Congratulations! If you’re reading this, you’ve dispelled Sally’s myth that her friends don’t know how to use the Internet. If you’d prefer a paper copy of this letter in your hot little hands, just hit “print” and pretend you got a real Christmas letter this year. Otherwise, zip it and keep your comments to yourself. You’re lucky you got a letter this year, Sally tried to give me a year off, but Bill disagreed. Loudly.
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| Sally and Bill cheered on the Hawkeyes. |
If you’re out caroling or wassailing, or challenging Okobojians to snowball fights, you’ll need Sally and Bill’s new address. You read this correctly: There’s another new address for Bill and Sally. They’re still freezing their giblets off in northwest Iowa, just on a different side of the lake. We think the frequent address changes in 2011 are just distractions from the cold, and indeed, the multiple moves have kept Sally’s blood boiling. I’ve not seen the new digs yet, but my siblings gleefully reported about its decor, namely the Michelangelo “David” penis light switch in the living room. (Yes, the word “penis” just made it into the letter.)
Before they moved, the dynamic duo enjoyed six months in a newly-renovated condo, complete with new carpet and coyote carcasses. In February, the new carpet arrived rolled up in the back of the installer’s truck…along with three dead coyotes. These carpet layers had proudly shot three little guys and threw them on the bed of their pickup truck. Hey, it’s all in a day’s work! Well, the little souls froze to the metal of the truck and stuck there. On this unseasonably warm day, Bill came home to see how the carpet installation was going and noticed a pool of blood growing in the driveway. Wondering who or what was rolled up in his carpet, he investigated and found the three now un-frozen coyotes bleeding out. Inside, he found carpet layers attempting to flatten frozen carpet. Luckily, there were no blood stains on the carpet, but Sally chanted some incantations anyway to make sure the condo wasn’t haunted by coyote ghosts.
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| Tom proudly displayed his handy work. |
Tom has hopped houses, switching from Jenny and Rick’s to John and Ashley’s. He refers to his address as “2608 NW 160th Street, sub level B” and is the resident chef of the Clive digs. He did feel a bit left out this year when John and Ashley decorated for Christmas, though. It seems Tom’s stocking was still somewhere in a U-Haul in Okoboji with the rest of Sally’s stuff. When all the other stockings were hung by the chimney with care, Tom created his own monogrammed garbage bag and mounted it to the mantle. He claimed that size
does matter, and expects Santa to fill it. In proud parent news, Tom works at Pioneer as some sort of geeky corn and soybean geneticist. He’s recently gotten a promotion at work and has gotten to travel to help establish new labs as a “super user.”
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| John and Ashley in Memphis |
The other inhabitants of 2608 NW 160th, John and Ashley, celebrated their first year of marriage, even with a squatter in sub-level B. While some of you may remember Ashley’s propensity for lighting kitchens on fire, the Clive house has survived so far. Ashley’s Enterprise Rental Car office wasn’t as lucky. It’s important to note that at this time Ashley’s office was…the Des Moines International Airport. One particular day, she heated some lunch in the airport microwave. Soon, smoke poured out into the car rental/baggage claim area and the sirens wailed. Ashley’s lunch was on fire. When the airport fireman raced in from the runway to the kitchenette, it was apparent that the plastic wrap on her lunch hadn’t been removed per the box’s instructions. Ashley has since been moved to another Enterprise location where her lunch won’t be as likely to cause incidents requiring the attention of the Department of Homeland Security.
John, too, got a promotion at work this year and continues to travel extensively for work as a “capital equipment specialist” for Cook Medical. To clairfy, he sells penis equipment (Wow, two penis mentions in one letter; I’m on a roll.). Sally recently rode in John’s car, and had she not known what his job was, might have thought she raised a very kinky boy. If you’re in need of some prostate lasers or catheters, John’s your one-stop urology shop.
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| Cole visiting Okoboji |
Jenny and Rick are also in the Des Moines area, staying busy with their jobs and Cole (almost 3). Rick began working for Summit Brewery out of St. Paul, Minn., and now mandates we all drink Summit beer, which, incidentally, isn’t a bad thing. When not pushing his product in the local watering holes, he’s stayed busy with his bowling league (complete with monogrammed shirt) and teaching Cole choice phrases from favorite movies. Jenny’s currently drilling him on the seasonal “meatloaf, meatloaf…” monologue from
A Christmas Story, while Rick taught him to take off his Vikings jersey and stomp on it after a loss. Jenny recently called while soaking in a Lysol bath to share Cole’s latest potty training story: While eating at a local fast food chain, Cole decided he needed to go. Obviously, these places aren’t known for their cleanliness, but Jenny knew she was in trouble when Cole
sat down on the seat. Then, she spent the next 20 minutes trying to keep his fingers out of the sanitary napkin garbage. So far, both of them are happy living in their haz-mat suits.
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| Cole, Jack, and Griffin |
Last but not least, Bryan and I stayed busy in 2011 with Jack (5) and Griffin (2). Jack started kindergarten this year, and was pleased to find his required uniform looked like a “Penn State away” uniform. Given the school’s current predicament, we’ve encouraged Jack to wear his red polo instead of the white one to look more like Iowa State. You read that correctly; Jack is an Iowa State fan. Papa Bill, Uncle John, and even Bryan still get heartburn listening to Jack talk up ISU, but because Iowa was a Cyclone state in 2011, we’ve all had to let him enjoy his time on top. Griffin is what Sally might call “sweet sweet revenge” because he’s inherited my childhood love of climbing all things, and he’s really picky about what he wears. I recently found him scaling the outside of our two-story staircase and he can make a ladder out of just about anything to reach the treats he wants. Wardrobe wise, if it isn’t pajamas, or a shirt with a fire truck or a football on it, don’t even try. At Easter, he started stripping at mass because he no longer wanted to wear his “church legs” (khaki pants). Hey, I didn’t say he had good taste, just preferences.
That about sums up 2011 for the Phelps clan. Hopefully the online letter didn’t cause you too many problems. My guess is that next year Sally will feel more like printing, folding, and stuffing a real letter, but I thought she deserved a year off. If the address changes again, you’ll probably hear Sally screaming from her corner of the state and there won’t be much need for another moving card.
Enjoy the holiday season with those you love most, and come flick the penis (Yes! Three!) light switch if you’re ever near the north end of Okoboji.
Cheers,
Betsy
