Wishing You...

On behalf of Familia Cook, Stellan wishes you a merry Christmas and hopes yours is just as delicious as his has been!

The Mother Land

Katie, I hope that last post was enough to distract you from your holiday relocation. Speaking of, we'll be in the motherland, or more appropriately, the mother-in-law land, for the holidays. Will any of you be in that three-word town that starts with Salt and ends with City and has a Lake in the middle during the holidays? We already know of some friends we're looking forward to seeing there. If you'd like to join that list, call me or email me (firstnamelastname@gmail.com). We leave on the morrow and return on the fifth.

The Punch Line

"A South African tarot-reading concierge, a half naked 7/8 naked flamboyantly gay senior citizen and a high school Spanish teacher from Central Washington walk into my living room."

This is the view we had of the street outside our house on Friday morning. Yep, it started raining on Thursday afternoon and didn't stop for about 24 hours. We got so much rain the street flooded. The driveway flooded. Our car almost flooded. Our home did not flood.

Many were not as lucky as we were. In fact, by about 7:30 PM Thursday night, we gave up all other less effective forms of entertainment and turned off all the lights in our house to watch the lightning storm and the cars trying to make it down the street. Oh so many drivers were unsuccessful. Our street is still littered with cars that stalled out, despite the fervent coaching we were yelling out from the couch.

Did I mention we had company? That's right, one of my mission companions, Janae, was visiting from Washington. She's not from the rainy part of Washington, so this was quite a thrill. At first. When we realized we might get flooded in and she would be trapped in our home instead of going to her teaching workshop the next day, some of the buzz wore off.

We all tramped in the torrential downpour several times that evening to help stranded travelers. We were all dry and tuckered out by 11 and had said our goodnights when we heard something outside. To be honest, it sounded like one of those canister-shaped mooing cow toys. But it wasn't. When I peeked my head out to see what was going on, I saw a woman yelling from her stalled car in front of our house. I couldn't understand what she was saying, so I had to change into not-pajamas (again) and wade across the street; the water was thigh-high by this point.

We couldn't do a thing for her car, but we invited her and her passenger into our house to make calls, get dry, etc.

So they did. The driver was a South African woman who works as a concierge. Her passenger was a sextagenarian gay man ("I'm an Aries, so you know I'm very energetic! I'm sure this is all one big cosmic convergence," he lisped as he came in.) who immediately stripped down to his briefs upon entering our home. He repeatedly refused the bathrobe we offered; I don't think he realized it wasn't for his comfort but for ours.

Fast forward 2 hours. It's a little past 1:30 AM. We've heard Bob (our Aries stripper) tell us all about his 24,000 past lives, the places he's lived, the jobs he's done and we've even met his boyfriend in Montreal via Skype. We know what kind of cocoa Carol prefers, how many kids she has and how she has no solid plan for what to do with her car. As they (finally!) leave, Bob says, "The universe will reward you a million times over for your kindness!" Just then, Stellan started yelling. When I go in, he's actively puking. Some reward, universe!

We did get to reunite with Carol and Bob the next morning. They came to try to see if the car would start (it still hasn't), and to pick up the rest of the stuff they left at our house. They had to wade over from Bob's apartment half a block away, and were delighted to watch Stellan busy at work pulling his wagon through the proverbial mire. We're still flooded, I even had to miss my last day of seminary, which I was really bummed about. But the photos of Stellan turned out so cute, it almost makes up for it. Almost.

What's The Punch Line?

A South African tarot-reading concierge, a half-naked 7/8 naked flamboyantly gay senior citizen and a high-school Spanish teacher from Central Washington walk into my living room.

Punch line tomorrow.

Who Won The Pool?

Yes, that's right. At the age of 2 years and 5 months exactly, Stellan took his first trip to the emergency room. If that was the age you guessed, you're the winner! If you guessed he would get his first stitches, you're not a winner. We thought he might need stitches, but it turns out that they dabbed on some Dermabond and we were on our merry way.

What happened? Precisely what you're imagining. He was jumping on the bed and he smacked his head on the window sill. Don't worry, he's fine now. He hardly even notices, except for the part where he's really dirty and stinky because we can't give him a bath for 48 hours. Can't wait for that to come to an end!

What the French Toast?

An actual email I received from Kevin today:

"I am listening to Adam Sandler's Channukah song as sung by Neil Diamond. What the French toast is happening in this world?"

In case your world needs some shaking up, here it is:

Microquasar Discovered!

No, I didn't post this to the wrong blog. In fact, this news is so exciting I thought everyone would want to know about it. NASA has announced that its Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope made the first measurement of strong gamma rays emitted from this binary star system. The image is very exciting. I've posted it here at decent resolution, but you should click to see the close-up. No, really. Click on the image and inspect it carefully. For reals. You'll thank me.

For more information, click here.