Malcolm R. Campbell's Blog, page 197

Christmas is, perhaps, mostly for our children

Every generation has its best memories of Christmas. Those with yearly holiday family reunions probably have lifetimes of scattered Christmas memories on a mental mix-tape of humorous and Kodak moments from many past years. I have many great memories, many of which recall Christmases celebrated with my wife.

My sense of Christmas celebrations, though, comes from the magic of December 25th as my parents conjured the day on an always-tight budget. We almost always had a spruce tree in a corner of the living room. The ornaments on it had been collected for many years by my father and mother and their parents. Since our Christmas tree lights were often lent to the schools we attended, our tree about December 25th went up after the lights came home from school.

Gifts arriving by mail, or delivered from in-town friends, went under the tree whenever they showed up. Ultimately, my two brothers and I would put gifts we bought for family members there. Most of the gifts showed up sometime between bed time on the 24th and when we were allowed to see the tree on the 25th.

On Christmas morning, the living room was kept dark until after breakfast. I could have done well enough with a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Mother always wanted to serve a full breakfast because (a) that’s what her mother and/or home economics classes taught her to do, (b) she really believed we would go hungry waiting for Christmas dinner if we didn’t start the day full, (c) this gave everyone’s anticipation time to build.

Some families seem to ring a starting bell after which everyone dives under the tree and opens his or her own gifts without paying much attention to what the others are doing. I like our tradition better: we took turns opening gifts as my father handed them out one by one. He engineered the whole thing so that the most spectacular gifts were opened last.

It’s hard for me to visualize Christmas any other way. As I got older, I realized how much work it was for my parents to create the magic. It was mainly for my brothers and I. After one becomes a parent, the focus changes on buying for one’s children, grandchildren, and friends. When families live in different parts of the country, this includes buying gifts early enough to wrap and mail them in time for Christmas.

Now, we’re the ones trying to conjure the magic. We can’t really re-create the Christmases we had when we were kids, though I think those long-ago days probably influence what our children experience–without the 78rpm records and movies on video tape. We have to give a wink and a nod to progress without turning the day into a commercialized mess.

I grew up in Florida where we seldom saw snow. Even so, this is how I still see Christmas–perhaps because of that song we all know.

I have no idea what songs kids listen to during the holidays now. I see that many of our old favorites such as “White Christmas,” which first appeared in the movie “Holiday Inn,” have been re-recorded by numerous singers since 1942. I grew up with Bing Crosby’s version, so that’s the one I like to hear. In part, I visualize Christmas as it was in “Holiday Inn” and the subsequent movie “White Christmas.” All this was, so to speak, the “what-Christmas-is-like standard” I was born into.

Later generations may see Christmas as it was in “The Polar Express” with Tom Hanks or “A Wonderful Life” with Jimmy Stewart or “Scrooged” with Billy Murray. A lot of people remember the hymns they hear in church or the carols they sing in high school choral productions or when they go caroling. Maybe their memories include “Jingle Bell Rock” and “Snoopy’s Christmas.”

You probably have your “this is Christmas” favorites of holiday movies and sings. How many of them come from what you saw at the theater or heard on the radio when you were in primary and secondary school?

I never could imagine what my parents might have listened to when they were children; I’m sure our kids can’t imagine what we listened to when we were young even though they can now Google about anything and see what was popular year after year. No doubt, somebody, somewhere has written a doctoral dissertation showing what percentage of Christmas songs kids listen to are brand new and what percentage are classics. I’m not going to go and look that up for this post.

I admit I’ve played Diana Krall’s Christmas album a lot since it came out ten years ago. I like jazz, and she does just fine with a fresh look at old favorites. I doubt that today’s youth is concentrating on jazz, so their Christmases will probably be formed out of other memories while their children last year and this year and next year. I like Christmas, Winter, and snow, so my memories come from childhood filled with spruce trees and movies and songs created before I was born.

We conjure Christmas for our children and for others who are special to us. Our perspective has shifted from “what am I going to get” to “what am I going to give.” As we grow up, we begin to understand the magic from inside out.

–Malcolm

So far, I haven’t gotten any rainy day Christmas Cards

Other than those photo-filled Christmas cards showing children or entire families posing with false smiles in the high grass over the septic tank, most of this year’s card show Santa, bright red cardinals in winter scenes, people hauling Christmas trees through the snow, and a variety of snowflakes and colored lights.

This red does look a little bit Christmassy.

None of them have rain in them. This proves, I think, that our current north Georgia complex rain event–as the weather service is calling it–is illegal. The rain started last night and will run through Friday with a chance of flooding along creeks and rivers.

Sure, we’ve decorated the house with colorful lights, garlands and wreathes, but somehow all that isn’t as festive as it could be if we had legal solstice weather. And that bright moon we’re supposed to have for Christmas? Right, it will be covered up by clouds.

So far, CNN isn’t calling this “breaking news” like everything else they show and that’s just got to be a conspiracy. If Donald Trump were doing a rain dance, CNN would be covering it live. But, apparently he isn’t. So, nobody’s looking into our rain, Christmas-wise or conspiracy-wise.

Yeah, I know, the Grinch probably did it and, at the same time, appears to have given me a touch of the flu. It’s hard to feel merry when you’re swigging down TheraFlu.

But, far be it from me to rain on your Christmas and make you feel guilty for your great weather or your beautiful snow-covered yard with a redbird in the middle of if. Have a merry Christmas under star-spangled skies and a full moon. Enjoy the magic of it.

Truth be told, this still feels like a magical week to me in spite of all this water. The spirit of giving is a strong one, and I’m always inspired by memories of my younger days when I found unexpected surprises beneath the tree.

Happy Yule, Season’s Greetings, Merry Christmas, and Happy Solstice.

–Malcolm

Briefly noted: ‘Welcome to Night Vale’

Welcome to Night Vale, by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor, (Harper Perennial, October 2015), 416pp.

Look at how this book begins:

Pawnshops in Night Vale work like this.

First you need an item to pawn.

To get this, you need a lot of time behind you, years spent living and existing, until you’ve reached a point where you believe that you exist, and that a physical item exists, and that the concept of ownership exists, and that, improbable as all those are, these absurd beliefs line up in a way that results in you owning an item.

Good job. Nicely done.

I’m hooked already because this is something different, a unique way of getting this humorous contemporary fantasy underway, and–one hopes–as s/he reads further that the authors will be able to maintain the style and tone of their opening. They do.

From the Publisher

“Located in a nameless desert somewhere in the great American Southwest, Night Vale is a small town where ghosts, angels, aliens, and government conspiracies are all commonplace parts of everyday life. It is here that the lives of two women, with two mysteries, will converge.

“Nineteen-year-old Night Vale pawn shop owner Jackie Fierro is given a paper marked “KING CITY” by a mysterious man in a tan jacket holding a deer skin suitcase. Everything about him and his paper unsettles her, especially the fact that she can’t seem to get the paper to leave her hand, and that no one who meets this man can remember anything about him. Jackie is determined to uncover the mystery of King City and the man in the tan jacket before she herself unravels.”

We’re a not visiting the History Channel’s “Pawn Stars,” aren’t we? There’s no handy expert standing by a few minutes away who can drop by to analyze the item. Fink and Cranor have a jump start with this book, drawing from the popular “Welcome to Night Vale” podcast that The Guardian says is like a local news Twin Peaks.

From the Reviewers

Welcome to Night Vale has an average Amazon reviewer rating of 4.6 with 75% or the reviewers awarding it 5 stars.

Kirkus Reviews starred review sums up, I believe, the general view of professional reviewers: “All hail the glow cloud as the weird and wonderful town of Night Vale brings itself to fine literature…A delightfully bonkers media crossover that will make an incredible audiobook.” I think of Jim Butcher’s “Dresden Files” series as somewhat bonkers and Douglas Adams’ A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy as totally bonkers. I don’t think it’s heresy to say Welcome to Night Vale will remind readers of the best of each–in addition to the “Twin Peaks” thing. Oh, and a dash of “Twilight Zone.”

We’re a long way from Harry Potter. In fact, I’m not quite sure where we are. Cory Doctorow seems to know: “They’ve done the unthinkable: merged the high weirdness and intense drama of Night Vale to the pages of a novel that is even weirder, even more intense than the podcast.”

For my money, both “Twin Peaks” and “Lost” ultimately fell apart because the writers added so much weirdness that they had no place left to go. Fink and Cranor don’t let things get that far out of hand, and that’s good, because it would have been a real shame to let the promise of the opening lines become lost in, say, a dark Marx brothers/Three Stooges comedy.

If you enjoy a drink, pour yourself several fingers of something good, for Welcome to Night Vale is a delightfully bumpy ride.

–Malcolm

Malcolm R. Campbell is the author of the contemporary fantasy novel “The Sun Singer” which is free on Kindle December 17-20, 2015.

 

 

I write magical realism so of course I’m superstitious

A shark pursuing a ship means bad luck, especially if there are sick people on board.

Some say black cats bring good luck and some say they bring bad luck. (I opt for good.) – Wikipedia photo

A superstitious person sees the supernatural everywhere. As a superstitious person, I’m attuned to signs, omens and other hints that good or bad luck is about to follow unless I quickly change course. If I accidentally make a “wrong turn” while driving, I assume I was supposed to make that wrong term in order to avoid something bad on my regular route or to find something good on my new route.

During a brief time when I was the primary driver in a work car pool, my riders asked why I seldom drove to the office the same way twice. I gave them a throw-away answer: going the same way bores me. But I saw darker forces at work.

Don’t sweep dirt out the front door after the sun goes down or bad luck will come to your home.

I’ve never carried a talisman as ostentatious as the Talisman of Charlemagne.

When I was growing up, people my father’s age constantly asked me if I was Sir Malcolm Campbell, the famous British driving ace who broke many land and water speed records in his famous Bluebirds. I thought then that if I ever had a blue car, good luck would follow me if I named it “Bluebird”

In 1967, another Syracuse University student and I walked past a newsstand where the headline said DONALD CAMPBELL KILLED IN BLUEBIRD RECORD ATTEMPT. I don’t remember what I said, but my friend said “you look like you’ve seen a ghost: are you related?” Well, of course not, though if I ever had a son, I never would have named him Donald because the famous “Donald” was the famous “Malcolm’s” son.

If one has a realistic bad dream, the next morning breakfast must be eaten before the dream can be mentioned or discussed. Otherwise, the bad dream will come true.

Some omens and signs are good. Mine are what work for me, so I love seeing black cars and ravens.

I won’t say that when I wrote Conjure Woman’s Cat, I believed in all the spells, practices and good/bad luck admonitions of my main character. But, being superstitious, I could relate because magic and realism aren’t all that different in my panpsychism world view. A conjure woman might tell me to bore a hole in a Mercury dime, put it on a red string, and wear it around my ankle or neck for protection and good luck. I don’t go that far, but I do tend to save rocks, pieces of wood and other objects that seem “charged with power” when I find them.

If you start to go somewhere and come back for something you will have bad luck.

Nope, I don’t go along with that one. I assume that if I go back for something, I was supposed to go back either because, say, I left the stove on or forgot to lock the door, or, that if I hadn’t gone back, something bad would have happened at some place along the road. Seriously, I’m not obsessive/compulsive about this: if I were, I’d check the door locks and stove a dozen times before leaving the house.

Walking past a pole with someone it is bad luck to split up and each go around on different sides of it.

Those who know the pole omen know that saying “bread and butter” counteracts the bad luck. Some omens just don’t work for me, like “Drop a fork an a woman will show up.” I dropped a lot of forks in high school and college, and no women ever showed up. Omens and signs must pick “their kind of people” to have any impact.

In reality, I think the universe gives us signs we can each recognize, so I justify my superstitions by saying “this is my coded way” of seeing the world. Of course, that might be bullshit, but it works for me. And it also helps me write the kinds of stories I write. Kind of handy, that way.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it–mainly because not sticking to it brings bad luck and/or makes one look like they’re lying.

–Malcolm

Malcolm R. Campbell is the author of true stories that his publishers label as fantasy or magical realism.

PS – When you hang a horse shoe on the wall, never hang it facing down or all the luck will run out of it.

 

I wish I’d heard the blues at the Red Bird Cafe

Just across the main east-west thoroughfare from Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida, sits the oldest black neighborhood in the state. Known as Frenchtown, the area was beginning to decline when I rode my bicycle on Macomb and Dean Streets delivering telegrams while in high school. Those older than me remembered the days when Frenchtown’s Red Bird Cafe was an important stop on the Chitlin’ Circuit, and they spoke fondly of the days when Cannonball Adderley and Ray Charles lived in the area and were famous along the streets for their music.

Red Bird Cafe – Florida Memory photo

The yellow Western Union tag on my shirt identified me as a harbinger of death as surely as a black car in a military neighborhood. Perhaps it was that tag or perhaps it was luck, but I never ran into any trouble in Frenchtown even though most of my friends thought I was crazy to go there even though the job required it. I usually took bad news because that’s what telegrams were all about in Frenchtown. The recipients often made me open the yellow envelopes and read the messages at their front doors, and helplessly seeing their reactions and sometimes helping them compose a reply was–I think–my introduction to what it was like to feel the blues.

I wish I’d been more daring then, for I went to a Peter, Paul and Mary concert at FSU, but never went to the Red Bird other than to pedal past it on my bike. Surprisingly, I delivered–much to my embarrassment–more than one singing (usually “Happy Birthday”) telegram in Frenchtown where whole families and their neighbors gathered in the small yards to hear that poor, sweaty white boy sing. Who knows what would have happened if I’d ever had to sing such words at the front door of the Red Bird. Maybe somebody with an “axe” (guitar) would have emerged from the crowd and joined in. Never happened. But as I worked on my Conjure Woman’s Cat novella with its strong leaning toward the blues, I couldn’t help but think of Frenchtown and all the music there I never heard in the world where it lived.

If I owned a time machine, I’d get out the yellow Western Union tag that I “borrowed” from the company when I left, and I’d go back to the Red Bird and listen. In real life, all that music was at once so close and so far away.

–Malcolm

http://www.conjurewomanscat.com/

Basil: powerful for more than pesto

My father escaped from his typewriter by experimenting with new food concoctions in the kitchen. Most of them came out very well. One of them even got into a cookbook. While the number of meals I cook is limited to a “safe group” that my wife and I have agreed are fit for weekly consumption, I seldom experiment in the kitchen except when it comes to herbs.

Basil – Wikipedia photo

Basil, oregano and rosemary are my favorites and find their way into all kinds of things. My mother’s old Betty Crocker cookbook had a chart inside the front and back covers listing foods and the herbs that went with them. According to the chart, basil goes into lots of recipes. This chart has kept me from venturing too far into the inedible.

The last time we went to a high style restaurant, they were in their basil phase, creating numerous lunch and dinner dishes encrusted with, simmered with, or liberally garnished with fresh basil. While this was good stuff, it was a cautionary experience, reminding me to be careful with fresh herbs. Everything with basil on the restaurant’s menu was too strong.

I tend to use basil in stews and spaghetti sauce more often than not. However, as I discovered in my research for Conjure Woman’s Cat, one can also use basil outside the kitchen for bringing happiness (other than a tasty meal) or as a protection from evil. If you do this all the time, you might refer to the herb as “holy basil” or “sweet basil” and grow your own rather than getting it off the McCormick spice display at Kroger or Publix.

For example, basil–used alone–or with clover, rosebuds, lavender, etc.–can be placed in a bath or sprinkled or placed in sachets around doors and windows, or kept in bowls to bring happiness and love to your home. Likewise, when sprinkled dry or used as a cleansing wash, it is said to protect a home or a person from evil.

When you buy basil from a magic shop, you’ll almost always see that it’s sold as a curio, that is to say, not with any magical claims.

According to the Candle Spells website,  “It has been said that when tied in a cheesecloth bag and tossed into a hot bath, sweet basil will activate your money drawing abilities and you will be seeing money come to you.”
Carolina Conjure says that, “Basil is said to attract customers to a business by placing some in the cash register, or sprinkling basil-water near the threshold. “
Catherine Ywronwode (who also has a Hoodoo Herb and Root Magic book available on Amazon), writes on Conjure Lists by Hoodoo Psychics that basil is “A multi-talented magical herb, this one protects the home, brings love and peace to the family, and draws money to the kitchen; Sprinkle some on the floor and sweep it out the back door, for “No evil can come where Basil has been.”
Do a search on Google using something like “basil conjure” and you’ll get a lot more hits than you ever imagined the last time you put a little basil on your beef pot roast.

Basil Conjure Oil, meditation, relaxation, altar

Needless to say, I’m a passable cook (within fairly narrow parameters) and not a conjurer at all. So I pass these magical ideas along as curiosities only and as interesting beliefs. As a famous scientist (I forget who) once said when asked why he placed a horseshoe above his door, it’s there just in case.

One can always sprinkle basil outside the front door just in case. Otherwise, if you don’t use too much of it, Betty Crocker and others have plenty of basil suggestions for your cooking and eating pleasure.

I make sure I never run out of basil.

–Malcolm

Malcolm R. Campbell is the author of “Conjure Woman’s Cat,” a 1950s story about a root doctor who fights the KKK with magic.

Conjure Woman’s Cat website

 

 

 

Comparing apples, spiders and switchblades

Consider this: your editor assigns you the task of looking at the available apples, spiders and switchblades and compiling the top ten for 2015 into an annotated list for the upcoming Sunday paper.

You could look at the apple, spider and switchblade lists that have already come out, mix them up a little, and create your own list. It helps if you’re already familiar with some of the suggestions from the other lists so that you can write what you know rather than stealing what you don’t.

Or, you can try to do a little research, though time is short, and you might–out of well-intentioned ignorance, write something like “1. The Black Widow spider, while ubiquitous is illegal if its legs are over five inches long.”

You see the trouble right away–or, actually, multiple troubles. First, the attributes that make for a good apple don’t necessarily work for knives even though red is often a popular color for both. Second, even if these disparate items did have enough attributes in common to be placed on one authoritative list, nobody has first hand knowledge of all of the potential candidates.

For those who take the herd-behavior approach to creating their best of the year list, you can weed out all the apples, spiders and switchblades that nobody’s ever heard of even if you’ve heard of a few of them and think they’re superior to those that everyone’s heard of. Your editor has told you before that nobody wants to see a top ten list of stuff they don’t know anything about.

Needless to say, if the best switchblade you’ve ever seen in your life is made by the Ace Knife Company of Two Egg, Florida, you can’t mention the knife unless it was reviewed by, say, Kirkus, the Washington Post or the New York Times, and/or sold 100,000 units. If Oprah picked it for the Knife Club, that’s another plus.

To create a viable list, then, you have to balance shameless popularity with actual quality and ensuring value. The creators of viable lists are often forced to acknowledge sentimental favorites such as the case of the inventor of the most famous apple in the world who, after years of not doing anything, comes out with a new apple that’s said by people who actually tasted it to be a bad apple. This bad apple will probably be on everyone’s list, so it better be on your list as well.

Sometimes inventors have a drawer full of old stuff that never worked in the past and they hook it all together as an all-purpose apple, spider or switchblade and manage to get it into the homes of 10000000 people because they (the inventors) are already famous. People buy the things because they don’t want to be left out. Critics are forced to acknowledge that even though an item has no redeeming value that they can find, it may have redeeming value they can’t see. So they write stuff like, “Joe Smith’s new 52-leg Swiss army spider is a cutting-edge insect that’s as tart and sharp as a Granny Smith without falling into the mundane trap of being routinely useful.”

Having thought all this through in my usual cynical fashion, I walked off the job when my editor told me to compile our newspaper’s top-25 list of 2015 books. Frankly, it seemed pretty much like comparing apples, spiders and switchblades and equally absurd.

–Malcolm

Malcolm certifies that he did not write this post simply because none of his books showed up on any of the year’s best books for 2015 lists.

99¢ Sale: ‘Conjure Woman’s Cat’ and ‘Sarabande’

The Kindle editions of my dark contemporary fantasy Sarabande and my magical realism novella Conjure Woman’s Cat are both available for 99¢ each on December 3rd. (In fact, the price has already been marked down.)

From the reviewers:

Sarabande: “Campbell describes a rape scene that is difficult to read, yet at the same time, earns my respect with his skill in describing this scene, and its aftermath on the woman. Indeed, I had to keep reminding myself I was reading the writing of a male author. It is rare to find this ability in an author to cross genders even in everyday basics such as conversation, mannerisms. To do so in describing the effect of rape on a woman’s body and psyche is nothing short of amazing. Campbell nails it: her anger, her pain, her humiliation, her ferocity that eventually takes her from victim to survivor to avenger.” – Zinta Aistars, Smoking Poet Magazine

While Sarabande follows-up on the story told in The Sun Singer, it can also be read as a standalone novel.

Conjure Woman’s Cat: “The story is set in the Florida panhandle in the 1950’s in a society dominated by racism, and tackles the serious issues of white violence, rape, day-to-day prejudice and mother/daughter relationships. This is a book that packs a lot into its 166 pages. Despite this bleak subject matter the book is beautifully written, allowing this Brit a vision of a place which the author knows well and clearly loves. The contrast of the natural beauty highlights the ugliness of human behaviour.” Zoe Brooks, Magical Realism Review Site

–Malcolm

Malcolm R. Campbell is also the author of “Emily’s Stories” and “The Sun Singer.”

Website

 

 

No, our Christmas decorations aren’t up yet

We like to give each holiday it’s due.

That means Santa knows that if he messes around decorating our house prior to December 1, he’ll be shot.

(Among other things, we don’t celebrate Black Friday, though Small Business Saturday is kind of nice.)

Today still feels like a continuation of Thanksgiving because we’re eating leftovers. My brother and his wife from Florida were here for a week and they just left this morning because they know from experience that driving back to the sunshine state on the Sunday after Thanksgiving is often a nightmare.

We’re thankful they were here.

Tomorrow, we’ll start thinking about our Christmas decorations. As it turns out, a lot of people have already have lighted trees in their windows and various other lighted decorations in their yards.

We start a bit later and keep our Yuletide lights and greenery up until the last day of Christmas on Twelfth Night.

However you celebrate, I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving and won’t be one of those buffoons who throws out his Christmas tree before nightfall on the 25th. (Gee, what’s the rush?)

–Malcolm

Malcolm R. Campbell is the author of ‘Emily’s Stories,” the Pushcart Prize nominated “Conjure Woman’s Cat,” “Sarabande,” and “Jock Stewart and the Missing Sea of Fire.”

 

Jock Stewart’s Thanksgiving Memories

2002 – Turkey and smoker blow up taking out 27 windows of the Smith family’s house next door. Fire department called. Grandpa reminded by battalion chief that this has happened before. Grandpa punches chief and spends holiday in jail much to the family’s relief.
2003 – Mother and Aunt Irene wake up at 4 a.m. to prepare turkey, discover it’s not quite thawed out, decide to drink Irish coffee until they can stuff turkey with Mother’s traditional radishes and spam stuffing, get soused and use too much sage. Most of family gets sick and spends holiday in emergency room.
2004 – Nothing happens. Family decides this is the most boring Thanksgiving ever and resolves to do better in 2005.
2005 – Two distant cousins get pregnant while mostly everyone is asleep on the couch pretending to watch football game. After a family vote, we decide that “stuff happens” and that we can all be thankful this year wasn’t a repeat of 2004.
2006 – Two distant cousins bring their brand new babies and they (the babies) look like everyone else in the family. Nobody steps up to the figurative plat to take responsibility for 2005’s “stuff happens” because they’re all too busy getting the green apple quick step from Mother’s radish and apple pie. DFACS is called and confiscates the babies pending a full review.
2007 – Everyone arrives drunk and nobody gets anything to eat until Dad fries up grits and jalapenos on Black Friday. Smith family gets disgusted and moves out of town until holiday is over.
2008 – An argument begins during a missed call in the big football game. Grandpa settles argument by unloading his new 12-guage shotgun into the TV set. Everyone laughs and agrees this is the best Thanksgiving ever.
2009 – Family agrees to go their separate ways this year to promote family harmony. We eat at a fast foot restaurant where the French fries are soggy and cold but not as bad as Mother’s French fries. We’re more thankful for that than you can imagine.
2010 – Every gets their calendars mixed up and arrives a week early for Thanksgiving. By the time the holiday arrives we’re all sick of each other and go home.
2011 – A political argument breaks out right after the turkey is carved. The blue state family members sit on one side of the table and the red state family members sit on the other. Grandpa throws stuffing at Uncle Walter whom we realize isn’t even part of our family and just dropped in to check the sump pump. We agree to hire TSA reps to maintain front door security in 2012.
2012 – TSA reps confiscate Mother’s carving knife so we end up having to use a hedge trimmer at the table. The noise makes it hard to talk about anything. We’re grateful for that after last Thanksgiving’s blue state/red state argument.
2013 – Things go smoothly without TSA goons at the front door until Grandpa boots up his new smoker in the guns and ammo closet. Nobody is harmed, but the smoker, the closet and multiple firearms are a total loss. We end up getting an injunction to ensure that Grandpa and a turkey smoker won’t be allowed in the house at the same time.
2014 – Dad buys Stouffer’s TV dinners and we all agree our dinner has never tasted this good in the past. Mother’s feelings are hurt and she files for a divorce. Dad admits that some or all of the family’s extra children might be his. I hide in my room with enough crack to last until Christmas.
2015 – Too soon to tell. Dad and Mom are back together again and are happily working in the kitchen preparing our surprise dinner. The place smells like sauerkraut and this doesn’t bode well. Fortunately, we ordered a 55-gallon drum of mimosas and will be well fortified against whatever happens.

–Jock Stewart