Turkey, Turkey Gobbler...
Run, run away... My mom always sings that song at this time of year. It's one of those weird camp/church youth group songs that just sticks in your head forever. So T-day was fun, it was nice to see family. The flying wasn't too terrible. Descent and landing sucked because of the stuffed up head, but I had gum, so I survived. I don't appear to be any worse so far, so we'll call it good.
Family was silly as ever, but a laid back crowd this year. Or maybe it's just that I was really tired. Still hopped up on the happy hydrocodone, feeling a bit like a balloon head all day. But we ate, and we talked, and we laughed, and it was good. And I did not have to be in charge of either cooking or cleaning up, so I'm just as glad, really.
The night before I had what I can only presume was a drug-induced dream. (Yes, my dreams are always weird. Shut up.) It started out fairly mundane - I was walking with my little brother, he was very young, and we were trying to find the dentist. I had him by the hand, and I had a cell phone in the other, and kept calling for directions, because I kept forgetting the street name. When we got there, it was a big gray victorian in a neighborhood with lots of big houses and big old trees. But inside, it was a library. All airy and light and pretty wood and books. Angie was there, and she was looking at this list of music. I looked, and I told her I had all the songs in sheet music (they were all madrigals and solos and the like) but for two. She was so excited that I had them. There was one latin name that I purposefully mispronounced, and this man corrected me.
He was a crazy man, Johnny Depp playing a homeless person. He said his memories had been on this big wooden table, but they were gone now, and could we help him find his memories. I tried not to be condescending, but I didn't know what to tell him. So we looked for his memories. I crawled underneath the table, and lifted the tablecloth, and there was a brown crinkled paper with bad calligraphy on it. He was so happy - it was his memories. He snapped it up, and i felt bad for doubting him. But he was still crazy. Then we were outside, and he went, humming, inside of a fallen log and merged with it, a red glow coming from the big crack in the log, and his voice humming. An elderly woman came by, lavender dress and pale gray hair piled on her head, asked me where he went. I pointed to the log, told her to look in there, can't you hear the humming.
She bent over the log, and it suddenly grabbed her head and wouldn't let go, and she's screaming, and I was frozen. I couldn't move. I stared at her, and she finally got free. Her face was bubbly and bloody, as though she'd been attacked with acid. As she's screaming and crying, all I can think is it's my fault. I should never have told her to look inside the log...
I woke up, thinking, what the hell was that about? Jeez.
Luckily, this trip has not been like that at all. Got some journaling done on the plane, figured out a plot point. Had nice social time with family that I don't see often enough. Cousins sitting around talking about cartoons we used to watch, my little brother waxing on about some really interesting philosophical things in world music and culture, my cousin's puppy to play with, Lucas playing trucks and singing to himself as toddlers are wont to do, food and laughter and teasing and fun. Today I'm at my brother's house, with my nephew and my Mom and Dad. My sister-in-law is at work. Quinn is at a gig in New York, and won't be back till January. (It's a long story, with much playing of music and good money that he can't quite turn down.) I'm here with Mom and Dad, babysitting. Lucas isn't quite sure what to make of me. But he'll totally let me shove a tissue in his face and say "blow," 'cuz I keep having to do it myself. Solidarity, of a kind. I'm trying not to feel like a giant farm girl, next to my tiny mother and even tinier Vania - I swear I could put them both in my pocket and have room left over. I really should lose about 20 pounds and tone up my, well, everything. I'm so huge here. My aunts are pretty small, too. I feel like one of those Thanksgiving parade balloons. And all these people are going to get squished if I land wrong.... 5'8" really isn't *that* tall, is it? Because I loom, I tell you. At least my Dad is here. If I stand next to him I don't feel quite so gigantor.
But now we are going to the park. Then it's time for lunch. I'm ready to eat now, so I'll see if I can sneak a snack in without getting into too much trouble. And early to bed and early to rise - gets me to the airport for my way too early flight tomorrow. Good thing I have my handy-dandy iPod to keep me company on the plane. I'll talk to y'all later. Merry holiday weekend, everybody. Hope you're having a happy.
Family was silly as ever, but a laid back crowd this year. Or maybe it's just that I was really tired. Still hopped up on the happy hydrocodone, feeling a bit like a balloon head all day. But we ate, and we talked, and we laughed, and it was good. And I did not have to be in charge of either cooking or cleaning up, so I'm just as glad, really.
The night before I had what I can only presume was a drug-induced dream. (Yes, my dreams are always weird. Shut up.) It started out fairly mundane - I was walking with my little brother, he was very young, and we were trying to find the dentist. I had him by the hand, and I had a cell phone in the other, and kept calling for directions, because I kept forgetting the street name. When we got there, it was a big gray victorian in a neighborhood with lots of big houses and big old trees. But inside, it was a library. All airy and light and pretty wood and books. Angie was there, and she was looking at this list of music. I looked, and I told her I had all the songs in sheet music (they were all madrigals and solos and the like) but for two. She was so excited that I had them. There was one latin name that I purposefully mispronounced, and this man corrected me.
He was a crazy man, Johnny Depp playing a homeless person. He said his memories had been on this big wooden table, but they were gone now, and could we help him find his memories. I tried not to be condescending, but I didn't know what to tell him. So we looked for his memories. I crawled underneath the table, and lifted the tablecloth, and there was a brown crinkled paper with bad calligraphy on it. He was so happy - it was his memories. He snapped it up, and i felt bad for doubting him. But he was still crazy. Then we were outside, and he went, humming, inside of a fallen log and merged with it, a red glow coming from the big crack in the log, and his voice humming. An elderly woman came by, lavender dress and pale gray hair piled on her head, asked me where he went. I pointed to the log, told her to look in there, can't you hear the humming.
She bent over the log, and it suddenly grabbed her head and wouldn't let go, and she's screaming, and I was frozen. I couldn't move. I stared at her, and she finally got free. Her face was bubbly and bloody, as though she'd been attacked with acid. As she's screaming and crying, all I can think is it's my fault. I should never have told her to look inside the log...
I woke up, thinking, what the hell was that about? Jeez.
Luckily, this trip has not been like that at all. Got some journaling done on the plane, figured out a plot point. Had nice social time with family that I don't see often enough. Cousins sitting around talking about cartoons we used to watch, my little brother waxing on about some really interesting philosophical things in world music and culture, my cousin's puppy to play with, Lucas playing trucks and singing to himself as toddlers are wont to do, food and laughter and teasing and fun. Today I'm at my brother's house, with my nephew and my Mom and Dad. My sister-in-law is at work. Quinn is at a gig in New York, and won't be back till January. (It's a long story, with much playing of music and good money that he can't quite turn down.) I'm here with Mom and Dad, babysitting. Lucas isn't quite sure what to make of me. But he'll totally let me shove a tissue in his face and say "blow," 'cuz I keep having to do it myself. Solidarity, of a kind. I'm trying not to feel like a giant farm girl, next to my tiny mother and even tinier Vania - I swear I could put them both in my pocket and have room left over. I really should lose about 20 pounds and tone up my, well, everything. I'm so huge here. My aunts are pretty small, too. I feel like one of those Thanksgiving parade balloons. And all these people are going to get squished if I land wrong.... 5'8" really isn't *that* tall, is it? Because I loom, I tell you. At least my Dad is here. If I stand next to him I don't feel quite so gigantor.
But now we are going to the park. Then it's time for lunch. I'm ready to eat now, so I'll see if I can sneak a snack in without getting into too much trouble. And early to bed and early to rise - gets me to the airport for my way too early flight tomorrow. Good thing I have my handy-dandy iPod to keep me company on the plane. I'll talk to y'all later. Merry holiday weekend, everybody. Hope you're having a happy.