Day 329 — Meeting Santa

[for Sunday, Nov. 25]



Phil's mom brought Rylee to town today to check out the Enchanted Forest at the Pink Palace and, ultimately, to meet the big man in red himself, ol' Santa Claus.

We made our way dutifully through the twisting paths flanked by animatronic woodland creatures and elves, slowly (and creepily) cutting wood and even eating poison mushrooms. I was completely blown away by the gingerbread houses on display. Clearly, the people who submit them are incredibly competitive. There were castles and churches and a Southland Gaming Park and a Parthenon. And then there was this, which deserves its own Food Network show.

When we finally made it to Santa (and convinced Rylee to wait her turn in line; she kept either breaking in line or leaving to go watch the train set again), she cautiously approached him and sat on the wooden pony, before demanding a candy cane and then running off without sitting on his lap. Poor old guy. He was taking clandestine swigs of something between kids. I imagine I'd need to be good and liquored up before letting hundreds of kids sit on my lap and cough in my face while telling me all the crap they felt entitled to that year. The whisky helps kill the germs.

I remember not taking a shine to Santa when I was a kid. But I think I was frigging terrified of the Easter Bunny. I want to say there are horrible, horrible pictures out there of me in my finest pastel dress at age three or so, screaming bloody murder in the lap of a bewildered giant rabbit. Is that for real? No idea. I should ask the parents. So I understand why Rylee wouldn't immediately want to hop on the lap of some random bearded dude in a furry red suit.

I was really impressed by all the Christmas trees various local orgnizations had up at the Pink Palace. There was a tree made from recycled stuff (upside-down light bulbs painted to look like snowmen!), a tree made as an homage to wine, and a purple Seuss/Grinch tree complete with fireplace being raided by the Grinch himself. It was ridiculously cute.

All those neat trees just made me mourn the fact that I won't be putting up my tree this year. The cats will destroy it. I'm going to have to wait until they're a bit older and hopefully less unabashedly insane. I can just imagine the anarchy that would ensue the moment I got that bastard erected and plugged in. And the thought makes me laugh and cry at the same time.

Project 365

Day 326 — Turkey Day

[for Thursday, Nov. 22]



Every year, it's different. Last year, we nearly burned the kitchen down with fiery turkey grease.

This year, both my parents were sick. My mom hobbled around in her pajamas, barely stomaching the rich and ripe smells of a dozen different dishes mingling. She was a good sport, and ate a bit of turkey and fixins. She even drank a glass of wine later in the evening.

My dad kept to himself, and was suffering from some kind of ear infection and tinnitus that was driving him mad. He had to go to bed early in the evening to prepare for work that night.

I sipped on Hogue white all day (White Harvest). There were no board games. There was clucking in the kitchen, and when everyone migrated to the den, we watched some harrowing video-clip show ("WATCH AS THIS MAN FALLS FROM A PLANE TO HIS DEATH!!!") instead of football.

It was all very low-key. A little sad.

I don't like seeing my folks feeling bad. If you're lucky (which I am, very much), you grow up with your parents as the rock from which all else can anchor, and when that rock crumbles or shakes the slightest bit, it sets everything off and you're forced to remember how transient everything is. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but that's a major bummer.

That said, there was a baby there — Peyton, my sister's step-grandson. Look at him. He is a cutie bug, isn't he? Look at me, using idiotic phrases like "cutie bug." This is what happens when you surround me — an intentionally child-free person — with tiny babies for a week. First Lucas and now Peyton. And then later Thursday night I got to see Rylee, Phil's niece. She sort of squashed whatever tiny maternal pangs had been growing in me this week. That's only because she is three. If you have ever met a three-year-old, you will understand that sentiment.

Project 365

Day 183 — Grillmasters

Phil's brother Rickey and cousin Spencer are visiting. I've been laughing so hard at tales of their crank-call hijinks back in Savannah. I regret that I was always too chicken to do a good crank call as a kid. Hell, what's stopping me now?

Project 365

Day 175 — Swinging

[for June 24]



Yesterday Phil's phamily had a cookout, so I tagged along with the camera and took lots of middling pictures (I've really got to work on manually opening up and stopping down to get the depth of field I want, and I need to quit relying on the autofocus so much; and I need a better primary lens than the one that came with the camera) and a couple that I actually like. I spent time playing fake phone tag with Rylee (Phil's niece) and Emma (Phil's mom's sister's daughter — his first cousin?), and tried my best to keep them entertained so the adults could drink their beers and tell dirty jokes. Or whatever it is adults do when the two- and three-year-olds aren't nearby.

I've always held the opinion that kids don't like me and that I don't like kids (except for my nephews), but these two actually kind of do like me. Probably because I'll sit and play with them, and pretend to go to the store and cook chicken with them, and I don't yell at them or spank them. But that's probably because I spent a total of five or so hours with them as opposed to many consecutive days and years at a time.

I heart spinster auntdom.

Project 365