It’s hard to believe, but I’m getting my third family visit in less than a year.

My sister Darcie, Dave, her fiance, and Sarah are coming up for the BGMC concert on December 14. I’m very excited about this. This time, they won’t be staying at my house. Dave claims to like Reggie, but the fact is that Reggie makes Dave sick. He’s got some heavy duty allergies. 

I’m not sure Sarah knows she’s coming yet. This is going to be exciting, though. My sister is buying her a new dress for the event (hopefully red) and I want to make sure we get some really good pictures of Sarah and I.

I talked to my sister last night. She, Dave (future brother-in-law), and Sarah are coming up for the BGMC concert in December. I was really hoping she could talk the parents into coming, too, but that’s not going to happen this year. My mom is a florist, and this is a peak season for her. I’m not sure how much of it is the business and how much is their discomfort with my singing with a gay group. At this point, I’m not sure I care. My family will be here, and that’s what matters. Having Sarah at my concert is incredibly important to me, and just typing this brings me to tears. My sister says she’s going to buy Sarah a pretty new dress to wear to the concert. We’ll make sure we get photos of her with Uncle Mike in his tux.

My sister did ask if the music would be appropriate for a nine year old. It’s all Christmas/holiday music. There is one piece, called What Matters, which is from the Matthew Shephard story. Everything else is holiday-related, and the whole theme is Stars. One of our pieces has an entire movement based on Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and it’s stunning. At this point, my favorite piece has got to be Come and See the King, which goes all gospel choir. We have another piece that’s a capella and entirely in Latin. It’s incredibly difficult and sounds amazing.

So the age appropriateness of the concert isn’t a big deal. My sister will have some other explaining to do, but Sarah’s a pretty smart kid. And I don’t think it’ll phase her too much.

Viola Pennington died yesterday. Everybody in the little town where I grew up knew her. She was the personification of nice, little old lady.

All my life, she was Grandma Pennington, even though she wasn’t my grandmother. She was my cousins’ grandmother. But since we lived in the same small town and spent a lot of time together as kids, she was Grandma Pennington to me as well.

In recent years, I only saw her about once a year, Christmas Eve. I always spend at least part of Christmas Eve with my Aunt Velma’s family, and Grandma Pennington would be there, and she was always playing some sort of card game. Even in her later years, she had an incredibly sharp mind. Christmas Eve won’t be the same without her this year.

I called my mom at her shop this morning to send some flowers. I would have liked to go to the funeral home, but living 800 miles away makes that a little difficult.  Being in the middle of an audit makes that darn near impossible. Having a mom who is a florist does make this a little easier.

My parents have come and gone, and I miss having them here.

My dad drove to the airport and then I obviously drove home. I have to say that the return trip pretty much wiped me out and I’ve spent most of the evening on the couch, napping most of the time. I’m still in quite a bit of pain, but that’s to be expected.

As my mom was packing up to go, she said she wished she could have done more to help me out. I looked at my dad and we both laughed. My kitchen sparkles and the pantry has been completely organized. There isn’t a piece of dirty laundry in the house, and she even washed the sheets on the guest bed before remaking it. The only thing left to do was to unload the dishwasher because it was still running when we left for the airport. She did a ton, and I totally appreciate it.

So now the Roomba is running in the living room, and Reggie and I are calling it a night.

I frequently joke that my parents adopted me because I look like my dad. Anybody who has seen pictures of my dad can tell you that the fruit (pardon the pun) doesn’t fall far from the tree.

My mom’s side of the family just might be a different story. My grandmother is getting old. Her mental faculties could be questioned. She is convinced that my mom’s brother is mentally ill. Want to know something? The old biddie is on to something.

The guy has had four jobs over the course of two years. He’s a truck driver.  His last company fired him because he refused to drive to Long Island. His excuse was that he didn’t want to drive through New York City. If you’re a truck driver on the east coast, you have to drive through New York once in a while. Suck it up.  There is a reason it’s called work, you know. There are parts of my job that I hate doing, but they get done because it’s part of the job. If I don’t do it, I’m not employed. This should be a fairly simple concept.

Nobody can seem to recall the last time he showered or washed his hair. I just can’t fathom this. My grandmother said that he got absolutely furious when she suggested the he get a haircut.

I didn’t see my mom’s brother on this trip, and it’s probably best. I’m the asshole who doesn’t have the tact to keep his mouth shut. I would have told this loser that his ass stinks and that it’s his own fucking fault that he can’t seem to hold down a job. The man is 50 years old, has no real expenses, lives with my grandmother who is on social security, and his truck was recently repossessed. Again, my financial house isn’t rock solid, but I’m surviving. What the fuck?

Am I genetic defect for not wanting to be related to some of these people?

Reggie and I logged over 1500 miles over the course of four days.  Oddly, the only pictures I took were of Reggie in the car. He did really well.

Every time I go home, the sleepy little town where I grew up seems to get smaller. For example, a young woman who grew up the street from me has a “colored boyfriend.” I’m not sure which bothers me more, the fact that they still refer to him as “colored” or the fact that they care. I’ve met said boyfriend, and he seems nice.

Here are a few other highlights from the weekend:

My dad was completely surprised by the visit.
Reggie had a great time visiting my parents.
I sat on the front porch and drank beer with my dad two nights in a row.
My sister’s boyfriend’s brother is hot. Really hot.
My mom was horrified by the fact that I didn’t go to church with her on Sunday morning. I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear.
My niece is getting so big.  She’ll be eight in a few weeks.
My dad loved my new car. He mentioned that he loved my Sirius. Little did he know that I had one in the trunk as a gift for him.
I went swimming on Sunday with the family. I got sunburned and pulled muscles that I had forgotten I had.

It was a good weekend, and I’m glad I made the trip home. Granted, I spent a little more money than I had expected, but that’s okay. My parents have spent money on me more times than I can count, so it’s okay.

The route home took ten hours each way. It certainly took longer than my usual route, but I never stopped moving. There was minimal construction and it was a smooth drive. Never did I stop moving. The one thing that sucked is that this route was a toll road from Boston to Erie, PA. I90 across two states (MA and NY) probably isn’t cheap. It’s on my EZ-pass, so I don’t know what the cost was, but I do know I paid it both directions.

Tomorrow, I’m back to work.

Every family has that one recipe that everyone makes. When you’re having a get-together, it’s usually specified who’s bringing that dish.  In my dad’s family, it’s the pepperoni stuff.  And yes, we really call it that.  My Aunt Dixie came across this recipe years ago, and it’s a staple at any family function. It’s worth sharing.

Aunt Dixie’s Pepperoni Dip

1 can cream of celery soup
1 package of cream cheese
1 package of pre-sliced pepperoni (thick sliced if possible)

Combine in a snack-size crock pot or slow cooker. Serve with crackers.

That’s the condensed version. There is a whole philosophical debate about the pepperoni. I like the pre-sliced because it’s easy. My Aunt Dixie swears that she would rather buy a stick of pepperoni and slice it herself because the pre-sliced stuff is too thin. There is always the route of getting it at the deli and having them slice it thick. Whatever, just get good pepperoni.

The other thing is the crackers. Try to find a lower salt cracker. Between the pepperoni and the soup, this has a good amount of salt in it already. Heavily salted crackers would be a bit too much.

Every time I drive to my parents’ house, I take the same route: I90-I84-I81-I80. And every time I seem to hit traffic in the same places, Hartford (such as it is), Wilkes-Bare/Scranton, and the I84-I81 split. This time, I’m thinking of trying a different route: I90 to I79. It’s going to take me about a hundred miles out of my way, but it’s a different route. I’ve never driven across upstate New York

I’m not sure it will add or subtract any time from the trip. In theory, it should add time to the trip, but when you sit on I81 in Scranton for an hour, it just might make a difference.  Assuming we leave at 7:00, we’ll have all day to get home. Time really isn’t that big of a deal.

Besides, my car is fun to drive.

Map stolen from Google Maps.

I posted this to PugVillage earlier….

Let me preface this by saying that my “little” sister is a little more than three years younger than me. I’m 34 and she’s 31. My parents have always gone out of their way to treat us equally, sometimes to a frightening degree. At Christmas, they always try to spend the same amount of money on us. My sister lives closer to home and I’m several hundred miles away. Since my mom babysits regularly, and they go out to dinner often, my parents will often just send me a check. It’s never expected, rarely solicited, usually at random, but always appreciated.

For Christmas, my parents were paying for a couple of windows for my sister’s new house. At Thanksgiving, my dad said they were going to give me an equal amount in cash. I put a stop to that and gave my mom a rediculous list of gift ideas. Let me tell you that my parents rocked this Christmas for me. I got a Calphalon grill pan, a set of Wüsthof knives (in addition to the santoku knife that Smeg and Diosa got me), the 7th season of the West Wing on DVD, and a new set of sheets for my bed that are Pug-colored to hide the fur.

My intent was to give them some ideas. Instead, my parents got me some really cool stuff that not only could I use, but that I actually wanted.

Before I left on Wednesday morning, my mom gave me gas money. I didn’t need it but completely appreciated it. It cost me close to $75 each way in gas.

In all of that, the best part of my Christmas was having a place to go “home” to. It was great to sit by the fireplace in my parents’ house and appreciate my parents’ company. My parents are young (early fifties), and I’m glad I can appreciate them while I still have them.

Well, Christmas has come and gone. I’ve had a good time at my parents’ house. Tomorrow we head back to Boston.

Santa was pretty good to me. I got a 12” Calphalon grill pan, a 8” Wustof chef’s knife (in addition to the Wustof santoku knife Beth and Paul got me), and the 7th season of The West Wing on DVD.

Driving the Jeep Liberty has been fun, but it doesn’t get as good of gas mileage as my Civic does.

Pictures soon.