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    Inappropriate Halloween Costume 2008
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The Standard

Grr… I’ll be saying that a lot these next few weeks. I’ve really gotten into my family’s genealogy this past year and meticulously posting my findings on a web-log that I created ‘specially for the occasion. I know that nobody cares as much as I do about it, even though the family had a definite impact from a scientific, militaristic, financial, artistic, pop culture and civil perspective. I just worry that some ancestors will fall through the cracks, like Grampy’s brother who was done in by a kamikaze during World War II. (Happily, his page is the most-commented by the public.) Granny’s pretty much losing her mind so I’m trying to get as much record out of her while I still can. For this reason, I really need to go to her hometown (also the hometown of Hillary Clinton and Harrison Ford) and hit up the microfiche in the library.

Sadly, as everyone knows, I’m broke as a joke and destination Park Ridge is about 5 hours away from the Great Northwoods, where I was working as a cook for a spell got suckered into visiting. (More on that in a moment.) So it’d be hard to find the bucks for the fuel but I would pull something out of thin air if I could only get a smidgen psyched up for it. But no one cares and it’s left me terribly depressed. Like why even bother with this family at all?

But then I think of Granny who’s done so much for me and how it would be more wrong than right for me to miss her 60th wedding party. Especially if my other grams and pop pop are coming too. If four 90-year-olds can boogie down, then surely I can work it out. Particularly since I have a feeling that this is going to be the last hurrah for everyone, anyway, and I can just chalk it up as regretless living.

So up I’ll go to the Great Northwoods where Ma’d rather sit around and mechanically assemble puzzles in lieu of keeping her promises to visit me. But everyone will say how they’re so glad that I’m coming (via 3 planes there and 3 planes back, by the way) and I will try to believe them… however what usually happens is kiss, kiss, okay, see ya, we’re going to get drunk now and run around the woods ’til all hour of the night.

I just wish I could not feel so much DREAD every time I’m around them. I wish I could not get so worked up about how even though people SAY they’ll change, don’t. I’ll try to be cordial, then, and forge through it (probably for the last time.) For my own sanity, I’ll limit my communications to the standards:

  • A bit bumpy over St. Paul.
  • You don’t say.
  • To the post office.
  • Wo ist Herr Haberdang?
  • Looks like a storm’s a brewin’
  • Must be the kielbasa.
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