Ah. The Holidays are finally over. We can now pack up the perennial familial misunderstands back into their specially labeled boxes and safely store them in our vacuumed attics until next year. Peace on Earth.
Predictions for 2010 are that I will turn 35, finally. I've been soooo looking forward to that one, for like 30 years or something. I predict I'll really enjoy the sensation of time and youth slipping from my finger tips like a child I'm trying to save from falling off a cliff and being dashed innocently against the jagged rocks below while angry ocean waves foam at the mouth. I can already feel the sensation of failing at that. And hearing the baby scream all the way down and then the sickening thud of my youth. Dead.
I also predict lots of other fun games too. Like the one where the cows get out and dance in the streets and the neighbors knock on our door and tell me how much better they are than me and then inform me that all of my supposedly domesticated animals are loose. Although the freshest patty of miscreant bovines is only hours old, the story feels much much older than that.
Luckily I've got legal equity and lawyers that still love me. One of them looked up Spokane County's policy and found we live in a Live Stock Containment Zone, where any Live Stock outside it's fences should be shot on sight. Live stock, my ass! Tell me what you think: to my untrained ears that kind of sounds like a low tolerance policy. So... that game's getting a little old.
I also predict that we will play until puking the 7 games we feverishly unwrapped last week.
Christmas produced a Pokemon playing frenzy that lasted 6 hours and ended in fisty-cuffs (that was the children!). Pokemon? You ask. Pokemon? At Little Green Gables on the Prairie? Let me explain: Santa thought that our kids were getting a little TOO FAR OUT of the main stream and he thought a Pokemon game would be a way to give them some pop cultural sensibilities to discuss around the tot-sized water coolers.
That evening the ultra-NW-style passive-aggressive game of "Sorry" issued forth even more insincere apologies than my family usually lavishes on our gatherings. That was followed up by a humiliating pummeling by Huckleberry at Farm-opoly. The thing about that and all Monopoly-esc games is that you don't just loose, you are disgraced and shamed, forced to stand on the corner of Sprague and Wall in a sandwhich board that reads "I fully suck at managing money". It's not like Sorry or Uno where your loss is fairly impersonal. Monopoly is where one player serves up a plate full of shit and makes everyone else eat it. At least that's how we play.
Then Coyote and Blue learned how to play chess and Coyote has won it about 20 times now. This is good because he's a very poor looser. In fact, if I were him, I'd question all my wins... they might just be due to the likelihood that no one wants to deal with a loosing Coyote.
Example: after 34 years of loosing, I finally won monopoly (the farm version, again) yesterday. I kicked ass. I mopped up the floor with them and it sucked. Coyote fell to the floor screaming. He threw acreage and barns. He hit. He roared. He whimpered. The Lamentations of Coyote are Category 5 with gusts up to 180 mph. And I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself. I've hated Monopoly and it's relatives. I've never won. I've always been the one to eat shit. And here was Coyote, absolutely ruining my one success! Being a mom can be so unfair.
I honestly didn't even try to win. The second I saw it happening, I started back pedaling. I gave discounts on rent. I forgave loans. But I kept winning the manure pile. And with all that money, who wouldn't put up some big red barns!? I love red barns.
That's the way life is, kids. Success is a double edged sword. That's what Monopoly has taught me; the costs of winning are too great. Better to loose, all the time, at everything. Better yet, lets just not play. Playing sucks.
And so I'd like to wish us all a Happy, Loosing-full New Year. May we never win anything, or succeed at anything, or even try.