Thursday, December 22, 2005
Before You Read, I Warn You Not To Hate On The Cowboy Monkey
This is my favorite piece of decor from my Granny's house. The Cowboy Monkey. I love it for its sheer kistch value. Today, my dad joked that someday (not soon, God forbid) when she dies, the minute the machine makes the flatline noise, he's racing over here and tossing the monkey in the trunk because I deserve it most.
I am spending my second night at Granny's house, helping her recover from her second knee replacement. It makes me the top tier grandaughter, but I am doing it more for my mom who otherwise would be here every morning (or worse, spending the night when she has to work the next day) seeing to her recovery.
So I am the one who has watched "The Wheel" with her two nights running. Although I do stand in mock reverence, I have mostly stopped rolling my eyes when the clock plays the Hallelujah Chorus every hour on the hour. I have awakened at 4:30am to get her a drink of water and when I couldn't get back to sleep, she urged me to put on her robe because "it will fit you, it's big big!" (In otherwords, she woke me up at 4:30 to tell me I'm fat. Thanks, Granny, but I sensed it when I went to bed last night.). I've almost adjusted. In fact, there's a couple of issues of Guideposts I am hoping to get to before I leave.
There's little moral to the story. It's all just so surreal/funny that I had to share. Perhaps I could wax eloquent about the need to remember others at Christmas, that's not it. Family is to be cared for. That's not a question. It's not about Karma. This may never come back to me. Let's just say it's about the monkey. Likely, I won't get it and I won't put up a fight. See, it's sort of original artwork. My aunt painted it. I'll not fight her for her own artwork.
Any kistch in your family roots you'd like to share?