Sleds, Turkey, Fire, and Betty

My last post was about writing and how I must do it.  Then I disappear for 2 weeks.  I like my style.  I've got lots to share so I'm going to efficiently go down the list, get you what you need, and go home.

Check this out.  I told you I'd share the Thanksgiving sledding adventures with you.  So here.  Brace yourselves.  This video is like being at Disney World without all the electric scooters and fanny packs.  Listening to the EGB giggle is infectious.  I'm giggling.  I can't stop.  (video on blog)

Action photo.  Going to be on the cover of "Sledding Today".  Hmmmm.  Maybe on to something with this whole magazine devoted to the lifestyle and time of sledding.  Any angel investors out there?

Ok.  Now that I can check Thanksgiving off the list--actually, I better add this on as it has become a tradition of sorts.  Some families tell stories around the fire.  Others get together with cousins and play football.  Some make cookies and hang out it pajamas.  We keep it real.

We baste ourselves and stay moist. EGB circa 2008.

The tradition continues.  By the way, it's going to be so weird when she's 16 and we try to stuff her in the same pan. I guess we'll have to try to keep her little or grease her jeans.

Ok. Now Thanksgiving is done.  Moving on to Hanukkah.  We couldn't find our menorah.  So we did what people did thousands of years ago.  Grabbed some wood, got a drill, went to the shed and made one.

 Fire.  Set your bear on fire. Set your hair on fire.  It's Hanukah.  For the record, Hebrew sounds extra funny when a 2-year-old gets going.  EGB picked it up quick. She's borderline rabbi with a dash of Speedy Gonzalez and a sprinkle of small zoo animal.

Then I said I'd share the Golden parade with you.  It's pretty small and basically a bunch of people with those santa/elf hats walking down the street throwing candy canes at you and your children (you know what hats I mean-the red fuzzy ones that old people think are really funny to wear when shopping at the mall during the holidays. What are they called anyway?  On that note I saw a guy at the gas station on my way to work yesterday pumping gas with a baseball hat on with large reindeer antlers. A grown man with antlers.  Really? )

Waiting for some candy.

 This parade makes me want to party.

Or at least ride in a buggy pulled by a dog.  Go you slow dog!  Let's go to the drive-through and crush burgers.

There's more.  Family visits and other general pirate style events, but you'll have to wait.  We're busy.  It's roadtrip time.  The big sky of Montana is calling.  Updates will trickle in upon our return.  Until then I've got a riddle for you.

What do you get when you cross an 80s Madonna......

.....With an old Betty Davis?

The Great EGB of course!  A beacon of style and class from an era of the past.  She's our little trendsetter...

"Write"

So as I previously mentioned there is this is a sign I put next to my computer reminding myself to write.  I actually got out a piece of paper, a marker, and wrote the word "write" on it.  I'd show you a picture, but you'll just have to take my word for it.  I guess in doing that very act I obeyed myself.  So I am following my own direction.  Which is quite dangerous because last time I followed myself I ended up where I started.  Which makes sense given that if you follow wherever you go, you'll just end up where you are, which really is nowhere because you've never left. Whatever.

I've realized that it's easy not to write.  At the same time it's also hard not to write.  Very similar to all of our other mini-battles that go on a million times a day in our modern heads .  It's easy not to eat right.  It's easy to skip a run.  It's easy to avoid.  It's easy be anonymous.  It's easy to hide.  It's easy to do the wrong thing.  The little voices in the head telling you do the easy thing are quite powerful.

I'm assuming that this has to be a relatively new human phenomenon of our modern mental state.  I mean, I don't picture cavemen waking up, scratching their natty heads, saying, "Man, should I walk up out of this stone dwelling and crush a donut with triple-cocoa seasonal latte? Or should I just save money, be healthy and just chill here and eat some oats and fruit?"  Or, "Dang, I'm getting soft up in here.  I should put on my running loin cloth and jog around this rock. Naw, maybe later."

That dilemma didn't exist. It couldn't exist.  Survival was an imminent task. And doing the wrong thing because it was easy would ultimately be the demise of the necessary survival gene.  But this whole "caveman survival mode" is essentially an obsolete condition in our time. True artistic expression, writing, music, job choices, neighborhood to live in choices, what to eat--are all choices that exist as a product of our ability to overcome the threats of non-survival.  Cavemen couldn't hide, skip, avoid, or they could die.  Cavemen didn't blog because they were chasing food.  I do wonder if cavemen had any "modern" worries?  What did they think about outside of survival?

So yes, I'm writing, but I just realized I'm writing about cavemen.  I guess that's ok since EGB is basically a caveman.  Without a bath, lotions,  carpal-tunnel-inducing aggressive combing--she has caveman hair.  She also gives me a glimpse into the survival-driven mind of a caveman.  I constantly see the stripped down biological nature of humans in my interactions with the fuzz head.  There is a plate full of food and she'll ask for more.  She thrives on the calorie-rich sugar laden foods to quickly get energy.  She does what she thinks will be the most possibly fun thing she can do in every moment.  She exhibits early signs of empathy as needed for humans to care to each other.  She quickly exhibits fear in threatening visual and auditory conditions.  She chooses to run to get from point a to b.   She laughs a lot at the silliness of a world that grown ups take so seriously.  She takes so seriously her world that we grown ups think is so silly.

I haven't taught her any of these things, but as I've learned in a world with EGB, they must be important.  I'm sure at some point we all knew of these things too.

So I guess that's why I write. It's why I feel that I should write. I don't really know why, but I just feel it.  It must be attached to a hardwired desire to survive.  As EGB has taught me--we're all still cavemen, but we just forgot how to be.

As always, much to say, but not the time to do so.  The Dairy Queen left me home with the spider monkey for almost a week now.  I've survived.  Thank you for all of your support, calls, offers to help, dinners, play dates....not.  I did it on my own.  I went to battle and did the damn thing.  Actually, it was a time well spent with a 2-year-old that laughs like flowing water.  I laughed too.

Once I get out of survival mode.  I'll share Thanksgiving sledding adventures, Hanukah menorah making, EGB skiing, parade attending, and other general chaotic events with you.  Don't let me forget--life is fast like that.

Until then. Our good friend Sheila aka She-ra is getting into the world of professional photography.  When she does I'll be sure to do my part to market on her behalf.  For now, she captured some classic EGB to share.  There's

Two words.  Caveman hair.

Are we moving?

 Why you got me on a leash?  I'm not a dog.  Let me fly down this damn hill.

 Good powder day.  I need some of that hot cocoa with a six-pack of milk.

 Good one huh?  The pure look of wonderment.  What do cavemen think about?

Where Is My Damn Thumb?

Thanksgiving came and went.  We hit the legendary sledding hill in Steamboat aka Uncle Ivan's driveway where the Jamaican bobsled dreams began.  Videos and pictures to come with some real goods.

Until then.  EGB is looking for her thumb.  Seen it?  

(Video on the blog)