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As you may or may not know, I haven’t been using my family’s real names on this here cesspool of mental unsoundness that I like to call my bog.
Why? Well, as I used to say…
“I didn’t want to exploit my poor siblings by associating their real names with this humiliating chronicle of my life. So I decided to assign them aliases and let them continue to live in relative anonymity.”
I thought it was smart, and even a little charming at first, not to mention completely brilliant because I got to call my siblings whatever I wanted. But – as with most of my ideas – I’ve gotten tired of it.
So I’m here today to unveil the real set of weirdos who are my brothers and sisters.
Meet Faye. Not Faith. Am I really that creative? Wow – I amaze me.
She’s recently engaged to Sam. (Not Luke.)
(He likes his guitar.)
In real life, this whacked-out individual goes by the excessively original and highly Russian name of Ivan:
(He likes performing feats of derring-do.)
This here little chickie isn’t actually Paige but Sarah Jo. (Don’t try to find a connection…I’m pretty sure there isn’t one.)
Last of all, the baby of the family…the runt of the litter…not Tony, but….
Kenneth: (Or Ken.)
You know, I must say, each sibling’s name has some kind of meaning to me that I didn’t even realize when I chose them.
For instance, Faith…the name just fits her. She’s gorgeous. She’s a woman of God, she’s calm and even-keeled and maybe a teeny bit old-fashioned. (But don’t tell her I said that.) She is Faith. That’s the essence of her.
Then there’s Max. Oh boy, I could go on and on with this one. But I’ll use only three examples to keep things short.
1. Max, the Grinch’s pet mutt. I’ll forever hear my dad’s Grinch impression: “MAAAAX!” Sounding like a cross between a deafening duck and a bullhorn.
2. There’s Uncle Max Dettweiler from The Sound of Music. Hilarious and obnoxious and loveable all rolled into one.
3. And finally, there’s Glueteous Maximus, which is actually his full name.
(I’m sorry, Max. I couldn’t help myself.)
As for Paige, well…if I were to give birth to and name this child, I would name her Paige. Aside from the fact that I just plain like it, it’s so her. A mixture of girly, and plain commonsense. That’s my little sister to a tee. It’s unexpected. It’s cool. And it’s a little bit quirky.
‘Nuff said.
Finally, there’s Tony. The funny runt. The cute kid. The sunshine and the storm cloud around here, depending on his mood. I’m not sure why, but the name Tony fits him as well. It’s a nod to my great-grandpa, but it’s also a little bit Italian, which I think Tony could be, with his dark hair and passionate nature.
I like to study my siblings. Well, I like to study all people, but especially my siblings. I get to see them day in and day out. The good, the bad and the just plain disturbing. I can observe them as deeply as I take the time to, and that is one of my favorite hobbies. However, I must say that…. nobody – but-a nobody – can name a person like-a Mama*
(Spoken with charismatic Italian accent.)
Phew. Now I can readily bid farewell to the pseudonyms which have served me well, lo these 7 months.
Farewell! (And good riddance!)
(Now what I should do is take a deep breath and dive into my archives, painstakingly changing the names one at a time. Why does WordPress have no Find and Replace, I ask you?!)
At last; the long-awaited documentation of our recent flying-of-the-coop.
To keep things short, succinct and sweet around here, I decided to just post the general itinerary of what we did and where we went in the good ol’ PA. (Because I’m all about keeping things short, succinct and sweet.)
(Kind of.)
Each morning, I’d just jot down what we had done the previous day. Good system. Worked well. Got writer’s cramp. However, on the sixth and final day, the morning was a little rushed. Insane might be a better word for it, but who am I to judge such things? After all, I spent an entire 45-minute drive in the backseat with Max, recording videos of the two of us bashing into each other, slapping, punching, etc., and then watching the videos in slow-motion. I mean, really, who am I to judge insane?
But I digress. The morning was hectic. The food was in short supply, and I barely had enough time to slip away for a few quiet moments of Bible reading and prayer. So I neglected to write down what we’d done the day before.
And then we went out and did a bunch of other stuff “on the way” home, which caused us to arrive home around 2 am. Anyway, since I was foolishly lax in my journalism, and my memory fails me, I’ll have to just go by the pictures I took to remember what we did.
Except I just remembered – I didn’t take any pictures the fifth day. An unknown thief burgled all our re-chargeable batteries.
And she’s not actually unknown. Her name’s Paige.
And she’s not actually a thief – she’s a ruthless thief who thinks only of her own photographic pipe dreams.
And…is burgled a word?
Well, I’ll figure something out. If Paige had need of all those batteries, she better have taken some darn good pictures. I’ll do some investigative work there and see what I can come up with. For now, here’s what we fanny-packing, knee-sockin’ tourists did the first few days…
(Minus the fanny-packs and knee socks.)
Our Trip
A short, succinct itinerary
(or not)
Thursday: Plan to leave at 6 am. Leave at 9 am. Drive. Drive. Drive some more. I drive over the Delaware Memorial Bridge. MAGENTA SIDENOTE: I was pretty much psyched out of my mind about driving over said bridge. It was officially out of our way, but after my dad casually mentioned to me how high it is…and that state trooper’s are stationed at each end because people get to the top and freak out and refuse to drive over…I HAD to drive over it. Call it a whim, a spur-of-the-moment impulse or whatever, but I really had to drive over that bridge. I had to fulfill my newly-born dream. And so my awesome dad – at the coaxing of my equally awesome mom – consented.
AAAAAND….despite the “If in crisis, call 1-800-TALK” signs at either end…it was a tiny bit of a letdown. Still very cool, but not terrifying like I was hoping. [Indeed, there is something wrong with me.] Nevertheless, after crossing, I drove for approximately 3 minutes in the state of New Jersey – something I’d never done before. So in my book, the entire detour was worth it.
End of magenta side-note #1.
Thursday, continued: Arrive at Leaman’s Lodge. Eat a late-night dinner of pizza from an Italian place owned and operated by an authentic Italian family.
Friday: While having my morning devotions on the porch, see authentic Italian guy drive by in his Fiat. Grin.
Go to farm auction. Stick out like sore thumbs. Eat lunch at Dienner’s. Head to The Green Dragon where I buy green dangly earrings and a cheese cookbook. We also buy 18 whoopie pies. (If the previous two sentences don’t completely sum up my life and identity, I don’t know what does.)
Stop at the house, eat snacks – (leftover slab of pizza for myself) – get all spiffed up and head to The Sight and Sound Millenium Theater in Strasburg.
(Click here to see what the Strasburg theater looked like. [My picture doesn't do it justice.] That really cool, ginormous building on the Sight and Sound website is actually the theater in Branson, MO.)
Magenta Sidenote #2: I think I’ll just keep on with these so-called “sidenotes” when I feel the need to expound on something. It’s like I’m writing a lengthy, rambly, newsy post without actually rambling. Or so my twisted logic tells me. Anyway, about the show. It was absolutely INCREDIBLE. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Faith and I officially made plans to travel back this winter for their Christmas play.
Saturday: Me and the Padre wake up at crack of dawn – okay, 6:30 – to make a big breakfast. I discover how much I value standard kitchen items, like baking sheets and frying pans.
We visit the following:
- The Wilbur Chocolate Factory – I buy a cookbook. (*Collective gasp*)
- Dienner’s to pick up the next day’s lunch and dinner. (Obsessed much?)
- Bird-in-Hand Bake Shop – (A tourist trap – literally. People were packed in there like sardines. We barely made it out alive and with our dignity intact. Something about crawling on the floor to get out of a swarming mass of humanity.)
(Just kidding on the crawling part.)
Next up, a little “scenic driving” as we attempt to – and eventually succeed in finding Hayloft Homemade Ice Cream, Candles and Petting Zoo. (What a combination, eh?) Except the shop was closed – you could only walk through the petting zoo. But that was uber-cool.
Yes – uber.
Last but not least, Aaron and Jessica’s Buggy Rides. I felt like a complete and utter tourist, and I wanted to slink down in my seat every time a real Amish buggy passed us on the road. But it was one of those things that you just can’t pass up. It’s all part of the experience.
MAGENTA SIDENOTE #3: As small children, Faith and I were officially scarred by going on one such ride. On a previous visit to Amish country – (yeah, we like it up there) – we rode in the front of the buggy, ecstatic and eager and quite certain that everyone would think we were cute little Amish girls. Our excitement was effectively squashed, though, when we felt a sudden spray in our faces – coming from the general vicinity of the horse’s rear end. Like I say, we were scarred. So I guess you could say this buggy ride was kind of like a healing process we needed to go through.
It wasn’t until later that we realized it was most likely the poor creature’s saliva, not equine urine.
Or so we like to tell ourselves.
End of Magenta Sidenote #2.
Sunday: Like complete heathens, we skip church, get up early, go to Gettysburg, where we spend 4-5 endless hours in museum. Take driving tour until dark. At twilight, stop at Little Round Top – otherwise known as The Top of the WORLD!
I don’t know who those people were. But they were kindly ignorant as I inconspicuously snapped their photo from a boulder 60 yards away, so they deserve a little screen time, I think.
Plus, it’s cute.
Now.
We drove home on Tuesday, making lots of stops which I cannot remember. All I know is that I spent around $35 somehow, in transit. Maybe I’d rather not remember.
So unless I unearth some telling photos or manage to pick someone else’s brain, the last two days of our trip will remain a mystery. A black hole. A big section of my life that’s missing. But that’s okay. Mystery’s are cool. They make me feel like Nancy Drew.
Uhm…or not.
Saturday, September 12, 2009.
(I’m actually writing this in the wee hours of Sunday morning.)
Yeah.
These two….
…are soon to tie the knot.
Crazy, huh? Crazy how the years fly by.
It wasn’t exactly a huge shock…I mean, Faith and Luke go together like…well, like these two:
Uhm…except, they can’t dance.
(Also, Luke called a while ago and asked me what her ring size was. Slight giveaway there, old boy.)
But Faith and Luke are perfect for each other – the proverbial match made in heaven. And I couldn’t be happier for them. My first words weren’t congratulatory, though. I believe I actually said, “So I’m completely furious at this moment in time.”
(I get really eloquent when I’m mad 
)
The reason for my furiosity? I wasn’t even there for the announcement. I had just run upstairs to visit the loo, and had plopped down at the computer for a second when Paige came charging down the hall, screaming.
Yes, I heard the news from my psychotic little sister, who was, I do believe, very close to having an excitement-induced aneurysm.
But oh well. The ring is gorgeous. The lovebirds are gloriously happy. The date, however, has not been set. They’re thinking March, maybe. And all I’m thinking is Isn’t sister, maid of honor? And isn’t maid of honor, hostess of ceremonies? And do I know anything about hostessing – or ceremonies?
Eh, I’ll cross those bridges when I come to them. And then I’ll burn them behind me because…well, just because. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere. I mean, I don’t really want to end up like this:
(Although, having 27 dresses would definitely have it’s advantages.)
This has gotten me thinking, though. Once my big sis gets hitched, matchmaking eyes will turn upon me with a vengeance. And I’ll have nothing with which to fend them off except my feeble wit and weak platitudes. I can just hear it now…
“So you’re next, huh?”
“When are you gonna find yourself a nice fella?”
“Any prospects these days, Abbie?”
“I know a great guy – I should introduce you two!”
“When are you going to take the plunge, old girl?”
Okay, so maybe the “old girl” bit is a little over the top. This will, however, put me in a strange and untenable position as being ‘next-in-line’. All expectations will be for me to find a nice “fella” and fall into wedded bliss as well, following obediently in the safe and sedate footsteps of my sister.
Well, safe and sedate is fine for Faith. It’s who she is. I wouldn’t have her any other way.
But I fully intend to crash some expectations over the next few years. I can’t help it – I’m an almost-middle child. I just hope I’ll be able to fend off the well-meaning remarks from old ladies I don’t even know at the wedding.
Perhaps I’m borrowing trouble. We’re not exactly the Trumps. It’ll be a small wedding, therefore; no old ladies I don’t know.
(I hope.)
- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -
The ring:
Dazzling in its simplicity. Sensible. Lovely. So very Faith.
Congratulations, sis. I’m happy for you. And I really mean it.
Love,
Abbie.
Yesterday, Tony turned 11. Can we please observe a moment of silence as the baby of the family grows up?
{…………………………………………..}
Thank you.
Since I love comparisons, here’s a picture of Tony at 1.
(Pay no attention to that gangly thing draped over the high chair.)
And here’s the little rascal this year.
(Tony’s the one in the frighetening wolverine shirt. The other little rascal, on the right, is Tony’s friend. I’m pretty sure they’re attached at the hip.)
My, how the years fly. Seems like only yesterday, I was sitting in front of Tony’s high chair, feeding him Dutch Apple Dessert and eating every other bite, becuase, 1., it would mean my job would be over faster, and 2., the stuff was good!
But – ahem – that sounds like another confession for another post.
Now, for the lowdown, nitty-gritty on our family…
This picture tells part of the story:
You can’t see it, but the torch is actually sitting beside the birthday cake. As in, my hooligan siblings would have actually used a torch to light the birthday candles, had not my mother intervened.
I think the whole scenario is rather eloquent, though. It speaks of the paradox of normality and weirdness that is our life. Minus the normality.
But don’t judge yet. That’s only half the story. There’s more. You see, I’m not sure when it started, or how, or why. Or if I even want to know when, or how, or why. All I know is that lately, at any large gathering where family and friends come to our residence for a time of fun, relaxation and laughter…
We blow stuff up.
Uhm…yeah. We do. I guess we’re just a family of pyromaniacs. Well, at least some of us. And wait a second – why am I using the terms “we” and “us” here?! I don’t take part in these strange and primitive rituals!!
I only…
film them.
And photograph them. It’s my favorite job. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.
The guys got things started with what’s called a Jesse-Bomb. Now, let’s detour for a moment here.
This is Jesse.
He’s being serenaded by his sweet girlfriend – who also happens to be my dear friend.
The kids love him because, aside from being a crazy goofball and all-around fun guy, he regularly supplies my punk brothers with all manner of fireworks and explosives. And swords. (More on that later.)
Anyway, since the boys have been reduced to ape-like creatures who respond only to the words “fire” and “kaboom”, I guess the name “Jesse-Bomb” was the best their feeble minds could come up with. Whatever the case, it’s stuck. And so has the pyromania.
So, to get things started, the boys – {my father, Luke and Jesse included} – blew up a baseball.
These are the remains.
Next, they blew up a coconut.
Which, I might add, was my coconut. It was. It was leftover from my Un-Birthday party, and I was saving it for…well, for a special occasion. I just didn’t know how special.
The remains…
…plus 5,734 more pieces, scattered at random around the yard. I’ll be hitting those with the lawnmower for years to come.
After the whole coconut fiasco, things just started to go downhill. My mom – my own mother - got into the spirit of things, volunteering a watermelon that was “Probably old and mushy”.
Right, ma. Whatever you say.
This explosive-illness is spreading at an alarming rate. Next thing you know, I’ll be infected.
Max was only too glad to fetch the ill-fated melon.
Pictured: my (adorable) future cousin, with – you guessed it – the remains.
I think the watermelon pretty much got the let’s-blow-things-up craze out of everybody’s system. And Tony really wanted to open his gifts…
While Tony opened gifts, I alternated between taking pictures of the birthday boy and taking pictures of my three future cousins, who are photogenic dreams.
I’m not used to photogenic dreams.
I mean, I’m used to working with this:
And this:
Oh – and this:
Ugh. I disgust myself. If only I weren’t so brutally honest and real, I would delete that picture. But I’m all about blatant honesty and real…ness.
Anyway, about those photogenic dreams that you’re probably dying to see after viewing the last three specimens…
Love.
LOVE…
LOVE these kids!! And their photogenic dreaminess.
Meanwhile, Tony opened the rest of his presents: this rather brilliant gift from myself – a book entitled The Duke.
It’s a complete collection of everything John Wayne. And if you know anything about Tony, you know that I am now his favorite sister.
Then there was this…strange-looking gift from Jesse (and Jesse’s Girl)…
You can probably already guess what it is, given my loaded comment earlier about explosives and swords.
But isn’t the wrap-job genius?!
A parking meter. Brilliant. With age instead of time. BRILLIANT!’
Of course, Tony read the card first. Because he’s very polite and very respecting of Birthday Etiquette. NOT because it was a super-awesome, super-big musical Star Wars card.
We interrupt this broadcast to bring you A Random Shot of Abbie’s Foot. Brought to you by Abbie’s Attention Deficit Disorder, Inc.
Except that’s not my real foot. That’s my contorted-to-look-real foot. Refer to this post for the real thing. Just a warning – it ain’t purty.
Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, this fascinating gift that Tony is trying to open…
And….and…..
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a sword!
Good heavens. What is next?
THAT is a scary sight. A sufficiently scary ending, I think. And rather fitting, considering the title of this post.
Oh, but there’s one more thing. Why is it that Tony can put on a pair of dorky yellow glasses and look cute?
Unjust, I tell ya. Unjust.
P.S. I’m calling this picture “Suddenly I See!”:
P.P.S. This post contains 980 words. I think that’s a record, even for me. So I’ll shut up now.
