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The Easter bunny came early, and he brought a mountain of Tinky-Winkys.


Anytime there's a big and small version of similar items, she dubs them Mama and Baby. Hence, the backpack was named Mama Tinky-Winky, which reminded me of the time my friend PKB's little boy told her, "You can tell Tinky-Winky's the mommy because she's got a big butt."

We spent more time with the horses.


Bubba's such a good daddy. He spends so much time with his little boy, Cash, often nuzzling and loving him like this. When Cash does horrible things, like chew Bubba's penis like a wad of gum, Bubba calmly escorts Cash back to his mama and ditches him.

I'm going to take a brief interlude from the photo portion of this photo essay to tell you about Saturday morning and a bit of Saturday evening. There were some things that not only weren't photo-worthy, but would probably get my ass into some severely hot water if I posted photos.

My dad's oldest sister came over Saturday morning with her two granddaughters and one of their friends. You might recall her oldest granddaughter, Ditzy Little Obnoxious Eighth Grader. Yeah, you know where this is going. Truth is, DLO8thG comes by it honestly. This family's a whirlwind. They talk loudly and constantly, usually about how the world has turned and left them. Their senses of hearing are completely wasted, as they never bother to use them. My dad claims that, in the case of his sister, she wasn't always like this. She was in a terrible car accident in 1998 and suffered a head injury. He thinks that's what causes her behavior. Personally, I don't think she acts that different than she did prior to the accident. Regardless of why, she's exhausting. I got a double-dose of her two favorite conversational battering rams: computer techinical help, and which ethnic groups are ruining the world.

The morning visit brought the first battering ram. It goes something like this:

Aunt: We want to get this internet service through our cell phone provider but we don't know how it works. Do you know anything about it?

Me: I...

Aunt: We know this guy who drives his RV around until he gets an internet signal and then he just stops. How do we do that?

Me: Tha...

Aunt: We couldn't get the last internet to work and that Eye-Rain-E-Ann on the help line told us we bought the wrong computer and I know we didn't buy the wrong computer because we spent over a thousand dollars on it so it's got to work and he just doesn't want to help us.

Me: *thud* (hitting head against kitchen sink)

Repeat the same conversation 12 hours later, only with B. in my place.

Consider this image: thousands and thousands of retirees, driving around in their massive RVs, frantically searching for Wi-Fi signals to steal, noses pressed to laptop screens, expecting the internet to magically appear, then placing irate phone calls to tech support and blaming the Eye-Rain-E-Anns because they can't download the latest forwarded slide show of cute puppy pictures set to the MIDI version of "Wind Beneth My Wings". It's happening, People. It's happening right now as I type.

She surprised me this time, though. My aunt, who's one of the most racist people I've ever met, told a story about how someone was making unfair generalizations about truck drivers. Now, her son-in-law's a trucker. My dad drove a truck for 14 years. My paternal grandfather was a trucker. You don't fuck with truckers in my family. In regards to this, my aunt said, "You just can't make generalizations about entire groups of people like that. It's unfair. In every group some people are good and some are bad. And I told her that. Anyway ... let me tell you, those damn French-Canadians are awful!" At which point my brain slammed into the wall of my skull when it tried in vain to shift from the "love thy neighbor" lecture to the "horrible French-Canadians" lecture.

For the record, I'm not sure why she hates French-Canadians. I couldn't bear to listen. From what I heard, she dislikes the entire group because someone from Montreal yelled at her when she nearly backed over him with her RV. Just cause for hating an entire cultural group if I ever saw one, non?

While Clara Jane was in the other room, playing with her shopping cart, my mom's cat, Slim, came thundering through the kitchen. He went straight to the front door, frantically digging for freedom. Clara Jane came through with her cart, yelling, "Slim! Come back!" I don't even want to know what transpired before that.

We colored Easter eggs.

Then we writhed around on the floor with them in a naked Pagen ritual.

Bunny cake! Bunny dress! Mimi (my mom) apparently didn't make the cake right, so Clara Jane did some rearranging that involved putting all the purple jelly beans in her mouth, then making a large bunny nose with them. Remember this next time you eat at my mom's house.

My cousin Hillary brought a kite.

It caused much running
and glee.

We played a new game. It's called "Idiot in a Tree". My dad placed a large trash can in their backyard sitting area for their empties. This story would be more interesting if it was for their empty Stag cans. Alas, my parents rarely drink, so it's just boring old water bottle and diet soda can empties. Anyway, they couldn't keep Chiggar, my dad's dingo, out of the can. Chiggar's under the impression that empty bottles and cans exist solely for his entertainment. So, my dad tied the can up in a tree. Chigger learned how to jump up and tip it. Dad keeps moving the can higher and higher into the tree, and Chiggar keeps learning how to get into it. Hence, the idiot in the tree. Chiggar always finds a way into it, even if it means getting stuck in a trash can in a tree. It's a game where everyone wins.

My most vivid childhood memories involve my mom, digging through my thick hair, in search of bugs. Ticks and chiggars during the summer, lice during the school year. It was a nightly ritual. I'd sit in a kitchen chair, crying from my tenderheadedness while Mom fished through my hair with a fine-tooth comb. Granted, I remained bug-free for my entire childhood, so I shouldn't complain. While this photo looks like a tender moment between grandmother and granddaughter, it's actually a bug check.

There was chocolate, and it was the best Easter ever. The end.