Skeleton Kitty
Faralitos on Canyon Road
My grandpa is officially named: Dennis Overman, but got the nickname “Obie Adobe” when he made 1,000 adobe bricks in a day. He’s an original hippie, artist, carpenter, construction worker, and musician. During my guitar recital in 5th grade, the whole music class was supposed to perform, but they had secretly arranged for me to have a solo, saying that they “forgot their instruments.” It was only when my grandpa joined me to sing harmony on Bob Dylan’s “You Ain’t Goin’ nowhere” that I realized what a sweet trick it was.
I went to The Hollar, a little restaurant in Madrid NM, to accompany Grandpa Obie on musical saw the other day. “Irene” by Caribou, complimented my drive up the winding mountain roads. 
Jazmyn bending fire with her will
“EIO” is what Earl, Ian, and Obie have been going by when they play The Hollar, but since my uncle is in Peru we were: “EEO” for a night. We played old-timey cowboy and folk songs, along with original material by my grandpa, 3 of my grandpa’s recently deceased friends, all by the name of Dennis, and Earl. During our break I drank an IPA from the Marble Taproom and noticed my skills improve threefold when I returned to the saw. After forgoing free fried okra due to wait-time, my family and I stood in the parking lot and made plans to bake our traditional “Pheemalramicpakaloomer” cookies.
Pals on Canyon Road
“Pheemalramicpakaloomer” is the name Grandpa Obie gave to a particular cookie cutter shape. Amongst the 37 shapes that are crafted each holiday season many decoration trends become traditions: Killer rabbit, inverted foot shape turned PacMan ghost, writing “foot” on the bear and other such puns, and then by the end just writing “Turtle Farts” “Machine” “Dog” etc. on everything. This year “Dog” was the most popular word.
On December 23rd I won the facebook-status-like-competition of the day, cashing in at around 20 likes. The status was: “I want to make a fragrance for MEN that comes in a flask, it will be scented like whiskey. It will be whiskey.” On December 24th my dad handed me a flask of Jim Beam, saying: “Here’s some cologne.” 
On X-Ma$$ Eve we eat boiled coyote teeth (posole) and tamales, my dad and I always sing The Pogues song that begins: “It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank…”Assorted younglings are sucked into my house and I feed them whiskey from the plastic rainbow shot glasses I keep in my closet. Because we live close to the Faralito Walk, my dad and I break out our marching samba drums and turn the formerly peaceful-drunk-caroling-carousers into roudy-drunk-caroling-carousers. This year Noah joined us on bell and we were mentioned in The New Mexican. As the walk progresses I am swept from group of acquaintances to group of acquaintances like a jellyfish, and every year I collect a group of pals and end up with them at my house, drinking cider by candlelight.
My uncle made a ship from scrap wood when he was a kid, and it’s been sitting in the windowsill of my grandparent’s adobe-beehive since. Each solstice my grandpa turns the ship around, because the direction by which its shadow sails across the wall changes at solstice, and my grandpa wants to see it sailing forward. Grandpa Obie also told Noah that he had better not sit in the laundry basket because it’s the portal to a hell-dimension, after I had dubbed Noah the “Molasses Dog”.  Noah said : “I am the Molasses Dog and all I can do is lean against the heater.” Grandpa Obie said that he thinks Noah is the new Jack Keroac, but not to let that on to protect against big-headedness. 
Grandparent’s land

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