Melmorial Day

So, my holiday was great fun had by all. Or at least I know my dodgeball league had a fantastic time. Ben the Hero and I spent 20 minutes water-gunning the girl I call "The Useless Dancer" from the safety of our overturned floating chair. Hysterics.
Personal thanks to swimming pools, water guns, short shorts, colt 45, and corn.

Timbotron

My dad sent the 5 of us an email reminding that it's our little Timmy's birthday today. Like we could forget. The RE:'s started showing up in full force, with everyone writing his/her fave Tim memory.

Sarah: So, my favorite baby memory of Tim is from the birthday party when we dressed him up like a girl in a pretty, pink dress. "It's Timmy and the Punkers; it's Timmy and the Punkers! Timmy's a total... Punker."

Mary Lee: Well... I have memories of Tim when I wasn't with him.... But, I guess I could say I remember taking Tim and his friends to Ralph's market when he was little. We bought like all this guy stuff like TV dinners and beef jerky. Oh, and I let him drive mom's car home. He really sucked at driving. Then there was this time we went to Vons. I don't know. But it's a really good memory I have cuz it was just me and Tim; that's the main thing. Oh yah, and CHUNK! You little sausage-link finger baby!

Angelo: Well this is kind of a weird one, but it's big for me and Tim. I was trying to get Tim into Metallica at an early age. Like seven. So i was having him listen to the "And Justice for All" album. Now, in the song "Eye of the Beholder," during the second part of the guitar solo by Kirk Hammett, it breaks into this Lydian scale, which is very Egyptian sounding. Apparently Tim's a musical genius because 2 weeks later he came to me and was all, "Oh man, listen to this part, listen to this part." The Phrygian scale started to play and Tim looked at me and said," P-pyramid... pyramid." He was so small! He connected a piece of music to a cultural idiom! And the only word his seven year old brain could connect it to was "pyramid." So weird for that age! Haha, he was trying to get into Metallica, but he was watching Disney movies, too.

Me: On one of the mornings waking up in Yosemite, Tim, who was sleeping in one of the top bunks of our Pace Arrow motor-home, swung his tiny legs over the end of the bed. I remember looking at his tired little limbs dangling in front of me and thinking how his feet looked very small and amphibian-like somehow. At that point in my life, it was the cutest thing I had ever seen.

Tim himself: Goo goo ga ga.

Mom: He picked a scab after he fell and he had it for two years. Also, he drew a tank in his journal each day in kindergarten. People thought he was fixated on war and destruction, but it was really just the only thing he knew how to draw with confidence, sooooo tank is all you get.

Dad: The pig. *

Do I even need to say it, Tim? We love you. We're so glad you came.

*I will save the pig story for another blog. Really great. And there's video footage to go along with it.

Coverage

I have an umbrella.
Protection!
I don't get wet, I don't get burned
It's pretty, with little soldiers
They carry guns. Muskets, actually.

Sometimes I open it
indoors.
You know, for monsters on chandeliers
Or leaks in the roof.
It fits politely in small spaces.

That big old hole in my umbrella
I guess I missed it.
Like the six hairs on my knee
Now I think, that big old hole
It's been there for years.

Dear Camera

I love you. No one else can make me feel the way you do. I know we have our problems, like when I drop you and then you don't work quite right. But I'd still pick you over those new cameras, the ones with the batteries and memory sticks. When I look at my bank account, and see it dwindling, I sigh and think of all the fun and anxiety we've been having. I promise to buy you a new strap this week, and maybe I'll even clean all your lenses. Today you took a picture of my grandpa holding his dog that I get to keep forever, even after he's gone, even after all the computers crash. Thank you, camera. You make everything better. You make everything ok. Thank you for letting me hide behind you.
Love, Melanie

OH MY GOAT

Talking Goat
Please click on that pictue above.
I am still crying. This is good; like Fabio-breaking-his-nose-on-a-seagull-during-a-rollercoaster good.
Thank you, Tim. You've moved up the short list to "most favorite brother." Sorry, Ang, but what have you done for me lately?

Do It, Dewitt

The Dodgers played The Mets tonight and I had a Dodger Dog with mustard and relish. Rookie Blake Dewitt hit an in-the-park homerun. This is a big deal. The 8 year old with cotton candy face told me so. I had no idea. I just yell and jump up and down when everyone else does. Oh, and I'm super good at wearing blue and white.
Here we go Dodgers, here we go. Clap-clap.

The Mexico City Bus Trip

I was thinking about my parents today. More specifically, I was thinking about a bus trip that we all took together from Guanajuato to Mexico City in 1988.

So let's see, the bus driver was sleepy. That's a good place to start. It was a night drive. My mom stayed up with him, sitting on the metal rail next to his seat, talking to him in Spanish about whoknowswhat, and wiping the windshield with her bandanna every few minutes. The windshield wipers were sleepy, too.

Dad stayed in the back with us where, let's see... oh yah, Mary Lee (11 years old) peed in her jacket because there were no bathrooms and few rest stops on this overnight bus ride. Let me make myself a bit more clear: she took off her purple/midnight blue jacket, made it like a diaper, and went for it. At 3am, this seemed like a great decision.

Ang (9), Tim (3), and I (6) kept ourselves busy playing MASH. When we asked Tim, who he wanted to put in his "WHO WILL YOU MARRY?" section, he said

"Dick."

"Ok, Tim."

Sarah, just newly a teenager, was preoccupied waiting for her breasts to get bigger. She may have been crocheting a pink vest, as well.

Morning rolled around and we all felt accomplished. Our trip was almost over. Soon we would be in Mexico City. Ooh, Mexico City. I was gonna buy a shitload of candy and probably a Robocop doll. I remember staring out the big dirty windows, trying to match up the water spots to other drivers' faces. Then...

"Angie! Look at the huge tire! Haha! It's racing us."

It was, and winning at that. Hmm. Strange.

The bus started to rock, slightly. It is uncanny how well a huge bus can hide the fact that one of its wheels has decided to venture out on its own.

The rescue bus pulled up about 2 hours later, full of confused, yet welcoming passengers.
When we got inside, we realized just how nice and roomy our last piece of shit bus had been. My dad systematically began picking each one of us up and placing us carefully on random bus riders' laps.

Mexico City was incredible. I think. I don't really remember that part. But the point I'm trying to make is WHAT THE HECK?! seriously, WHAT THE HECK?!

If they could get through that catastrophe, then what was so damaged that they couldn't stay together? They were a team. We all were. And I know I don't understand, yet, but come on. The bus that was falling apart should have been some kind of glue for them... some kind of cheesy metaphor.

Whatever, it's late and my mind is wandering. I'm gonna go read some William Meredith and try to feel like everything makes sense.

Not Knowing, Not Caring

I just spent the better part of the last two days taking photos for my friend Nikka's album. It was my first "real" photo shoot. It pretty much went like this...

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing.

"Thank you so much, Nikka. I had no idea what I was doing."

"Mel, I know. And I don't care."