Assorted letters to people, places, and things in Iowa

Dear Iowa;

I love you and your green rolling hills, your miles and miles of nothing but cornfields, your cinematic thunderstorms (well, I love them less, for reasons I'll get to), and how your dotted with quaint farmhouses and little towns with their main streets and beautiful parks. I come to you and I feel at home.

But we have to talk. I don't know that I have the intestinal fortitude for you any more. My mouth is more eager than my stomach, in other words. Sure, I want to eat my way through you, as a state, but I'm not really sure I should. Sure, The pork chops and mashed potatoes, and pork tenderloin sandwiches the size of my head seemed like a good idea as I was eating them, but apparently my large and small intestines completely disagreed. Or maybe it was the strawberry rhubarb cobbler, the triple berry pie or strawberry crumble followed by a brownie that made my digestive system revolt, I'm not sure which, but something did not sit well with me.

We've got to figure this out, Iowa, if I'm to come back.

Love,

Me

To the kid with crutches and the broken foot at my aunt's wake;

I think I love you a little bit. If I was 11, I'd be fawning all over you. You were cuter and sweeter than I knew what to do with. Also, stop breaking your legs before summer starts! Three broken legs over three summers is no way to spend your childhood. Get off the motorbikes and into the pool. Also, you have my permission to smack your sister with your crutch (not hard. Geez, I'm not a monster) every time she tries to steal your crutches. That just ain't right.

Thanks for the moment;

The BM

Dear my cousin the chiropractor;

Thanks for the adjustment. Although we may have to talk about your technique a little bit. You're a little bit like the Swedish Mafia, efficient but deadly. Not that I'm complaining because my hips hurt a little less (my headache still hasn't eased up, but that's another letter for a different day), but ease up just a tad. Not much, but just a tad.

Kaythanxbye;

Me

Dear Strawberry Rhubarb Cobbler;

If it would be possible for me to marry a food, you'd be my partner for life, regardless of my intestinal fortitude. But now that a big chunk of DOMA has been dumped, who knows, maybe I will. You'd have to brother husband it with my husband, but I'm  sure we can arrange something. I'd have to add your cousin, strawberry rhubarb pie, which would get really tricky, but I don't care. If this loving is wrong, I don't want to be right.

With my deepest love and respect;

The BM

Dear the lightning storm that lasted all freaking night;

Don't get me wrong, I got nothing against you. When I was a young child, I spent hours watching you roll through town. (Hey don't knock my childhood. When you knock the power out, what choice do I have?) But when my cousin's room has an uncovered archway with which you decide to blast a laser light show into at 3:00 in the freaking morning, and I can't get back to sleep because suddenly the entirety of Pink Floyd's the wall is playing in my head, you and I are going to have a problem. So cut it out you noisy, bright bastard. Some of us are trying to sleep.

Shut up and let me sleep;

The BM

Dear My Aunt's garden;

I am so jealous of you I can't stand it. Nothing but rows and rows of ripened strawberries in you and I can't get my strawberry bushes to grow but two strawberries and they are picked over by bugs? I'm so angry I can't stand it.  But the strawberries are just the tip of the iceberg. Rhubarb and snap peas, and melons and green beans and corn and god knows what else just abound. I walk through you and I feel utterly at peace. Heh, I spelled peach right then. I would love to be utterly at peach. Sadly, there were know peaches that were ripe. Maybe next time.

Sincerely;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Intestines;

I'm sorry.

The BM (heh. Because you know I'm The BM, but the BMs that are moving through my system are killing me. It works on so many levels)

An open letter to the world from my uterus

Dear World;

Thank you for your multiple inquiries into my current employment status. No, I am currently not taking on any nine month projects at the present time nor do I plan on accepting any roles as an incubator in the near future. I am weighing my options presently and I will get back to you if the opportunity presents itself. I appreciate the inquiries but am just not interested. Please stop inquiring about my status or plans for future projects. I would deeply appreciate it.

Sincerely;

The Bloody Munchkin's Uterus

Addendum from the Uterus's owner: I'm serious people. Now that the little munchkin is one, I've had to deal with an onslaught of questions about when I'm going to have the next one. Uhm, how bout 'None of your damned business' is when! Seriously. My uterus is flattered but not interested. Are we all clear?

An Open Letter to Alexandre Bilodeau

Dear Alexandre Bilodeau;

Thank you for winning your mogul event (that was partly up to the judging, but whatever, you still won). Thank you for being the first Canadian to do so on home turf in 30 + years so that there was an interesting angle to your story so that the media cover the even more heartwarming story of your relationship to your brother. Thanks for putting your brother's story out there and thrusting Cerebral Palsy into the forefront of national and international media, however fleetingly. Thanks for saying out loud for everyone to here that we have a privilege, a right, and a responsibility to live our lives to the fullest, to push ourselves to be our best because people like Frederic do that on a daily basis, overcoming time and again their disabilities and doing it with smiles on their faces and joy in their hearts. Thanks for saying out loud that anything is possible because the doctors told Frederic and your parents that he wouldn't walk past ten years of age, and yet here he is, at 28 years of age, still walking, proving everyone wrong. Thank you.

Cerebral Palsy, and other neurological disorders like it are so often swept under the rug, hidden away from view, in terms of people's awareness of them, the toll they on the families effected by the disorders, the challenges posed, but also the rewards and invaluable life lessons that can be learned from people effected with Cerebral Palsy and the like. Every once and a while a news story will come along, like the high school baseball player with a mild form of Cerebral Palsy who was pitching like a pro despite his disability and yet because of it. But then it gets hidden from view again, forgotten. And yet here are Alexandre and Frederic, in the forefront, putting real faces to the disorder.

But there are so many other faces to the disorder, so many more stories to tell and so much more that can be done, not only to raise awareness for Cerebral Palsy and other neurological disorders, but to help people in Frederic's position, to be more independent despite their neurological deficits.

One of my favorite causes to champion right now is George Mark House. George Mark House is the first Pediatric Palliative care facility of its kind in the USA that provides end of life, transition care, and respite care to families who have children with a wide range of special needs. Without going into to much detail, I spent a considerable chunk of time there with my son this past year and have come to champion it for its top notch care and the wonderful service it provides.

Because of George Mark House, I was able to meet some remarkable people in similar situations to Frederic's. Each one of them had a unique, beautiful personality that was a treasure to behold. And each one of them is a remarkable individual I am proud and honored to know. I wish I could tell their stories, maybe one day I'll be allowed to. I wish that everyone was aware of their unique conditions. Maybe one day everyone will and will champion their disorder, but also their uniqueness, their incredible resilience and beauty.

Until then, we have incredible stories like Alexandre's and Frederic's and for that I can only say thank you again. Thank you for telling it, and thank you to the world for listening, however fleetingly, what these two unique individuals had to say. Thank You.

An open letter to persons and things of note I saw during the Warriors/Mavericks series

Dear Baron Davis's Hamstring;

Don't ever do that to me again!!! You had me legitimately worried for the better part of a quarter. Baron deserves better than that.

Peace Out;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Don Nelson's Nose;

Oh how much I admire and respect you and the bulbous trajectory in which you are heading. There were several times the good film archive people decided to show clips of you from back in the day, when the course in which you were heading was just a glint in your nose hair, and then the good camera guys would pan back to you, in the present, and I could truly behold the wonder and beauty in the new path you are taking. You're trying for W. C. Fields territory and I have to say I appreciate it.

With deep respect and admiration;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Matt Barnes;

I have to say I didn't get it at first. Truth is, I kind of totally disliked you all season. I have this weird dislike for basketball players with visible arm and neck tattoos that I can't explain or articulate. It just bugs. No, I don't know why either. And then? You decide to sport a faux-hawk for the playoffs. At first I totally guffawed and openly mocked you. But now? I totally get it and I fully support the faux-hawk. I know. It makes no sense right? Non at all, but somehow, with all the visible tattoos and the little ruffian hawk, I'm totally into it. Maybe I was at odds with your random bowl cut you seemed to sport all season, as if the hair style plus tattoos didn't make any sense. But now? I'm digging it man. Don't change it. Go with it. You have my approval.

Stay Cool Dude;

The Munchkin

Dear Andris Biedrins;

You mind if I call you Beedee? Cause That's what I've been calling you all season... anyhoo. You're awesome dude. I ain't here to refute that. You kick ass. What I am here to do is plead with you to lay off the spray-on tanner and to back down on the abuse of the L.A. Looks Extra Hold hair gel. And it's not that I don't understand. I totally do. You're a pasty Latvian in sunny California. You're trying to adapt. I get that. It's just that.... Well you see... With your hair the way it is and all, the spray on tan is totally obvious. Your face color before your hair line... A darker than necessary bronze color. The skin color in your hair line, pinkish-pasty white.

And if your hair maintains its current course... Well, I hate to say this, but Dolph Lundgren will have you on speed dial demanding you return his hairstyle of the Rocky props closet where it belongs. The NBA already has one Dolph Lundgren hair-style sporting person, and his head (and heeeee-uge pimple) happen to be big enough to handle the weight and responsibility that comes with the Lundgren.

Just sayin;

Bloody

Charles Barkley;

I have to say the second to best part of this whole series has been to self-satisfyingly watch you have to eat your words against my team bit by bit. I still haven't recovered from the reaction shot of you, after game four, after the Warriors took a 3-1 lead in the series. It started with a wide shot of you and the rest of your Inside the NBA cohorts. Slowly, the camera panned into you, wearing a Mavs jersey, with your eyes looking down, a down trodden look on your face as you shake your head in disbelief and shock. I have to say, I'm totally revelling in that. Thanks dude.

Also, It's really lame when you decide to wear the Warriors shirt at the end of game six, like you actually were on the band wagon the whole time. Don't think I didn't notice and that I'm not utterly perturbed by this turn of events. Best check yourself before you wreck yourself Barkley. That's all I'm saying. (Yeah I have no idea what I meant by that either.)

BM

P.S. Could you tell the pasty white guy on the end there that when they do a wide shot of you anchors, he looks, for some reason, uncannily like John Waters, and it kinda totally freaks me out. Thanks. I appreciate it.

Dear Mark Cuban;

Heh. *Trying to stifle a giggle* Hehehehehehehe. *Trying to stifle it again* BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Excuse me. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong of me to kick a man when he's down but I have to say there are few emotions better than the laughter that comes from watching someone truly begging for it get their comeuppance. While watching the last quarter of the game, any time they would pan to you, I couldn't help but want to scream at my t.v. "That's right Mark Cuban. Suck it! Take your greasy hair, the bad molester facial pubes you're sporting, your stupid looking Mavs shirts and go home." I have since tempered that emotion now... who am I kidding. No I haven't. See ya next season Cuban. I know you'll have long hours of bitter tears ahead of you but take comfort that you can console yourself in your giant man boobs.

I'm truly very for your loss *Snicker* Heh;

BM

P.S. Shut up about the arbitration and just give Nellie his due, jerkwad.