Hello Lake House. We're Home.

When we were little kids, this was our backyard.



This was dinnertime.



And this was how our dad drove to work.



Then when we were a little older, we moved to suburbia, where it's required that your garage is the largest, most protruding feature of your house.

We didn't mind because we liked our Nintendo and our Rollerblades (sidewalks at last!) our new accessibility to McDonald's (fast food at last!) and of course... (cable at last!) our MTV

But our dad... well, he was especially attached to that house on the water, and was never quite the same.



Mom and Dad did things to cope. Like build this pond with working waterfall in the backyard. But no bass to catch in there. Just giant goldfish. I mean, it did come in handy though...



... as a backdrop for Kathleen's risqué homemade (i.e., mom-made) Little Mermaid costume.

On a sidenote, Kathleen wore that costume constantly. However the day she did wear it to school for Halloween she shivered and waddled (no side-slits mom) all the way to the bus-stop. It was a chilly October day but she refused to wear a jacket over her costume. Anyone surprised? Didn't think so.



So flash forward twenty-some years and our parents have just moved into their new lake house. It's still in a suburb of sorts, in a neighborhood in the city closer to us kids. This has been a really big deal, because our parents house is basically the epicenter of all our weekends. That's Kathleen's car on left, mine on right.

Mom and Dad basically bought the place in one afternoon after looking at only one other house. They really weren't even in the market, but Jeremy saw the place on Zillow, my parents got Kathleen and Jeremy's realtor to take them by, my Dad conveniently had his fishing rod (yeah, how convenient) in the back of their tiny Honda Fit, dropped the line into the little lake out back, caught a fish, and yelled out (like screamed really 'cause mom and I were checking out the garden tub in the upstairs bathroom at the time and could hear him)... "SOLD!"

Simon the realtor said it was his easiest sell ever. We told him he should take a fishing rod with him on all his showings.



So hello new backyard, new weekends of hanging out on the back porch, in the hammock, on the water.

And all that's just the normal stuff. Ah.. new neighbors, what you don't know about the clan that just moved in next door could fill a book. Wait 'til we unpack the Halloween decorations (maybe that Little Mermaid costume is still in the bottom of a trunk somewhere, I'm sure Kathleen would love to squeeze back into it.) Wait 'til Donny's burlesque/vaudville troup comes through on tour, resting their road-weary trailer in my parents' drive at Thanksgiving. Wait 'til our entire family is trying to slide around on the frozen lake in our tennis shoes at Christmas, which my husband can't wait to try. They probably won't even realize that only our parents live there.

Hello new views, new nooks, new crannies, new piano room. Our history fits nicely here.

And of course...





Hello new place of honor for the Havalina. We think you'll like it here.



Dad sure does. Of course, he's only been waiting twenty-three years to come home.

The Big Heads

Have I ever mentioned that we all have freakishly big heads in our family? For instance, none of these hats are actually fitting us in this picture and we're like kids! We got this from our big-headed Dad, who has to special order his ball caps and fishing caps.

Other Freaky Traits We Got From Our Dad:

1. Kathleen got his leg veins. They kinda pop out. Her legs are so gorgeous it's kind of something you overlook. Like Angelina Jolie's ropy arms.

2. I got his ingrown toenails. Eesh. I had to get them cut out when I was like eleven. Like three different times. So did Kathleen for that matter.

3. Donny got his sleepwalking big time. And his mustache. And his grumble.

But we all got the big head. And I like to think the big brain to match. Although none of us seemed to get our Mom's freakish ability to win any and every Scrabble match she has ever played anybody. She has lately discovered Words With Friends on her iPad, and so she's taking her power to the whole next level. Now that I think about it, her noggin is pretty big, too.

You would think all this big-headedness makes the prospect of natural childbirth a bit intimidating in our family. But the best trait our mom passed down to us is being able to pop out some babies. Well, at least passed down to me, since Donny is a boy, and Kathleen has yet to foray into the baby-making or popping-out stage in her life.

But, she will probably now read this post and say "aww... I want a big-headed baby." And I would just suggest stretchy baby caps.

The Family Of Tomorrow

"Look Pa!" As we gather around the family "hearth." One of our very first computers. Guess where it lived? In the piano room of course.

Won't be seeing my dad this weekend on our typical Saturday visit. He'll be fishing a tournament. But he's been texting me and Chris all week to see if the iPad2 we ordered has arrived via FedEx, yet. Like, he literally wants the tracking number so he can monitor its progress. (He also tracks my flights when I go on business trips).

He's basically living vicariously through our purchase, because he's frankly addicted to new technology. Our dad. The Oklahoma Bass Fisherman of the Year like ten freaking years in a row. One year away from retirement (he's always one year away, actually, and then chickens out and decides to 9-t0-5 it for one more year). Gets senior discounts. Remember watching Davy Crockett as a child of the fifties on his black and white TV set (that was probably the first moment of technology love, actually). Is what us agency folks would call... an early adopter. An early adopter that takes five minutes to type in his Google password because he's searching for his reading glasses and then uses the one finger typing approach, usually gets it wrong the first time, and then has to try again.

When our family went to Epcot for the first time as kids, one of our favorite rides was The Carousel of Progress. You follow this animatronic family through time until eventually they become the "family of tomorrow." Shag rugs, strangely mid-century living room furniture, but like with a computer (gasp!) in the kitchen! And technology all around them.

So flashback to last Saturday. I look around my parents living room, Chris is in the loveseat browsing his iPhone for the new iPad2 colors, Dad's in his armchair on his laptop (he once had an old Dell laptop that he hilariously just taped an Apple logo to the back of) comparing what color iPad2 cover he would buy if it were his (he-can't-stand-it) purchase, Mom's on the couch playing Words With Friends on her ancient iPad classic, Charlie's playing the Xbox while standing in the middle of the room, Sam's sidling down the couch trying to ditch his iPod for mom's iPad (but she's not giving in... yet) cause the Angry Birds are just so much bigger, and Jeremy and Kathleen are on the other end of the couch with me, looking up Costa Rica adventure vacations on their iPhones.

But dangit. We're all together!

Wait! Except Donny. So mom called him up (it was his birthday) and even though we got his voicemail (on his iPhone) we all screamed out this weird kind of Jesus version of the happy birthday song that our eighty-something grandma always just spontaneously sings to us without even saying hello when we answer the phone on our birthdays. But we got the words kind of jacked up (because we don't really ever hear this Jesusy birthday song except for that once a year ambush) but we're all scream-singing and laughing anyway.

Seriously, Apple should put us in a commercial. And Disney should make us into a ride.

Snow Motel

Another week. Another snow day stuck in the house.

Driving in the snow isn't really something the Thomas family relishes. I mean, we're not completely opposed to it, but on a scale from one to ten, I'd say we're a six or seven when it comes to snow-driving aversion. Although, after getting pushed out of snowy intersections twice last week by complete strangers, I'd say I'm becoming a little immune to the anxiousness of winter weather motoring.

But no one, I mean no one wants to be stuck driving in the car with my dad when it's icy or snowy. This is the person that says "left is death" if you make a left turn under normal conditions, and acts like he can't see the exit ramp off the highway if it's like twilight or even nearing twilight.

Which is why when an unexpected snow and ice storm hit the Okahoma-Texas region during spring break of (I think if I do my math right) let's say 1988, we spent three days stuck at what I now call... The Snow Motel.



Now when our family – Mom, Dad, Me, Donny and Kathleen – left home for our family road trip everything was peachy keen. Yes, that's our Ford LTD station wagon. Yes indeed.



But on the way back home a week later, the weather took a turn for the worse. As we tried to make it down the interstate we just finally encountered an icy overpass that our poor wagon couldn't pull the boat (oh, we were pulling Dad's boat)... that we couldn't pull the boat across.

So we pulled over in Gainesville, Texas and found one of the last available rooms at a motel there. We quickly realized that we made the right choice, as within hours the motel was at full capacity, stranded truckers and travelers were sleeping in the lobby and we were grateful for our one room. Mom and Dad on one bed, me and Grandma on the other (oh, did I mention we were bringing our Grandma back with us for a visit? Yeah, we're like the Griswalds here people!) Then we had a little cot for Donny and Kathleen I think.

We were stuck there, seriously, for like three days. So what is there to do at the Snow Motel in Gainesville, Texas?

1. Mom and Grandma would frequently trek across the street to some Red Cross station there where they would visit with other stranded travelers and drink coffee and get free donuts. This was mortifyingly embarrassing to me because a.) I was thirteen, so everything was mortifyingly embarrassing to me and b.) I thought that it was really weird and inappropriate of my mom and grandma to take advantage of the Red Cross services like that... I mean, that was for people who were in trouble. Geeez. I guess I imagined a gym full of refugees over there or something. But really, it was probably just a bunch of other moms and grandmas who were sick of being stuck in this shelter with their bored kids and anxious husbands.

2. Kathleen got super sick. Like fever hallucinating. We just let her sweat it out on her cot in the corner of our room. So basically the entire experience for her was a total blur.

3. We rented The Milagro Beanfield War on the pay-per-view box of our crappy little motel room TV on like the second night. Random. This was before iPhones and wireless, people.

4. And while everyone just waited and waited for the thaw, watching TV, drinking their inappropriate Red Cross coffee, and feverishly sweating on their little pathetic cot... Donny and I had the most, most fun.

I don't remember all the details. Just that this motel was basically like a snowy, locked-down labrynth of snowy stairwells and icy empty corridors (all the grownups and normal kids I guess were bundled in their rooms) as Donny and I concocted this awesome epic spy game. It really was the precursor to the Bourne Identity in my opinion.

We literally played from morning to night chasing each other around, hiding, plotting, dramatically peering around corners. So much fun that I forgot to be thirteen and mortifyingly embarrassed. Now usually Kathleen and Donny were the ones goofing around when it came to outdoor shenanigans, and I was the inside girl who locked her door and told them to go away.



Look at my cool coat. It was like a white sweater knit on the outside with pink and tan sewed on patches.



Grandma is totally going to throw that at someone and steal their Red Cross donut.



But, I guess what happens at The Snow Motel, stays at The Snow Motel.

Donny's Girl + Friend

Photo by Bill Steber. Takes the best Coney Island photos.

Meet Heather Holliday.

Not to be mistaken as Donny's girlfriend, as she often is. An understandable assumption since oohh, I don't know, Donny lets her throw knives between his legs and whip cigarettes out of his mouth.

Heather and Donny have been performing together (and looking out for each other) from Coney to across the country pretty much since Donny moved to New York. Heather was super-young, super-shy and starting her path as well – playing the doe-eyed and modestly frilly-frocked sideshow equivalent of a magician's assistant.

But just like Donny came into his own about the same time he grew his trademark whiskers, Heather got all grown up as well. The biggest reason – she can swallow swords now. The second reason, her frilly frocks have gotten a little more "hotsy totsy" as Donny would say (as Donny would say and teach my six-year-old to say.)

Now that Heather's down-right dangerous her and Donny strike an awful smoking pose, watch them perform here. But even though Donny's always been a little shy with real life girls, he's never had a problem sidling up to a bombshell for a photo op.

Hmmm. Guess where he learned that from?

And one guess who has that picture of Donny and Heather already framed and front-and-center on his office desk?

Actually, Dad has Donny's business card strategically wedged in the frame to cover up Heathers, er, assets. He works for a state agency. But apparently doesn't think Disney World circa 1989 has a problem with a little innocent groping.

Growing Up Pine Valley

There are two places that we lived growing up as kids. First in the piney shady woods of East Texas on the lake where our dad was a fishing guide. And then later, along the sidewalk and shrub lined streets of the suburb/college town of Norman, Oklahoma.

But really there was a third place.

It was called Pine Valley.

If you don't know where Pine Valley is, it is vaguely within driving distance of New York City. I'm guessing Connecticut. Because sometimes the inhabitants of Pine Valley would take a brief foray into the big city. You know, like if they were fleeing their evil twin, or going to a banquet to honor their humanitarian efforts only to be reunited with their long lost wife who they thought was dead because we all saw her go off that cliff and her car burst into flames.

Pine Valley is the fictional hamlet where for forty years now, the daytime drama All My Children has resided.

And this woman?

Susan Lucci a.k.a. the infamous, irresistible, unsinkable and apparently ageless Erica Kane.

This was our "Other Mother."

Flash forward a bit with me here and I'll give you an idea what I mean.

So over winter break, while my kids were out of school, I needed to go to a client meeting. My mom, who can usually take off from her flexible job, was at a conference out of town. My husband was on a tight deadline at his job. So... I called my dad to see if he could take off a couple hours from his place of work to come babysit for an afternoon.

He was totally game. Since a.) it would be nap time for the kids, b.) I ordered him a pizza, and c.) it was during All My Children, and apparently the size of our flat screen TV was acceptable... oh, and HD enough. You know... 'cause it's like you're there.

It was really funny, because Kathleen and Donny and I hadn't watched All My Children for years. But my parents, especially our dad, have never kicked the habit.

My parents actually started dating back in the very early 70's, it was sort of an office romance. They'd take their lunch breaks together at my dad's puny little apartment around the corner from their downtown office building, and watch black and white episodes of All My Children over tuna sandwiches and Ritz crackers (I'm imagining the tuna and crackers part, it just feels right).

When we were young kids, starting in the eighties and into the nineties, the VCR entered into our lives, and mom or dad would set the timer to tape All My Children, 11:00 am on the nose. Back then I think it actually aired at noon, and then sometime in the mid nineties the network moved it back an hour. Don't ask me how I remember that.

Actually, you know how I remember that? Because if for some reasons someone either a.) forgot to set the timer b.) forgot to rewind the tape that was already dangerously close to the end of space or c.) the fates decided to momentarily make the power go out during the day... and we all came home and settled down to watch whether or not Jessie and Angie were still on the lamb, or what hi-jinx Hailey, our favorite first soap opera goth girl complete with black hair and black lipstick (surprisingly back then a not so buff or blonde Kelli Ripa of Regis & Kelli) was up to, and it didn't record? No, no, no, that can't be right it had to have recor... ahhhhhrrggghhhh!!! It didn't record!

Yep. All hell would break loose. It was like the end of our day was just f'd.

I think it ingrained good coping mechanisms in us kids for a future of DVR'd programs that abruptly cut off during the last minute, usually a weepy Grey's Anatomy last minute or funny little last joke on The Office last minute. Yeah, if coping means cursing the TV and moping for a good ten minutes afterward.

So, the other day when dad came over to babysit, as he settled into my couch, remote in hand, I started quizzing him. I felt nostalgic and wanted to catch up on my old All My Children memories. See who was still around. Is Phoebe Wallingford still alive? Nope. Is Palmer Courtland still alive? Nope. Are Tad and Dixie still around? Nope. Is that... wait... is that Erica? She looks EXACTLY THE SAME! Yep.

The number one lesson I learned from Erica Kane growing up? I mean, besides that it's okay to get married nine plus times? That when you wear really gigantic earrings, you always take one off when you answer the phone.

Now, if you saw our dad, especially growing up during his fishing guide days, complete with coveralls and fishing cap, you wouldn't peg him for someone who "needs to see his stories." But I remember one Thanksgiving family gathering at our grandparents house. All my mom's sisters and their husbands were there. And there was actually a gap in the sports on the TV, and as all the guys sat around the living room, my dad (I don't know exactly how he asked this in any sort of macho way) but somehow got that TV tuned to All My Children.

I remember I was eleven or so, like lying on the floor behind like my grandpa's armchair reading, oh, probably a V.C. Andrews novel or something, and there was this particularly steamy, but fairly innocent beachy sex scene unfolding on All My Children. (Probably in stark contrast but eerily parallel to some dark, cobwebby but fairly innocent sex scene in the attic unfolding in the tattered pages of my V.C. Andrews.)

So my Uncle Pete, gives out this appreciative chuckle and says loudly, "Ooohh... ho!" "Now I see why you like this show, Scott!"

And my dad, beer in hand, says in the most sincere and dry and perfectly serenely spoken way:

"That's not why I watch this show.

I watch it, because, it's like the characters are my family.

And every day I want to see how they're doing.

It's like... it's like... I'm part of their lives."

And I just laughed quietly to myself behind my paperback, while on the screen that red leather bound and gold embossed cover of that floating All My Children book closed on another daily chapter.

Happy Birthday dad! Lunch tomorrow? Don't worry, I know you've got All My Children "taping." Weird side note. I think Susan Lucci is actually the exact same age as my dad.

The Donny Show's Comin' To Town!

Actually, it's the Pretty Things Peep Show burlesque tour. And it's coming to Oklahoma City tonight at the Hi-Lo Club. Which means Donny's here!

What's doubly cool, is Donny's on the cover of the the Oklahoma Gazette. Okay, so my husband does all the covers for the Gazette, because it's like his job... but whatever. If we learn nothing from the Godfather it should be that family is family. Although brother-in-laws don't really fare too well in the Godfather and tend to end up "swimmin' with the fishes." So perhaps it's a double-edged sword.

Speaking of double-edged swords, Donny's girl pal, and sidekick Heather Holliday, is probably going to swallow one. Tonight. Not at Coney Island, but down the street. In the heart of the bible belt. Literally steps from my 'hood. Hooray!

"There is nothing like watching someone shoving 32 inches of solid steel down their throat 5 feet away from you... Being the host means being the person that serves as a connection to the audience and the world of the strange and bizarre... In the case of a burlesque show, the guy that introduces you to these gorgeous women doing amazing numbers... a classy presentation with only a small hint of dirty fun... It's this weird, wide world of vaudeville sideshow where there is drama, excitement, danger and sexiness. It's a different form of entertainment. Once audiences are exposed to it, they will keep coming back for more." [ -- Donny quoted in story ]



So of course me and Dad picked up a copy (or ten) at "Dad lunch" today.



Since Dad is like the social-media-expert-by-default at the state agency where he works (because he knows how to use Facebook and is addicted to his iPhone, basically) he's already working hard as Donny's digital content publicist. He art directed this shot with a coworker.

It's genetic compulsion, people. It may not be obvious at first glance. But it's sooooo coming from somewhere.

Mustache Weekend

If Labor Day weekend just wasn't enough excitement for you, this coming Saturday is the 3rd Annual Coney Island Beard and Mustache Competition. It's a show that Donny has started producing every year.

This year I designed the poster for him. My inspiration was a combination of that crazy ringmaster in Moulin Rouge, Daniel Day Lewis (as Cat In The Hat) in Gangs of New York... and the Pringles chips can guy.

I though about doing a design based on this vintage mug, which I got for Donny for Christmas a year or so back, but the delivery was late and he had already flown back to New York... so I kept it. I like it because it says "Your Father's Mustache."

It's awesome having a dad with a mustache your whole life, because any time you draw a picture of your family in grade school or whatever, it really makes for some instant visual impact. Nothing translates as "dad" like a good ol' squiggly black crayon mustache.

Dad and Donny in front of Sylvia's soul food restaurant in Harlem, one block away from one of Donny's first NY apartments.

These days it's a little gray. But that's okay, Donny can carry on the tradition.

My Dad Is A Serial Killer

It's true.

He has a compulsion he cannot resist.

It started at an early age. Some would say a learned behavior.

Don't these photos look like they belong in the opening sequence for Seven, complete with Nine Inch Nails soundtrack and someone x-acto knifing off their fingerprints? No? Hmmm. Just me then.

He has documented it well.

Some keep baby photos. His keepsakes are his babies, too. Six pounds, five ounces indeed.

His obsession has not waned through the years.

It has only grown stronger with time. Though this moment was probably the pinnacle of it's swankiness factor.

This addiction is the constant through the decades. That, and the mustache.

He has tasted true bliss and will not betray it.

Behind the wheel of his bass boat he is a god. The deity... "Scott."

Uncle Bill, Uncle Larry, Uncle Pete. Only one of these men is actually our real uncle. But spilling some blood makes you blood... that, and marrying our aunt.

He has lured many a co-conspirator into his dark undertaking.

He even caught our mom.

Some might say his greatest catch.

Growing up his trophies lined our living room walls.

His handiwork filled our bellies (and our sinks.)

Seriously. WTF?

But like his love for the catch, our love for him is also unwavering.

We see his truth and do not flinch.

This is the moment where Kathleen became a vegetarian. Oh, wait, a vegetarian who eats fish. Nevermind.

Which leaves only one question unanswered...

...can social services still take you away if you're thirty-five?

Um, yeah. Our dad also has a blog. No surprise there. If you go to Old Fish & Such you can see his "Play Bait" of the month. For real.