November 2009 with the Girlies
My 'Mom's' side of the family has a tradition going back more than 30 years where the entire family would gather in Tyler, Texas (The Rose Capital of the World) for Thanksgiving. Our family was the only one that did not live in Texas, so it was pretty convenient for everyone but us. In spite of the inconvenience, we would make the long pilgrimage from Missouri every year, usually leaving at night and arriving the first thing in the morning.
The first few years we drove during the day, but we quit doing that because Ray would get annoyed with our constant requests to be fed at least once during the 12-hour car drive and our refusal to be completely and totally silent as we were jammed into the backseat of an old Caprice. The solution, then, was to drive at night, a skill at which Ray was quite adept, except for every three or four minutes when he would have a quick nap.
Ray decided that the drive was not unpleasant enough for the passengers, so he called upon his vast network of used and damaged electronics purveyors to purchase a CB radio, a technological marvel in 1976 that Ray kept using well into early 1993. He rigged a 'squawk box' (speaker) so that it hung right by his ear and he would listen to truckers report the conditions of our nations roadways.
I have vivid memories of Ray's CB conversations with his buddy 'Mutton Chop Rob' --"Uh, breaker one-nine good buddy, you got yer ears on? I'm headin' down the double-nickel super slab and I'm about to pull the hammer back because I think I just saw a couple of boy scouts in a plain wrapper up here and I don't want to find myself in the bear cage with smokey. There's been a mess 'em up at the 116 yard stick just outside of Sugar Town and they're piling 'em in the meat wagon, so it looks like I might pull off and look for a nap trap."
This sleep-avoidance tool was quite effective, not just on Ray but also on us. The expectation was that we would sleep for the entire duration of the trip, which meant we wouldn't be able to request any form of sustenance or bladder relief, but with the 'squawk box' doing its squawking job very well, it was nearly impossible for us to fall asleep.
Eventually, though, we would make it to Texas at the crack of dawn and my wonderful grandparents would get up to let us in, always having a pallet (2. Chiefly Southern U.S. A temporary bed made from bedding arranged on the floor, especially for a child) ready for us. Our trips there were always a delight, and many of my fondest memories are of our times in Texas with my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and the occasional interloper.
We kept the tradition almost every year until the late 1990s, when families and distance started to make it difficult to get everyone together for the holiday. In 2009, though, many of us made plans to go to Houston to spend Thanksgiving with our 'Texas relatives', which of course pleased me to no end.
My eldest brother Ronnee was not able to make it, because he was attending a ‘Man-Made Global Warming is Not Fake! It’s Not! Quit Using Evidence and Proof to Discredit Us! We Have Shoddy Science and Made-Up Data to Show How Real It Is! All Those E-Mails Where We Admitted We Were Big Fat Liars And That There is No Global Warming Mean Nothing, So Go Buy Those Dangerous Stupid Curly-Q Hippy Lightbulbs!’ rally with his hippy friends in Oregon. My sister D;a;ldkjf couldn’t make it because her tub was dirty.
But Kim and I and the girlies flew to Texas the night before Thanksgiving, and the girlies were delightful on the flight. We rented a minivan (AWESOME!) and headed straight to Aunt Debbie and Uncle Drew's house. The first night was just delightful seeing aunts, uncles, and cousins, and the girlies were thrilled to meet their new baby cousin, Lou Costello.
Aint Debbie, who used to teach home economics before the women's libbers made the schools get rid of that subject and force the girls to take Industrial Arts and Metal Shop instead, cooked an amazing Thanksgiving dinner, with help from my 'Mom', Aint Carolyn, and Uncle Chuck, who brought some odd turkey smoker gizmo which had a very specific requirement that five or six people must spend many hours standing there, looking at it.
The dinner was wonderful and the girlies were having a great time with Grammy Judy, Aunt Sarah (Uncle Garf couldn't make it because he was bank in Kansas City, knitting a scarf for his poodle), and the rest of our family. I was having a great time, too, until about 7 PM, when I realized that I didn't feel particularly swell. My stomach began to hurt, I got a bit dizzy, and I could barely participate in Turkey Bowling (I still got second place, and would have won but my cousin Clare cheated). Once the trophy ceremonies were over, I told my lovely wife (Kim) that I thought it was time for me to go.
We went back to the place where we were staying, and Kim quite nicely put me to bed in the spare room so I didn't infect anyone. All this time I had a terrible feeling that my worst fears were about to be realized. I was about to ruin my streak of not having vomited (in Texas, they say ‘urped’) in nearly 25 years.
The last time I vomited was in the spring of 1985 and I have not vomited since the early stages of Ronald Reagan’s second term. Well, until this past Thanksgiving, that is, when I made up for lost time by vomiting every half-hour for 3 days straight.
So most of the pictures and videos below do not include me, because while everyone else was having the time of their lives at Uncle Drew’s lake house, I sat in a La-Z-Boy for 72 hours watching a 3-day Law and Order marathon, vomiting on a regular basis and trying very hard to eat a few saltines and drink some Gatorade without throwing up. It was miserable, except that the Law and Order episodes were mostly the ones with Jerry Orbach as Lenny Briscoe, which I am sure we can all agree are the best Law and Order episodes ever.
Here are some photographs taken in November, interspersed with some short videos that I hope you find amusing:
