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Season’s Greetings Dearest Reader,
If you’re thinking something looks different this year, you would be correct. Instead of rifling through the house in search of the postage stamps we’ve not seen since last year’s holiday mailing, we’ve opted to deliver this year’s letter electronically.
This was not the original intent, but time will have it’s way and here we are, days away with nothing printed, much less mailed. This decision will keep your mailbox free for the really important stuff like the Harbor Freight circular. By the way, if you’re still looking for last-minute gift ideas, that portable carport looks pretty stellar.
We understand, that with the ubiquity of social media where parties with even a soupcon of interest can learn what we ate for dinner last Sunday (enchiladas) or where we found Sloane’s volleyball shoes (Dick’s), that these annual summations are superfluous, but in the words of Sam Cutler, “well, tough [toenails].”
So without further adieu, more entertaining than an offer for septic insurance but less menacing than your January VISA statement, we present our holiday letter.
COVID Christmas
Last year at this time, we were hovering close to our nadir. Kristen had COVID and we were isolated in our undecorated home. Family and friends came by but not inside. Our front porch looked like one of those makeshift memorials where people dropped off food covered in aluminum foil, gifts, cards, flowers, and stuffed animals. We’ve toyed with the idea of a Christmas with just the three of us, but we were thinking more like the Corona commercial and less like house arrest.
Back to Work
My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over. President Gerald R. Ford, August 9, 1974.
My fellow Wilsons, our long household nightmare is over. Kristen M. Wilson, April 1, 2004.
On April 1, Kristen rejoined the full-time workforce, accepting a position with the Michael Trupia Agency. The nature of the business is financial services and insurance. This stuff is legit–no lizards coaching football, store clerks in grocer aprons and Keds, or professional football players making nugatory attempts at humor. Certainly not Yosemite Sam’s albino brother dressed like General Patton and driving a convertible.
While it’s been a new experience with lots to learn, Kristen has been nails and seems to have found a home where she is respected and appreciated–work home that is. She’s already all those things at her home-home.
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| Hi-ho, Hi-ho |
Chronicles of a Volleyball Family
In terms of resource investment, Sloane’s volleyball purusits get the largest piece of pie in our chart. There are three seasons–Club, Sand/Off-Season, and School. Club ball is the most Machiavellian of the three. It also has an insatiable appetite for money and gormandizes PTO. As a result, we treat our tournament destinations as demi vacations. The year took us to a cold Dallas, an even colder St. Louis, and a surprisingly pleasant Kansas City.
Club Season
If there is one word that sums up club season, it would be disappointing. Maybe underwhelming. Dramatic would work too. If we were to assign letter grades, it would be on academic probation. Math: D, Communications: D, Chemistry: F. Only an A in Drama prevented outright expulsion. Like the heel in a pro wrestling match, we’d come out strong on the first day only to shrivel as the days went on and the competition stiffened.
Dallas
When competing in a tournament in Dallas, where else would a team of teenage girls stay but the Hyatt Regency? A Hampton with indoor pool would sure suffice, but hey– Saint Arnold Elissa–$6 a bottle in the lobby store–and a view of Dealey Plaza are nice perks. Such is the racket known as stay to play. Interestingly, the rate at the Hyatt does not include a parking space. These are extra and come in two varieties–valet ($$$), and an (intermittently) guarded lot at the bottom of the hill below a homeless encampment (♣♣♣). Better grab another Elissa.
St. Louis in March is not exactly peak season, but then again, what is? At least the Cardinals fans were huddled inside rewatching the Ken Burns documentary. While Sloane’s team played on the floor of the arena formerly known as the TWA Dome, Steve, dressed in Burnt Orange naturally, sought out the (approximate) spot of the Roll Left completion in the inaugural Big XII championship game.
On a blustery Saturday afternoon, Steve checked out the world’s largest croquet wicket, known globally as Gateway Arch while Kristen and Sloane played cat and mouse with the downtown St. Louis meter maids. It was post-match and Kristen was tired and had seen the Arch. Sloane got about ten paces away from the car into a frigid wind before deciding the Arch could be seen just fine from the car.
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| Gateway to the west |
Kansas City
Sloane’s team played Friday at the Municipal Auditorium downtown. It is a gorgeous Art Deco artifact from non-cookie cutter times. Like the previous tournaments, Friday was good, Saturday was frustrating, and Sunday was putrid. However, the weekend wasn’t a total throwaway. We met up with old friends for dinner and came across an aesthetic disaster that served delightful barbecue.
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| Sloane attacks Kansas City |
Regionals
The
season limped to an end with Regionals were held in Tulsa at the Expo
QuikTrip River Spirit SageNet Center. While it was nice to be close
to home and avoid the crown jewel of the Oklahoma State Fairgrounds, the Clay
Bennett Extra Special Event Center, the tournament proved to be the wilted
cherry atop the burned cake. It’s all water under the fridge now, but incredibly frustrating at the time.
At the conclusion of club ball, Sloane tried out for her school team. She made the eighth-grade first team but was invited back to try out with the freshman team. She was selected for that team and spent her eighth-grade season playing with the high school girls. This led to a mild hazing of sorts that had her abducted from her bed in the wee hours of the morning. She was returned, no worse for wear, a few hours later.
While Sloane is a rising star in the program, so is Kristen. She worked as the booster club secretary and is being courted for a presidential run. Steve, after getting locked inside the football stadium after the first booster club meeting, went on to scorch the popcorn while working concessions at the preseason varsity scrimmage.
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| Do not even think of messing with this girl |
School ball was a success, the freshman team finished the season with a record of 21-4 and won the Frontier Valley Conference tournament. During a weekend tournament earlier in the season, Sloane collided with a teammate while both were chasing an errant pass. There was what seemed like an innocuous collision, followed by both girls writhing on the court. The diagnoses were concussions for each of them. Sloane came away with a black eye and spent the next couple of weeks in concussion protocol, following in the steps of her mom (moving vehicles) and dad (ice rinks). The school training staff did a fantastic job and not only did Sloane return to action soon, her grades spiked. Coincidence? Likely, but who knows?
Soon after the school season ended, it was time for club tryouts and pre-tryouts. Imagine the NFL draft combine (less a dozing Mike Sherman) full of 14-year-old girls. When the dust settled, Sloane accepted an offer from Oklahoma Charge which sounds like a non-alliterative possibility for the PikePass or PlatePay programs. The early results are promising. After a terrible morning session, the team won the silver bracket playing in the 15s division at the Jingle Bell Jam earlier this month.
Two days after Regionals, Steve had his tonsils removed, an operation better left to the young. The procedure was decades overdue but was reintroduced at the most recent wellness exam, f/k/a “checkup.” A peak by an ENT revealed that Steve was essentially the John Holmes of tonsils (if you have to Google that, use caution). Though a simple outpatient procedure, the pain was intense and the recovery slow. The ensuing menu consisted exclusively of Ice pellets and bouillon for a week before banana popsicles and other liquids were reintroduced. For the better part of two weeks, he sat upstairs watching old football games on YouTube while swilling from a fifth of liquid oxycodone in a brown paper bag. The good news is the surgery was a success. Sometimes late really is better than ever.
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| Just take them, please. |
San Antonio
Deciding Oklahoma in early July wasn’t hot enough, we loaded up and drove to San Antonio for the Independence Day holiday. Upon arrival, we were treated to our own segment of Airbnb Nightmares. The air conditioning was on the fritz and the pool had been besmirched by broken glass and was out of commission for the week. Kristen sprung into action with the late shift CSR, and we ended up in an adequately cool suite at the Hampton on the Riverwalk.
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| Try to look like it's not 110 degrees out here |
San Antonio is rich with history and awash in epicurean delights. In addition the Alamo, we saw the Sunken Gardens and traversed the Riverwalk. An attempt at an elaborate restaging of the 1984 film Cloak and Dagger was thwarted by, among other things, the failure to secure a metallic copper 1978 Cadillac Coupe De Ville (William Forsythe was a solid maybe).
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| Alamo remembered. |
One doesn’t go near Austin without stopping at Matt’s El Rancho. Bob Armstrong dip and fajitas are not ideal prior to a seven-hour drive, but we survived, assisted by a stray downpour in Duncanville.
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| The food coma has already claimed Sloane |
Before August, we’d never been to the Outsiders House. Call us lousy citizens if you wish. We’ve been called worse. Just don’t call Danny Boy. However, in a city that takes great pride in a 67-acre plot of post-nuclear landscape and medieval-themed playground equipment, we discovered that The Outsiders House is a real gem. The restoration is immaculate and the collection of artifacts is impressive, making it a must-visit for any fan of the book or film. The gift shop is pretty amazing as well. On second thought, go ahead. Call Danny Boy. Tell him the joint’s bussin.’
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| Two-Bit, Mickey's on... |
Such are the highlights of a busy, fast-moving 2024. There are certainly things we’ve omitted, but hey, just check social media—it’s all there. So as we settle into our jammies and cue up Die Hard (don’t @ us, bro), we wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy, safe, and prosperous New Year.
Salud!
The Wilson Family
Steve, Kristen, Sloane, and Ashton
*AI was not used in the creation of this message.
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