safari

By Jes Alexander Seventeen years. For seventeen years we've been hauling our East coast posteriors to the center of the United States, each December, for Christmas. Dull, you say? No, no, my lovelies, not at all. Each Christmas brings new places, new tales, new foods, and new adventures. Sometimes, the journey to what I used to think was going to be nowhere even involves innovation. To some, our Christmas adventures read like tales of woe. I prefer to think of them as tales of the unknown, for we never know exactly what the holidays shall bring ... and to me, that's sort of the fun of it. In the beginning, our pilgrimages to the wheatlands were largely uneventful, and the spousal unit and I would fly from our Mid-Atlantic refuge, in suburban Hooterville, change planes in some non-descript hub-city, and land, several hours later, to be greeted by my in-laws in what seemed like the coldest place on the planet. I am a Manhattanite, and while I knew such a place actually existed, I had never been to Kansas, and if you are wondering, they do not greet you at the arrival gate with a hearty Midwestern handshake, and welcome you with an offering ...