2024 Layne Family Christmas Letter

Well, here we are again. To paraphrase Cheech and Chong, another year up in smoke.

Despite the gloom and doom pre-election messaging from the CIA sponsored mass media outlets and the deep state-controlled entertainment industry, as of this writing, all leading indicators would suggest the world has not ended. Only time will tell if that’s a good thing.

2024 began as 2023 ended with travel, this time to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry – Orlando Campus – where Ally gave serious consideration to entering the transfer portal prior to her senior year. As it turns out, the NIL money wasn’t nearly enough to lure her away from Iowa City and her beloved Hawkeye nation. Nevertheless, all enjoyed rubbing elbows with the many robe-clad witches, wizards, and sticky children crawling about Universal’s stadium-size restaurants and overstimulating attractions. The crew also visited Kennedy Space Center where Mark was sorely disappointed he couldn't hitch a ride back to his mothership. 

In April, Sylvia shed her chemo-wracked body for what we imagine was a tear-filled reunion with Don. It seems she felt Don had suffered too long under the delusion that he’d won their last argument and was determined to set the record straight. Although diagnosed with ovarian cancer several years prior, her official cause of death was systemic organ failure resulting from chemotherapy, ironically the very treatments she believed would cure her. Not long after Syl’s departure, her sister Adel joined the party, thereby reuniting the whole Lemanski clan. We pray they don’t run out of Cutty Sark in heaven.

Speaking of gravestones, in March, Karen added another row to her eclectic and unconventional resume’ when she joined the staff of the Peter Troost Monument Company, a local purveyor of cemetery monuments, grave markers, and pretty much anything else you can make from granite save countertops. In keeping with custom, she finds herself surrounded by another quirky group of co-workers straight out of central casting. Holding to the philosophy of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” they still employ many of the same procedures, equipment, facilities, and staff that were there when the company was founded in 1889. Karen nevertheless enjoys her 1.2 mile commute, three day workweek, and her brushes with celebrities –  most dead, some apparently still revered by adoring fans. (Mark is disappointed they weren’t clever enough to give their employees Tombstone Pizza gift certificates as a holiday bonus.)

After listening to her friends and cohorts profess the many benefits of a career in nursing such as working seven consecutive twelve-hour shifts of alternating days and nights as well as prevalent contact with bodily discharges, Ally made an academic course correction, electing to return to her familiar athletic milieu in pursuit of a degree in exercise science. It is her goal to motivate and assist other athletes in reaching their full potential both physically and academically as she claims to have done for former classmate and protégé, JJ McCarthy.

Speaking of jobs, in May, Mark was released from the telecommunications project management role he’d held the prior two years. He cheerfully utilized the ensuing six months reclaiming a fraction of the millions he contributed into the Illinois unemployment security system over past 40 years while getting some projects done around the house. In fall, he again subjected himself to the rigors of officiating high school football, earning even greater respect and sympathy for the striped pariahs whose job it is to learn and apply roughly 10,000 abstract and nuanced rules compiled by a dyslexic law student, all while keeping track of 22 testosterone-enraged teenagers who, at the urgings of their perpetually irate coaches, scatter at the snap like illegals during an immigration raid, violating as many of said rules as possible during the five seconds it takes to complete a typical down. (One of his fellow officials described the job like trying to count cattle in the middle of a stampede.) He recently accepted a new role as a sherpa leading explorers on remote expeditions to exotic Upper-Midwest locations like Kokomo, Ixonia, Quasqueton, and Chokio.

For the better part of the months of May, June, and July we were beset by a plague straight out of the Old Testament when both the 13- and 17-year cicada broods emerged from the earth and began terrorizing teenage girls throughout the upper Midwest. It was impossible to go outside without being dive-bombed and so loud we couldn’t even hear the rap music blaring from the Amazon delivery truck. They’re harmless except for the fact that they pee on you when threatened – which Mark discovered one day while reading on the patio – and the bites we all suffered from the mites which feast on their decaying carcasses after they die. On the bright side, Maggie found them fun to torture and tasty too!

Speaking of Maggie, when she wasn’t snacking on cicadas, she would wait patiently for hours under one of our two backyard trees in hopes the resident squirrel would fall dead at her feet after succumbing to starvation and/or dehydration, thereby saving her the trouble of chasing it around the yard and killing it herself. Her faithful companion remained ever at her side, providing critical support by dashing to a vacant spot in the yard and barking at the sky, the shed, or the fence, clueless as to why but proud to be doing such important work.

Speaking of Sparky, given the current cultural sensitivity to offending protected classes, the word “retard” and “retarded” have been largely eradicated from our everyday lexicon – except in the case of Sparky as no other words more aptly describe his unique persona. We have come to learn that the Mongoloidian Poo Hound – a designer dog bred for its soft fur, sweet disposition, and tender meat – is now extinct in urbanized areas owing to its limited mental capacity and tendency to jump in front of moving cars to avoid being attacked by parkway trees. In conformance with the current public sentiment against whiteness, he works tirelessly to cover his fur in filth whenever left unsupervised, occupying the balance of his waking hours licking his paws, furniture, rugs, the patio, and Karen.

In September, Amanda decided to meet her pathological anxiety head-on by confronting two of what psychiatrists consider the top five most stressful life events. Because their lives weren’t sufficiently complicated, Amanda and Todd made the decision to cohabitate. After an extensive search, they signed a lease at a new, hip apartment complex off a major tollway exit in the southwest DuPage metropolis of Warrenville. How we fit 2,000 square feet of furniture into their 700 square foot space remains a miracle for the ages.

Days after moving, in an apparent effort to bolster the wealth of future generations of oil Sheiks, Amanda left her familiar social media role at Morraine Valley CC and agreed to a new writing-focused gig at Elmhurst University. At the same time, Todd ended his several months of unemployment by accepting a new job in the far north suburb of Long Grove. They now spend most of their quality time on the phone whilst driving or enjoying each other’s company during their brief encounters on weekday evenings and the two hours they’re not sleeping on weekends. So far, Amanda likes her new job which is more aligned with her love for writing. She is, however, struggling to adjust to her in-office, five-day workweek which has cut into her online shopping and warm season tanning.

Later in September, K & M cashed in an aging voucher for two free nights at a Wyndham Helltel (Wyndham’s motto: Many rooms now with toilets!”) for a weekend pilgrimage to Canton, OH, to visit the Pro Football HOF. Karen reveled in the abundant display of Bears history and memorabilia dating back to their origins as one of the founding professional football franchises and leading up to and including their present status as the laughingstock of the NFL.

In November, K & M hosted a Thanksgiving prelim when Leslie and Jayson paid a visit. Mark and Leslie somehow managed to assemble a traditional array of seasonal favorites without Sylvia looking over their shoulders, questioning their every move, and offering her disapproving glares. This test drive was followed two weeks later by Amanda's 25th birthday bash then actual Thanksgiving. Todd and family joined us for both events, after which everyone hit the road overstuffed and sleepy for their long drives home. So far, there have been no reports of food poisoning or missing persons.

Which leads us to the present day and all the pre-Christmas hullaballoo necessary to get us into the true spirit of the season which seems to revolve around unchecked consumerism and stressful familial obligations. (Not the least of which involves Karen requiring Mark’s company at the annual screening of the fourteen-hour-long Christmas classic It’s a Wonderful Life at our local cinema. Fortunately for Mark, they offer free refills on large buckets of popcorn, but sadly no alcohol.)

The divergent sentiments of this festive season are perhaps best captured by two quotes, one from humorist Erma Bombeck who wrote, “Adults can take a simple holiday for children and screw it up. What began as a presentation of simple gifts to delight and surprise children around the Christmas tree has culminated in a woman unwrapping six shrimp forks from her dog who drew her name,” and the other by Charlie Brown’s little sister, Sally, who said, “Christmas is getting all you can get while the getting is good.”

May you all lean-in to the season of your choosing.

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

Karen, Mark, Amanda, Ally, Maggie, and Scummy

2023 Layne Family Christmas Letter

Well, here we are again, fast approaching that festive season of peace on earth and goodwill toward men when we take time from our busy lives to remember the birth of Jesus and how much better we have it today than in Christmases past before free shipping.

It’s hard to imagine folks aren’t getting tired of hearing about the dull goings on of our small, ever shrinking clan, but if you're determined to read on, buckle up – it’s going to be a long and bumpy ride.

In early March, we lost another player from our roster when Gary succumbed to the rare non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma he’d been battling for over 9 years and in earnest for the prior 14 months. As all endings are new beginnings, we are pleased that Ann, the love of Gary’s life, agreed to join our family as an honorary Mayerhofer. The City of Crystal Lake made plans to honor their long-time city administrator and resident by constructing a memorial at the entrance to his prized Three Oaks Recreational area to be dedicated on June 9th along with the first annual memorial picnic/celebration of life to raise awareness and money for Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

Saddled with the time-consuming task of settling her brother’s estate, Karen had to say goodbye to her job at the church and sixteen-foot-tall Jesus who provided meager comfort during her lonely year working in the sanctuary basement. Of late she spends her days wearing the various hats of medical transport driver, health care advocate, financial advisor, chamber maid, and Sparky’s emotional support human.

Speaking of the hounds, Sparky continues his tireless defense of our homestead, chasing away any leaves, wind, or Boeing 737’s that dare trespass upon our property or invade our airspace, along with Mark who he seems unable to recognize. When not Velcroed to Karen’s chest, he functions as a living, breathing Swiffer, collecting all the dirt from outside and bringing it indoors. He continues to baffle veterinary science, having the memory of a goldfish with Alzheimer’s and a daily fecal output equal to twice his food intake. Even after three plus years Maggie still isn’t quite sure what to make of her enigmatic roommate, often staring at him as if to say, “WTF, dude?”

One positive outcome of Gary’s passing is Amanda found her first boyfriend. (In truth, Karen and Eileen found Amanda her first boyfriend and by extension, Todd's first girlfriend.)

Get your pencils and scorecards ready… 

Eileen is Glen Benrus’ wife. Glen is the Mayerhofer’s former next-door neighbor and Gary’s best friend since childhood. Todd is their eldest son. As weddings and funerals have a way of bringing people together and rekindling old friendships, so did Gary’s untimely departure lead to a Benrus-Mayerhofer family reunion of sorts which eventually led to a garage sale at Gary’s townhome.

If you’re wondering what harm could come from leaving two conniving women unsupervised on a chilly spring morning with a shortage of shoppers, you’ve apparently never watched I Love Lucy. In keeping with the spirit of Season 2, Episode 27, "Lucy" and "Ethel" hatched a harebrained scheme to have their eldest children “accidentally” meet at a Cubs game that summer.

When Amanda caught wind of the subterfuge, the neighbors had to close their windows. To borrow a line from Gene Shepherd, she wove a tapestry of profanity which still hangs over our block to this day. Who (besides Ally & Mark) would have thought she might regard meddling in her personal affairs an act of high treason? Go figure.

As the fateful day of the game approached and Amanda’s anxiety mounted to dizzying heights, she took matters into her own hands intent on heading off the inevitable pre-first-pitch rather than waiting until the 7^th inning stretch. It began with a few innocent texts, progressed to an actual conversation, then on to an informal date, all prior to the contrived “cute meet” arranged by their mothers.

Against all odds and in contravention of most universal laws, Amanda discovered she liked Todd and he her. The two enjoy each other’s company and hang out regularly. As of this writing and at risk of violating HIPAA, Amanda recently learned firsthand what the second stanza of Dionne Warwick’s 1970 hit, “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” is about. Nevertheless, we're all glad for Amanda, and our heartfelt condolences go out to Todd. 😔 

Ally continues to pursue her lifelong dream of singing backup for Taylor Swift. In the meantime, owing to some twists and turns in her academic trajectory, she took fall semester off from Iowa and has since been saving lives one vertebrae at a time as a trained chiropractic technician at Evolve Chiropractic. Able to administer certain chiropractic therapies to patients covered by the practice’s malpractice policy and Mark, she has become a trusted staff member, fill-in office manager, and favorite among certain patients who stop by just to see her. She will be sorely missed when she heads back to Iowa City in January. This November she was faced with her own Sophie’s Choice when her beloved Hawkeyes squared off against her even more beloved JJ McCarthy in the Big 10 Championship. She now eagerly awaits the outcome of “JJ vs Everybody” on Jan 1, and finding out who will replace Brian Ferentz this spring.

In May, having traveled either east or south for the past many years, we pointed our wagons west for what was almost our last family vacation. Inheritor of Karen’s planning gene, Amanda arranged the

whole affair which kicked off with an overnight in Anaheim where the girls spent 12 hours mingling with other humanoids, aliens, and droids at the Black Spire Outpost on planet Batuu. We then migrated to Palm Springs for a few days of rest, relaxation, and a brush with death before continuing to the Grand Canyon, finishing up several days later at Nevada’s depraved, adult version of Wally World.

Palm Springs is a winter resort community long favored by California’s rich and famous who have flocked there since the 1930’s to escape LA’s brutal winters where January temperatures can plummet into the low 50’s for days on end. Little did we realize that by May, the Hollywood elite flee back to the coast as daytime readings in the Coachella Valley creep up from the mid-90’s to over 300 degrees.

The most memorable experience from our stay in Palm Springs was hiking on the “short,” “family-friendly,” Victor Trail loop in Palm Canyons just south of the city proper. Although Amanda almost got us killed, everyone managed to make it out alive without the assistance of Palm Springs Search and Rescue. (Click here for a full recap of our Victor Trail ordeal.)

After a quick drive through Joshua Tree Nat’l Park to see more rocks and cacti, we followed in the footsteps of the Griswolds and drove east to Grand Canyon Nat’l Park. Having had our fill of the desert, the cooler, pine-scented higher elevation provided welcome relief to the heat and the threat of imminent death. One of the seven natural wonders of the world (currently ranked fourth according to a recent AP poll), words cannot accurately convey its splendor. We stayed at one of the four National Park Service lodges on the south rim, a significant downgrade from our luxury desert townhome but sufficiently small to discourage the girls from hosting a rave.

Pro traveler’s tip: if you plan to visit, grab the free shuttle from one of the lodges to take in a breathtaking sunset at Hopi Point. Better still, pack a picnic basket, bring the kiddies, and join the dozens of other young families on the canyon side of the safety fence where your little ones can romp about, toss a frisbee, play tag, or munch on a sandwich while dangling their feet over the unprotected edge of a 2,000-foot chasm.

Still stinging from our Victor Trail experience, we devoted our second day to a leisurely walk along the paved and level rim trail where, as Amanda discovered, the biggest danger is getting a 3^rd degree sunburn. From the visitors’ center, the trail follows the contours of the canyon past resorts and scenic overlooks, ending at the Bright Angel trailhead where several groups of exhausted and disoriented hikers who began their descent to the canyon floor in the fall of 1908, struggled to figure out what century they had returned to.

As many of life’s adventures do, ours ended in Vegas. Without question the most vile, abhorrent, detestable place on earth outside of Washington DC, Mark & Amanda spent their brief visit in the hotel room taking advantage of the all-you-can-breathe secondhand smoke while Karen and Ally braved the heat and crowds of intoxicated bachelor partygoers to experience the neon chaos of Sin City.

In August, one of Mark’s good friends convinced him to test his mettle at officiating high school football. It’s a thankless job where you’re always wrong – kind of like being married with two daughters. He did find it regrettable how the players failed to live up to the example set by their adult role models, electing to remain calm, polite, and respectful as opposed to the screaming, cursing, tantrum throwing and other demeaning, abusive, and otherwise reprehensible behaviors exhibited by their coaches, many of whom it seems could benefit from residential psychiatric care and/or Thorazine. With football season over, he now spends most of his uncommitted time as Sylvia’s private Geek Squad and personal shopper, minus the requisite expertise or interest.

Largely disinterested in the 300 channels and 2,000 streaming options for which Comcast exacts the equivalent of a mortgage payment each month, Karen much prefers the twenty free stations she can watch via the HD antenna connected to their bedroom TV when Mark is standing in just the right spot. Her current crushes are Little House on the Prairie, Laverne & Shirley, and Combat, but her far and away all-time favorite is The Andy Griffith Show.

That said, Amanda couldn't imagine a better way to celebrate her mother's 60^th birthday than to plan a surprise, mid-September weekend getaway to the Mayberry Days Festival in Andy Griffith's hometown of Mt. Airy, NC, at Mark and Ally's expense. She booked yet another delightful Airbnb featuring a three-level cabin with bathrooms-and-bedrooms-a-plenty perched on the edge of a hillside overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The day we arrived, Mark froze in his tracks upon encountering three yellow jackets each the size of a Gulfstream G280 lying dead on the cabin’s front stoop. Obviously placed there by the queen as a warning to any humans who might wander too close to her nest, Mark spent the weekend locked in the car.

Karen and the girls, meanwhile, traveled back in time to enjoy the homespun charm of idyllic "Mayberry" – a quaint black-and-white town cradled in the gentle embrace of simpler times. They had lots of fun exploring the many contrivances made to look like the Hollywood backlot where the show was filmed, including a replica courthouse, filling station, and several real-life town drunks.

Mere days after returning from the 1950’s, K & M set the Wayback Machine to 1970 and ventured out once again, this time to Branson, the Pidgeon Forge of Missouri, where they were held hostage and battered for three hours by a pertinacious timeshare salesman who, when they refused to submit to his arm twisting, was dragged outside and shot, all so Mark could cash in on two free nights at a soon to be condemned hotel. At least there were no lines at Silver Dollar City.

In other death-defying feats, Sylvia punched her ticket to 2024 after celebrating birthday #91 on December 10th. A raucous and spirited affair with balloons, a clown, and adult beverages, it was a shame Sylvia couldn’t attend. On a less festive note, she learned in October her cancer had returned. Bound and determined to avoid a tearful reunion with Don, she agreed to another two rounds of chemo. It seems she may be just ornery enough to add cancer to the list of items she’s chased out of her life over the course of the past 100 or so years.

In retrospect, the spirit of this year is perhaps best summed up by the words of former British statesman Benjamin Disraeli who said, “Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.” 

As 2023 fades in the rearview mirror and the scars from the year’s adventures begin to heal, we will take with us a few fond memories and several lessons learned, none of which we would trade for all the sand still stuck in our shoes. As The Alchemist’s Paulo Coelho wrote, “If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It is lethal.”

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

Karen, Mark, Amanda, Ally, Maggie, and Scummy

 

Hail to the Victors!

Lifelong Chicagoans, we are ever on the lookout for warm-weather vacation destinations where we might thaw our bones from the seemingly interminable and frigid upper-Midwest winters. Tired of treading the well-worn trail of tears to Florida, this year we pointed our compass west and dropped a pin on Palm Springs, CA.

Palm Springs is in California’s Central Desert region where the Colorado and Mojave Deserts meet. If you go, it’s best to visit during the window of tolerable temperatures which occur roughly between December 27^th and January 3^rd.  

Given conflicting schedules, we were constrained to plan our trip during mid-May when daytime temperatures average 300 degrees and most sensible folks have fled to more hospitable climes.

We nevertheless booked a luxury Airbnb townhome with 3 bedrooms and 2 baths featuring a spacious courtyard and private pool which we could only enjoy before 8 am or after dark because any who dared take a dip during peak tanning hours would be boiled like a lobster.

Keen on seeing something of Palm Springs beyond the four walls of our townhome, we decided to head outside and explore the local geography. Heretofore fond of walks in nature, we followed the advice of our eldest daughter and settled upon a morning hike at a place called Indian Canyons on the nearby Agua Caliente Indian Reservation.  

Located just south of Palm Springs, Indian Canyons boasts two distinct ecosystems consisting of a lush, verdant valley surrounded by the arid and rocky terrain of the Agua Caliente mountains. Palm and West Palm Canyon Creeks wind through the parched hills supplying life-sustaining moisture to America’s largest growth of California Fan Palms along with the other living creatures who call this hot and unforgiving landscape home including several species of lizards, scorpions, toads, rattlesnakes, mountain lions, bobcats, and lost hikers.

Unaccustomed to desert hiking, we opted for the Victor Trail. Described in the visitor’s guide as a short, family-friendly, three-mile loop through diverse extremes, it begins in the cool shade of the towering palms shrouding meandering Palm Canyon Creek and ends in a fully exposed stretch of high desert terrain.

Locals recommend getting an early start to avoid the severe, life-threatening afternoon heat. Unless of course your older daughter wants to sleep-in, in which case you will arrive just before noon and have the whole place pretty much to yourselves.

Your adventure begins at the ranger station/trading post where most visitors stock up on drinks and snacks for the hike. We opted to travel light, toting a single backpack with one water bottle each, reserving the delights of the snack bar as a treat to look forward to upon our return.     

From the trading post, you will make an easy descent to the valley floor where you become enveloped in the cool shade of this oasis amidst the parched and unforgiving desert above. From here you will follow a wide, mostly level trail paralleling Palm Canyon Creek, enjoying the dappled sunlight sneaking between fronds of the palms lining both sides of the stream.

Passing other hikers headed back in the direction from which you came, in what seems like only minutes you will reach the abrupt end of the palm-shrouded outbound loop and find yourselves conspicuously alone at the start of the exposed 1.5-mile return trail.  

Lulled into a false sense of security by the relative comfort of the canyon trail and flush with anticipation over what awaits, your group will down a generous portion of their remaining water and eagerly step forward into a blazing crucible of heat and sunlight, the sign at the trail head warning of the dangers of sun and heat exposure now but a hazy memory.

This half of the trail is the antithesis of the first consisting of a scorched and barren landscape of scrub-encrusted hills bereft of vegetation or other humans all of whom heeded the posted admonition to avoid the midday sun.

The less sure-footed will do well to keep a steadying hand on the person in front as you navigate the narrow, rocky path which winds along a noticeable uphill grade toward the ridge above the creek.

Despite the mountain lion scat prevalent along the trail, fear not tangling with dangerous wildlife as the only living things you are likely to encounter are rocks and cacti as the local fauna is far too intelligent to venture out at this time of day.

Upon reaching the canyon’s summit which stretches skyward to within a few hundred feet of the sun, prepare to gaze in awe upon a spectacular desert panorama underscored by the green ribbon of Palm Canyon zig-zagging its way through the otherwise monotone landscape toward the Coachella Valley below. No words will escape your parched lips as the merciless sun and debilitating heat temporarily take a back seat to the unparalleled natural vista you witness before you.

As vultures circle lazily overhead, it is at this midway point on the back loop you will come to realize you’re immersed in an honest-to-goodness wilderness adventure which you probably won’t survive.

This is a good time to take a break so your older daughter, angry because she sat on a cactus, can coerce her younger sister into surrendering her remaining water in exchange for a “like” on her Snapchat story, all the while complaining how the lack of cell service is preventing her from uploading Tik Tok videos documenting her last hours on earth. 

This is also when your delirious, heat-stroked wife will look at her empty Dasani bottle and come to the panicked conclusion that the only way out is extraction by a search-and-rescue helicopter which she has no way of contacting, prompting her to crawl under a rock outcropping which affords the only shade within 200 miles that even a novice Cub Scout would recognize as an obvious nesting place for rattlesnakes.

But DO NOT WORRY!

In what seems like only four hours, the trail will descend once again into the palm-shaded valley where your molten family can lie in the cool stream in hopes of getting their body temperatures back below 190 degrees.

Meanwhile, you will climb back up and out of the canyon to the road leading to the trading post where you buy four bottles of ice-cold water emblazoned with desert hiking warnings from the Native American park ranger who shakes his head in wonder at how the white man managed to steal his people’s land.

See you on the trails! (Expect to find me alone.)