Halloween scares the crap out of me. Even more, people who get off on Halloween scare me out of my head. I don't understand them. I hate Halloween. I mean it's not like we're celebrating love or hearts or Christmas trees and lights; we're centering in on ghosts, Satan, blood (have you seen some of the masks they sell to kids?), guts, & goblins, PLUS candy. (I'm like Chris--I buy the candy on sale weeks before.) But I KNOW I'm going to eat it all myself because when everyone else is celebrating "ugliness," I either go to a movie or turn out the lights and read a book by the little book lamp one of you gave me for Christmas. I enjoyed Halloween before they quit throwing carnivals at the schools for LITTLE kids--with cake walks, fish ponds, bobbing for apples, and before we had to take all candy to the hospital in Provo to have it examined for possible razor blades stuck in apples. Really. People are too sick today to celebrate a sick holiday. It just adds to the madness.
The only Halloween party I've ever been to was Meghan Hoyos--mainly because we were also celebrating her birthday. Chad and Savannah were dressed up like CATS ( I'm not kidding--so creepy); DJ had on a full prison jumpsuit; and Meghan switched between at least three full hoop-skirted ball gowns and got so hung up in swooping the skirts back and forth on the floor just like Scarlet O'Hara in Gone with the Wind that I thought she was for sure stoned on something other than red kool-aid (why do they call that sugary stuff "aid"? Or did I spell it wrong?) Then, Chad tried to teach me how to swing dance. Really. I was so freaked out that I totaled my car on the way home, had to have my son, Turner, call Meghan from the hospital to tell her not to come out to my house the next morning as planned, and puleeese do NOT come to hospital as I was fine. Did they listen? No. Next morning I open my eyes to see Chad and Mike Danielson standing--with flowers--staring at my bruises and swollen-up body, etc. (all damage caused by air bags). I hate Halloween.
And ChrisBob, I keep asking and asking for your e-mail, so I can go to "permissions" on this site, where I send you an invitation, which you answer, which adds you as author/admin. We need you. We miss you. Where's Afton? Why doesn't she write? (I sound like Costner in Dances with Wolves.) Don't get your own site. Use ours, 'cause you make us laugh, and we need help in supporting Julie & Chan, so Chan doesn't come back to us next semester driven completely mad by his mud-sucking job, and so Julie doesn't throw books at students, kill one of them, lose her support money for the fam, which would mean that she and D. starve to death before David can even get through his first year of med school. It's pretty serious. Plus Leanna has developed an Aloneness neurosis AND voyeurism habits. (I've thought of talking to Lance privately. What do you think?) Haylie has a beautiful new baby, but Kameron has disappeared into the world of Busy-ness and dropped off the earth, Rhett is so happily married that he makes everyone sick, and Dan (Jami's brother?), I don't even know how to describe his weirdness. Believe me when I say, we need you.
And, puleeeeease, do not let Anona fool you. She's the one who hauled the straw bales up the three flights, trying to keep buff for soccor (msp?) but it's so uncool that she insists on acting surprised. Sure. Sure. She'll do anything to keep that unruffled, queen-like cover. The little twit.
Also, do not visit me this weekend. I'm still chain sawing trees that fell, trying to unscrew sprinklers before snow, so I'm so overwhelmed that I haven't even washed dishes for a week (had to use a WC paper cup this morning for water), and I'd feel like I'd have to, at least, clean off a place for you and yours to sit, but I can't. The snows she is a comin' Mun. Come see me next time you're here, which better be soon. Go make fun of Anona's straw bales. And trick or treat at her door, so she's not disappointed. AND SEND YOUR E-MAIL.
11 comments:
Like you ever wash dishes on more than a weekly basis.
Chandler... smart aleck.
Anyway, my email is chris@savvyediting.com or you can invite via cubeninjachris@gmail.com (though I never use it for actual email, just random google things). It sounds like the circus has come to Rexburg. We're actually not going to Rexburg this weekend anymore. Life didn't work out. HOWEVER! You will never know when we will show up out of the blue. Don't worry though, we're not against using paper cups.
Too bad I'm not coming down though, I could cut up all those trees for you. Afterall, between the beaver and me, we cut half your trees up last year anyway (I'm just glad you didn't kill me like you did the beaver).
I'm sure this Halloween you can expect the spirit of Beaver's past to haunt you. Good luck with that.
Don't forget to invite me.
And now a word from my beautiful wife.
Hi Sister Morgan! I'm doing great and missing Rexburg as well, especially the Writing Center parties. They were great! Maggie is growing up so fast and is the cutest and funniest girl ever, she is just like her dad! I hope we get together sometime soon. By the way, you're hilarious! I enjoyed your posting. :) See ya!
p.s. Nice picture of me in your river... It was SO cold, but worth it. Pain is so close to pleasure. Too bad nobody else ever jumped in the river. Bunch of chickens.
I wash dishes in my sleep, so don't feel I have to do them any other time. And I think 100 trees fell from the early snowstorm in retribution for killing the beaver. I should have known better. Nature protects nature. The Google account is the best Blogger. (I'll bet you're going up to ride those lovely horses through the lovely fall leaves, aren't you?)
Hey, Mr. Smarty Pants Chan, I have a great idea. Quit your job, come out early, and I'll pay you to saw up my trees, haul them away, winterize the house, paint the outside, and wash the dishes. Same wage you're getting now (well, if it's not, ya know, more than I could afford). I'm pretty serious. I'm in way over my head.
Afton, now that you can post, put on some pics of the babe. I have a couple of Haylie's, but left them at school. so can't put them on 'till Monday.
And, Julie, I shouldn't have said you're going to kill someone by crushing their head with a book and lose your job and starve because Em Po will start having anxiety fits over you and want to send the collection basket around again. So write and reassure her please. By the way, who would have guessed she'd be our top editor? Bless her heart.
Sis. Morgan, where would Chandler live? It's illegal for him to stay with you. I guess he could build a little lodge to live in with all your downed wood, (like a beaver!!)
Ha. That's a "that's coincedental" ha, not a ha of derision. This morning I told my boss this was my last week. I probably won't come out, but let me think about it.
Anona, I shoot beavers, remember? Why couldn't we insulate the shed, paint the inside, put a widow in? Beau will probably be around, but he just wanders and he's helpless help. Or Chan can sleep on the deck. It's not supposed to snow for two or three weeks, right? I'm glad you're quitting Chan. Good move. What's illegal, A.? The 22? I'll hide it from myself.
I won't be coming out. Financially it wouldn't be feasible because I'd drive out and then have to fly back for Christmas, and I want to be with my family 'til I return. But thanks for the offer. I would have loved doing the work, I think. Who will you get to do it now?
I'll do it! Saturday after my GRE. No kidding.
Oh, yeah, right Anona. On Sat. we'll have to carry you home in a wheel barrel. No, I can do it. Really. I'm just whining.
I need to sell. It's getting overwhelming for just one person. (Just where are all my sons when I need them?) And I'm ready. This is the push (and I feel it's from a good source) that tells me it's time, or I don't think I could do it. I tend to hang onto things--my girl scout pocket knife, tickets to Les Mis, wooden boxes where I kept my 9-yr-old dreams, pieces of rope, long dead husbands and sisters, stubs of candles that don't light anymore, bits of soap, stupid ideas, silly jokes that aren't funny, odd colored bark, weird shaped bark, D.I. wicker dolls that fall apart when you touch them. . . . That river has been a great blessing; I hope all of you get to have a river someday, but . . . it's a lot of stinking dang work. (Do ya like my Mormon swear words?) And I am stinking dang tired. Plus, I need more time to write and do some traveling. I think I'll go to Austria. Besides, since my horses are gone, it hasn't been the same. And this is what I plan to do: I figure I can build the same house--with even more windows, minus the purple carpet and water snakes--in the millennium. I'll just take pictures of the ducks with me until then.
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