Our Gramps

Last week, Grandpa celebrated his eightieth birthday. Eighty years! Amazing. To celebrate, the family gathered for one of our infamous dinners and we put together this poem, especially for Gramps.

Grandpa, it's your birthday and here's what we say:
We've had so many memories that we celebrate today.
So much to cover, we're not sure where to start
So we'll go with Indiana, a place dear to all our hearts.

On the farm, we learned to drive, both in tractors and in cars,
And we learned the importance of The Weather Channel, with its dopplers and radars.
For the weatherman would tell us what on the rain gauge we would see,
Which, in turn, would tell us what kind of Christmas it would be!
From Gramps we became schooled in Indiana lore,
From Bobby Knight to the 500 to the Colts' football score.

Breckenridge also holds many memories and tales-
Nightly games of euchre with your favorite giggling, dizzy females.
When we'd head out for skiing, in Gramps' car we would all pile,
And while we hit the mountain, he'd hit his comfy chair for a while.
And then there was that time in Florida, at lunch in a vacation week,
When the next thing we knew, the ceiling had sprung a leak!

If there's one thing we all know, the best drink is Beefeaters-
With olives, on the rocks, and at Christmas it's given in liters.
All of us have so many special memories with you,
Like secret handshakes and quarters earned by not whining, just to name a few.
So many fancy dinners, where we all eat to our fill,
Ending the night with a sadistic game we call "Who can guess the bill?"

This poem could go on for hours, but there's nothing we can say
To put into words what's in our hearts, how you touch our lives in every way.
Our Grandpa- the generous, kind, and hardworking soul,
Always quick to joke or laugh, making our lives joyous, loving, and full.

Thank you for everything you've given us all-
Happy Birthday- eighty years- let's raise a glass to celebrate it all.

Ode

Two weeks ago, we had to say to goodbye to our dear family cat- Gertie. It was a day we all knew would come, but never expected would come so soon. The sadness of it is still sometimes hard to describe- she was our childhood cat and Mom's best friend, and her place in Hoerl family lore will never be filled. Julie and I, of course, weren't there with her, which makes the whole thing a little bit surreal, like she'll just still be there, sitting on counter, trying to eat some butter, next time I walk in the door.

And then it hits me that she won't. That rather than petting her and kissing her precious head and looking for her every five minutes to do it all over again, I'll just have to remember her. But that shouldn't be so hard- she was a very memorable cat.

I believe Gertie was quite possibly the most misunderstood feline in the world. She was loved with vigor and without exception by the four of us, and avoided (and sometimes even- how could it be?- feared) with equal, exception-free vigor by most everyone else. They all know the Gertie who possessed that wicked hiss (which actually more closely resembled a inaudible yawn and was typically followed by a mad, 'fraidy cat dash to safety in our parents room- scary stuff) and who, on occasion, might jump on the counter and stare at you, occasionally hissing, just to mess with you. Because really, that was HER house, and that was HER counter, and those were HER sisters and mommy and daddy, and just who did all those people think they were? She clearly didn't invite them.

Underneath that nasty public face, Gertie was pure mush. She just didn't see any reason to spread her love around- she had to save it all for us, and that was just fine with her. And so the Gertie we know, and will always miss, is the Gertie who insisted on sitting in every box, large or small, that entered the house; that never failed to find a new favorite sleeping spot; that made it her duty to personally test all birthday cakes by sitting on them; that arrived to us wearing the most perfect makeup on her sweet face; that had a bald pink belly hanging out for most of her life; that slept constantly in Julie and my beds for days after we left to go back to school or work; that loved butter and olives far more than any kind of cat food; that had the most unique, and endearing, talent for sitting on her haunches and conducting the orchestra only she could see; that loved Christmas despite its tendency to arrive with the dreaded visitors to her house; and that was the little runt that stole our hearts in a house in Black Forest, CO eleven years ago.

So despite what I can only imagine will be her less-than-perfect legacy outside the four of us, we'll always remember Gertie as our sweet, perfume-scented, lipstick-wearing kitten. And this is my tribute to her.

Social Butterfly

Well, since our flight home got canceled, we're just sitting around with the sweet kitty enjoying a bottle of wine and this total NON-blizzard (way to go, weather people. Seriously.) And since it's not even 8:00 and we've already been in our pajamas for hours, have watched TV and a movie, and have finished that bottle of wine, there really is no better time to report on the ridiculous holiday party schedule I've been maintaining these past few weeks. I'm telling you- it is hard work having to actually go out! And drink too many cocktails! And chit-chat with too many people!

Our three weeks of between Thanksgiving and Christmas detox and exercise began to unravel the first week of December with my office holiday party. I had some major doubts abut this party, for several very important reasons: #1- it was at the office. #2- the decorations were hand colored by the party planning committee in true The Office style. #3, and by far the worst of the worst- there were party games planned. Turns out, though, that party was great! Being at the office instead of a crowded bar meant that we all had a seat AND could hear each other talk. The hand-crafted decorations (which turned out to be a timeline of the last decade, which, according to said timeline, really seemed to suck.) And, I totally ROCKED that party game- We got second place! Most importantly, there was the world's most delicious champagne punch, and it kept finding its way into my cup.

And so, Hangover season began. Apparently, I'm getting too old to live like a rock star.

Next came Eric's office holiday party, which was held at the very fancy University Club. I'm really surprised that riffraff like us are even allowed in there, but they seemed to make an exception as long as you were wearing a suit and swore that you would not even think about using your cell phone. That party was extremely fun despite itself- the sub-par food was far outshone by our raucous kids table and the freely flowing cocktails.

And yet, was that enough to satisfy us? Of course not! We were out on the town! And the Whiskey Trader was right across the street!

So, joined by Eric's boss, we very stupidly continued the party well into the evening at that fine establishment. Let's just say, that Saturday was not the most productive...

Ah, but we couldn't rest long, for that evening, we had yet another holiday party to attend. Our friends Jeff and Jessica from NYU just got engaged and were hosting a party to celebrate the holidays and to show off Jess' ring :) Luckily for us, we actually used our Mastered brains that night, and abstained from holiday libations.

It doesn't stop there though, my friends. Last Sunday was the most important party yet, because that was the day that Paul and I returned to our roots- The Broadway Party. Paul is now assistant conductor for A Little Night Music starring, oh I don't know, some small-time actors they call Catherine Zeta-Jones and Angela Lansbury.

So, we went to opening night and got the royal treatment (meaning the very last row in the corner. Sweet!) and then were lucky enough to go to Tavern on the Green for The Big Party. It was, of course, fantastic, but, between us (and Paul), it was no Grey Gardens Party. Those parties spoiled us for life.

Unfortunately, we were not cool enough to go to the real fancy party- apparently only Catherine and Angela, their movie star friends, and the extremely rich people that paid for them were allowed in THAT party. We were stuck in the back with the help. Of course, by "the help" I'm talking about the CAST (soooooooooo not important to the success of a Broadway show), the orchestra, and the crew. It was still great, and even though I TECHNICALLY did not party with movie stars, I still say I did.

And I also did not get home until almost 2 am. On a school night!

Fortunately (both for my sanity and my liver), I was able to take a couple of nights off this week. Then on Thursday, my boss threw a lovely, quaint cocktail party for us at his apartment. As I said, it was lovely and quaint and should NOT have been a reason to stay out until almost midnight. But, apparently my co-workers are a little too fun and make me stop using my brain, and I did stay out quite late. At least Grandma and Grandpa got what I can only assume was an extremely amusing phone call at the end of the evening...

And then, blessedly, it was Friday- the last day of work, and what I thought to be a final, sweet day of rest before heading to Colorado for The Real Party. But, luckily for EVERYONE (hello, sarcasm!), the National Weather Center predicted the storm of the century and Delta canceled all their flights from here to Miami nearly 24 hours before the first flakes were even supposed to fall. Some call that preparation. I call that panic. And a fairly large loss of money (for the airline and their lovely customers). We've managed to book a new flight for tomorrow night, so cross all your fingers!

Although it is sad and a bit distressing to not be home right now, I have to admit that this isn't so bad- a last night with our tiny Christmas tree, our sweet, very happy to not yet be abandoned kitty, and a (very, very) gently falling snow to usher in the holiday.

But, tomorrow-- Colorado or BUST!

Sweeeeeet.

I just noticed my zipper has been down ALL day.

Nice.

The only saving grace is that I haven't had any meetings or presentations today, so maybe no one noticed? Pretty please?

Survivor

And by "survivor", I'm of course describing myself, since I lived to tell the tale my first cavity filling at the dentist this week.

Aren't I brave?

My track record on all things related to doctors, dentists, needles, or anything remotely resembling a medical procedure is not good. Pretty much each encounter over the past, oh I don't know, 26 years has ended in sobbing, kicking, screaming, or fainting. So you can see why I was less than pleased to learn at my dentist appointment last month that I not only had GUM DISEASE (completely sick- let's not even talk about that), but also had A CAVITY.

(very, very dramatic pause)

And having a cavity meant that I had to face one of my biggest fears:

A needle. Filled with Novocaine. Jammed into my sweet (though apparently sickly) and sensitive gums.

POOR ME!

I finally convinced Eric that he had to come with me for THE DREADED PROCEDURE, despite his insistence that I was strong and brave enough to handle this on my own. After all, he said, I manage to face my job each day, and it takes a mighty brave person to do that. True, I said, but I'm still the world's biggest baby and I'm filled to the brim with terror and you don't even KNOW what's going to happen to me if you don't come and WAAAAAAHHHHH!

It went something like that.

And so, he came with me to hold my hand. So nice of him.

After two entire dread-filled weeks, I faced my Worst Day Ever (I once thought that the day I had jury duty was the Worst Day Ever. Turns out, jury duty is pretty great, especially when compared to the dentist. You can see my calendar for proof that I did, in fact, deem both of these days "The Worst Day Ever"). As soon as I walked in, the staff at the dentist's saw they were dealing with a Special Case, and from that point on it was as though I had a big fat "Handle With Care" sticker on my face.

But, the good news is that, because I was seen as Fragile Goods, I really got the royal treatment and was so, so brave (the dentist AND nurses even said so!) I didn't kick ANYONE, nor did I faint, and I only cried a little! I mean a lot! But it was only crying! Not biting, spitting, or yelling!

And now here I am, three days later, still extremely proud of myself and still acting the part of the sick patient (mostly by whining if I accidentally chew on my left side. Not sure if I'll ever chew on that side again. Way too risky) If you remember when I got my wisdom teeth out, this is really a major improvement. GO ME!

In other news, we put up our Christmas tree this week, and Tucky is pretty sure that we've planted a tree that grows toys just for her. It's like the greatest thing she can imagine- a bowl full of water in the middle of the room that she can drink AND a tree full of shiny toys. So, on this cold Saturday with a "wintry mix" falling from the sky, we're sitting enjoying our little tree and drinking some Peach Flips as one last ode to nice weather. This is the life.