Woke up. There were Big Plans for the day, and, well, some of them happened.

Things started to go a little off-script when I got out my cellphone, because my aunt said I should call my parents. I did. I chatted with Mama for a while (she's feeling better, Dad is not getting worse and therefore shouldn't need to go to the ER) (there was an incident involving a log, followed by urgent care and antibiotics), and then Dad got on the line. This resulted very shortly in him inquiring after my aunt's menopause status, which I helpfully hollered into the kitchen. My aunt emerged and began a monologue, ending up with the part where if she hadn't been through with it already, she would have told him that it was "none of his f-- ... *business*."

Since I'm a helpful child, I edited back in the word she'd edited out.

My aunt took over the call, but the signal was crappy, so she called him back on her landline. That was about 2-ish, and the stuffing was in progress.

My best friend called back. He'd just beat the rest of his family at Scrabble. We giggled at each other.

By 3pm, she was lying on the kitchen floor with her feet propped up on the counter, still chatting away nineteen to the dozen with her oldest brother.

Then we discovered that the turkey was not thawed.

We'd bought it and thought it was not frozen. No such luck. So water baths and microwaves happened, and there was assorted dithering. Finally, the turkey wound up in the oven by 4:30, a mere half-hour before we'd planned to get it out.

My aunt and I got our coats and such on to hit the park she was talking about before the sun went down. This was delayed when the poodle made a mad dash out the door, thinking in his poodley little brain that of course we were bringing him along, and it took some time to get him rounded up and back inside. There was another slight delay while my aunt rescued the errant garbage can lid that had blown across the street the previous night in the lashing wind and rain.

We got to the park just as it was technically closing. Never one to let that sort of thing stop her, my aunt parked in the church's parking lot, and we walked down the trail anyway. As the light faded, we saw a cluster of buck deer, notable by their horns. We shone flashlights on them, but my cellphone camera really sucks. They looked at us a bit, but were mostly licking each other's faces.

We came back, and the turkey was really not done. I provided IRC and Twitter with running commentary.

The turkey finally finished cooking at 10pm. teshiron and ursamajor suggested that we may wish to try Chinese takeout next year.

The stuffing was, of course, not quite up to temperature yet. My aunt put it back in the oven. Some time later, I wandered over and demanded to know how the temperature had dropped. My aunt had in fact turned off the oven when taking out the turkey. Ooops.

My aunt works for a dog day care now. So she picks up dogs. One of them freaks out if she is not shotgun. There is much doggie upset.

After arriving at Guide Dog Aunt's place and going through the formalities of seeing the dogs, being barked at by the dogs, hauling in groceries and saving them from the dogs, and shooing the dogs the hell outside, Guide Dog Aunt proposed some light entertainment: go to Home Depot and pick up supplies for making a Doggy Wall (a barrier to keep Bad Doggies on one side of, and Good Doggies on the other, to be jammed in a corridor baby-gate style) for her workplace!

After about half an hour in the garage looking at the prototype and deciding what needed to happen in the production Doggy Wall, it was time to head out. So we did. And we spent a cheerful while gossiping, hefting plywood to load it on the cart, selecting only the finest 2x4s, and enlisting the help of a bemused salesman to find the inexactly-described hardware needed, for something that I have every faith will be a "pest project" in the fine tradition of Mama's pest projects. (Dad calls them "pest projects" instead of "pet projects", because he finds it more accurate and also more amusing.) Mama's philosophy is to measure once or so, and then cut, and then maybe trim a little if needed. Mama is not destined to be one of the world's carpentry greats.

Guide Dog Aunt had brought a length of rope and a lot of enthusiasm to get the plywood tied to the SUV. First we situated the 2x4s, which was relatively easy, even though she'd brought three left gloves and only one right. (But Clan Fayoumis does not need gloves!) Then we got the plywood up on top, which was a little less easy but a lot more straightforward (only one way to put it, and that's up, versus the number of angles tried with the 2x4s), albeit punctuated by my scanty and potentially inaccurate knowledge of Arabic, which is limited to what is possibly the word for "screwdriver", which is what I said as the cart with the one remaining sheet of plywood tried to run away across the hilly parking lot into some other cars. (I caught it.)

Guide Dog Aunt then tied the plywood to the roof rack, which was a more involved process than it sounds, given that she didn't remember how it was properly done, and fussed around with it for a while before I reminded her what time it was (there was a thing she needed to go to with one of the dogs) and she tied it on fast and sloppy and hoped for the best.

Flat things on moving vehicles provide a certain amount of lift. "Can you watch it to make sure it doesn't fly off?" she asked, and opened up the sun roof. In the way these things happen, I found myself with my left arm twisted up and out through the sun roof, clinging to the sketchily tied-down plywood as my aunt glared at the navigation system and told it that she wasn't taking any freeways, thanks. A glove joined my efforts. A stoplight or two later, my brain kicked in, and I unrolled the actual window, and stuck my right arm out to grasp the plywood. I switched arms every now and then, much to everyone's amusement.

Some guy pulled up alongside us in the right turn lane and cheerfully advised me that by the time I got home, I would be strong enough to hold up the entire house, based on my grab on the plywood. My aunt and I cracked up laughing. By this time, she'd retrieved gloves enough for us all, and was holding down her side of the plywood out her own window with her left hand, making for one-handed driving on her part. I told her the cautionary tale of Mr. Out and his cellphone; she did not attempt to drive with her knees.

At least two police cars were going the other direction, close enough to home. I started laughing harder. We didn't get pulled over, although we'd been attracting all kinds of funny looks from our fellow motorists.

Unloading was a breeze compared to loading. Guide Dog Aunt just had to untie all the knots she'd tied. She wondered why the rope was so dirty; I pointed out she'd been grubbing it around on that dirty parking lot. Guide Dog Uncle made an appearance, and was not visibly impressed by his wife's explanation of either the materials or the project.

She did get to the dog event reasonably on time, so all went well there. We have yet to construct the thing, as I was dead tired from only three hours of sleep. I imagine that will also provide hours of entertainment.

Held plywood down to roof of car as threatened to take off. Guy at stoplight advised would be strong enough to hold up entire house upon return home.

Back in Pacifica. Guide dog Aunt sometimes cannot park. Photo to follow after edited for removal of identifiable details.

We're there yet. 3.5 hours, a new record for her. I shall be in The Cupboard Under The Stairs. I picked this from 3 options.

Short answer: yes.

Longer answer: Guide Dog Aunt found me in the baggage claim, waited with me, showed off The Poodle to random passerby (actually, random passerby came up and started squeeing over The Poodle without talking to my aunt first, much the way some people come up, coo at babies and try to pat them, and only then encounter the Death Glare of the Parent. Except my aunt was much more amenable to poodle-based glee than that.), picked up my bag, wandered through a maze of twisty confusion to the parking lot, drove through more twisty confusion, then hilly confusion, and -- here we are!

The cousins are home. The cousins are gaming. This surprises no one. I'm not sure where Guide Dog Uncle is.

My cough hurts.