A luxurious train ride took Singular Girl and I to Saint Looie for the holiday. Riding the train isn't even like traveling for me, it's more like part of the vacation. Watching the countryside roll by (in this case it was Illinois, so mostly cornfield but I can appreciate that agriculture is what this country was founded on), conversatin', stretchin' out... compared to the cramped drudgery of driving or the cramped brush-with-death of flying, I can't understand why anyone would choose any other mode, unless you had to be there ASAP. We had fun- dealin' cards with the old men in the club car, penny a point and noone was keepin' score. We passed the paper bag that held the bottle, and listened to the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor. I'm lucky to live in the train hub of the U.S., so anywhere I wanna go is readily accessible if I've got the time. In this case we were riding on the Ann Rutledge, and passed through Springfield where Abraham Lincoln is buried and just a short ways away from where the two met & fell in love.

My aunt & uncle just bought a big ol' house and wanted to host the big meal there this year, since they finally had room to do it. It was all folks from my mom's side of the family, and though I'll tell you what a wacky bunch they are, don't get the idea that my dad's side isn't as... unique. In attendance:

Fern: The best grammaw one could hope for, raised her family by her self since my mom's dad died when my mom was eight, tough as nails but always jolly, worked at Redstone Arsenal for 30 years and incidentally was one of the first people in the world to receive a masectomy as treatment for breast cancer.

W.L.: Married Fern about 30 years ago, and yes his full first name is the letters W and L, which in the south comes out as "Dubby Yell". W.L. used to be married to Fern's sister, which complicates up the family tree a bit. He's my mom's uncle and my grandfather, which means he's also my mom's stepdad and my great-uncle. Ah, southern geneaology! In the war, the military wouldn't accept his name on his registration so they told him his name was William, so all his war buddies (he was at Leyte Gulf, among others) call him "Bill".

Yvonne: My mom's sister and the dark horse of that family, though she's mellowed out a bit. Was always the devil to her big sister's perfect angel. Yvonne is a Postmaster ("I'm the master of the mail, not its mistress"), and took me for a behind-the-counter look at her P.O., which I thought was infinitely cool. I got to see her $38,000 worth of stamp stock (she's Postmaster in a small town) and even got personally hand-canceled and stamped "Return To Sender". Picked up a sweeet sheet of Hubble Telescope Photo stamps. Yvonne also hired a psychic to come in and read everybody's cards for the holiday. I complied, figuring what the heck, I'll suspend my disbelief for something my aunt arranged special for the family to do. The news wasn't good.

Roger: Roger and Yvonne met when he pulled her over for speeding. She batted her eyes at him and pleaded innocence in a sweet southern drawl, and the rest is history. Roger's been Highway Patrol and also an East St. Louis K-9 cop, so he's understandably a hard-ass. However, I found, becoming a grandfather has mellowed him out quite a bit. It was great to see him, since the past decade or so has been a period of divorcing and remarrying for Yvonne and Roger. At least once, maybe more. You might have caught Roger on "Tales from the Highway Patrol", but they edited out most of his appearance because of his language and... um... gentle handling of the suspect. But you get to see him get in a good macing and a few billy-club whaps.

My mom and dad, of course. The best parents one could ask for and probably the sanest from either of their families. And I say that knowing they don't even read this page! Probably the most notable thing about them is how square they are.

Heather: The cousin who taught me all the dirty words when I was little. She has two kids, two babydaddies, and looked great, since "after I had those two kids I was 200 lbs and NASTY." I got to meet her children for the first time, Ashlyn the two-year-old (I'm not too fond of two-year-olds) and MaKayla the smartest 5-year-old in the world. Hangin' out with her was like hangin' out with someone my age, she was so on-the-ball. The thing about MaKayla is, though, that I think she might be one of ours. Now, lots of girls are tomboys and turn out to be perfectly femme and sugary like their mommas want, but just about every dyke I know describes themselves at five as being just like MaKayla. She made her mom buy her a boy's coat and then came home crying one day when the boys teased her by saying it was a girl's coat. She dressed like Robin (of Batman and) for Halloween this year. Her favorite animal is the lion, and she had the spirit of one. Hopefully her mom will wise up when the time comes and let her be what she's gotta be, because otherwise, she'll just be miserable until she's free to be herself anyway. Besides, Ashlyn is the golden-haired pretty-girl type, so momma will have at least one lil' angel.

Cute Kid Intercession:

MaKayla (after school one day in October): "Mom, can I go around the corner?"
Mom: "No, you can't honey, that's a dangerous street. You play in the yard."
MaKayla (the next day): "Mom, can I go around the corner?"
Mom: "No, honey, I said you couldn't."
MaKayla (the next day): "Mom, can I go around the corner?"
Mom: "Why do you keep asking me that?"
MaKayla: "Cuz the teacher at school said Halloween was just around the corner!"

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Jeff: Soccer hooligan and all-around great guy. Heather's brother.

My brother: One of my best friends, but a quiet fella. Would rather be fishin', even if it's 5am. Surrealist painter. He don't say much.

Bob: I saved Bob for last because he's definitely the most interesting. Bob is W.L.'s son, which means he's my mom's cousin and her step-brother, which makes him my uncle and my first cousin once removed. Bob's accident-prone, but it's served him well. He's flipped both his ski-boat and his fishin-boat. One time he was riding a motorcycle wearing NOTHING but cut-off shorts and blew the front tire. One time he was using a wrench to hold something on a drill-press and the bit caught and spun that wrench around and took off his right knuckles. One time he was driving down the highway in the fog and went under a semi that had stopped on the road for some reason. So eighty percent of his body is skin graft, and he has to walk with a cane, BUT he's living large. He retired at 43 and receives three checks a month: VA disability, social security disability, and his pension from his job. Also, he gets a lump sum every two years from the trucking company that lost the lawsuit. So he lives in a trailer on W.L.'s land, with no expenses but his car insurance and his utility bills, so he pretty much throws parties and goes to the casinos. Great guy, too, he told me a story about tossing a fellow out of one of his parties for "being a little racial". If you know Alabama then you know how things go down there, and that's pretty impressive to me. Bob took us to the local riverboat and taught me how to play three-card poker. Between Singular and I, we only came up $30 short! I reckon we beat the odds, since casinos average $175 from everybody who walks in the door.

My family may be odd, but I love 'em, and I'm glad to have seen them. Now, I gotta figure out how to get down and visit my dad's side of the family...