2004 Christmas Letter

The fluorescent lights illuminating the pump island at the Kum & Go on Lincoln Way made the scar tissue on Rick’s knuckles appear a deep bluish green. It was a roadmap of blemishes that flickered in and out of perception as the lamps overhead sputtered and hummed. Rick topped off the tank on his corroded Nova, stuffed the rag into the orifice that years ago was covered by an actual gas cap, and limped sorely toward the building. As he approached, he noted his reflection in the glass doors of the convenience store. Wedged between the Camel girl poster and a hand-lettered Lotto sign reading “LUCK HAPPEN$” he could see the image of a tired and desperate man. Although distorted, he could still make out the bulge in his coat where he was concealing the Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun he had bought last weekend at the county fairgrounds. Nearly fourteen inches of the shotgun’s barrel had clanked to basement floor earlier in the day and now, and as he stepped into the store and wiped his nose on the greasy sleeve of his sweatshirt, Rick could still detect the strong smell of metal on his hands. He made his way to the counter, slowly but with grim determination.

Behind the counter at the Kum & Go was Stevie, although the name on her soiled, ill-fitting smock read “June.” Stevie had been on the job since nine that morning and feared she might be there for the rest of her life. Her weariness showed in her face, she was angry and not in any mood. When she saw Rick emerge from behind the cardboard Happy Holidays M&M display, Stevie tossed the remainder of a frosted donut back into its box, took a swig of warm Clamato from the bottle and leveled her gaze upon him.

Rick became momentarily startled, as if he was surprised to see anyone behind the counter, let alone such a frightening vision as Stevie. Her coarse voice filled the void between them.

“Just when did you think you’d get around to writing the Christmas Letter, huh?” she snarled. “The goddammned thing ain’t gonna write itself y’know.”

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Vermin

The feral pigs are massing in Nebraska. National Guard helicopters have spotted bands of shaggy, long-tusked swine roaming the prairie south of Lincoln. Apparently, years ago a few happy hogs jumped the fence at a confinement facility and went native. Now, with no natural predators, it is just a matter of time before Ames is teeming with them. I can be certain of this because the same thing happened with Republicans.

This is the kind of news that makes me crazy. Already we have cute little bunnies, adorable brown and white mice and colonies of chipmunks that skitter about the yard. Of course, all of my newfound furry friends threaten my home and garden and therefore must be executed. This is not to mention that our home is invaded by tens of thousands of ladybugs each fall and spring. I don’t even want to think about the groundhog that is scheming to build a moat around my backyard.

These creatures are the stuff of storybooks: Ladybugs and church mice; bunnies and chipmunks; Punxsutawney Phil. Real live zippity do dah kind of stuff. Now I have to add Babe to my woodland terrorist watch list?

Children

You can stick a fork in my ass. I’m done. I have done all I can do. I can unfurl my banner on the aircraft carrier of parenting proclaiming “Mission Accomplished.” I have fed my children to the system. Peter is six. A bus comes every morning and swallows him up. They might as well be taking him to Switzerland or Peru. Nina is eight. Eight! This is the official start of being a kid, which means free will. This can only lead to trouble.

Ann Marie

Ann Marie is doing fantastic at Iowa State and we are all very happy about that. In fact, last spring she was able to take a class to Europe. While she was touring the grand country estates of 18^th century French aristocracy, the kids and I camped by a swamp near Boone. Maybe this spring when Ann Marie visits Scotland I can take Nina and Peter to Walgreen’s for some gum. Yee ha!

It has been a great year for everyone. Iowa is an amazing place and we feel lucky and thankful to have made our home here. Our life is a Midwestern one. We have two crock pots now (the regular crock and a sporty mini-sized model). Peace, joy and an extra side of gravy to you all.

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Stevie stood on the broken and crumbling curb as she watched the Nova roll into the night. Her smock no defense against the cold North wind, she wrapped her arms tightly against her chest. She stepped into the street, away from the Kum & Go, and away from Rick, forever.