Midwestern Values

So it is Thanksgiving time and that makes me think of family time, and the family back in the Midwest whom I will not see. I will see Elly, of course, since she lives down the street, but I won't see my mom or dad or little brother. So instead, let me indulge in a little family memory story time.

By the way, I just checked the Evite response to Thanksgiving food items folks will be bringing (I'd asked folks to consider using local and organic ingredients) and here's what my sister wrote:

"I'm making imported toxic pesticide soup. (i hope that's not too much overlap with kaya's emissions pie?) also, i'll be renting a stretch hummer limo to drive over to your house, which then i will idle out front all during dinner. can't wait!!!"

Is it any wonder I love her so much?

But now, family memory story time. For your enjoyment! Yes!

My mom was 19 in this picture. They lived in a little tiny house they called the green house, I suppose because it was green. However, there was also some growing of green going on at this house. Perhaps that was the house's true, super-slacker hero identity?
Here are the things that I know about this time: My mom wore really sweet clothes, such as this killer outfit. They had goats, because I was allergic to cow's milk (which triggered my diabetes later on). They had a garden. They had no money. They were probably very freaked out. Also, I tended to walk into stoves a lot, which didn't help. I'm realizing that the story I could tell about this picture is probably a little incriminating, so thus, I am forced to relay these stilted facts so my father won't get mad at me.


My father put me on a horse when I was 18 months old at the latest. This is his horse Sunny. Sunny was totally having a love affair with my dad. He let my dad ride him with a piece of baling twine. He didn't particularly like me, though. Around this time my dad ground-tied Sunny in the pasture at the top of this gigantic hill, and as soon as my dad went to check on the garden up there (what garden is in a pasture? I wonder what they were growing...hm), Sunny turned around and bolted. With me on his back. I had the reins, and my dad yelled after me as Sunny approached the hill "Pull back on the reins! Tell him whoa!" However, it is very hard for a four-year-old to control a 450 pound animal with a few scraps of leather. By the time Sunny had run halfway down this (even still now gigantic) hill, my dad's instructions had changed to "Jump off!" Which I did. Luckily there were no head injuries sustained, though I was rather bloodied up. My dad scooped me up and Bactined me in the bathroom of the farmhouse, all the time using very bad words to describe Sunny, who I think he later gave a minor beatdown.


If anyone is convinced that Ian's going bald, witness this picture: That's always been his hairline. The only way Ian could look any pansier is if my mom had used a barrette to secure his longish wisps of white hair. Or if Elly and I had put him in a bra and dress, an activity with which we regularly amused ourselves. Ian also was a sleepwalking pee-er for years. In high school Elly and I would follow him around as he sleepwalk-searched for a place to pee. "The dieffenbachia," we'd encourage, and he'd zombieishly plod to the plant and pee in it. Then we'd giggle hysterically and let him go back to bed. In the morning we'd tell him what he'd done and he'd look sad and put upon. Dang, we were only trying to help! It would've been embarrassing if he's sleepwalked his pee way into his dresser. Our efforts were otally unappreciated.


I will end with only 3 observations about this picture:
1) The phase of wearing horrible hippie Grateful Dead hats lasted way too long: I wore them for approximately 2 years. This one had jingle bells on the end.
2) Elly always has had a flair for choosing sweet glasses.
3) This picture can probably be dated by skaters by the shape of this board.


Happy Thanksgiving, suckas!