2020 Layne Family Christmas Letter

2020 can be pretty much summed up in one word – WTF.

January kicked off with Mark and Amanda coming down with an odd respiratory infection bearing a number of what are now internationally famous symptoms.  The rest of the family remained healthy, and other than coughs which persisted a month, neither felt that bad, and both are currently alive.

It took until late February for the media to give Mark and Amanda’s disease a name, thus imbuing it with a conscious malevolence many believe is worse than the disease itself.  It wasn’t until March, however, that Governor Pritzker (aka Fat Bastard) placed everyone in Illinois on house arrest, inciting riots in the paper products aisle at Walmart.

Faced with long term incarceration, we found ourselves with a surfeit of uncommitted time, forcing us to find creative ways to fill the gaping hole left in our lives by our sudden inability to go out to eat, to school, graduations, the grocery store, weddings, church, the gym, movies, vacations, live sporting events, family gatherings, bear hunting, and just about every other thing that makes life tolerable. 

Although unsettling at first, it turns out we rather enjoyed the opportunity to slow our pace, hunker down, and get reacquainted as a family.  We spent much quality time cooking, playing games, taking walks, and watching Rosanne.  Truth be told, it was terrific experience.  For about two weeks, after which we were at each other’s throats like a pack of starved hyenas trapped in a Buick.  M & K are convinced the only thing that prevented an all-out civil war was the dogs’ antics which lightened the mood sufficiently to keep everyone’s mitts out of the knife drawer.

Earlier in the year and quite by accident, we became the custodians of a small white animal that we were told is a dog, but more resembles an overripe turnip.  Clueless as oatmeal, Sparky (also known as Spewy, Stinky, Lumpy, Spongefoot, Turd, and Nancy) was likely the product of a puppy mill as is evidenced by his pronounced abandonment issues and inability to differentiate between his human caregivers and furniture.

Blessed with useless eyes, inadequate ground clearance, and a brain the size of a Milk Dud, Sparky attached himself to Karen like a lamprey to a Coho.  Against Mark’s protests, Sparky was elevated to a permanent member of the family, both to give Maggie something alive to attack, and to protect us from our fence, the neighbor’s bird bath, Mark, and the other inanimate objects at which he constantly barks.  Owing to their compassion for the mentally and physically challenged, the Layne females adore Sparky.  Mark, conversely, finds him repulsive and irritating, not only because he Insists on being carried around like a breastfeeding infant, but when he isn’t rolling in excrement, he’s wandering about the yard randomly dropping his body weight in turds, thus prompting Mark to nickname him The Traveling Turdinator or Turdinator for short.  It is Mark’s hope that during one of their incessant play fights, Maggie will eat him. 

In response to the governor’s mandate to stay home and avoid visiting dangerous “hot states” which at the time included most of those south of Indiana, the family embarked upon a summer tour of AL, TN, SC, GA, IN, so Ally could see firsthand what a college campus might look like after nuclear holocaust.  It was a terrific opportunity for her to exercise her creativity by imagining the vacant buildings and deserted quads teeming with life.

After a mid-summer taste of liberation, the gov enacted a new initiative to avoid burdening the state’s economy with any sort of productivity by re-imposing "voluntary" confinement in the fall.  Part of his scheme to bolster the spirits of his constituents included pulling the plug on fall high school sports, thereby limiting our autumn entertainment options to televised replays of Olympics dressage competitions and political mudslinging.  Not so in Alabama, however, where freedom still rings, and Jayson was able to make his gridiron debut at left OT for the Spain Park Angry Antelopes (or is it Jaguars?)  We all knew hiding inside those BB trunks and tank top was the heart of a football player. Thanks to NFHS Network, we were able to watch him dominate his position despite bone spurs in his ankle, plantar fasciitis in both feet, and a color-blind quarterback. 

Notwithstanding her debilitating angst over which major to pursue, whether she made a mistake attending Illinois State, if she would ever find a job and become a productive member of society, and which shoes to wear on Wednesdays, Amanda landed herself a paid internship with the ISU marketing department and has excelled in her studies.  In spite of taking a semester off to explore the rich heritage and varied culture of Addison, IL, Amanda informed us she will be graduating this May, a full year ahead of schedule and absent any student loans, thereby cheating K & M out of paying another year’s rent for an apartment she visited twice.  Given all her good fortune, it seems Amanda’s main worry now is running out of things to worry about.

Apparently two kids attending school online at home – one in the kitchen and one in the dining room – a husband working in the office upstairs, and two dogs chasing each other around the house all day was the perfect incentive for Karen to accept a new job managing the office for a nearby charitable organization providing meals to seniors.  She now spends her days socially distancing from a cast of characters who make the staff of Dunder Mifflin look like a Harvard class reunion.   

Unencumbered by softball, classroom attendance, or anything resembling “normal” to a high school senior, Ally has rivaled her sister by landing at the top of the Nazareth Academy GPA heap. The scholarship offers continue to roll in, not as we might have expected for softball, but for her grades.  Her short list currently includes three schools in IA, one each in IL, WI, MI, KS, and TN, and all of them in Hawaii.  We look forward to attending her virtual softball games and online graduation this spring.

November marked 21 years of M & K listening to Amanda complain.  It had long been Amanda’s dream to celebrate her 21st birthday at Harry Potter World.  Amidst financial and travel related concerns, we opted instead for Wisconsin – which is a lot like Harry Potter World minus the attractions, magic shops, and medieval weirdos.  Karen, Mark, and Ally did their best to transform the condo where they stayed into a mini-Hogwarts, featuring a life size cardboard cutout of Harry, Hermione, and Ron which now resides in Ally’s room and still frightens us whenever we walk past.  Ally was disappointed we couldn’t find Amanda a real dragon or a working wand she could use to turn her sister into a Grindylow.

So as you stagger, limp, or crawl across the finish of line the year that wasn’t, looking ahead toward a more positive, enlightened 2021, let us recall the sage advice of George Bernard Shaw who said, “When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points, or it would be impossible to endure them.”

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

Karen, Mark, Amanda, Ally, Maggie, and Spewy

2019 Layne Family Christmas Poem

'Twas just days before Christmas, the end of the year.

Poor Karen and Mark were in need of a beer.

No stockings were hung, no gifts by the tree,

No money was left to buy them, you see.

The year started with promise, to Disney they flew,

To escape the cold weather, and bouts of the flu.

With Amanda not sleeping and Mark’s wallet so tight,

Karen asked them to leave the very first night.

For nineteen odd years we lived in a place

With flowers and trees and acres of space.

Our beautiful home, looked over a pond

Where turtles and egrets and herons abound.

With Amanda in college and Naz far away,

Ally’s drive was too long, over an hour each day.

So we listed the house, put a sign in the yard

Not guessing that moving would be so damn hard.

After three failed attempts, the house finally sold

To a couple of numbskulls, millennials we’re told.

With prices so high, our choices were few.

As closing approached, we knew not what to do.

Our time had run out, mere weeks left to spare.

We couldn’t be picky, our broker despaired.

Though the house that we chose was truly a wreck.

We signed on the line, and wrote-out the check.

Mark filled up a folder with questions and notes.

We sharpened our pencils, solicited quotes.

It wasn’t so scary.  How bad could it be?

They make it look easy on HGTV.

Out kitchens and bathrooms!

Out carpets and doors!

Gone lighting and fixtures!

Gone toilets and floors!

From the top of the roof

To the first level hall,

Now throw away! 

Throw away!

Throw away all!

The list was too long, the destruction too great

It seemed that we’d put far too much on our plate.

With no place to go, and no way to win,

To the rescue came Syl, who took us all in.

On May 17, the moving trucks came

To pick up our stuff, in down pouring rain.

We moved in with mom, invading her space

Our parcels and bags all over the place.

It wouldn’t be long, we said to ourselves.

The work was cosmetic - cabinets, counters, and shelves.

We figured we’d be there a month, maybe two,

We’d hired what seemed like a competent crew.

We visited often. The progress was slow.

Amanda was frantic, ready to blow.

Two months had gone by, with much left to do.

The girls were not happy sharing a room.

The adults were both wedged in too small a bed.

Mark gave up on sleep, working instead.

The pressure was mounting, oh when to move in?

Syl’s once stoic patience began to wear thin.

Our wits at the end, each losing their cool,

Amanda so bummed, she stayed home from school.

Karen postponed our move one last time.

It was now late in August, the end of the line.

We couldn’t move forward, we dared not look back,

We had to do something to get back on track.

So taking the matter into our own hands

We picked up some brushes and opened some cans.

No strangers to work, the whole family pitched in.

Amanda took charge of painting the trim.

Mark finished two rooms, including the shed.

Karen and Ally assembled the beds.

After five brutal months, we were finally in.

Syl said goodbye to her wayfaring kin.

The house was all shiny, pretty and bright.

All slept rather well, that first homey night.

We spent a small fortune, using one of those cards

Which offer free miles, the more that you charge.

With thousands of credits ready to blow,

The world is our oyster, with nowhere to go.

We somehow survived our summer from hell,

Though Amanda still is not doing so well.

Penniless, beaten, exhausted and fazed,

We’ll always remember those nightmarish days.

So hear this fair warning, before you agree

To fix up a dump – you can take it from me.

We were wrong to ignore that small voice when it said,

“You’re better off renting a condo instead!”

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

                         Karen, Mark, Amanda, Ally, and Maggie

My Mother Hates You

My mother was a hater before haters were a thing.  She hates everything and everyone with equivalent zeal.  It’s what makes her happy.

Her hatred is indiscriminate, sparing no one, particularly her own family.  I’ve spent my life trying to figure out why she’s like this.  

At present, she’s 86 years old.  I know irritability is a hallmark of the elderly, I suspect owing to their mounting physical ailments which no doubt prevent them from getting proper sleep.  Ironically, my mom couldn’t be healthier for a person her age.

True she doesn’t hear well.  And she has cholesterol issues which resulted in a heart surgery and minor stroke over the course of her years.  But otherwise, she’s as healthy as a horse.  In fact, she consumes so many supplements that her body will be preserved much in its current state long after the pyramids are reclaimed by the Sahara.

Nor can I connect her bad-temperedness to any sort of childhood trauma or injustice.  Best I can tell, she never spent a moment forgotten in an orphanage, toiling in a coal mine, or imprisoned on a slave galley.  My grandparents weren’t wealthy; nor were they indigent.  Their house was small but sufficient.  They always had food on the table.  My mother and her siblings are wearing clothes in all their family photos.

In most modern dictionaries, Mom’s photo appears next to the definition of “misery.”  She actively looks for the dark cloud in every silver lining.  She keeps a scolding finger pointed at the world, ever seeking someone or something to blame for all she believes that's wrong.  I attribute a healthy portion of this to Fox News which plays on her television 24/7.

 

My mom will sometimes give people the benefit of a doubt, waiting to hate them until they speak or move or breathe.  Most of the time, her disdain is instantaneous.  They say misery loves company.  My mother’s loneliness must be epic, as she never misses an opportunity to coerce others into joining her club.

  

“Look at that woman with curlers in her hair.  Who goes out of the house looking like that?” 

When she's out to dinner, she hates the noisy kids.  When watching college football, and she hates the coach’s beard or the color of the other team's uniforms.  The happy young couple has no business being happy.  Every emanation from her mouth, eyes, and posture reeks with scorn, disapproval, and judgment.  She doesn't understand why the grand kids avoid her.  Maybe they get enough negative reinforcement at home.

We’ve been living with her the past few months while our house is being rehabbed, which has provided me a unique insider’s perspective on this woman I’ve known most of my life. 

Mom loves to complain.  It’s her favorite pastime.  She’s never short on things she finds objectionable.   She insists we make ourselves at home, but complains when we use her stuff.  She expressed displeasure that we put our snacks on the kitchen counter.  When we moved them, she complained they were no longer there.  An Army mess sergeant in a former life, she always cooks enough for a platoon.  When the four of us can’t eat it all, she’s unhappy about having leftovers clogging her refrigerator.  When one of us eats the leftovers, she’s upset that someone stole her lunch.

Of course Mom isn’t all bad.  Deep down, she is a charitable person who cares.  She is drawn to happy, joyful people like a magnet, recognizing them as the type most needing her help.  She wastes no time reminding them of the countless things that could go amiss in their lives at any moment as a thoughtful means to protect them from disappointment. 

My sister and I are no exception.  We know she loves us because she never misses an opportunity to warn us of the dangers and misfortune lurking around every corner.  I feel guilty watching the enthusiasm drain from her face when I refuse to respond to questions like, “Are you having a difficult time making ends meet?” or “Aren’t you worried that you’ll lose everything when the market crashes?” or “I can’t imagine how disappointed you must with [your job, your spouse, your children]” or “What’s wrong?  I know there must be something wrong.”

Since my father passed, my childhood home has been circling the drain.  Even though my father rarely lifted a finger to do a thing around the house later in life, all those things have now accumulated into a war chest of needed repairs and improvements.  Since we moved in, I'm running out of fingers to plug the leaks in the dam.  Mom has expressed how grateful she is I’ve been around to address these myriad issues by complaining about the results.

She asked me to trim the tree next to the driveway, but didn’t understand why all those cut branches were piled in her parkway.  The new drier vent looks fine; too bad we had to break it in the first place.  She is routinely perturbed that the four of us generate so much garbage, but when one of us takes out the trash, she can’t understand why we would do such a thing.  

We have a little black dog named Maggie.  Maggie is an innately happy little creature with sawdust between her ears who parks herself on your feet until you rub her tummy.  For some reason, Maggie loves my mother.  She'll sit on the chair across from my mom's spot on the couch and stare at her for hours.  

Maggie’s happiness makes my mother uncomfortable.  I believe this is because my mom can’t understand what Maggie has to be so happy about.  In the first place, she's black.  Nor can she figure out how to crush Maggie’s naturally joyful spirit.  Apparently what works like magic on humans isn't as effective on dogs. People, it seems, are easy to bring crashing back to earth.  Dogs require a more concerted effort.

My daughters heard her complaining on the phone to my sister that she doesn’t understand what could possibly be taking so long with our house rehab, and she’s worried we're never going to leave.  Fortunately, our sentence is about to be commuted.  In two weeks, the movers will arrive, and she'll have her house back and us out of her hair.  I'm sure we'll never hear the end of it.

In truth, most of my mom’s behavior can be attributed to decades of alcoholism.  She went to counseling almost thirty years ago, but it never really took because she refuses to acknowledge that she has a problem.  In fact, she continues to drink to this day – red wine only because her doctor told her it’s good for her heart.  

It’s not the doctor’s fault.  We’re pretty sure she left the alcoholic part off her patient profile. 

The Most Miserable Place on Earth

Hi!  I’m Ricky Rat, and I’d like to personally welcome you to Diseaseney World, the most miserable place on earth!

 

Come visit central Florida’s most popular travel destination where all your health and financial nightmares come to life!

Our unique theme parks feature hundreds of attractions, shows, and entertainment designed to make Diseaseney addicts of the whole family so we can pick your pockets for generations to come!

It’s another miserable day at Diseaseney's Tragic Kingdom!

 

Let Ricky Rat be your guide to this magical world where the young and young at heart willingly pay a king’s ransom to cram like sardines into cleverly disguised lines which wind back and forth across three time zones enroute to a souvenir shop, pausing briefly in between to experience a cheesy contrivance masquerading as a thrill ride!

While here, be sure to visit Trash Mountain where kids can claw their way through piles of our own park-generated refuse in search of Magic Maggots.  

Too hot to breathe?  Cool yourself in the brown, putrid waters of Typhoid Lagoon, one of Tragic Kingdom’s three water attractions.

Make sure your tetanus vaccinations are up to date before you embark on the Junk Yard Cruise where after a short boat trip in an authentic garbage scow to Mobility Scooter Island, kids will put their cunning to the test as rabid dogs chase them through a maze of rusty scrap metal, old batteries, and broken glass.

There’s no shortage of fun for grownups at Mom and Dad’s Scary Adventure!  The kids will split their sides watching mom and dad try to escape a locked room with no windows or doors where they have to throw money into the gaping jaws of Louis the Lovesick Alligator in the hope of securing their freedom.  But watch out!  If mom and dad are too stingy, a trap door sends them sliding into a pit with real alligators!

Any swashbucklers in the group?  Arghh!  Then set sail upon a high-seas adventure at the ever popular Parasites of the Caribbean, where landlubbers get to experience firsthand what it was like below decks during a 16^th century sea voyage, having to brave scurvy, lice, and pesky intestinal worms.

Catch your favorite STD at The Swiss Family Whorehouse (penicillin available in the gift shop), or stop-by Dow Chemical’s Parade of Pesticides, a hands-on attraction where guests mix up their own cocktail of toxic chemicals to see who can kill a tank of goldfish faster!

Our newest attraction, Ricky’s Reactor Race, challenges kids to find their way out of an underground nuclear waste storage facility before their dosimeter badges reach critical.  

And don’t miss the perennial family favorite, It’s a Sick World, where animatronic figures of children from around the globe cough, sneeze, and wipe their noses and on each other, resulting in a worldwide pandemic.

Tired of rides and shows?  Then take a break at one of hundreds of themed restaurants all featuring the same food at prices which rival the room service menu at a Manhattan hotel.  Or browse one of our thousands of shops and boutiques, each adorned by clever signs promising unique and varied goods and services, but which all feature identical licensed merchandise at more than double the fare of an airport terminal kiosk.

And rest assured that everything we offer in our shops is designed to look stylish and apropos at work, home, or play.  Won’t you look smart wearing your giant-brimmed Gooey the Decomposing Dog cap on the construction site, waving your flashing Stinkerbell wand at church, or strutting around the law firm with a handsome pair of Ricky Rat ears perched atop your head?

Follow your nose to Diseaseney’s Animal Park Playground!

   

Who doesn’t love animals?  (Especially when they’re properly prepared.)  So get ready for a fun-and-gun-packin' day at Animal Park Playground!

Upon arrival, all guests board authentic Range Rover transports and head out into the Australian Outback where the world’s largest collection of endangered species roams freely among acre upon acre of manufactured rocks and faux vegetation.

 

Whether you’re shooting for trophies, tucker, or fun, you’ll find no shortage of targets at the Animal Park.   

What’s that?  Rifle confiscated by TSA?  No worries, mate!  Our game experts keep their transports fully stocked with the latest high-powered killing tools – and of course, plenty of ammo!

For an extra charge, let the top blokes in one of our seven five-star restaurants expertly prepare anything you kill during the day for your dinner that night.  You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted one of Chef Gary’s giraffe burgers hot off the barbie, or Chef Pauly’s polar bear pot pie.  And the black rhinoceros soup is a real rip snorter!

 Travel from Pestilence to Pandemic at Diseaseney's EPCRAP 

To round out your Diseaseney experience, be sure to save time for the many wonders of EPCRAP (Experimental Protozoan Contagions Rampant Among People). 

EPCRAP attracts folks from the four corners of the earth, each bringing with them their own cultures, languages, and contagious microorganisms!  (Our EPCRAP motto: One world, one petri dish.)

Sponsored by the World Health Organization, this futuristic park features the always popular Diseases of the World attraction.  Without ever leaving central Florida, you and your family can travel

from continent to continent, country to country, becoming exposed to long-since eradicated diseases you’ve likely never heard of and which has no known cure in the US!

 

In Europe, ride in an open barrel through the rat-infested sewers of medieval England where guests try as they might to avoid the Black Plague.  Or travel over to China where visitors float down the Yangtze River dodging bombarding waterfowl carrying Avian Flu H5N1, 2, and 3, then across the blue Pacific to tropical Molokai where you can rub elbows with actual lepers!

 

In Egypt, wade into an authentic Nile River swamp infested by millions of malaria-infected mosquitoes, then trek over to the forbidden regions of the African Congo for a spine-tingling ride on the thrilling Ebola-Ola Roller Coaster.

 

Visitors to our country can capture the true spirit of western expansionism as they don cowboy hats, chaps, and boots and ride horseback into America’s old west, following in the footsteps of European missionaries as they bring bibles, cholera, and smallpox to isolated native tribes living in the northern Great Plains.

And top off your day with a bite to eat at the Enchanted Stinky Room featuring the smells of foods and flatulence from around the globe, or check out It’s a Bug’s Death where all manner of exotic bugs and insects are drown in molten chocolate then fed to patrons while still warm.  Mmm-mmm, good!

Remember – money is no object to parents who truly love their kids.  So sit back, relax, and let our cast members help you find new and creative ways to show your love by draining your wallets of any remaining cash before a Tragic Express motor coach dumps you at the airport filthy, penniless, and convulsing with a raging fever for your return flight home.

With so much to do and see, you’ll want to visit us every year!  So don’t be a stranger – get your immunizations, take out that second mortgage, and come back to see us again real soon!

So b-bye for now.  See you next time.  And have don't forget to have yourself a miserable Diseaseney day!