Each year before I pen our holiday letter I reread the last several years’ offerings and wince at how naively hopeful I was. Better times, cheaper energy, smarter dogs, more employed kids – all those things are easy to predict when your belly is full of HoHos and your sights set on dancing sugarplums. I have to gloat a little that my predictions of wonder and joy have come to pass more frequently than Stockton’s assurances that we will all be eaten by some flesh-consuming, scripture-quoting, bigoted son of an out-of work welder (not that there’s anything wrong with that---welding, that is.) Stockton’s glass is always half empty and leaking while mine is brimming over with the possibilities of being more than half-full. But even I have to admit that the last few months of market troubles and house-value depletions have caused me to wonder if my fairy godmother may have taken a "don’t ask, don’t tell" oath.
Stockton’s mom died in March and, while she sure had it in her to be a trial, she was also an anchor for us as our only surviving parent. In the months after her death, I was struck by how much more often I wanted to ask her something than I wanted to wring her neck. (Note: before she died these percentages were somewhat reversed.) But while Heth was –and always will be – important in our lives, I think the real story of our year is how we melded, struggled together, and ultimately recognized our mutual strength in adversity after her death. Despite all predictions to the contrary, Stockton and I aren’t just some flash-in-the-pan lust lizards who are doomed to wear each other out and move on. We’re apparently in this for the long haul. We celebrated our 25h anniversary this year.
Before we leave the category of loss and move completely into news of our retirement accounts, I must also mention the passing of both our pigs, Hampton and Tammy Faye Bacon and our muppet/sheepdog cross, Louise. Each of the pigs, about ten months apart, managed to crawl into the inner recesses of their two-room, pitched-roof, insulated pig house that Stockton built them years ago. It speaks well to his skill in building a cozy porcine abode that, before they passed into their eternal slumber, they sought out the innermost recesses of this stoutly built fortress. In case you are not quite getting the picture here, this is a large, complex pig house that had to be COMPLETELY DISASSEMBLED to get a dead pig out of its inner hallway. Twice. Two different times. Both in winter. One in January 2008 and the second in November 2008. Mostly Stockton did the hard work but I had to help.
Louise suffered for nearly a decade from doggy diabetes and, despite the vet's prediction, her twice daily injections and expensive special food kept her around for seven years beyond her predicted lifespan. Nevertheless, her system finally gave out this fall and, with tears all around, she took the Kavorkian dose and rode the short bus to doggy heaven. At Stockton’s behest, we had all three of these beloved pets cremated and their ashes went into the collection of urns in the top of his closet. Sarah is going to collect all these urns and, when we’re all finally gone, send the combined contents off to that place that squashes cremains into man-made diamonds. See, there we are. Back to diamonds and sugar-plums and tinsel, oh my.
Since I have a problem with having fewer than three dogs underfoot, I adopted, "for Stockton," a schnoodle puppy. A schnoodle is half miniature schnauzer and half toy poodle. The idea is that she and Monty will get married when she is old enough and we will get an offspring of our favorite mini-Schnauzer before he enters his dotage. Jane is really cute and really soft and truly evil. I believe we have clasped a flying monkey to our bosom. She is 1/10th of Stella's size and capable of destruction at a rate exceeding Monty and Stella together. Truly, if it weren't for the adorable wiggle-butt and cute, tilted "I-want-a-cookie" expression, this dog would not see 2009.
But now on the human snapshots that I know you wait for breathlessly each year.
Matthew has spent the last several years working very successfully in the wholesale mortgage industry. He has a new job now. He, Tasha and Cabot are doing well but have tightened their belts into wasp-waistedness. We are desperately hoping that the economy rebounds b
ut if worse comes to worst and they are forced to move home and bring our grandson closer, that does seem like a silver lining. We are looking forward to their visit this Christmas. Cabot is talking, running, making music, and having adventures of all kinds. He is, without question, the cutest and smartest grandchild ever produced. I’ll arm wrestle anyone who doesn’t agree.Jason and his fiancé Julie are not coming here this Christmas. They both work for the State of Washington and Jason only gets Christmas Day off. We are keeping our fingers crossed about their employment future given the grim revenue picture in the Al-ki state but, if worse comes to worst, we have room for them too. Their picture is not included in this letter because, despite repeated requests, they haven't sent one. If they do send one, I will edit this post and include it. I do have a quite cute picture of them in the striped Christmas pajamas I gave all the kids last year but I had to promise Jason that I would not put the picture in my holiday letter before he would even put the damn things on!
Sarah grad
uated from the University of Oregon in June and, just a few months later, became engaged to marry. She and her beau Eddie plan to wed in July and both of them are also gainfully employed. Sarah is ‘uber-organized” in the planning of this wedding and we are impressed and awed at all the skills she picked up from us without us noticing. In case it is necessary to consolidate all our homes after the collapse of western civilization, we are breaking Eddie in to what are best described as “Stockton’s routines” and “Kathryn’s excesses.”Before our collective finances went to hell in a handbasket, Stockton and I had begun an addition to our home. While we are shuddering at the hole this project is lea
ving in our bank account, it is comforting to know that there is space for all our children and their families if it comes to that. We have begun meticulously tearing the foil backs off of gum wrappers and Stockton is working on new ways to convert dog farts into some sort of bio-fuel. All-in-all, I think we are as ready as we can be for what may be in store for us. In the advent that none of Stockton's predicted catastrophes come to pass and there is money left, I will be calling some of you to see if you want to accompany me on an Elderhostel All-Massage Tour of Amsterdam. Stockton would go but he has to stay here to let out the dogs and feed the barn cats.Oh yeah, and that election thing, we are DELIGHTED!
Best wishes for a glorious holiday season. Please keep in touch.
