Well, I'm back... again

I have been ever-so-gently reminded by at least two different persons that (1) I have failed to "write up" that sumptuous event-of-the-season, the Wedding of the Great Yam, and (2) contrary to appearances, there actually are people who try to read this blog occasionally, and they're mightily aggravated when lazy ol' me fails to throw them fresh meat... er, write new posts.

Really. I'm touched. You shouldn't have. That's so sweet.

Perhaps you will be more understanding of my recent distraction if I supply a chronology of the past month in the Life O' Felix. Batten down the hatches; it involves over 8000 miles of travel and visits to four different states, including the homes of seven different sets of relatives, three old college freinds, and three job interviews... and even so, I missed contacting one person I particularly wanted to see and one entire set of former co-workers. It's got beauty and beasts, pleasure and pain, a wonderful new sister-in-law (Hi, S.) and a horrible troll of a great-aunt. Not to mention an exploding power-steering pump, failing brakes, and an ailing cat spurting bloody urine. Some fun, eh?

Dec. 13 was the happy date of the Wedding of the Great Yam to his lovely bride S. in Austin, Texas, an event at which I was privileged to serve as groomsman. The wedding was held at night in a rural location north of Austin, lit by lanterns and candles, giving it a sort of mysterious pagan ambience. The bride and her bridesmaids approached the groom's party along a path of lights that wound down a small hillside opposite the wedding location, crossing a wooden bridge.

Fortunately, the sky didn't pour down rain on this festive and solemn occasion. However, it was cold, as the temperature began in the 40s (Fahrenheit) and proceeded to drop into the thirties after the ceremony. The bonfire was well attended, although my brother's threats to have a bonfire weenie-roast instead of a traditional reception dinner seem to have been vetoed by a Higher Power. There were those who wondered if the bride were going to start turning blue in her strapless gown; however, she reports feeling no pain all evening. There are of course traditional reasons for brides to be oblivious to trivial things like weather on wedding days, but in this case a judicious application of heat-pads seems to have aided matters. Nonetheless she was heard to murmur something about warmth when the happy twosome embraced after the vows.

While staying in Austin, I visited with a former college roommate whose love of ghost and mystery stories, nautical adventure, secret passages, and good food and liquor makes every visit an adventure, even if his version of ferroequinology differs from my own.

It turned out also that his next-door neighbor, a very attractive young woman, is studying the art of Swedish massage, and as part of her course of study, needs to do a certain number of practice massages. I allowed myself to be persuaded to volunteer. It's a rough job but someone's gotta do it. It is no doubt due to the relaxing influence of her gentle ministrations that I managed to refrain from actually attempting to track down and kill the blithering sadistic idiots who designed Austin's streets and highways.

Dec. 15-19 After the wedding, it was back to Michigan to work in the library for the final week of the semester.

Dec. 20: Back to Texas, this time north Dallas, for Christmas with the immediate family. Frantic last-minute shopping for gifts for forgotten distant relatives who decided at the last minute to come to the Christmas doin's. Swear eternal vengeance against the blithering yuppie idiots in their bling-bling BMW's and blundering chrome-armored SUV's that make driving in North Dallas so very .... interesting. Over next few days, spend too much time and too much money at model train stores, bookstores, etc. Buy more for myself than for others. (At least I know what I want....)

Dec. 22. In between pre-Christmas foolishness, have telephone interview with public library in southwestern Michigan. They don't sound impressed.

Dec. 24. Attend Christmas Eve services at local First Baptist Church. Sadly, rumor has it that this was the last year for the church's signature holiday blowout, the Living Christmas Tree. Somehow I fail to be saddened at the discontinuance of something which always looked to me as if savage headhunters had decorated the tree with trophies of unfortunate missionaries. Nor will I miss the spinning disco-balls used to create "swirling snow" effects.

Thankfully, however, this year's iteration of the Living Christmas Tree has already joined the Ghosts of Christmas Past, and the Christmas Eve candlelight service of prayer and traditional carols is modest, tasteful, and restrained, especially by comparison with the spectacle put on by the archrival crosstown megachurch . I don't think I could have restrained myself from laughing at the twelve-foot-long organdy "angels" swooping over the congregation on wires and metal tracks. "Duck! Incoming!!!"

Dec. 25. Off to the races on Christmas Day for the mad highway dash through Oklahoma (stopping off to visit a newly-acquired set of relatives, the grandparents of my brother's wife) and Arkansas up to Missouri to spend the next few days visiting the aunties and uncles and cousins and granddad and other relatives beyond my meagre powers of genealogical description. (S.'s grandmother is an antiques dealer. Mother is a great fan of cutesy antiques. They should get along famously....)

Notable moment: While visiting Great-Aunt H., she delivers herself of the considered opinion that "You could get married too, if you'd just look like a decent person."

Fortunately, Walgreens takes gift returns, and the gift originally intended for Great-Aunt H. paid for some much-needed office supplies. This is not the first time she's chosen to insult someone at Christmas. Note to self: spiteful old bat can rot in nursing home in future.

Dec. 28. On the way back to Texas, stop off in Springfield to look over the offerings of the various model railroad shops. Springfield, of course, is the center of the Universe for all things Frisco....

Several hours and many dollars later, leave Springfield behind. Make very late arrival in north Dallas. Sleep most of next day.

Dec. 30. Make pilgrimage to that Mecca of southwestern railroad history, the DeGolyer Library. Revel in access to complete microfilmed collection of all Sanborn maps in Library of Congress! Photocopy madly until closing! Speak briefly with head of library who informs me that although they'd like to hire a curator for their railroad materials, well, with budgets being what they are... yadda, yadda, yadda....

Dec. 31. Trek over to Fort Worth to visit with the illustrious Pablo, resulting in random outsputterings of verbiage as seen in prior posts. Watch taped episodes of Firefly. Conclude that the television executives who cancelled the series before completing a single season are pinheads. What else is new.

Jan. 1. During return from Fort Worth, parents' borrowed truck begins making horrible grinding noise as brake pads wear out. Conclude there's nothing I can do about it at 2 a.m. on New Year's Day. Sleep. Make unsuccessful efforts to contact other acquaintances and former co-workers in north Dallas later in the day. Go to see Return of the King with parents. Spend a substantial amount of time explaining background of movie. Am slightly flattered when mother says that Viggo Mortensen looks like me, but recognize that she's biased.

Jan. 2. Truck is in shop, leaving me without transportation, until late afternoon. Make more unsuccessful efforts to contact local acquaintances. Raid local bookstores. Rummage through storage compartment containing books and other property I haven't had access to for two years. Realize that a substantial portion of it is junk. Realize also that there is no way in h*ll that I'm going to be able to find anything specific in that jumble of boxes. (Think of the final scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark; then compress all the contents of the scene into one 10x10 storage compartment.)

Jan. 3. Parents' other car needs repair work, too, leading to entertaining shuffle between various people and their transportation needs as I try to get various bulky gifts and purchases mailed to myself before the post offices close at noon. Pablo and Carlos pick me up in afternoon to go see fancy foreign flick at Inwood Theater. (Actually, the sign says I WO D nowadays, but who's counting letters?) Have pleasant lamb-kebob dinner at nearby Turkish restaurant. Chat about wine, women and song. Like Walker Percy's compatriots in his famous essay on Bourbon, wonder "Where Are The Women?" Conclude that we're all doomed.

Jan. 4. Fly back to Michigan to return to salt mines... er, library.

Jan. 5. Telephone interview with Catholic college in Houston, Texas in morning. Will they take me seriously? Don't count on it. At lunchtime, race to credit union to deposit paycheck. Truck power steering pump fails in middle of sharp turn, spraying steering fluid liberally around engine compartment. Steering 1/2-ton, 4wd truck suddenly becomes heavy manual labor. Briefly consider building up muscles by not fixing power steering. After running over a couple of curbs and veering into the wrong lane twice, decide that this is not a good idea.

Realize that paycheck has disappeared. Not metaphorically, but literally. Find out later in afternoon that University payroll won't replace paycheck for at least a week.

Jan. 7. Pick up truck from repair shop just in time to head to airport for interview trip to university in Georgia. Repair shop, to their credit, has actually fixed the problem at reasonable price and more-or-less on time. Arrive in Georgia at 10:30 p.m. and ride mass-transit train to downtown hotel. Risk of being mugged is minimized by short distance from subway terminal to designated hotel, which turns out to be reasonably attractive and comfortable, but lacking internet service. This is inconvenient since I still need to finalize presentation for job interview. Night clerk is ignorant and flippant about lack of knowledge of internet. Go to sleep.

Jan. 8. Up early to finish preparing presentation. Interview all day. Will spare you the details. Finish day by looking over Underground Atlanta, especially the impressive O-scale display layout representing various historically significant Atlanta buildings. No Tara plantation or Burning of Atlanta special effects, though. Return to Michigan on redeye flight.

Jan. 9. Returning to work at the library, find out that colleague who was supposed to cover my virtual-reference shift on the 8th failed to do so. Work most of the day at the reference desk, making up for missed hours of coverage.

Jan. 10 Do nothing all day. Nothing, blessed nothing. Note mysterious reddish spatter in closet. Did I drop something?

Jan. 11. Wake up to sight of cat peeing bloody urine in closet. Cat proceeds to do this repeatedly, every fifteen minutes, in every room of the apartment, with anxious look on face. Locate "emergency" weekend animal clinic. Several hours and many dollars later, begin dosing cat with antibiotics in hope that this is mere bladder infection. Vet also recommends eye ointment for watery right eye. (Cat's previous problem with left eye was surgically corrected this summer, so obviously he had to develop another problem or two.)

Jan. 12. Cat seems to be better; at least he's not spurting bloody pee every fifteen minutes. Begin morning by entering into negotiations with Cat over whether or not he will sit still for eye ointment. Negotiations take a hostile turn very quickly. Fortunately he's less hostile about taking his oral medicine. That may have something to do with the fact that I'm mixing it with canned catfood. (Silly cat!)

And so back to work again.