SEATTLE, Washington On a last-minute whim, Amy W. and I decided to host a holiday party. We sat 17 people down to dinner in my living room: a space smaller than a one-car garage. The banquet was an elbows-in sort of affair: T-Rex stub-limb dining. But many attendees declared it, "way more fun than family" and "better grub too".
Oh, we still managed some dysfunction, sure, from punk-@sserey to cat escapes and potatoes mashed into the carpet. Yet somehow the "Cratchit Christmas" dug down to the point of it all: mammals huddling together, defiant against the winter darkness with candles and distilled beverages.
But without Amy, we would have been crouched on the floor, sucking on coal lumps and cracking gnawed bones for marrow. She hiked the last Butterball in Ballard through the worst of Seattle's 2008 snowstorms. Then she tobogganed china, chairs, cutlery and Christmas decorations down lower Queen Anne hill to her sedan, so she could skid across the bridge to my garret. She is hella stubborn and hella wonderful. Truly the woman is indomitable.
I can only salute her with my Rexy stubs: AMY!
And a thousand times more for helping me along with PJ Ocampo to excavate the flat the next day. Really, tis the stuff of superheroes...