Docheck!

I redesigned my site the other day. Yes, I know, I have no life.


Thrusting your bare hand though broken plate glass, kiddies, don’t try this at home. It’s not at all bad though. At first there was all this blood and it hurt like a bitch and I almost started crying thinking I would have to get stitches, but after I cleaned it up, it just took some band aids. I am such a big baby. It’s a curse, the injuries, not the big baby part. The women in the Kayt family line have always had the misfortune of smashing, breaking, cutting, burning, and overall screwing up their hands. My grandmother, and now my mother’s hands and wrists are covered in light scars. I had just hoped this curse would skip a generation. If I don’t get some kind of scar from this I’ll be pissed, I want a war wound to boast about.

Thanksgiving. Fun, fun. Usually we have it at our house and all the family comes over but things have changed since my nana died. Family gatherings have become kinda sparse. This year we had Thanksgiving dinner at John’s house, the guy that owns the company that my mum, dad, and I work at. He’s not so much our boss, just the guy that bosses us around and we tell to go to hell, then we all argue and yell and some of us laugh behind the corner.

Our family has known John and his for over twenty years. We spend Christmas Eve with them, they come to our birthdays, graduations, weekend lunches, etc, even more often than my real family does. John and his wife Chloe owned the dance studio that my mother worked at for many years when I was a kid, and the two of them plus their son, Kenny, all danced with my mother in competitions. Sometimes today I can still get them to dance with me, but after ten years they’re like to step on my toes.

Their house is a little strange. I’m betting it was a pretty kick ass house in the fifties, but now it’s stuck there. John and Chloe spend almost every waking hour at work so in the last 19 years that I’ve gone over to visit them their house has never changed. NEVER. The same plastic bag with the same McDonalds toys are in the same exact spot they were in when I played with then when I was five. It’s a little comforting in a way to have that home, with all the memories I have of it, and they’re always there, always the same. John has always been mean to most people, rough and a little trollish, but nice to me. And since I can remember, Chloe has been crazy. Because of an aneurysm she had years ago, she‘s unable to remember anything new now. It’s sad when I really think about it, but she doesn’t know what happened, she can’t remember when she’s told. She is always asking me if we’re in Mexico, if it’s Christmas, and telling me that my books are hers, that the gifts we’ve given her were made by her long gone mother. In the beginning, before I can remember much, I think people tried to correct her, but now, we play along and all laugh, Chloe most of all.

She was the one that taught me to knit. She brought out a piece to show me, one she started working on a few years ago. I started looking at it, admiring the stitches and asked her what it was. She told me it was a baby’s sweater… it had three arm holes that intertwined so no three armed child could wear it. After a few minutes she told me it was men’s underwear, the third “arm hole” is for the mans, you know. Just a little later it was an oven mitt. Oh she’s fun.

Snow update: Though we got or first snow days ago, it hasn’t stuck to the ground until today. Two inches! Not that it just snowed two inches, but we have two inches on the ground! I’m sledding tomorrow, baby!

Oh, and my friend Blackstar just started up a blog, The Best Laid Plans.