Traditions, Both New and Old

Days Gone By (Not Our Real House)

It is still Christmas Eve in the U.S. as I write this and while Uncle P celebrates Christmas as a secular holiday in which we acknowledge, spend time and share gifts with those we love, for many it remains a deeply religious holiday celebrating the birth of their 'savior.' And since this isn't a post about religion, I'll leave that alone and get to the point.

While venturing out late in the afternoon to get a bottle of wine for tomorrow's dinner, I was struck by how the Holidays (like most of life) has changed over the years. Early Christmas memories evoke the many toys and gifts my mother's mother gave us each year, much to our father's consternation. The schadenfreude she derived from his jealously must have been some powerful juju! After she'd had a particularly good year in tips (she was a barmaid), our house was literally filled with presents and I'm surprised Dad didn't have a apoplectic stroke on the spot! At some point "Grandmom Cookie" (so-called because of her always full cookie jar) started spending Christmas Eve with us and we would open her presents then and Santa's and Mom and Dad's presents on Christmas morning. After she passed, we started opening all of our gifts on Christmas Eve. By then I was in college and working part time and Christmas Eve soon evolved into an open-house event where friends and co-workers came and went all night long, I still wonder how we fit so many people into that tiny house. I moved in and out of the house over the years following, but always managed to spend Christmas Eve there. New traditions for the evening continued to evolve after my parents divorced and other folks came into and/or left our lives. For a solid 10 years, Christmas Eve meant broasted* chicken from Chicken Holiday; Southern Comfort Manhattans; two embarrassing piles of presents; shrimp cocktail  and my rock, K. 

That changed again when Mom passed away last October and I spent Christmas Eve with my sister and BIL in Florida. The night before, K and M came over for chicken and such. And while we had a good time, the food wasn't up to their usual standards (I blame a different staff). So this year, even though I'm staying in PA, I decided to cook. On Sunday I made a lasagna and a Caramel Pumpkin Cream Cheese cake. Monday night I steamed and peeled a pound of shrimp and Tuesday night reheated the lasagna; glazed the cake and made cocktail sauce while frying up some battered green beans. Thank goodness M got here early, as I quickly dispatched him on a candle lighting mission. K arrived soon after and then lots of food and drink were consumed, presents were opened and much laughter was shared. 

While it was the first of several similar holiday experiences to come over the next few weeks, last night's Christmas Eve Eve has become what I hope will continue to be a new holiday tradition. For a while, at least. Until things change again, which is inevitable. Cultural traditions may seem steadfast and unchanging, but they are simply slower and less fluid than personal traditions.

I continue to be in awe of the family who have chosen me to a part of theirs, as much as I have chosen them.  K, Q, Dale, M, D and so many others never let me forget that I am not alone and never will be. And there's my astonishing sister. Strong, smart and always supportive, I can only hope you have a sibling who is half as amazing as she is (and yes, it's Christmas! I'm allowed to get gushy!). If you have even half the love in your life as I am blessed to, you know what I mean.

I have received (and will continue to do so) some very cool gifts (Mia's incredible "Zombie Batman" figurine got some stiff competition from Mary & Phil's Nightmare Before Christmas fleece and my sister's standing plush Mickey Skellington - all three of which are rendered in B&W).

None of that stuff, as cool as it may be, really matters.  Like all of us, these things will be dust in a thousand years. What matters is the love we share here and now. I guess what I'm saying is I am grateful for everyone who cares about me and bothers to read my nonsense. Be kind to one another. Know the difference between what does and doesn't matter. Give money or time to a charity that speaks to you, when and if you can. Smile at strangers. Say "Please" and "Thank You." Hold the door for the person behind you. Open the door for the person coming out ahead of you. Acknowledge those who do the same. Share the belief that most people are as good, but no better than, you. Never assume anyone is evil. Help people. Tell those you love that you love them as often as you can. Enjoy the things you have, but take nothing for granted. Enjoy your life. It's the only one you have!

Merry Christmas, my friends and readers! 

More, anon.

Uncle P.

*Pressure fried with no coating

Zombie Batman from Mia

Mickey Skellington from Barbara 

Sally Starr's Martian Dilemma.

The "Face" on Mars

Uncle P is not currently (nor has been for quite a while) in a long-term relationship (though not for lack of trying). Like most of us however, I would not be adverse to being in one. It's basically what we all want, isn't it? That one person to spend our lives and grow old with. The person who makes our hearts beat just a little faster and who 'gets' us like no one else. I've thought I had "The One" at least twice... but I was painfully wrong both times. That doesn't mean I won't find "The One," despite having told my friends I've given up on doing so. "Hope," said Ms Dickinson."is the thing with feathers."  By now you are asking yourselves "What the hell does any of that have to do with Mars?" Well, I'll tell you.

Sonia Van Meter is among those chosen as a semi-finalist for the Mars One project, which hopes to establish a Human colony on Mars starting in 2024. That's just 10 years from now. If you are anywhere near Uncle P's age, you'll realize that 10 years is merely a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of Human history. 

Mars One, of course, is a one-way ticket for those taking part. Best estimates with our current space flight technology put travel time to the Red Planet at 6 years. Once there, colonists would then spend several more years building and establishing a sustainable environment for human life. And while I find such an endeavor to be both exciting and frightening, I can't begin to imagine what and/or how those family members of the finalists must feel. Van Meter's husband, Jason Stanford has written an excellent essay on what it might be like to have his significant other potentially go away, forever.

And again you are asking, "What the heck does Sally Starr have to do with any of of this?" I know I've told the story about my High School teacher and his cousin who rode the Ferris wheel to get a better look at local TV personality Sally Starr at a local carnival. When my teacher's cousin got sick on the wheel, Sally's dilemma was whether or not to stand her ground and get puked on, or move and get puked on. So my question is: Do you let your soul-mate/significant other/loved one go on what may well be the most important scientific expedition of the 21st Century or be selfish and demand that she/he remain with you here on Earth? I'm not sure I could make that choice and I think that I would only agree if I could accompany him/her. 

What would you do, given this situation? Especially after seeing this:

Would I go? Maybe. Would you?

More, anon.
Prospero

Goodbyes Are Never Easy

After four weeks in and out of hospitals and rehab, Mom passed away peacefully at 10:02 PM Eastern Time. I was by her side, accompanied by my three dearest friends in the world.

Mom's favorite flowers were carnations and I am posting this one in her memory.

If you would like, you can make a donation to the American Heart Association or the American Diabetes Association in her name.

RIP - Sallyann Grobels Bara, 9/28/1941 - 10/13/2013.

Loved and missed so much. She always said the best thing she ever did was raise two great children. My sister and I would like to extend our thanks to everyone who has been so supportive in the last few weeks. We couldn't have gotten through this without you.

More, eventually.
Brian

Uncle P's Mom (Updated)

Waters Edge Rehab Center, Trenton, NJ

The past few weeks have been rather difficult for your old Uncle P. My mother (aka Malaprop Mom) suffered a heart attack last month which left her with kidney damage, requiring regular dialysis. It also left her very weak and debilitated. After two and a half weeks in a local hospital where she ranged from ornery to recalcitrant, Mom was moved yesterday to a rehab center in an attempt to regain her strength so she might come home. But I fear she has given up and may never come home.

To understand how distressing this is, you have to know a bit about my amazing Mom. Both strong-willed and emotionally vulnerable, as kids, my sister and I were always asking her to slow down so we could catch up with her. She taught both of us to read before we ever stepped foot in a school (and got yelled at by both of our First Grade teachers because we were already ahead of the others). Mom never wanted to be anything else than a Mom. She wanted 5 children and ended up with 2, the second of whom was born prematurely but fought and grew into one of the strongest people I know (and one of the best friends I could imagine). Nothing was too good for us, growing up. When I was in High School, I had the opportunity to travel to Europe and Mom went out and got her first job since she was a teenager to help pay for it. When my father left her, she soldiered on, dancing her way through my sister's wedding, just a few weeks after her own father passed away. 

A self-confessed "shopaholic," Mom was always smartly dressed with a killer manicure and the perfect heel for every outfit. And after arthritis required a knee replacement, she switched to smart and stylish flats. Mom loved the sun and maintained a year-round tan, naturally. And an avid reader herself, it wasn't unusual for her to go through three or four novels a week. She read mostly thrillers and mysteries, but was not above the occasional romance or even a Stephen King novel (she just finished "Under the Dome" a few days before she went into the hospital). Her current favorite TV shows include "Castle;" "Parenthood" and "The Good Wife," along with "The Walking Dead" and "Falling Skies." Since my first High School role in Bye Bye, Birdie, she has been a staunch supporter of my theatrical and artistic endeavors.

After my a-hole father left her, she actually 'found' herself. She dated several guys (including an old High School flame and one hot Russian who was actually two years younger than me!), but gave up on romance when she realized most men are a-holes (something which seems to apply to both straight and gay men). When I finally came out to her, she said she already knew and cried because I thought she'd be upset.

Of course, ever since being forced to retire when the auto-dealer for she which she'd worked for almost 18 years went out of business, her health has declined significantly. In the past four years, I've lost count of how many times I've had to call 911. This past February, she spent a week and a half in the hospital for congestive heart failure. She seemed fine after coming home and I never imagined she'd be back in the ER so soon.

My father passed away in 1999 from brain cancer. He was living in Las Vegas with his second wife (a whole other post could be devoted to that wedding, alone) and I hadn't seen or spoken to him in at least three years. I was in Provincetown, spending 4th of July weekend with my then boyfriend, Ric, whom Mom adored. We got home late that Monday afternoon and Mom informed me that Dad had passed. And I felt... well, to be honest... nothing.

 Today, watching Mom get dialysis while drifting in and out of awareness, I felt... everything. Anger. Remorse. Pity. Fear. Anger. Frustration. Worry. Love. Anger. 

Of course I know we are all human, and being human means we die. We all will die. But that doesn't make it any easier to watch someone you love; someone who was always there for you; someone who loves you unconditionally, come closer to that final milestone.

It is my fervent hope that rehab will help her gain her strength so she can return home and spend at least a few more years with me. But seeing her tonight, covered in bruises and scabs; weak and drifting in and out of coherence; hooked up to a machine which does a job her own organs can't... well... that's just not right. Not for the Mom we had to tell "Slow down" when we went to the mall to shop for Back-to-School clothes. Not for the Mom who fought when I was unjustly accused of misconduct my freshman year of High School. Not for the Mom who taught me to love to read and write. Not for the Mom who made me crazy so many times. Or the Mom who made me laugh so many times. Or the Mom who, after I made her watch the premiere episode of "The Walking Dead," knowing she'd appreciate the show's humanity, loved it. 

Not my Mom. 

Not yet.



More, anon.
Prospero

Update: Not long after I finished this post, Mom was rushed to St. Francis Medical Center ICU with internal bleeding. I saw her briefly today. She is very pale and hallucinating, but recognized me and held my hand. I'm hanging on by a thread, myself. I can't stand to see her like this. I know we all go through it, but I thought I'd have a few more years...

Uncle P

After the Superhero Leaves

If you've seen Pixar's hilarious Superhero/James Bond mashup movie, The Incredibles, then you know there is always a price to pay for the destruction caused by superheroes in their pursuit of supervillians. Sure, the Super has saved hundreds of thousands of lives from the hands of a madman, but at what cost? I know you've seen the trailers for Man of Steel. I must assume you saw The Avengers and at least the trailer for Ironman 3. Just at look at all the physical property destruction wreaked upon New York and Metropolis and wherever Tony Stark and Mr. & Mrs. Incredible live. Someone has to clean that mess up.

My amazing sister and her husband flew up from Florida to specifically come help me do some things around the house for which I don't have the skills or just couldn't do by myself. Thursday morning they showed up and the BIL went right to work, repairing the gate destroyed by Sandy (I knew there was a reason I didn't throw those pieces away). After he finished that, we went to a famous DIY box-store and spent an hour picking up supplies for the other jobs we had planned on tackling. I drove home at a steady 22 MPH with three 8x6 stockade fence panels tied to my luggage rack and a new ceiling fan for my kitchen; backsplash for my bathroom and assorted hardware for several other projects. Between 2 PM and 6 PM that afternoon, the BIL had installed the backsplash and the ceiling fan; the two of us put up the stockade fence and he repaired another chain-link fence on the short side of the back lawn. We had hoped to trim some of the horrifically overgrown vegetation along the two longer sides of the neighbors' fences, but it was raining off-and-on all day, so that got shelved. Meanwhile, my sister started sorting through some of Mom's extensive jewelery collection, looking for items of actual value. Mom has a lot of 'fashion' jewelry (what used to be called 'costume' jewelry), but she also had a whole lot of fine gold and silver stuff with plenty of real gemstones. Sis, along with being an extraordinary maker of cakes, used to work as a fine jewelry retailer and is a certified Diamondtologist. After a few hours of sorting and cleaning (and Mom's say-so), she had quite a pile of stuff Mom hasn't even seen in years, let alone worn. Exhausted, we met up later at a local diner (along with the BIL's equally gold-hearted sister and her very bright and funny son) for a huge celebratory meal. 

Yesterday, while Sis went off to sell the jewelry (which netted Mom far more much-needed cash than either of us anticipated), the BIL came back and started on the trimming we'd been unable to do on Thursday. And he had that look in his eye. The one that said, "I'm bored and I'm going to finish if it kills me." Using only an electric hedge trimmer and my small handsaw, he cleared 2/3 of the long-neglected weeds; vines; small trees and assorted Evil Dead-level vegetation in my backyard before accidentally cutting my 100' extension cord (something of which I've been guilty in the past). He vowed to repair or replace it (and he did). And while I truly appreciate all the hard work he put into it, it's going to take me several weeks to clear all the stuff he cut down. I alreafdy filled two large brown-paper lawn bags and barely touched a quarter of it Trust me, I am NOT complaining! I love that he did as much as he could while here. Hell, I wish we could have done more. And while I still have a ton of work to do in the yard, it hardly seems as overwhelming as it once did. Cleaning up after the superhero is certainly better than fighting the villain alone, no matter how sore one's legs, back and shoulders are... (I should buy stock in the company that makes 'Aleve'). It sucks getting old, kids.

I don't know. Maybe Man of Steel has me all worked up. I just know that I love my siblings and everything they do for me! And I can't wait until I can go down to the F state again for a proper visit!

More, anon.
Prospero

When an Old Favorite Disappoints

Veal Parmigiana

A local institution here in Lower Bucks, Georgine's has been a family favorite for many years. They even catered my sister's wedding. The food was consistently good and the portions outrageously huge. I can't count the number of times my family and friends have shared good food and good times there. They are particularly famous for their French onion soup and their milk-fed veal parmigiana, which always fills (and often over-flows) the plate. 

It has been several years since we've eaten there, so when my sister and the BIL came up from FL today and wanted to go out for dinner, Sis suggested Georgine's, which our mother and I both agreed was an excellent choice. I had a very tiny lunch today, in anticipation of the soup and veal. By the time we were seated, I was practically salivating. 

We ordered. Mom and I ordered cups of the French onion, while BIL ordered a bowl of it, along with a cup of the seafood bisque. Mom got an appetizer for her entree: a crab and spinach stuffed portobello cap. BIL ordered the seafood platter while Sis got a chicken dish and I ordered the veal. When the soup arrived, we dug in only to be surprised and disappointed to find it extremely salty and lacking in actual onions. This wasn't the delectable treat we remembered. Then came our entrees. Sis reported that her chicken (with tomatoes, mushrooms and a cream sauce) was good, though BIL said his clams casino tasted weird. Mom enjoyed the crab, but thought the mushroom was "vinegary" and my veal parm, while huge, was so salty, I could barely taste the meat. 

We left full but unsatisfied and, after a short discussion, decided that our memories of the food we'd had there before weren't faulty. Now, restaurants change chefs. It happens. But Georgine's prides itself on using the same recipes they've been using since they opened (those belonging to the long-deceased Georgine, herself).  time-honored recipe shouldn't be tinkered with or changed (unless it results in an improvement). I have no idea what actually happened tonight but I do know the food we were served was not the food we had come to love. 

So, my question is: Should we give Georgine's another chance or just give up and find a new favorite? Have you had a similar experience at one of your favorite restaurants? What did you do? Inquiring minds want to know. Leave me your answers in the comments.

More, anon.
Prospero

If She Weighs the Same As a Duck...

"You shall bring us... a shrubbery!"

Uncle P's sister sent me this photo today. She visits as many cake sites as I do horror and movie sites, so I don't know where she found it.  It's probably the single most epic win cake of all time. Just look at it. The Black Knight; a Knight Who Says 'Ni;' the Killer Rabbit and the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, all perfectly rendered in a cake I couldn't bear to eat, but just want to bask in its glory. This was NOT an inexpensive cake and I wish I had the money it cost just to pay some bills, let alone buy an insanely amazing custom cake. To be honest, she sent it in an email titled "awesome python cake." I was was actually expecting a picture of a snake cake. Imagine my delight at being so wrong.

But this post isn't really about cake. Nor is it about how my sister and I communicate, because she knew this particular cake, in conjunction with her recent guest post, would get me to a topic I don't think I've ever fully addressed: Monty Python Movies. Oh, I may have made passing comments or comparisons or minor references here and there. But I don't think I ever posted anything devoted solely to the British insaniacs and their influence on my personal take on life. But I'm going to talk about the movies, first. And one at a time, every now and then. Starting with favorite and ending with my least. And what better place to start with the group's first feature length film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. 

Directed by the Terrys (Gilliam and Jones), and co-written by all six of them, Holy Grail is a brilliantly nonsensical take on the Arthurian legends, loaded with bad puns, repeating themes ("I'm not dead yet!") and preposterous situations in a world completely populated by morons, lunatics and cartoon monsters. Not everything works (the three-headed giant is kind of lame as is the movie's anti-climatic non-ending) but there is far more gold than pyrite in this movie and no matter how many times I've seen it or how many lines I can quote from it or how easily I can manage to work a quote into a conversation with either or both people who will get it and people who won't, it still makes me laugh like an idiot after more than 45 years. I think it's because, like Carroll, the six Pythons understood that not only was nonsense funny, it was even funnier when applied as satire.

Holy Grail covers the gamut of what every movie should include:

A Plague:



Religion:



Sex:



Logic:



"Who are you, that are so wise in the ways of science?" Genius!

Denial:



Arranged Marriage (and Musicals):



History:



(It's even funnier in Spanish!)

So many more moments and comments and quotable scenes. Too much to go on and on about. Proof that nonsense can be as funny to adults as it is to kids, especially when applied so pointedly satirical, Monty Python and the Holy Grail not only cemented the troupe's cult status (especially here in the U.S.*) but paved the way for more daring satire (if not always as successfully) in their future films.

If you don't know Python or (like many) think you hate Python, you may want to start with the Broadway Cast recording of "Spamalot," Eric Idle's musical adaptation. Yes, many things are very different from the movie and it's funnier of you know and love the movie but it's as gentle an intro to Python as you can get. Then watch Holy Grail.

Of course, the movie is also one of several very special shared movie experiences for Sis and I. And to some extent, Dad (who swears that at the matinee he attended alone, a very confused old lady got up and left after the first twenty minutes). One of the many things that bond my sister and I so closely are the movies we saw together as kids. I like to think I taught her how to watch movies. I know she helped me to remember how do that and still enjoy them. That and the fact that she loves nonsense as much as I do, helps.

*I know plenty of Brits who don't get Python or our obsession for them. Their loss.

More, anon. 

Prospero

Finally In The Mood

Well, despite the monsters lurking amongst us, I finally feel it is the Christmas season. Temperatures have dropped and tonight I wrapped the gifts that I am shipping down to my sister and brother-in-law in Florida. 

It's not as much as I would like to or even usually send, but it's been a tough year for everyone. I'm spending less all around, this year. And the older we get, the harder it is to find the perfect gift (though I do pride myself on my gift-choosing skills). No one has ever looked at a gift I've given them and said "What the hell is this?" I can't always say the same about some of the gifts I've received. 

Of course, the gifts aren't really the point. 

For me, Christmas has always been about celebrating the love between family and friends. And as I've said repeatedly, I feel so very blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life. I can't imagine how empty my life would be without them. They make me laugh (and sometimes cry). They bring me joy (and sometimes sorrow). They offer ears to listen, shoulders to cry on and hands to lift me up. They go along with my crazy schemes; they perform for and with me; they accompany me to the movies and the theatre; they keep my secrets and share theirs; they know me as well as I know them. 

So, while religious Christians celebrate Christmas as the birth of their spiritual savior, I celebrate my many spiritual saviors - the folks I love and who love me in return. So let me wish you all an early Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Good Solstice and the best in the coming New Year.

Oh - and here's the Gayest Holiday Thing You'll See This Week:

By the way - for those who find offense at the use of "Xmas," you should know that the 'X' in "Xmas" comes from the first letter of the Greek word for 'Christ.' Y'all need to get over that, already.

More, anon.

Prospero

Bloggers Can Make a Difference

Dan Pearce writes a blog called SDL which stands for 'Single Dad Laughing.' I haven't had much of a chance to read the rest of his posts, but his recent post called I'm Christian, unless you're gay has gone viral and caused quite a stir. To date, he has received over 5,000 comments on that single post. While many of those comments were negative, the vast majority have been positive.

It's an amazing piece and if you haven't already read it, I strongly suggest that you do so. The post isn't about Christianity or homosexuality. It's about Humanity. It's about how we all need to treat one another as we we would want ourselves to be treated. It's about the "Golden Rule." It's about realizing that our differences are what make us the same. But mostly, it's about love. 

I have an amazing family. My mother, sister and brother-in-law are amazingly supportive of me and love me for who I am. Of course, my family isn't limited to the people to whom I am related by blood. My family includes some amazing human beings (D; K; Q; Dale; Tracy and a few others) who genuinely love me (and whom I love so very much). I am also lucky enough have a wide group of friends who love me, as well. And I love all of them. I also happen to have a day job where my co-workers not only respect me, but don't care about my sexuality. It's simply a non-issue. In fact, most of them don't understand why anyone's sexuality matters. I think of myself as truly blessed to have have all of these wonderful people in my life, even though I would never consider myself to be religious in any way. Blessings don't have to be supernatural to matter.

Am I still anti-religion? Definitely. Religion has been the source of more social strife than any other issue in the history of civilization. Millions have been killed in the name of "God." Families have been torn apart; lives have been shattered and countless people have committed suicide because they just couldn't reconcile who they were with who their religions said they should be. But I am not about to condemn anyone for what he or she believes. What I will condemn is using what they believe to justify hating someone else for believing differently. 

Today, Dan posted a video featuring some of the comments he received on his post. Watch the whole thing. The fact that this eloquent man changed so many minds gives me hope. 

Thank you, Dan. And thank you to all of my readers who get it. Keep fighting the good fight, folks. Love is all you need, as some band sang way back when.

More, anon.
Prospero

Yum!

That sound you hear is Norman Rockwell, spinning in his grave... (But seriously, what is that? Goliath's brain?)

It is Thanksgiving Eve here in the States. Since I added the globe tracker thingy to the blog, I have noticed I have readers in some very surprising places, all over the world: Australia; Russian Georgia; Austria; Poland; Romania; the Middle East; South America; Africa and even China. I don't know if  I'm getting these hits because those folks are doing specific Google searches, or because they are genuinely interested in what I have to say (though why they would be, is beyond me, frankly). It's rather awesome, though.

Thanksgiving is celebrated in Canada in October, though I don't think it has the same feeling as it does here in the U.S. Based on a myth about the settlers at Plymouth Rock in 16-something-or-other, Thanksgiving in the U.S. is all about being grateful for everything good in our lives. 

And Uncle P has plenty for which to be grateful (my English teachers would be so proud of that sentence). I have a decent job with an exceptionally generous NPO; I have a roof over my head with cable TV and high-speed Internet access; I have reliable transportation; I have traveled extensively; I get to indulge my passion for theatre on a fairly regular basis; I live in the greatest country on Earth (despite all its many faults) and I get to ramble on and on about anything I feel like, to a group of mostly strangers who come back day after day to read what I have to say.

But mostly, I am thankful for my small, but loving family and a group of amazing friends who simultaneously build me up and keep me grounded at the same time. Q; Dale; K; D; Tracy and about a dozen or so other folks, are constant reminders of how important it is to be yourself, share your love and talents and just be a good person.

So, while enjoying your turkey dinner with all the trimmings tomorrow, take a moment and really think about the things for which you are grateful. I can pretty much guarantee the people in your life about whom you care the most, will top that list. Of course, if you're as twisted as Uncle P, you can also be grateful for Eli Roth (NSFW):

More, anon.
Prospero

The Countdown Begins

Every May, I spend the first week of the month visiting my sister in Florida. She lives in a rather pleasant suburb of Tampa, just north of Clearwater. The weather is usually perfect, and she and I get to be very silly together. My mother comes, too and she and my brother-in-law (God bless him), just sigh at our behavior, knowing they will never be able to understand the 'secret language' my sister and I share. Now, we aren't twins. In fact, we're six years apart (I'm older). We just grew up (as many of you did) in a dysfunctional family, and we coped by relying on each other for comfort and escape. One of us can say a single word and instantly have the other writhing on the floor in hysterical gales of laughter, leaving bystanders completely mystified as to what on Earth could be so funny.

It's always been this way. To do this day, there is no one I'd rather go to movies with, because I know she appreciates film in the same way I do. We both love the same kinds of movies and saw many of our favorites (Raiders of the Lost Ark; Poltergeist; Big Trouble in Little China - shut up - Gremlins; Pee-Wee's Big Adventure; Beetlejuice; Batman and countless others) together. We can both quote obscure Warner Brothers cartoons and even more obscure episodes of The Little Rascals. We both thought Pee Wee Herman and Emo Phillips were hilarious and we both love carnivals, fairs and theme parks (though she's a bit of a wuss when it comes to roller coasters and other thrill rides).

Oh, our childhoods were far from perfect. We often fought like cats and dogs. Like a good big brother should, I often tortured the hell out of her. And like a good little sister should, she often tortured me back and got away with it because she was 'the baby.'

She's a self-professed 'Disney Dork,' while I'd rather spend my time at Universal Studios. She's a self-proclaimed "Liberal Christian," while I consider myself a Secular Humanist. She's straight and I'm.... well, not. She hates kids and I love them (our poor mother will never have grandchildren and has long ago resigned herself to settling for 'grand-pets'). We both love animals (cats in particular) and neither of us suffer fools lightly. She's the only person I know who is actually more opionated than I am (can you imagine?) and she is never afraid to admit it. She's a complete "Type A" and I am a complete "Type B." Somehow, we meet in the middle. It's truly a sight to behold. But don't you dare try to get between us - we will eff you up, biatch!

We email and Facebook each other constantly and our mutual friends are equally astonished, disoriented and puzzled by the things we share with one another. We are night and day; yin and yang; Abbott and Costello. We still ocasionally (and sometimes vehemently) disagree, but we know that we are (and always will be) there for each other, no mater what.

So, I leave next Saturday to spend nine days with her, our mother and my brother-in-law. It is a vacation I need, desperately. And a chance to spend time with the one person who understands me more than anyone else in the entire world. And as of right now, I am officially counting the days...

More, anon.

Prospero