Solstice Letter

Posted on June 18th, 2001


There was some mention of you folks coming to see us one of these weekends. Would this weekend work?

Kathy is wanting to celebrate the Solstice this weekend. You know, we could all go out that evening, howl at the moon (even if it is a new moon), get sloppy drunk, run naked through the woods, then realize you are too drunk, lost in the woods, and (ahem) naked! Then, come staggering out of the woods (still naked) into some crotchety old farmer's field, itching at the chiggers in all KINDS of places, scratched and bleeding from the unseen barbed wire fences. The farmer knows you are there (after all, you've been howling at the moon), and he lets off a few rounds of rock salt from his shotgun just before releasing his pack of half starved hounds! OK, now you are scratching, bloodied, AND have a butt full of burning rock salt. You flee back into woods, your tail end burning like the fires of Hades. You are still lost, but now, thanks to farmer brown (who has now sent his coon dogs after you), you are even more lost. You climb a tree, hoping to escape the barking dogs (you SWEAR they haven't been fed since last week), and wind up sitting on a tree limb, hoping that the dogs will loose interest. The wind picks up, and as the sweat rolls off your cheeks into your "other" cheeks, the salt in the sweat begins to mingle with your open soars. You roll the dice, and as fate would have it, you frenzy! As the rage and frustration (don't forget humiliation) over come you, you let out a roar and leap from the limb at the dogs below. Unfortunately, the limb snaps beneath you due to the stress of your weight (you have GOT to lay off of those Hostess Twinkies) plus the (dare I say) foolish leap. As you plummet to the ground beneath you, the farm dogs, scatter to the four corners. You hit the ground with a belly flop that would frighten the divers at Acapulco, only to realize that the dogs have fled through the undergrowth. You hear them scampering away, so you pick one at random, and begin to pursue. Unfortunately, they know the area and can see a lot better than you, and due to the lack of a moon, you run head long into a bee's nest. With the speed of a Cray super computer, your plans for revenge on the canines switches to a path of retreat. As the swarm closes in, and the faster bees giving you some additional "incentive", you hear the sound of running water just ahead. With your last breath, you dive towards the water (note I said "towards") to escape the yellow demons. As you pancake into a rather large rock, you slide down into the ice cold water. Fortunately, the bees will not pursue if you are underwater. Unfortunately, the water is moving swifter than you anticipated. As the current takes you down stream and you struggle to keep your head above water, a low hanging limb collides with your head, and you go down again.

Somehow, you wind up on the bank of the river. Tired, bruised, a butt full of salt, your back covered in welts and bee stings, and a bruised head front the tree on the river bank, you cough up what feels like the Mississippi River before deciding to move on. While you are no longer feeling the effects of the alcohol, you still have no clothing, and are shivering from the icy waters. Cautiously, you make your way through the woods. You avoid all open areas like the plague, and as you climb a hill for a better view, you realize that you have lost your glasses. You come to the painful but inevitable conclusion that the only way back is to retrace your steps. So, you start back down the hill to the water. Along the way, you loose your footing in the darkness, and slip, bounce, and roll the rest of the way down the hill. Fortunately, you do not fall back into the water (the raged rocks break your fall). You are now hurting in places you did not know you had. Your bruises have bruises, and you begin to refer to each of them by name. Making your way up the river side, you begin to understand the full meaning of the word "tenderfoot". You find the place where you first hit the water (well, rock actually), and crawl back up the bank. About now, your posterior begins to bother you less. You are not sure if this is due to the massive amount of bee venom that is coursing through your veins or the two concussions you have received. As the pain induced delirium ripples through your body, you fail to notice the clearing ahead. Suddenly, you hear the sounds of commotion, and the dogs are after you once more. Running with every once of strength you have, you seem to be evading you pursuers.

The next thing you remember is picking yourself up off the ground, your head aching, and a trickle of blood running down your face. The night is quiet once again, and you begin trying to figure out what has happened. From the bark you manage to remove from your teeth, and the large oak (minus a Bob-face shaped area on its side) you deduce that you must have run head long into a tree (remember the moonless night, no glasses, etc). With one eye swollen shut, you continue on your trek, trying in vain to return to our farm. As the first hints of sun begin to poke over the horizon, you finally stumble back to the house, bruised, bloodied, half blind, chigger bitten, butt oozing, and a few bee stingers still sticking from your back. You pass out in the front yard.>/p>

The next day, you hear reports of some strange creature the locals saw that was terrorizing the local farms.

Sounds like fun, right! What time should we expect you?