Christmas in Montana

Last time I was in Montana with my highly eccentric and loveable family, I had just completed an epic journey around the world. At that time, Montana was homecoming-a welcome back to the core of my soul. This time, after six months of 15 hour days, multiple dating disasters, and a few competitive races, it was a reminder of who I was and most importantly, what really mattered in life. Ahh yes…..Montana always provides wisdom….even more so around the holidays.

MONTANA LIFE LESSONS

Dancing releases the soul

Somehow…some profound moves (I think) of mine had been…er “caught” on video. Thanks to the internet, my entire family was able to witness a drunken dance performed at a wedding where a friend and I did our best butt shake to Tom Jones’s Sexbomb. My brother passed the laptop around at dinner where UTube indulgence replaced the usual decedent desserts. When I saw my shaking butt doing a very bad impersonation of a Madonna move, I feared Granny was going to have a heart attack on the spot, but what do you know, she clapped her hands and tried to mimic the moves herself. Dancing and laughter (or perhaps laughter AT dancing) was bringing the family closer.

In this spirit, my aunt, fond of all things new age and meditative encouraged us to take a Nia class. I was VERY skeptical. I had harsh memories of my “Mediation through Movement” class in Bali. But Nia was uplifting. In Nia you are encouraged to release your inner self. Members of my family suddenly transformed themselves to dance as a warrior, a disco princess, and a karate blackbelt, and could it be a gasping frog? I saw my mother shimmy across the room seductively…my sis in law pretend to shoot an arrow during her ‘warrior set’ and my aunt flex the butt cheeks to the rhythm of the drum. Who knew moving around like idiots was well……inspiring? Dancing……even as a gasping frog….. is quite freeing.

Farting Dogs are still loveable
My aunt and uncle’s dog Beaux is cursed with a severe gastrointestinal problem. Sadly, regardless of food intake or exercise, Beaux cannot stop farting. It’s a serious condition, mainly because he doesn’t realize he is doing anything wrong. He’ll sit smiling in the living room and let them rip one after another, causing a mass evacuation as humans flee to other parts of the house.

There may have been a time when my aunt and uncle debated giving him up for adoption…they likely considered pawning him off on neighbors after giving him a box of Gas-Ex to mask his “issue.” But Beaux is such a sweet dog that they couldn’t bring themselves to part with him. They instead decided to purchases gas masks for the times the smell got really bad. Yes, we must accept family however they are. This means Granny’s reluctance to throw out expired food, my father’s insistence at finding a salsa dancing spot at every town we go to (yes, even in Montana), and my brother’s overly schmoopie behavior that only aggravates my tendency to turn to the bottle.

Schmoopie is as Schmoopie doesMy brother and his finance are famed for their schmoopie-ness. There are multiple arguments of “you are cute” No, you are cute” No, you are cuter!” Sometimes they even poll the audience as backup for the schmoop-a-thon. “Heidi, isn’t Lily’s butt the best butt you have ever seen in these jeans? Shouldn’t I buy here 10 pairs of these jeans to show off her cuteness?”
People wonder why I drink more over the holidays.

HOWEVER, even though we may roll our eyes, I am not sure we would want the schmoop factor to go away. For some reason every time Hans and Lily are present, the entire family loses its cynical edge and becomes more affectionate and attentive toward one another. My uncle starts offering to help clear the table. My father decides to give bonafide hugs as opposed to the standard high five. The cousins smile and plan more get-togethers. And granny stops cursing and demanding whiskey…..well for a bit anyway.


Ornery is where the heart is


Granny is a woman of maxims. ‘Quit yer bellyachin’” ‘eat til it ouches you’ and ‘I need a stronger drink.’ She is likely the most stubborn ornery woman I have ever known. She refuses help to walk down the street even if it means she’ll topple over into a snow bank. “Granny down!” And she’ll force feed you until you burst…there is no way to get out of second helpings—“fat and sassy is where it is at.” But no one in our family wants a sweet docile grandmother. We wouldn’t trust it! And due to her orneriness the love she sends out is more meaningful. She relates to her independent granddaughters all the more. Most grandmothers would be praying at church every day for me to get married. Not granny. It makes her proud. ‘You don’t need a man….you stay goddamn independent!” In addition we don’t have to mask our actions or speech while around her. She’ll encourage us to drink and curse and gossip about whatever we want….as long as she can chime in with her ornery opinions.

‘I love you means never having to say I’m sorry’…..for beating your sorry a** at cards again.

Besides the occasional schmoop syllable reserved for Hans’s finance, our family shies away from affection. I remember a time when my brother was little he tried to express “I love you.” My dad’s response: “Son! We don’t use those words in this family!! Now, let’s shoot pool.”

So how do we express love? Well, besides my mother’s “I love you” baking (who needs words when you get a cake?!), we share out emotions by trash talking over a hand of cards. Poker, crib, spades, tic, you name it. Those 52 pieces of laminated paper bring us together more than dissecting Grandpa Dick’s will or planning upcoming weddings. The only rules are: If you win, you must gloat, if you lose you must whine, and regardless of your hand you must boast and ridicule the others to no end. The one that gets their ego beat up the worst is indeed the most loved. Next time I’m home in San Francisco and my friends give me a hard time…I just realize that they are telling me how happy they are to have me in their life…..ahhhh….I feel schmoopie!