Well, I’ll bet you thought I wasn’t going to write this thing, didn’t you? You can be forgiven for your doubt, as day 23 has been on ice for the holliday season, and a thin film of something-or-other has started to form on the surface of this blog like so much egg-nog left half drunk in so many forgotten christmas mugs. My track record posting on time is somewhere between “Gus Bradley” and “Jay Gruden,” with a commensurate level of quality to go with the slow.
But since you are still reading…
Much as my fellow blogger, I spent Xmas returning to the ancestoral homelands, which in my case is the Appalachian mountians of Virginia. There, I spent some delightful time with family, friends, and… well, more family. Sure, I saw my parents, sister, etc. That was great. But the family events really got weird when we started going through the boxes upon boxes of family lore, a history binge so depraved that I awoke some mornings in nothing but my skivies and a pile of early 1870’s family photograph.
We, as a clan, seem to have some real problems K throwing anything away, a fact that means our collection of different rembrences runs the gamit from rediculiouse to sublime.
Tucked into the giant list are signatures like this:
Louisa May Alcott
and such things as this: the newspaper from the day the bomb fell on Hiroshima.
Of course, not pictured here are the thousands upon thousands of photographs of unknown ancestors, the letters written from an unknown relative to an unknown correspondent, and more cuff links, tea sets, and timexes then you can shake a stick at.
Whenever I tried to slip away for a little alone time (by which I mean, of course, to play with my… Legos), I was waylaid by another set of journals or another Ivory chess set of unknown origon.
Still, its not like our time away has been Lego free or nothin’. Rather, there has been some huge news in the ongoing question that im sure has been haunting all of you: the Death Star question. WELL HAVE NO FEAR, FRIENDS! All 3000+ pieces of this gloariouse legostrosity are on the way to Jen’s place thanks to something called Pley, a Lego rental website which appears to be designed for specifically with the two of us in mind. The two of us and a legion of seven year olds.
What… is that? Really, lego calender? Jen sets us up for a three way showdown at the O.K. Coral and you deal me Beaker’s first chemestry set?
The battle was joined. Oh, how it was joined. As Leslie grabbed an axe, and, whirling it over his head, charged at Lee the explanitory. She lept gracefully backwards up the steps of the throne, and steel rang against stone as Leslie overbalanced on the swing. Suddenly, Hal was there, and Lee’s blade jumped to meet him. Leslie again charged in, cutting at Lee’s ankles, but when she hopped over his blow Hal was forced to bring his sword down in a quick chop to parry Leslie’s axe. Leslie managed to bring the shaft of his weapon up in front of Lee’s strike, which shatterd his axe but saved Hal’s left arm from a certain scewering. Hal regaine the offensive against his mother-in-law, as Leslie scrambled around on his hands and knees to find one of the myriad swords littered about.
Leaping and parrying, the three of them swirled around the room. There were moments when Leslie was certian that he was moments from landing a deadly blow. At other moments, his life flashed before his eyes as steel flashed toward his throat, but some heady cocktail of skill, luck, and xxxxx he survived each time. Sometimes, he was fighting shoulder to shoulder with Hal, other times they seemed to be fighting each other as Lee narrated the action. Sometimes, Hal was bellowing lustily as he rained blows on Lee’s desperate defenses, and other times he was driven back by a series of perfect maternal thrusts and well-timed parries. At one point, he and Hal both swung to decapitate Lee simultaniously, only to discover that they had accidently mistaken the recently minted corpse of the household archer for the Matron of the house and both of them had to change out their weapons. There was a moment where Hal was working an omelet station that Leslie hadn’t even seen before, serving up a delectable feta and onion number as Lee’s twin blades sought the week points in the chainmail under his left arm.
The constant ring of metal on metal eventually took on the sound of long unbroken scream, and he found himself screaming along with it – howling