"This writing business. Pencils and whatnot. Overrated, if you ask me."
Eeyore from " ? "
The 2007 2 Exhausted 2 Write Newsletter
Two thousand seven A.D.
Wasn’t very heavenly
I’m eager to get 2007 over with, so this is going out early.
From the past five newsletters: “Alan toils at Seminars Unlimited. They’re still building their new campus. Alan’s hand-dug well in the back yard remains at 2000 A.D. status.” Nothing has changed. Having lost weight, he’s healthier than he was ten years ago. He has fantastic blood test results, and now that his (now reduced) tummy fat is no longer pressing against his stomach, his acid reflux is gone.
In June, he again worked a week at Nameless Valley Ranch as “The Story Guy” and canoe teacher.
In 2005, Lois Wade’s Friday Night blogs introduced him to Geocaching. Mom and Dad’s 2005 Christmas gift to him was a GPS unit. My 2006 Valentine’s gift to him was a homemade fake boulder (to hide a cache, and which some cachiers have said is the coolest hide they’ve seen), and trinkets to trade. We cached for the first time in Europe 2006, and Alan was off and running. He is quite proud of his stats: 161 caches hidden, 163 caches found, and is ranked 5th among Texans with the most foreign countries cached (as of late Oct. ‘07). It’s a sickness, as any cache widow will tell you. He is now corrupting Adventist youth: he helped teach Orienteering and Geocaching at the October Union Pathfinder Camporee. I bought Alan this hat (click on image for better hat view). We invite you to share your opinion on whether it befits Chrissie's spouse:
They’re violinists in the orchestra with their favorite friends.
Kilory plays French horn in the band, and Nikki clarinet.
Their Uncle Carl baptized them on March 12. They belong to a Pathfinders Club and are participating in the Bible Bowl competition again.
Kilory-punzel had more than enough hair for the donation, but they cut off more than she requested, not leaving her enough tresses for her precious perpetual ponytail. Oh, how she cried.
I told her this was a rite of passage for females and that she was now officially a woman.
.
..
.
.. My January scheduled hysterectomy was postponed and postponed because I was too sick (gallbladder sludge, elevated liver function, etc., etc.) for surgery. I was well enough on April 2nd (my parents’ 49th anniversary). I had to move in with them to recover because of diabetic worries and the fact I couldn’t step over a toothpick. I was home by the end of April, but still felt like I'd been hit by a truck.
I’m inside. Alexandra, Nikki, Kilory, and Catherine are out back. I assume they are out in the playhouse fending off dragons and black knights, as usual. But wait. The sounds of laughter do not triangulate from said enchanted fortress. What are they doing out there? I walk out into the chaos that is the scene of our add-on construction site and look. They stand shoulder to shoulder in a straight line, their faces gleeful, yet with that touch of “deer-in-the-headlight” as they see me and freeze. Their grins get toothy and a tad hopeful. It’s not this that I find strange. They are not as tall as I expect them to be. They appear to be Hobbits. “What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously. The grins get toothier and a little desperate. They explain (in a rush, all at once) that they are exfoliating in the way that the most luxurious, expensive salons do, and that their feet feel fantastic. They are standing in a mud-filled trench that used to be a dry footing for a future concrete slab. “Is everybody up-to-date on their tetanus shots,” I enquire, eyebrow raised. They shrug expansively. “Do we have to get out?” “Not until I get the camera,” I answer. And so I introduce Exhibit A (above right) into evidence.
By the time Alan and the girls left for camp in June, I was feeling up to hammer-drilling and angle-grinding the brick wall portions that had to come down before the I feared that doing this alone before the girls got home to assist me would result in injuries like a broken foot. So I twiddled my thumbs for a week.
Twenty $#% minutes before they got home, I broke a toe and scrambled my foot while rushing through my living room.
Doctor: "It looks like somebody took a ball pein hammer to your foot!"
Diabetics MUST recover from foot trauma immediately, if not sooner, in order to keep the traumatized foot. It’s imperative to stay off the foot, so weeks after I’d left, I was back living at Mom and Dad’s with kids and a small dog in tow. *sigh* Ha ha ha.
Steve Brain borrowed a Bobcat and moved four dumptrucks of sand from our driveway into our backyard. He also loaned us his flat-bed trailer for hauling lumber and rebar.*
Steve is our hero!
He's given us quite a bit of advice toward the concrete pour which is now scheduled for November 16.
Ha ha ha.
[November 16 came and went. This is a picture of me and my very helpful helper on November 18. I predict we will pour in 2008. I'm not stupid enough to predict when in 2008, but it'll be 2008. I'm not happy.]
*(Steve and Family gave us a load of unused rebar and helped us load it. Carl and Pastor Barton also donated unused rebar. We are so blessed and soooo grateful. Thank you, thank you Steve Family, Carl Family, and Barton family for your generosity!) They still won.
Sylvia (and Alan!) won 1st Place Animal Entry. He decorated her. For a dog who broke our front window telling strangers to get away from her property, she is a social butterfly at parades. After sitting still at my parents' and being well-fed while recuperating (twice), I reached my "no more excuses" point in August and joined Weight Watchers.
On average I’ve lost 1.5 pounds a week (or 6 sticks of butter a week, as my childhood pal Stephanie Banken tells me). [30.2 pounds as of 12-11.] Weight Watchers doesn't broadcast your weight each week (which is what I'd been counting on), so I put together an e-mail list of a very few friends -- my Accountability Squad -- and each week I tell them my results:
Hello.
Weight Watchers is definitely working for me, but I think it's needing to report to my Accountability Squad that keeps me working at Weight Watchers. Thanks guys. Labor Day Week was spent at the Denny cabin in Black Lake, New Mexico. It was a good trip for the others (from all appearances); a rotten one for me. It still was, as always, my favorite week of the year.
Heaven on Earth for me is sitting on the Denny porch gazing at the “Lonesome Dove”/Moreno Valley, the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the birds, the elk (the elks?), the pines/spruces/firs/aspens, and watching the afternoon rainstorms come and go. We, of course, did a lot of Geocaching.
Once, after a hailstorm Alan made a "hailball," and nothing could convince him it wasn't snow.
I am grateful to the Dennys for so many things, but I must say, that cabin porch is my lifeline. Like in the rest of my life, I rarely provoke ambivalence: I hear often that I am the best sub ever, and also hear that I am the meanest sub ever.
Family archives: Vialo Weis (Jr) passed the Oklahoma bar and is a sworn-in jurisprudence-er; his son David married Melaine Quintanilla on March 18 in California (positively no pictures have come my way -- I had been re-scheduled for surgery at this time, but was too sick for that or traveling). No blood relation, just beloved: Dr. Bj Leach married Dr. Jennifer Kim on September 16 in Portland, OR (at right). Our 2005 Dallas pound pup, Chia, fell head over heels in love with my dad when we left her with him while we did Europe 2006 (a month after his poodle, Cujo, died). She knew who needed her most. “What’s her name?”
Depends on who you ask...
Alan: “Coco (Chanel).”
Weis and Wiist kids: “Bugaboo.”
Dad: “Itsy Bitsy.”
In truth her name is the *kiss*kiss* noise.
Her name should be "Freeze-Bug" or "Pupsicle." She shivers in mild temperatures and always, always sleeps UNDER the covers. When colder October temps hit we had to up her insulation to THREE sweaters -- and she's still cold.
I am decidedly Peggy Suess's person, but she loves everybody she meets with total abandon and body-twisting, tail-whipping joy.
Bill was known by many names and had many offers to leave us and live with others. Siouxseque called him "The Doubtful Guest" because of the Edward Gorey character he resembled when she flattened his ears.
His middle name was "Farfel" after the dog on Seinfeld who wouldn't "shut uuuup!" My dad’s Indian name for the loudly talkative, sociable boy: Big Mouth Underfoot.
It’s too quiet now.
Nikki and Kilory are in Seventh Grade with Mrs. Hutchinson. Straight “A”s.
These stripey-shirt photos were taken 30 minutes before Kilory donated her hair to Locks of Love. Here, one can see her hair touching the "sand" below her ribcage.
They are both Red Cross certified babysitters, and care for cousin Jalie Denny once a week.
This spring, we started digging trenches (relatively speaking, Kilory dug way more than any of us -- without being asked!) and laying drain pipe for the wheelchair-accessible house addition we are building, funded in part by the sale of the Hyundai I won on “Live with Regis & Kelly” in 2006. We planned to pour the concrete on April 13. Ha ha ha.
It was a Tuesday in May.
concrete was poured.
Poor Mom and Dad.
No concrete pouring until after Labor Day. It was scheduled for October 19.
Back to right after my broken toe: Hobbling around in a boot “cast” I attempted to paint Mikayla and McKenzie Petersen (daughters of Kim and Don Petersen; granddaughters of JoAnn and David Petersen, and Jean and Bernie Neufeld) and Nikkory to look like Old Glory for the July 4th Parade. 
My name is Chrissie W.
I weigh(ed) ___._ .pounds.
I lost 3.4 pounds over my eleventh week.
This year I spent more time than usual on the porch with the laptop, writing while hummingbirds and chickadees flew past me, around me, and into me; sometimes landing on my keyboard, sometimes atop my screen. Once, a hawk landed on the porch trying to catch one of my chipmunk pals.
I substitute teach in between trying in vain to get an add-on built.
I sincerely grin and say “Thank you!” at either statement.
I also missed Alan's Aunt Genevieve and Uncle Robert's 50th wedding anniversary party because of surgery recuperation.
We spend Saturdays at “the farm” and she spent every minute at his side, running to him every time we spoke to her, and refusing to come with us when it was time to go home. As soon as it was time to go, she would hide. Truly humiliating for us. We love her still, but recognize she wants HIM, not us (though she loves us, too!). I left her, her papers, sweaters and toys, and said “she’s yours” more than once. But Dad wouldn’t "steal" “our dog.” This April, Dad conceded that she was not “our dog” anymore, that she had chosen him, Him, HIM and would have no other.
On May 16, a 6-pound Rat Terrier (with a smidgen of Chihuahua or ?) came to live with us.
The toddler at her Flower Mound foster home couldn’t pronounce the name “Peggy Sue” that her abandoning owners had given her. 
She called her “Peggy Suess,” which is what I call her officially.
When not in my lap -- or pre-pre-rinsing the crock pot while standing in it -- 
she spends her days playing with our Munchkin cat (Napoleon Jazzy Cap'n Jack Peeves). One might think when she's pinning him to the carpet chewing on him that perhaps the cat needs rescuing from the dog. But as soon as she stops chewing on him and attempts to leave, he tries to pull her back with his midget legs. You know what he's saying (he's an expressive cat and makes no attempt to hide his feelings): "C'mon, Baby. Who's your chew toy?" he croons, as plainly as ever cat crooned.
As said, we spend Saturdays at "the Farm." Chia is always happy to see us, but even happier to see her new buddy, Itsy Bitsy. They chase each other, wrestle, race, and chew on each other. Chia loves her buddy. I am not kidding. If we arrive without Peggy Suess, Chia searches for her and failing, comes inside, ears drooping.
If Bill the Cat was in my lap first, she would lie on top of him and he would leave. If Itty Bitty was in my lap first, Bill would lie on top of her, leaving a double-decker animal pile in my lap for as long as I chose to stay seated.
17-year-old Bill-the-Cat died in my arms Oct. 19 after 16 purr- and cuddle-filled years with us (he adopted us on a cold, rainy night -- 12/20/91).
We called him Bill-the-Babysitter after his penchant for leaping to the side of a crying baby (not just the twins) and purring until they were soothed and fell asleep.
Two Thousand and Eight, I swear
Will be awesomely great. So there!
@#$%!!! . . I forgot 2008 is an election year. No chance at happiness until 2009. Drat.
Chrissie,
Alan, Nikki & Kilory
alan_christine@sbcglobal.net
P.S.
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Purchases
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Just click here -- the money still goes to a student-in-need,
to honor Wes's memory.)
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P.P.S.
Nikki, Morris, Tyler, Sally, and Chrissie at the Thanksgiving buffet.
The Gang.
Capezzoli di Venere -- done with white chocolate as seen in "Amadeus." I saw them in a Salzburg travelogue and had to have one (well, OK, I've had two, but on separate days...). One can't buy them online, so we made them from scratch.
I said to the twins: “At my funeral you could stand up and say ‘I remember Mom cleaning house.’ Instead you can say ‘Then there was the time we spent the whole day making Capezzoli di Venere and watching “Amadeus.” The house was a mess.’”.
I took pictures of them holding a plate full of the chestnut-filled truffles. There were only two left when I discovered my digital camera had had a tantrum when I took the pictures.
We got a first place trophy for Most Unique Entry in the hometown Christmas Parade.
Was it for:
- Nikki and Kilory the activist elves, picketing for fair wages, sick leave, dental, and vacation...*
- O Chrissie Tree...
- The reindogs being ridden by reindeer...
- Or Santa Alan handing out bubble gum coal...
- All of the above?
We don’t know.
In November Vialo Sr. had to have his hip replaced for the third time. He was not expected to live through the surgery. He did, and is now enduring physical therapy. He will return to Carl and Ella's when he can walk again. Ella asked me to decorate his Town Hall Estates door for the door decorating contest. (On the door there's a gift bag the Wiists donated which I filled with peppermints to bribe nurses and judges). I brought elves along to help although only one of them wore her hat.
*Elf's Lament
I'm a man of reason, and they say "'Tis the season to be jolly"
But it's folly when you volley for position
Never in existence has there been such a resistance
To ideas meant to free us
If you could see us, then you'd listen
Toiling through the ages, making toys on garnished wages
There's no union
We're only through when we outdo the competition
I make toys, but I've got aspirations
Make some noise
Use your imagination
Girls and boys, before you wish for what you wish for
There's a list for who's been
Naughty or nice, but consider the price to an elf
A full indentured servitude can reflect on one's attitude
But that silly red hat just makes the fat man look outrageous
Absurd though it may seem, you know, I've heard there's even been illegal doping
And though we're coping, I just hope it's not contagious
You try to start a movement, and you think you see improvement
But when thrown into the moment, we just don't seem so courageous
I make toys, but I've got aspirations
Make some noise
Use your imagination
Girls and boys, before you wish for what you wish for
There's a list for who's been
Naughty or nice, but consider the price to an elf
You look at yourself
You're an elf
And the shelf is just filled with disappointing memories
Trends come and go, and your friends wanna know why you aren't just happy making _rappy little gizmos
Every kid knows they'll just throw this stuff away
We're used to repetition, so we drew up a petition
We, the undersigned, feel undermined
Let's redefine "employment"
We know that we've got leverage, so we'll hand the fat man a beverage
And sit back while we attack the utter lack of our enjoyment
It may be tough to swallow, but our threats are far from hollow
He may thunder, but if he blunders, he may wonder where the toys went
I make toys, but I've got aspirations
Make some noise
Use your imagination
Girls and boys, before you wish for what you wish for
There's a list for who's been
Naughty or nice, but consider the price
Naughty or nice, but consider the price
Naughty or nice, but consider the price to an elf
We hope you enjoy your
visit.
