Return to Hoth, or The Air Hurts My F***ing Face, Pt. II

Good ol' Sanford Lake.  Now with Sign.

Welcome back.

So when I last left off I was at Mom's house in Midland.  Allow me pick up where I left off. . .

Saturday morning - Valentine's Day, if you'll remember (not that anyone in my family celebrates that retarded Hallmark holiday, mind you) - I woke up around 6am and began my usual routine of downing a pot of coffee.  After showering, gathering my things, and saying my goodbyes, I hopped back into my much-nicer-than-my-car-back-home Maxima and got back on ol' US-10 to head to my hometown, Clare.

Winter is coming.

What I had expected to be a nostalgic cakewalk of a drive ended up being the most stressful of my entire trip, though.  Not necessary on account of the roads, per se, but the weather in general; some nasty winds were blowing sideways across the highway, dragging snow drifts across the asphalt.  Probably nothing a seasoned Michigander would raise an eyebrow to, but my years in the sub-tropics have ruined my winter driving skills - I'll definitely have to work on building those back up.

Approaching the most treacherous of curves. . .

I rolled into Dad's house around 9:30/10am, just in time to catch him shoveling off the front steps of the house. . .

Some more gratuitous shots of my rental. . . just 'cause.

Frozen ponds.

Dad wrangles a Muppet.

Bailey

My old bedroom. . . now referred to as the Gold Room.  You can still spot the incense burns in the carpet underneath the nightstand - a subtle testimony to my tenure in this room.

He looks massive, but 95% of his mass is fur.  I think he weighs 7 lbs.

Later on in the morning, once my brother Chris finally got over to Dad's, we accompanied Dad over to Granny Hough's so we could pay her a visit.  Her live-in boyfriend, Norm, was nowhere to be found (she had no idea where he had run off to, either), so it was just the four of us hanging out. 

Granny's living room (you can see where I get my penchant for all things 'old' and 'knick-knacky.'

Yes.  She collects antique phones.

. . . and apparently dusty, old magazines.

Our family matriarch.  Her health is stable (despite the impression the oxygen tank might give you), but he short-term memory is just about shot.  In a thirty-minute time span, she repeated the same conversation with myself, Chris, and Dad at least three times.  EACH.

Granny's a big fan of cluttered wall space.  Again - you see where I get it from.

A staple in Granny's house since I can remember.

After about an hour of sharing the same conversation with Granny a half-dozen times, we said our goodbyes and headed back over to Dad and Cindy's. . .

See the red house over yonder?  That's where my mom used to stay. . . (though Hendrix lyrics aside, yes, my mom actually rented that house for six months or so back when I was in fifth grade.  Super creepy/possibly Purple Gang-related tunnel basement in that house, by the way.)

Having a very appropriate beer back at Dad's. . .

By the time we got back to the house, Cindy, Blake, and Jax (pictured here) were there.  This was the first time I had seen Scarlet or Jax, which seemed to blow peoples' minds for some reason (I guess the Florida branch of the family is overlooked a lot or something, I don't know.)

After lunch, Jeff and Annie and Scarlet drove home to Dad's  as well, which provided the living room floor with plenty of walking hazards for the next four hours or so. . .

Dad shows Jax how to operate the Most Annoying Toy Ever Created. . . 

Heaven in a bottle.

BLOCKS

Making a mess.

At some point in the afternoon, everyone kinda migrated upstairs into the play room (which used to be the guest room off the end of what used to be Chris' room above the garage, which is now a guest room.)  There, a few people had a hard time cracking into a twenty-year-old Fisher Price safe, which, apparently, used to belong to Chris.  This was proven when Chris non-chalantly picked up the safe, entered the DT combination (which, I guess, stands for 'Dinosaur Tyrannosaurus') and promptly opened the safe.  Remembering a combination to a little-used safe twenty years later?  Nothing weird about that at all. . .

That's my old Detroit Renaissance Faire staff I bought when I was 14. . . never got around to bringing it down to Florida, but I'll have to rest it against a fireplace or something when we get a place up in Michigan.  You never know when you need to lead a collection of hobbits and dwarves into far-off realms in order to destroy jewelry and the like, you know?

Cheyenne the Wonder Horse, still taking abuse thirty years later. . . 

See Figment stuffed animal there, off to the left?  That was also Chris'.  That dude grew obsessed with the weirdest shit. . .

Nana and Scarlet

Jax moves in on Snack Time, Scarlet gives him the 'Don't f***ing try me' stare.

The Third Wave of Grandkids

Borthers

. . . and with Dad.

Buccelli's - the Greatest Pizza on Earth.  If you disagree with me, I will punch you in the junk (and yes, I texted this picture promptly to Kris, who was back in Florida, not eating Buccelli's pizza.)

Gorging

Rare leftovers. . .

The Family Room - my favorite room at Dad's

Old Reliable - the piano I grew up with, and the one I learned on

Everything goes better with whiskey.

Jeff and Annie left shortly after dinner, but the Whites stuck around for a couple more hours.  When they left, Dad, Cindy, Chris and I watched a few home videos, finished off the whiskey and a few beers from the downstairs fridge, and called it a night around 11pm.

I woke up wide awake around 3:50am. . . despite the fact that my alarm was set for 5am.  Cindy had been good enough to prep the hot tub for me the day before (which had been a pain in the ass), so I decied to just get up instead of trying to go back to sleep - I wanted to make good use of her efforts.  Unfortunately the hot tub is located directly under Dad and Cindy's bedroom, so I didn't turn on the jets, but it was awesome all the same, and much appreciated. . .

I had to leave Clare by 5:30am in order to get back down to the Detroit airport and the Alamo rental place with enough time to spare to make my flight, which was scheduled to depart at 10am.  Besides being -20 degrees (seriously, Michigan. . .), the drive back down state was nowhere near as crazy as the drive up had been.  I didn't get lost, I made good time, and was able to drop off the rental (topped off, of course) and hit the airport by 8:30am.  Security, once again, was a joke, and I got to my gate with twenty minutes to kill before loading began.

BAM.

Alas, poor Kris wouldn't get her Vernor's like I had initially promised her.  Try as I might to bring her back this glorious Nectar of the Gods, the Detroit Metro Airport evidently has a pact with the Devil (Pepsi) and I couldn't find a single store that sold Vernor's after clearing the TSA ('cause, as you know, you can't bring pop or anything like that prior to going through security.)

I guess she'll have to wait 'til June, when we return to the Mitten for good.

And with that, I'll wrap this up.  I'm back in Orlando and I have to work tomorrow.

Hooray for work.

- Brian