Dear Friends and Family,

They say familiarity breeds� contempt.  Well.  Lauren and Jon now have 8 years of familiarity behind them and, as with all rats trapped in close confines, forced to compete for the same questionable resources, the inevitable vituperative disdain has set in for what appears to be the duration.  Having said that, I can happily report that all is normal in the Cruciger household and we are looking forward to ending what has been one of the single worst years I can recall in a very long time.  As with all sinking ships we are abandoning the Keys for the Holidays and heading south to Aruba over the Christmas break.  Perhaps the heat will have a soporific effect on our offspring and suck the fight out of them somewhat.  Doubtful.  But we can hope.

            The year 2000 began with a death in the family.  This was a very hard letter to write. Most of you know that my father died on February 9^th.  He spent Christmas with us in December and declared that my kids, who I know for a fact are worse than I ever was, were great kids and I was doing a fine job raising them. He mentioned that my British relatives had asked after me and that he had explained to them that I was a bit of a flake.

            “That would have to make you Tony the Tiger then, because I am doing a spectacularly abysmal job of raising my kids.�

            Right about then, Jon Jon finally exploded in a wave of frustration at not being allowed to open presents until Dave could get home off the midnight shift, “My life sucks.�

            “See what I’m talking about?� 

            “I happen to think it’s very nice of you to wait for Dave before the kids open the presents.�  At some point in life, probably after he divorced his second wife Mary, Dad had gotten back his sense of humor.  He knew I wasn’t keeping Lauren and Jon Jon from opening the presents until Dave came home for Dave’s sake.  I just have so few opportunities to torture them that won’t call down the HRS on me and I have to grab every one of them as they come along.  The “present wait torture� puts the Joy back into Christmas for parents everywhere. I can’t get them to clean their rooms, but I have absolute control over when the Christmas presents get opened.

            Either PK or Precious chose that moment to jump up on the kitchen table in a futile attempt to get me to open a can of cat food.  This launched Dad into a subject that I had hoped he and Dave had exhausted the night before. Cats.  Dad’s cat Andy was a perfect cat.  My cats were something less than perfect - a lot less than perfect.  In fact, they are rotten.  I have inherited Andy, who was actually more my grandmothers� cat than Dad’s.  This explains a lot, by the way.  Andy, the perfectly behaved cat, is now completely ruined.  She has no claws, so her attempts at scratching the furniture � using my cats as an example � are kind of cute.  The lack of claws also gives her no traction when she attempts to jump up on counters and tabletops, thus rocketing her off the other end of every surface she’s attempted.  The same cat that my grandmother assured me would not go out an open door, attempts to go outside at every opportunity.  In short, Andy is now a normal cat.

            We have spent the rest of the year since then settling Dad’s affairs under the screeching shrieks of his ex-wife Mary.  But those are details in a life that should never be put on paper.  It simply defies description.  Moving on.

            Jon, I have decided, is a cat.  He used up one of his nine lives over spring break.  In his endless quest to arrive everywhere five minutes before everyone else, he took off ahead of Lauren and I, crossing A1A in Flagler Beach and was struck by a car doing at least 35 mph.  The man didn’t hit the breaks or even swerve and he launched out of his car like a fury from hell screaming at me about the damage Jon’s little body had done to his car.  Moments like that seep through time for a lifetime.  I had my hand on Jon’s chest holding him down and feeling his heart beating frantically.  I had the cell phone in my other hand talking to the �911� operator.  Lauren was crying on a strangers shoulder.  (She loves Jon.  She just doesn’t LIKE him.)  And here was this man, old enough to know better, angry about his car.   Fortunately, there was more damage to the car than to Jon.  Jon had a few scrapes and bruises and that was about it.  Nothing broken.  Even his skim board was undamaged.  The car, on the other hand had a broken windshield, dented front bumper, and the side view mirror had been ripped off.  Jon 1.  Car 0.  Eight lives to go.

            This year the whole world knows about our local politics.  I can’t think of anything to add other than a note to those of you overseas.  The same thought, integrity and American ingenuity go in to making and maintaining our nuclear weapons as went into our managing our elections.  Everything in this country was built by the lowest bidder, and only someone a little off in the head would willingly work for the U.S. Government for the wages they pay.

            Which brings me to my husband.  This year Dave succumbed to the final level of Yuppie life and went on a guided hunt somewhere in the Carolinas.  I don’t remember which one; I try never to know where he is if at all possible.  That way, I can maintain complete believability when the police arrive at the door looking for him.  The deer were safe. 

Having failed to kill something, Dave went back to his roots and went hunting again the following month in Ocala.  Dave has a very nice truck.  This is important, stay with me now.  He went as a guest of a local family.  Nice people � a little off.  I will remind you that Ocala is the home of the Handy Way Militia.  Look back a few letters to the Georges hurricane evacuation it’ll come to you.  The family’s 19-year-old son was driving the family truck in front of Dave, who was driving our truck.  The kid proceeded to stop in a mud hole and spin out his tires.  This had the effect of bathing Dave’s truck in six-inch deep mud and muck. 

            “Boy.  You gonna piss that man off.� His father admonished him.

            “Awe I’m just funning him’s all.�

            “I suggest you stop.�

            “How come?�

            About then Dave had had enough and kicked his truck into four-wheel drive and pushed the kid and his Dad out of the mud hole � sideways � or so he says.  The kid was impressed.  Dave received several offers of marriage from under aged girls.  The kid cleaned Dave’s truck.  Dave has now had a glimpse of what life might have been like had he married his first girlfriend. 

            The good news for the year is that I am being published monthly in Romantic Times Magazine.  I am writing a monthly journal on what it’s like to get a book published.  RT is walking me through the steps of publishing my first romance novel.  My first chapter will be online in January at www.RomanticTimes.com.

Happy Holidays!

www.TropicalTimes.com

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12/20/2008 10:33:35 AM