2016* Layne Family Christmas Letter

 

‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse. Then up in the parlor there arose such a clatter, we sprang from our beds to see what was the matter. When what to our horrified eyes did we see, but a yuletide disaster which had once been our tree. Decades of keepsakes lay smashed on the floor, bits and pieces of shrapnel flung 20’ if not more. The lights once so bright were all tangled and smashed. Only the star on the top had survived the great crash. The water spread out from the stand like a tide, the parents stood dumbstruck, the children both cried.

The past several months saw such fighting and tears, the worst we’d all known in some seventeen years. As we stood there in shock, our hearts brimming with dread, the jingling of bells pierced the air overhead. We ran to the window, looked up to the sky, and saw good old St. Nick on his sleigh flying by. Unwilling to stop at this sad, angry place, he urged the team forward and picked up his pace. But we heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, “Not this year Layne family. Enjoy your next fight!” 

In an apt end to a grossly inharmonious year, we were jolted from bed at 6 AM the Tuesday before winter break by an explosion of snapping limbs and breaking glass, only to find our Christmas tree splayed horrifically on the living room floor in a tragic entanglement of branches, light strands, and the shattered remnants of 20-plus years of memories. Karen believes it was an unfortunate accident. Mark is pretty sure God smote our holiday experience owing to His displeasure over the perversion of Christmas into a commercialized frenzy of avarice and pagan symbolism.

Truly, it was a long brutal year of rancor, invective, and mudslinging where nary a feeling was spared by the rapier tongues of the two battle-hardened combatants whose bitter, long-standing rivalry seems to have come to a temporary truce. As in years prior, M&K pray Amanda and Ally will get along better. So far, their prayers have gone unanswered.

In January the clan attempted to take in another dog. Stanley was a bright and energetic Schnauzer/Jack Russel mix who loved to snuggle, eat, and bounce off the walls like a racquetball. The experiment ended when it became apparent Taffy’s interest in other dogs is limited to their excrement. Taffy’s indifference to and impatience with Stanley forced a tearful Karen to return Stanley to his foster family in hopes they might find him a home without an aloof, unwelcoming resident dog.

Despite her sexist, racist leanings, Taffy was voted the most interesting and beloved member of the family the second year in a row. Sure she begs for food nonstop and occasionally locks herself in Karen’s car, but very few dogs have the ability to hear bacon.

       

As Illinois enjoyed another lovely winter this spring, the family broke to DC so the kids could see firsthand why their parents can’t afford a condo in Hawaii.  Mark stopped by the Department of Treasury to demand his money back.  In a classic example of poor timing, it was Sunday and the doors were locked.  He was nonetheless treated to a free pistol whipping courtesy of Secret Service.

Having successfully passed driver’s training and waiting the six month cooling-off period required of new Illinois drivers before they can pilot an automobile in anger, Amanda now counts herself among the millions of motorists clogging our highways and polluting our air.  Before granting her access to the keys of freedom, M&K were forced to ask if a person who can’t remember to shut off the lights when she exits her room or wear her retainer at night could possibly have the presence of mind to open the door before backing out of the garage.  As is her mission in life, she has thus far proved us doddering fools.

It’s difficult for most people to comprehend what it’s like living in a place where the welfare of the many is outweighed by the personal interests of the few, so like a parasitic organism, the few will gladly bankrupt the host so long as the parasite survives. If Governor Bruce Rauner thinks Illinois Democrats are spendthrift opportunists, he should try living with two teenage girls. 

 

Having grown tired of humans, Karen now directs all her motherly affections toward Taffy. Taffy doesn’t seem to mind being cradled like a baby, having her own place at the table, or assuming Mark’s position in the marital bed, although the doggie sweater Karen fashioned for her from bacon is starting to smell.

Mark has finally crossed the precipice from youth into old age as he now finds golf a strenuous physical activity.  Leslie observed that if he could only embrace NASCAR as a legitimate sport and accept Nick Saban as his personal savior, there will always be a place for him in Alabama, mullet or not.

This fall, Ally took a brief respite from traveling around the tri-state area channeling her inner Jennie Finch, to try her hand at stunt driving. After M&K pulled the tractor out of the lake, Ally was quick to remind them that brakes are for cowards. (If you ever get the chance, ask Ally about her potato.)

This November marked the culmination of a derisive campaign which divided families and deepened the rift between supporters and detractors of a once storied institution, the aftershock from which continues to ripple across the fabric of society to this day. The angst of White Sox fans notwithstanding, if you aren’t worried about the Cubs winning the World Series, you should be. Although not one to place much credence in a 2000+ year-old document, some guys Mark was talking to over beers assured him that buried deep w/in the gobbledygook of Revelations is a vague reference to baseball, Chicago, and the end times.

 

In December, Sylvia, Leslie, Jayson, and Mark traveled to Maryland for their Aunt Ursula’s 100th birthday. To put things in perspective, during her lifetime she witnessed two world wars, the stock market crash, the birth of the civil rights movement, the election of 17 presidents, man walking on the moon, and Kaitlyn Jenner. 

 

 On this the sunset of eight years of bend-over-backwards tolerance of individual differences where minority rule prevails and the expression of opinions which conflict with popular sentiment is considered offensive, insulting, and/or racist, let us recall the words of John Kenneth Galbraith who observed that, “Politics is not the art of the possible.  It consists in choosing between the disastrous and the unpalatable.” 

 

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

Karen, Mark, Amanda, Ally, and Taffy  

*Editor's Note: Those of you who pay attention to this nonsense may notice this is technically the second 2016 Layne Family Christmas letter, essentially because Mark is hard pressed to remember what time, day, or year it is. As he posts this edition, he's pretty sure it's still 2016, but not totally convinced last year was 2015.