No More Spicy Food Before Bedtime!

Last night, I had a dream where I was the wife of Neil Peart.
He is the drummer for Rush.

This was weird for two reasons:
1. Neil was not wearing a helmet while driving his motorcycle, and
2. I was a depressed woman in the dream.

Why in the goddess' good name would I be depressed if I were married Neil Peart? Though, he really should stop smoking. As the Amazing Francisco of shoe girl fame says: "he'll get the black lung and die". Then I'd just be a rock and roll widow. Which doesn't sound near as romantic as being the woman that healed Neil's broken, poignant heart.

Last Saturday night at my mom's was a blast. The Andersons all got together to, as my mom said, to "eat, drink, and tell lies". We went through a ton of old family photos of my great aunt Winifred's. She was (I think) the youngest of my maternal grandmother's siblings, and the family historian. She is also a tad dingy, and by far the quirkiest of the bunch. But we all need those family members, to make us look better by comparison.

Even though everyone kept a group of pictures here and there, I don't know if we even made a dent. My mom scored her grandfather's WWI dog tags, his discharge papers, and some war rations. Either she or my uncle had the receipt for a house purchase, $800 and some odd dollars, cash. A lot of that stuff was just awesome. There are two big family pictures, both my great grandparents family portraits.

Here may explain a lot of my upbringing... in my great grandmother's family, there were two girls (out of about 10 kids). That would be my GGma Anderson (Kriepe), and her sister. Apparently the sister was a bit of a harlot, and became pregnant from a traveling salesman. This was seemingly SUCH an embarrassment upon the family, they cut the sister OUT of the family photo, and pasted a Wulfkulhe cousin IN. Yes, kids... I have a photoshopped family heritage!

It was good to have all the cousins there. My younger cousin's husband is home from Iraq, and getting no reprieve from the family abuse. Poor boy, good thing we like him, or we wouldn't try to behave ourselves. Shout out to cousin (and devoted reader) Peggy. This post is for you! Besides, she made the most yummy fudge. She offered to let me take some home, but I would have ate the whole damn thing, and made myself sick.

And then I really would have been the depressed woman of my dreams. Only not married to Neil Peart. That's okay, I have my own rock star at home. Only younger. Then I don't have to worry about him stroking out on me. Though I suppose it would be pretty rock and roll for me to induce cardiac arrest in my dates!