Saturday, December 5, 2009


Amber: Craft fair, to fund raise for my bike trip.

Ben: After I had turned over enough times to make an acrobat sick, I fell out of bed. I got in the car, forgetting to brush my teeth, and wished for coffee, Tylenol, anything that would help the unrelenting pounding that felt as if I possessed a small drummer boy, practicing his timpani roll, between both ears. It started to rain then, and as I came to a stop I was accosted by a parade of blowups, children waving, floats, and music. The parade separated me from coffee. I cursed those damn girl scouts as they danced, and waved their chubby fingers. I paralleled the parade, and as I did I saw a float with spastic Indians, bouncing up and down, and praising the skies, the earth, the moon, and while shimmying enough to make their pants' tassels flair up like small firecrackers exploding. I blamed them for the rain. And then there was the auto club, who were driving their cars and waving out the windows. How ridiculous, I thought. And so I rolled down my window and also waved, starting my own parade. They didn't wave back, and so I drove for four hours to North Carolina, had a beer, some wine, some laughs, and some time with extended family. And then drove back, where I then fell asleep to a re-run of Rosanne.

Morgan: Shopping day with the girls.

Rachel: Invisible snow.

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