The game for people of all levels of age, skill and intoxication. . .
Christmas madness is winding down.
Notable moments:
1. Having the bag of grits I brought home for my parents swabbed for drug residue.
2. Small children in cow and donkey costumes vastly improving the meaning of Christmas eve mass.
3. 13 crazy christmas sweaters, 3 ties, 2 hats and one pair of christmas earrings spotted at the airport on the way in. Also a partridge in a pear tree.
4. Backyard Bocci ball. Nuff said.
5. I learned about Growlers. I have my first, and am excited to discover whether southern microbreweries will refill it.
I’ve extricated myself from the loving embrace of family on the coast and finished the first leg of the return journey. I’m holing up at my sister’s place in Hood River for a couple of days before I get on the plane. Family time is always fun, though I inevitably leave with sensory overload on every level; from the emotional hangover to the feeling that I’ve had enough really good food and drink to put an army into a food coma. In spite of all of my best attempts at moderation, it’s probably a good thing for all of us that Christmas only happens once a year. Notable failures to the moderation attempt included my sister’s crab quiche, my mother’s potato pancakes, and several unbelievably tasty Oregon microbrew options that I can’t get in Atlanta. Yum. I did contribute something veggie to every meal, which was received with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tofu ricotta = skepticism. Roasted sweet potatoes = vacuumed.
In addition to the fabulous food, the trip included multiple trips to the beach and the dunes, (Jogging in the dunes = buns of steel and pain!) fires in the back fire pit and the livingroom, and the requisite exchanges of books and music that happen whenever we all get together. I’ve got several new Neko Case albums and a book I need to get through before I leave so I can return in to my Dad.
Hood River is covered with snow. There are three different coffee shops within a few slippery blocks from my sister’s place, and not a single one is a Starbucks. (ah, bliss! I am in Oregon!) Two quail just trotted across the driveway, and I can look out the window over old town, the river and the snow covered cliffs on the other side of the gorge. It’s amazing. I’ve also had warm, snuggly company every night in the form of my sister’s dog, who has me wrapped around his little toe. So life is good, but it will be good to get back to the routine and my own pack tomorrow night.
Update: 6 a.m. left Hood River to crunch through the snow on the recently plowed and re-opened freeway toward the airport. My sister gets major points, since once we arrived, she had to turn around and go back. My thoughts on mornings and airports are as follows:
1. salespeople should not be allowed to accost you for skymiles cards until at least 9 a.m.
2. Damn, I look sexy with red eyes and six layers of clothes on that won’t fit in my carry on.
3. Fuck that guy that tried to blow up the plane on Christmas eve for making getting through security even more of a pain than it was before.
4. Hooray for Portland airport and wireless! (I have been without for a couple of days at my sister’s place)
5. I’m really glad the obsessively barking terrier is not leaving from my gate. . . just have to watch out for two-year-olds now. (disclaimer: I like two year olds, but not when they’re screaming on planes)
nice