In other words, I did it as I do many things: on a whim.

The thing is, I stuck with the whim this time. And I’m pretty darn proud of the results.

If I didn’t write about you, please don’t take offense. It doesn’t mean I don’t think about you, it just means that other memories popped into my head when I sat down to write.

Thank you for reading for this past year. It’s meant a lot to me to have an audience.

Let’s see what the next whim brings!

Love,
Lana

Mom and I have always been close, even through the hellish puberty years, and to this day she remains my closest girlfriend. So much of our times together hinge on the fact that we can always make each other laugh; whether the joke was intentional or not, well, that’s another story.

When I was growing up, Mom had two house rules:

1. No holding the cat when you’re naked.
2. No eating steak when you’re drunk.

If Dad and I could abide by these rules, the family was a happy unit; if not, well, someone wasn’t having a good day.

Mom is the most even-keeled person I’ve ever met, other than my husband. She’s often been the voice of rationality in my more heated moments, for which I’ve been grateful since I emerged from the womb.

I remember our vacation to Cancun when I was 13, when we giggled for a solid week about Juan Carlos, the group activities director who always wore a speedo, and his weiners…or “winners”, which is what he thought he was shouting into the microphone.

I remember flying in Dad’s plane when I was about 15, on our way to breakfast in Wisconsin. Mom and I were in the back seat, enjoying the ride, when suddenly she perked up, looked out my window, and waved. I jerked my head around to see who she was waving at, and just a moment too late I realized that we were in an airplane, thousands of feet above the ground, and of course there’s no one out there. Mom giggled to herself for weeks over that one.

In my twenties, I went through a period of time where I moved, a lot. Like four times a year for half a decade. Mom and her truck were always there to haul stuff around Minneapolis, and my living situation became kind of a running joke amongst her friends.

From my mother, I learned my best life lessons: be frugal, be funny, and try not to worry so much—everything will work out just fine. She’s been the best girlfriend I could ask for, and I’m looking forward to many more years together.

His pet seal, Shithead, whom he rescued from death while living in Alaska is my all-time favorite Dad story. That, and how he wound up in Germany instead of being sent to Vietnam, and the time he found out his Amsterdam girlfriend was a hooker.

I remember learning to ride my old sparkly purple banana seat bike, and Dad rigged up a launchpad from some industrial truck parts so I could hover at the top of the hill until I was ready, and then launch myself down the slope, screaming the whole way with Dad’s laughter echoing off the barn.

Then there’s the early memory that taught me that life is to be cherished, because it can all change in an instant. When I was 9, almost 10, Dad shattered a few vertebrae in his neck in a diving accident, and was told he’d probably never move again below the neck. After a few choice words for the doctor who dared tell him that, and a lot of determination, Dad walked into our house a month later (on my tenth birthday!), stiff, sore, and a little worse for wear, but walking nonetheless.

Dad’s one of my all-time favorite people, at the very top of the A-list, and I look forward to seeing him a few times a year. One of my only regrets about moving to Seattle is that I’m no longer a two-hour drive from dropping in on him at his airplane hangar for a bear hug and coffee.

I mean, most people are different in the office versus at home. It can be challenging to know what’s work-appropriate, you know?

Mandy and her husband invited Randy and I over for drinks and Rock Band one night a few months back, and they didn’t even throw me out when I attempted “Tangled Up in Blue” by Bob Dylan.

Seriously, nobody should attempt to sing that outside of the car and/or shower.

The KofC show in particular was spectacular…nobody in the crowd breathed or really even moved for the duration of the set. I’d never been to a show that held everyone so captive that there was pure silence for more than an hour.

But then again, the Jolie Holland show was memorable in its own way, too, as she chewed out the crowd for not listening closely enough.

I haven’t found anyone quite so compatible with my tastes in music since moving away.

She had scored the most fantastic pair of knee high black boots with stainless steel heels, truly sculptural and a little too edgy for the liking of our director.

Those boots were stolen from our tour bus when some Norwegian hoodlums broke in.

I suspect there’s still a tiny bit missing from Haley’s heart, still stung over the loss of those boots.

Lael wasn’t techically a camper, and therefore didn’t have to be with a counselor at all hours of the day and night, so we wound up spending a fair chunk of the summer together.

We would swing for hours, or go canoeing out to Bear Island, and sneak into the kitchen at night for ice cream. That was made especially easy because I had the key.

On the upside, it was a gorgeous evening, and Victor (who’s originally from Panama) helped me hone my Spanish skills.

I was nervous for that day, as I hadn’t yet seen my leg. It had been under wraps for about two weeks, and I wasn’t sure what I’d see.

My leg was so ugly, it looked like a sausage had been stapled to the back of a hairless cat. I cried, and then she plucked out all forty staples, one by one, the whole time telling me that my leg wouldn’t look like that forever.

One evening a couple of months ago, Randy and I were in there for drinks and dessert, and a drunken woman told Randy that he looks like Gilbert Gottfried. On our way out that evening, Leroy called out “Good evening, Mr. Gottfried!”, to which Randy replied “Oh, you can call me Gilbert”.