At the end of each year, my dear mother embarks on the task of completing an absolutely monstrous circular that details in excruciating facts the events and adventures of each member of the clan, and sends it off to every soul who ever stood close enough to a W to spit at. Since December is almost passed and she's showed no signs of commencing, I observed casually to her yesterday that she hasn't even started on The New Year Letter and we're going to be expatriated from fine society if the round robin isn't flying by the 1st of January. She appreciated the gravity of the situation, as I suspected she might, and to offset the hysterics I had induced and because I am a dutiful and self sacrificial sort of person, I told her I had recently prepared my own paragraph and she didn't have a thing to worry about except the other 9. This is it, I worked on it all night and really could use some sleep and/or compliments.
CHRISTINA, the third eldest and most immature W is not very old so far. She knew everything by age 6 but for the sake of the other children's self-esteem waited until this year to graduate school, which she did with grace beauty and an immense amount of chocolate binging the week before, enduring a painfully long ceremony, giving a grand performance of Debussy and having a lovely day capped off with a compliment by a man who introduced himself as having an uncle named Antonin Dvorak, a shining moment she will drag tattered to her pauper's grave and probably even pull out and present before the Judgment Seat declaring petulantly "but Dvorak's nephew said I was good!" If you, reading this, have perchance visited our home in the past year and didn't see the 17 year old W for a single moment of your stay, it was because she was in the woods hiding from you on purpose. Christina is Christina. She loves God and dislikes mostly everyone else. She has made some intriguing discoveries about her heritage this year; finding out that her great grandmother on one side was n/nths Cherokee and her great great grandfather on the other side was probably a Hatfield or McCoy, she's not sure which but hears that he done got shot off a mule one time and that can't just count for peanuts. This has been Christina's eighth year playing the piano and she's given up on it at least 365 times and resolved to never give up on it about as many. Baseball is still the best and from October to April she is especially grumpy and morose - so, generally herself. She currently does nothing at all but blogs, practices, walks, and practices and walks and if it's a Tuesday or Thursday night she goes to the local GED class to tutor a great crowd of fascinating addicts. Her plans for the new year are classified but are suspected to have to do with self improvement and world betterification.