The Chronicles of Piggy Wiggy--2019

  25 December 2018

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  Hallo! It's great to finally be able to chat with people. I have been alone for a very long time. My name is Piggy-Wiggy. As you see, my letter of introduction explains a bit about me, but it needs some correction.

  First, yes, I am clearly a bee. However, my mother was a pig and my father was a bee. I have a sibling,  Pig Bee,who looks like my mom's side of the family, and I look like dad. But we did that 23 and Me this Christmas, and learned that....my father is my father and my mother is my mother. So there were no surprises, just genetics. Because my sibling, Pig Bee, so closely identified with dad's side, even though he was clearly a pig in a bee costume, I chose to identify with mom's. Why not? Therefore I choose to be called Piggy -Wiggy, even though there are not any apparent pig traits in me, physically. I admire pig culture, pig society and even like pig cuisine, which Pig Bee could never stomach. Which is funny as his stomach was huge...

  The adjustment to the story written by my inceptor, as I choose to call him, was a bit off the mark. It's not his fault, he was wee when Pig Bee was traipsing the world with the Wyckoff Buck Fischer Martins. He has only a brief remembrance. Pig Bee, himself,did not meet a tragic end. He simply chose a quiet life in Grammy Wyckoff's china cabinet with our distant cousin, Punk Bee. What went missing were his chronicles. There were letters and photographs of his adventures to Boston, New York, and all over Colorado. He even escaped the jaws of some crazy mutant plant called "Audrey Two". Without these chronicles, Pig Bee discovered nobody believed him, and he retired. It just got too hard to get people to believe him without the photos, and he ended up being that drunk pig in a bee costume at the end of the bar telling stories about man eating plants to the locals. He was rescued by Grammy and placed safely in her cabinet.That was at least six years ago, making James, my "inceptor" twelve years old at the time. James decided, this Christmas, that it would be a good omen to begin again with a relative of Pig Bee.

   Enter: Moi.

   As my brother and cousin before me, I was introduced at Grammy's Christmas Eve White Elephant exchange. My letter of introduction was included with, weirdly, a costume wig that does not fit me. That choice was confusing, but nonetheless, my appearance was met with much glee. And applause. OK, kryssi applauded, but the family is pretty sure she's gone completely 'round the bend, so no notice was taken of her, and I was welcomed into the families.

   I was opened by Gary Wyckoff, the patriarch of the clan. Numbers are drawn at the beginning of the night, and each must open according to their order. Only one steal is permitted. and whomever is #1 gets another go at the end. Gary was before kryssi, and the moment I was opened I knew I was in for it. She stole me immediately, and nobody contested (see above: "Gone round the bend", nobody wants to mess with that level of crazy. She wants the bee, let her have the bee. I hear last year she threw down for a five pound glass peacock.)

  So to sum up, all in all, in conclusion I am Piggy Wiggy, and I am a pig and a bee. I am also not gender specific, but that's a conversation for a later day. As I am schlepped from place to place, the Martin family will chronicle my adventures here, in a blog, which cannot get misplaced as paper photos could. Next Christmas, I will be rewrapped and sent into the White Elephant exchange to meet my next family. It's like raffle adoption, and if someone sucks, I'm only stuck with them for a year.

  Thank you!


   26 Dec 2018

     As kryssi was posing me around the house yesterday, she started humming a peppy little song.
     It was the intro song to a 1970's Saturday children's show called The Bugaloos.
     This morning she got on her new, shiny computer that her loving husband and daughter purchased for her, and looked up episodes and photos from this show. She let me watch with her and I was stunned by the similarities. The friendly face, big smile of the Bee character seemed familiar to me.
 

Tell me I'm not related to that bee! And he's clearly identifying as human, as his bandmates are not bugs at all, but humans in bug costumes. I must investigate, because if I'm related to  another bee who identified as something else, then it could be a family trait. And what of those humans? Did they go on to believe they were bugs? Clearly they believed in it enough to enable flight, it was thrilling to watch them flap along, but again, the bee (called 'Sparky') doesn't seem to fly, they hold his hand. Is he really a bee? Also that 'Harmony' chap is definitely a human in a bee costume!

    I THINK I'M IN CHARGE!!! HOW THRILLING!

           There is a lot of activity in this house. Someone has torn out the bathroom, and is returning to tear out the bath tub. There is a bathroom that has been ripped out. This house is a bit of a mess, the items from the bathroom are now in the spare room, which also houses the cat box, cat food, massage table, spare bed and Christmas packaging. How do these people function? I feel much safer on the table among the Christmas trees.
            Also, what is the appeal of slobbering, furry, flightless pets? They have at least 27 in this house, and with the exception of the smallest canine who can jump three feet into the air, they have no capacity for flight. I know I would prefer a pet who could come and go as they please, allowing them to live their own best life the way they were born to. Maybe that's why these animals cannot fly, they were born to be grounded human sycophants. Which was judgy and negative, I apologize. But still. The hell?

                                            I GOT TO GO TO IRELAND!

           I  had no idea I was going to get invited along on this trip. I was all snuggley on the pie safe, a great vantage point to watch the house yet out of the reach of that massive shark that is disguised as a dog, when I was suddenly swept into a suitcase. It was very dark and bumpy, but honestly, if you put me in the dark I'll just go to sleep. When we arrived I was perched on the hotel windowsill with a lovely view of the canal. I liked watching the dogs walk along,and the train stop was also in  my view, a great vantage point for watching people, which is what I like to do.
         Apparently this trip was to celebrate Harper and Genoa's college graduations. I understand the Martins also had a rough 2018, so being able to travel in 2019 meant a great deal to them. Did you know neither Jim or kryssi had ever been out of the country? They're so old! I guess nobody thought to pack them in their suitcase and take them along.
       The view outside also included a tent, which stayed by the canal all seven days. Jim said "We sat on a plane for 9 hours to be across from another homeless encampment," but that was the only tent. I am not sure that "encampment" means what he thinks it means. Which they said a lot at the Cliffs of Moher. A Lot. Said so much it wasn't funny any more, but I'm not sure it was funny in the first place. The whole concept of funny is inconceivable. 


Here I am freshly arrived in Dublin, Ireland. I was perched on the window sill. This is dusk, the building across is lit up and the sky is beautiful. Behind and below are the canal and the "homeless encampment" that Jim was worried about. To my right is the tram, which I was excited to experience. First a plane ride, then a tram, then a train! I didn't feel badly about being unable to fly in the least.

Here I am at Bunratty Castle. As far as castle's go, it's quite small, actually. The really big ones are not near town. In this country, however, they do not knock them over and build malls or parking garagaes, they keep them and some just fall down, whilst others are allowed to be renovated. I tried to tell them I've been part of a renovation, I can help!

 Here I am at the second largest St. Patrick's Day parade in the world! Jim held me up high to help my view, but once the street crowded in with people I asked to go back into Karie's backpack. I think I have anxiety about crowds, and inside her bag was dark and the sounds were muffled, but I could hear the comforting voices of my family and then it was all right. Kryssi says she thinks I have autism, but she is not a doctor, what does she know?

 Here I am enjoying a pint with my family. This happened many times, so many that they forgot to take photos each time. I think we all may have had a bit too much. Day drinking was a new experience, and that Appleman's Cider was truly magnificent. I didn't care for the Guinness, it's too creamy for me, tastes like milk. I also did not care for the food over there, I was pretty tired of roast beef and fish and chips and shepard's pie. Good thing I no longer worry about my weight, had I wanted to fly I never would have made it off of the ground. I gained six ounces! Look at my bum! What an unflattering photo, how rude.

 Genoa was very taken with this tiny castle, that our tour guide called a castle for leprechans, but I disagreed. It was exactly my size!

 Aunt Kaire carried me on our travels, then I was removed in kryssi and Jim's room, and replaced in Karie's backpack, to be shown places they thought I might enjoy. Here I am on the seat of the bus on the way to the Cliffs of Moher.

 Here I am gazing out of the window on the way to the cliffs. There were castles, and beautiful green fields, and a gas station named for an American President. I was disappointed, he looked nothing like  a bee.

INCONCEIVABLE! I wish I knew what that word means.