The Shore

I'm kinda missing this place...which is kinda weird because I'd much rather hang out in the murky mire of a lake than a sandy hot sweaty place like the beach. However, and that's a However with a big "H"...as in the Hurricane of Howevers, this place is really special to us because of the certain crazy beautiful people who inhabit this shore house.

But here I go...I hate the sand.



I hate the saltwater.



I hate the seagulls that try to eat your lunch.



I hate the sand in my sandwich. ***especially when they're turkey with Cooper Sharp (i.e. crack) avocado, chipolte mayo on those new Arnold's round sandwich rolls. Paaleeze. No side of sand needed.



I hate the sunscreen (we don't need no stinkin' sunscreen in Vermont).



I hate having to go into the water to pee.



I hate having to pick my wedgy a hundred million times because I'm playing a game that is more active than my bathing suit was made for.



I hate the idea that the ocean can, if it wants to, rip me out to the deep end and keep me there in its tide until some hot hunks of love (i.e. lifeguards) come save my weak and silly little self. Although that wouldn't be so bad, albeit a little embarrassing.



I hate how the beach drains my children of all their energies so that on the way back to the house no one can 1) carry the same shit they came with, 2) walk, 3) walk without whining, 4) walk without stopping.



And okay, so this isn't fair...or nice (to say the least) to the fine LOVELY friends who put us up every year. Megan and Kevin and all you beautiful girls, I love the shore because of YOU...and because of this:



My children love you...all of YOU.



And if Frankie, if she marries (ever), chooses one of these two fellas' it will be the happiest day of my life.


And I love watching your children grow, especially this girl because she's becoming such a fine sweet young girl, who knows what is right in the world.



You know, I've got it all figured out. Because labels aren't so bad in the end. Right? **click to enlarge



I love the house. And more importantly, I love how clean and white the house is. Especially the white sheets. My black labs could do wonders. They're never invited, I realize that.



I love the blocks. I love that the kids can ride their bikes (and I'd like to point out that Frankie turned 4 in May and was kicking both my boys' asses on the bike, despite learning how to ride it the day before yesterday) to the end of the block and turn around and come back. I love that the blocks are paved and not made of dirt.



I love the seagulls in the morning.



I love the food. Flank steak (thank you Kevin) to die for and Avalon Freeze paleeze.



I love the drink (John Daly's all around...and I'll have another please and thank you).



I love the air and the breeze, which smells like it actually came from Africa, because it may have.



I love the smiles.



And more smiles, even if they're dirty.



And the fact that none of our children are still in strollers. This is Frankie three years ago.



But I love this...mostly (besides being able to sit on the beach with Megan and not get up for what, say, ten minutes or so). I love seeing these girls (and boys) get to know each other over the years. I watch them grow and laugh and love (and fight) and although we see them twice a year (if we're lucky), I love seeing how it all just fits together so easily...like we actually do live down the road from you (or you from us). And how fun would that be? But here's to many more crazy times, and please tell me you're coming to ski because I'm all good with the cold and the frost and wet hats and mittens and stoking the fire. Yea, I'm all good about that kinda stuff, just as long as there is no sand.

Crazy Uncle Chris' Crazy Kids

In the moment after the boys were pulled from my cut open belly Paul Bunyan, and I don't know how he really saw anything through his tears and, I mean, the boys were all goopy red and blue from my schmegma, and so I don't really know HOW he could see my brother Chris in their faces, but well, he did. So, Paul Bunyan, yells out...after exclaiming to the world "They're BOYS!!," he yells out to me, because he must have assumed that not only am I torn open with my insides sitting on my chest but I must also be deaf, he yells..."They're Little Chris'!!". Oh Shit, I thought. I already had a mini-me. Do they really need to look like my brother? I mean, he's all handsome and stuff. And now, like, when they're 16 and all, what am I going to do?

I think the boys still look like my brother. I think they have his build, which is good since he can run, like, 50 miles at a time...up mountains. So, as nature would have it, I was really curious to see if (you know) either of my 14 month old niece or nephew would have (you know) any of me in them, maybe. I sorta got disinvited to my parent's camp in upstate N.Y., but I showed up anyway. Because of this:



And because it's really important for this to happen:

Especially since this sweet nookums lives all the way across the country. Okay, so she looks like her mother. Fine. Whatever.



And he looks like his father, but that's okay....they can have a little of me in them; ya know, personality wise. I mean, they're blood. Right?



So, I can do this. I mean, I'm really good at this. So is she.



And so is he. They both ate my kids under the table.



And I used to look this cute in overalls...right about the same time I was pregnant with the big girl over there. Yea, that's right around the time overalls were "in".



And I have blue eyes. And she has blue eyes.



And he has blue eyes.



And I LOVE wildflowers.



I, however, don't squish mine.



I love tubs. Especially warm ones, like this. I'm not a big fan of the lake water these days. I gotta be HOT...super HOT.










This momma bird sat on her nest incubating these babies for months and look at her now...she's chasing these rug rats around like there was no sitting, or waiting, or hoping they stay inside her belly till they're big enough to breath on their own!



OOOhh, I'm really good at these. But I don't get too many chances these days to take naps, but life is a circle and someday I'll fall asleep in the kayak too.





Or playin' in the rain. My blood tingles when I get a chance to do that.




Doesn't it just light up your life?



But I think, maybe...this one here. This little girl here. I think she may have some of my silliness in her, sunk down in her bones and hiding for times when she feels like swinging her arms in the air when the only music to dance to is the tune in her head.


But no matter what...whether they're like me, or look like me, they're mine. My own neice and nephew, my only brother's children. And although I might only see them once a year (far too little enough time), I know that they'll know their Aunt Mayme in some way...in some unexplainable way. Because they got bits of me in them. All sorts of different crazy bits.

Crazy Uncle Chris' 5th Wedding Anniversary

I missed my only brother's wedding. I was big and round and wouldn't have fit on an airplane. But I was very sad about missing my only brother's wedding. So when I knew that I would miss my only brother's wedding, I took a trip home to my letter box. I drove 2 and a half hours to my childhood home to find letters that my only brother sent me when I was in college. I saved them like beer coasters from our trip to Europe. I cherished them like love letters from my early boyfriends. And luckily they weren't mixed in with the box of love letters I burned from my 'later' boyfriends.

Well, I gathered these tattered treasures up and hauled them 2 and a half hours back home. I studied them. I read them out loud. I took notes. I wrote down words, phrases. I rearranged those words, I rearranged those phrases and I stole ideas. And I came up with a poem....in his words, from his words, rearranged by me.

And then I sat my fat ass right by the pond. And Paul Bunyan sat next to me. And I put a video camera on a tripod and I tried to read those words into a camera without crying. And I did it. And then I had that video put onto a DVD and I sent it out to Bend, Oregon with my parents. And I think my brother read it. His own words, rearranged.

Well, on the day of his wedding my lilies bloomed. It was a gorgeous sun shiny day. And he called me when they were done, and all was signed and official. And then I missed my dance with him. And then he missed his dance with me. But that's okay, because I was a fat pig and I would have two boys ripped out of me three weeks later that looked just like him (more about that tomorrow).

But Chris and Carey, happy love on this, your 5th, anniversary. Happy Love Always.

Chris and Carey were together when Paul Bunyan and I got married 11 years ago. They went their separate ways right after our wedding but found each other again...thankfully. This poem speaks to that finding.

You are my Goodness


When there were no roads in sight
Just miles and miles of jagged peaks-
And forested valleys,
Serenity
Lay off in a distant territory-
Some unchartered far-reaching place.

We danced to a kind of weighted music then,
Which hung over our heads- as if the constellations
Were not aligned correctly and left their spaces to find solace
Under this, our, atmosphere.

I was a helpless child,
Robbed of speech, the language
To explain my desperate loss,
My loneliness, that your
Harrowing Vacancy left behind.

I slumbered through that winter
And maybe a few springs too, until
I heard a whisper,
And saw (somehow always) a glimpse,
A picture of you.

I came to your door,
Bearing in my arms
The parts of my self that were left,
Like some wanderer offering up what
Little hope I had for warmth.

You rose up out of my picture of you,
Became, in essence, that Serenity
which puts my quiet pain, my travelings,
And unease to rest.

We've reached that space, that place with
Sand so white and soft it squeaks when we walk on it.
And when the sun rises on you,
I am taken with the realization that
You are my grace
You are my gentleness
You are, gratefully, my goodness.

Where In The Heck Is The Hussy?

1. The bills piled themselves; I tell you..."piled themselves" on the countertop.



2. And the weeds, they curled their tentacles around my ankles as I stood there too long debating when and how...to chop their heads off and take them by their toes and drown them in air.



3. The peas, trying to keep their heads above water, struggle for survival in the Rainforest, now called Vermont.


4. And the cat, forlorn, frolicked in the tall grass hoping someone would fill his empty food dish.



4. And the wilting celery and sour milk, they too were frolicking, almost moving in joy for our arrival home.



5. But it was the pond water, in the brisk air (which was blowing in (yet) another storm) that cleansed us better than the waters where we washed away our wounds for the past ten days. Yet, these were the waters we were weened on...our home spa, fertile with life forms that most others would have nightmares about.



Any hints??

We love our home. We love our house. Our nest is best.

Love,
Your Hussy (who is home for at least a week)

Where In The Heck Is The Hussy?

Hints:

1. We got off Exit 13...The Garden State Parkway.
2. There are 6 children under the age of 8.
3. They outnumber the adults.
4. We can walk to the beach.
5. If there is a tsunami, we'll all be dead.
6. I'll miss you all.

Love,
Waldo

Where In The Heck Is The Hussy?

For my two readers...here are some hints:

1. I grew up on this lake.
2. It's near the Baseball Hall of Fame.
2. My parents tore down the hunting shack in 2002 and rebuilt a new house.
3. It's big enough to house our clan and my brother's new clan (twins too!) and my parents and my dogs.
4. There is no high speed internet access, hence no photos.
5. But luckily we don't have to take shits in the outhouse anymore.

Off to another 'secret' location on Saturday. I'll give you new hints then.

Signing Off,
Waldo

Christmas in July

Where does that phrase even come from? If you can enlighten me, please do so. I woke this morning to a bit of a present (and that wasn't the small someone who snuck to the foot of our bed with his pillow and managed to dislodge the dog and then me). It was this small orblike thing that has rays that warms the soul and shines brilliantly through the leaves to spray twinkling lights (especially in the morning) onto our patio, where I feasted on a mug o' tea and a bit of toast. It was a delight to eat my breakfast in the sun. And then, happenstance having taken a seat next to me too, that orb thingy shined on us pretty much all day and so then, too, happenstance and me, we ate lunch together.

So what a present I received this early July morn...considering all the drab and ratty wet gifts I've been given so far by this glum Mother Nature woman. So anywhooo, this whole Christmas in July phrase, and the whole gift of the holy sun this a.m., had me thinkin' about our holiday tradition of crazy, whacky Christmas cards. And it's right about this time anyway (well, it never was about starting the thought processes in July, but that's what happens when the pressure to please starts to take over the creative juices) that we start thinking about this year's Holiday card.

Many of our friends have received our cards from the very beginning....1999. But I think I only ordered about 25 that year; so maybe only our families received our very first wacky card. However, as the years have passed and the bandwagon has grown in depth and girth, our list of recipients has also grown. I know for a fact that we receive holiday cards from families who really could give a shit about showing us the growth rings on their homely children; they just want to ensure that we send them the next installment of our non-Christian, sometimes nude, holiday Ganz cheer.

So, not only as a refresher course for those who have already seen these cards, but also as a showcase of past cards for those who haven't seen them, I'd like to bring you down our Memory Lane of Ganzenmuller Holiday cards.

Here is our first idiotic card. We moved from the gorgeous mountains of Colorado to Philadelphia in the summer of 99'.

We wrote something like "Training for the Poconos" or some stupid thing like that.

Here is our second, almost bordering disgusting, idiotic card. We took this photo on an 8 day exploratory canoe trip. I think this was the 7th day.

Our caption for this one was "The stockings were hung by the chimney with care". Cute, huh?


So luck would have it that our family would grow.

"Lots of Love From Our Family!"


And this one Great Grandma Ann thought bordered on pornographic.

This caption...."Love, Butthead". Original, huh?


Okay, this is my favorite. Ultimate favorite. Paul Bunyan flying into the Harris/Plimpton pond.

Caption: Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!" This one really put us on the map.


That one was hard to follow, but this one is pretty good too.

Claire and I are singing Jingle Bells, in case you were wondering.



This is a little raunchy, but that's what having a farm is all about.

"Share the Love this Holiday!"


This one took some creative juices, but I like how it came out.

"Greetings from the Season"


Paul Bunyan spent the year building, with his own hands, this manger for his babies (tools).

Gold: $825.70 per ounce
Frankincense: $.88 per ounce
Myrrh: $.75 per ounce
A bomber stable: priceless.

It was too bad that no one really understood the slang term "bomber", which stands for indestructible.


And here, too, was a card that no one really "got". So many thought we had actually shot this beautiful animal, thanks, in part, to Super Cath for her photoshopping prowess. I'm sure they were happy to find out that we don't even own any guns.

Let's see if you can understand the "joke":
"Here's hopin ya get a plateful of moose this season! You betcha! And also too a New Year too!"

Hint: she's back in the news again!

Well, there you have it. The last ten years of idiotic Holiday cards. Now I'm off to enjoy the orb that still is shining its heavenly light upon us, before it is hidden by dark snowy clouds and it's actually time to get 2009's Holiday card off to the presses.

But until then, my hope for the rest of 2009 is Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men (and Women and Children and Dogs).

Love,
The Mavericks from Vermont

p.s. Don't be sending any of your boring "family" photo cards this year just to get on our list. We're at maximum capacity! Peace out.