ham melody.  Otherwise, an excellent medley of turkey, mashed a’ tatas, gravy and various appetizers. Oh, and cauliflower in cheese sauce.

It was all I could do to not rub it in my hair.

Then there was the bloody roast beast with horseradish. Had to look away.

Among the pies were chocolate, pumpkin and a perfect pear and cranberry with crust to die for from my mother. She tells me she nails grandma’s crust better than any of her sisters. I don’t doubt it. I wonder if they know that.

Extraordinary people looking a little Norman Rockwell, yet moving at the speed of real life. Sharp, funny, pointed, loving and respectful. No matter where the day took me, no matter the people I was with, there was not just a glue of shared experience, but the bond of loyalty and acceptance. Dialog, debate and discussion almost all optimistic. Hopeful.

The first white Christmas in Northern Nevada in twenty years.  

Christmas eve, a study in silliness and inebriation.  I always have a party, but my father’s illness and the weather over the Sierras have conspired against it for the last two years.  I ended it at the house of my cousin’s Marlow and Derrick on the eve.  No worries.  I found myself in bed with cousin Derrick as well as Uncle Tyke.    

Decidedly outta hand.  Gorgeous.  Good to love and be loved. To be tolerated even. 

Visited the Madame. She was classy gorgeous.  

My sister the city planner, has changed the entire face of downtown Carson City in a handful of months and she’s managed to put an ice rink right on top of the town anthole. The rink thrives.

I’m here to talk about Uncle Tyke. Roland Emil. Sometimes I worry his eyes may be too far apart but he’s a crafty bastard and I can’t help but adore him. An excellent man despite being a shameless Republican. Uncle Tyke’s wife is aunt Bobby and she’s the shit as well. A devout Catholic who still manages to be completely honest and very funny. I adore them.

She was my smoking buddy but she quit. Replaced by daughter Marlow.

So, they begat Marlow and she chose Derrick. They all four rock. Marlow has gorgeous completely, an enormous heart, sweetness and honesty. Her husband Derrick slays me. I think he gave me the benefit of the doubt because of my father. I’ll take that. The respect he has for my Old Man, they for my people, makes my heart swell. I try to do my best towards them all.

This is a subject. These folks are real.

Derrick says, Hey you fat bastard, first time he lays eyes on me. Inside is the beautiful house he built with my father, his father and father-in-law-uncle Tyke. Inside, my little shit cousin Marlow puts out a delicious Christmas Eve spread. The salt in my ocean. No shit.

I ate with my hands. That just occurred to me. Hope I wasn’t offensive. Everyone else was doing paper plates. I’m sure I was loud and drunk but I’m just as sure I wasn’t the only one.

My feet stink like broccoli. Like babyshit. Lysol.

He drives a race car and can build just about anything this side of a nuclear reactor. Derrick. They tell me he’s pretty good. I don’t doubt it. He’s both fearless and egoless. I couldn’t take him down without a bat or a shovel. If I didn’t like him so much, I’d crack him with either.

My brother in law Todd worked up some powerful anticipation over three dollar roast beef sandwiches and dollar beers at The Carson Station. He did do the most remarkble thing by arranging to have Don Carlson meet us for drinks and then he and my sister held him there while I enjoyed pork chops with my folks. The overwhelming priviledge. Awesome. Marvelous. Thank you both.

My sister, who can best be described as a house afire, has taken it upon herself to broker my birthday present in the form of the brainspank logo on cousin Derrick’s race car. I understand the near matter vs. anti matter dynamic here. But to have my logo on a my cousin’s fucking race car. My sister, I still call her Pissy, is a genius.

Trust me when I tell you that she’s changing downtown Carson City at a rate that is making the old guys look really bad. She’s really starting to floor me. I’ll have to get published or this sibling rivalry thing might be over. I’ve been coasting on a gold record for a decade. It went triple platinum but that horse is dead.

She’s wicked, my sister. It’s not that she’s exceptional. It really is that she’s almost always exceptional. Goddamn Tam. Enough is enough. I’m here to warn you that your brother is comfortable as second superhero in charge. I’m reminding you that you may never enjoy the respite of second most accomplished sibling ever again.

I may choose to rest on my laurels.

You, as most accomplished sibling, have the burden of higher expectations. More Superhero stuff. I intend to get by with a few flourishes and self sufficiency.

I cannot believe the amount of food in my parent’s refrigerator and pantry. One can choose between a handful of different kinds of cereal, soup, crackers, chips, nuts, vegetables, fruit, sauce, spices, grains, pastas, vinegars, oils, syrups, mixes, dressings………….

The pantry is a huge closet with a divided glass door. Somehow it’s light is the most comforting in the house.

Three appliances. My guess is the one in the garage is long term parking.

I checked out Tam’s larder. Very impressive as well.

I spent more than a few evening’s end with the Tripod named Billy Jean. A sweet black Lab who lost a front leg while training with my house afire sister for a marathon. She assured me she would stay happy and spread it as best she could to all involved. She included a special promise for my Mom and Dad.

I made her swear.

I get home to discover my handsome refrigerator ceases and desists. The upside of being broke is that there wasn’t a damn thing in the freezer or the fridge. The downside will be a repair bill. It’s rough all over.

I hear that despite all logic, the universe continues to expand.

Drinks for my friends.

4 Responses to “Camp….Fire…..girls……play”

  • David Lee 3:

    I heard there’s a 1 in 5 chance this is all just a giant simms game for someone somewhere. God’s eight grade project maybe.

    Glad your holidays rocked, mine did also.

    Good to have you back at the start of 09′ — let’s do this.

    Any Chilean cabernet back there?

  • Kyra:

    I love your writing…like the pages of a fine book my friend. I don’t think I can tolerate anymore drinks though. I have consumed far too many bottles of wine these holidays and my head (and liver) are thankful they are over.

  • admin:

    Thank you very much.

  • Celiene:

    Oh my god, Michael. I LOVED this! I saw Aunt Bobby – and I thought ‘let see what that is all about’. So happy I did!

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