Goats, Paper Mache, and Trailer Trash

Sweden makes me happy. (The above pic is actually from the house I grew up in.) I even love Sweden's flameproof goats. You are all welcome to meet me in Stockholm in the third week of August.

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Dining with a C-Class Family

Sometimes I consider myself a modern Rasputin, which is no compliment. Rather, it's an acknowledgement that I have an ability to suggest things that will benefit me and which others will sally forth on. (I'm not oblivious to the fact there are circumstances beyond my suggestion.) For example, I say to my mother, "I've always like this trivet." She says, "Take that home with you, okay?"

For example, I say to the Betsy when she says she and Christopher can meet me for brunch, "Perhaps I could bring some fixins and we could make brunch at his family's house so you can spend a little bit more time with them." She calls back in 10 minutes to say I should not bring anything.

Breakfast on them at their house. Lovely!

And it was. This was my second grand feast with the Cs, truly gorgeous people. Even the sisters showed up, Mips and Sara, the latter of whom loves films in which people get ground to bits, a fact that strikes me quite funny for she's such a sweet soul.

My sister joined us and Christopher cooked up some righteous omelets. I drank a full pot of coffee--at least--and a number of glasses of brut. And the stories were wonderful.

Once again, Mrs. C was cracking crazily. She'd had a container of Shake 'N' Pour pancake mix explode in her face not long ago and shared with us the complaint letter she'd sent to the manufacturer. Really funny stuff. It included descriptive lines of how the pancake mix had blown into her face and how the cap had blackened her eye. (It was actually Mips who reminded her to include the batter-in-face detail rather than just the blackened eye. It's awful to laugh at another's pain, but, c'mon: pancake batter splattered 'cross the face! Good catch, Mips--for you were the daugther noted in the letter for whom the pancakes were to have been made!) And then, in typical Minnesota fashion, she'd added lines such as, "Needless to say, I was not happy" or "Of course, I will not be buying this pancake mix again." What else would you say?

I'd cuss. I'd probably send them a letter on tape. It'd be useless. She at least got $30 in coupons from them. I hope she acquires something safer, like donuts, next time.

Other stories: We heard that at age 15 Mrs. C had worked at a bakery in Minneapolis and on her first day had been such a killer saleswoman, if not devastatingly naive, that she sold some poor fools the paper mache rolls from the window. It was a hot day even and the fake rolls had been sitting there in the heat, probably for days anyhow. And she sold them. You've got to have talent for that.

She also once launched poor Christopher into the Christmas tree. He was a tyke and she was on her back and tossing him about on her raised feet. Lo and behold she just sort of expelled him into the tree and onto his head. Poor bastard! Explains loads.

I'd write, "Jovial tales aside" and segue to another thought but there's no need to put the joviality aside. It was such good craic. Really good people, them Cs. And it was wonderful to get a few hours with C & B from Memphis.

I can sit grinning and listening to their tales for hours on end. And for the in-between times, I'm content to recall them.

There are so many good people in my life, and days like that are apt to devastate me with how crisply happy they make me. Thanks to all who attended the feast. Your energy, heart and laughter is appreciated.

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Today, Friday, is mC's birthday. I haven't been sleeping lately--total 4 hours over the last three nights combined--but I hope to get enough beforehand to make it to Lee's for the mC and Trailer Trash bash.



I've got my in-the-footsteps-of-Fitzgerald look ready. (Lord. With that one lazish eye I always look like one eye is fake. I guess I like that question, but it still bothers me.)
-cK