Welcome to the annual Haugen Holiday missive in which I give an electronic run-down of the parole status of the various Haugen hooligans. (You richies who mail your Christmas cards and own private jets really impress me given the USPS has proposed its fifth postage increase since 2021.)
This past year in Haugenland was like most, a mixed bag of good and bad. Mom's husband Tom passed away just before Memorial Day in Missouri, so we navigated the whole death in the family thing and were fortunate to get her almost immediately into an assisted living center in Milbank, SD. She enjoys the newly-built facility as much as anyone can under the circumstances and has my sister and family nearby. She's had more visitors in the past six months from Canton and LeMars and sites in between than she ever had in Missouri, so that's good.
Nothing like the buzz kill of starting off a holiday newsletter with some death and destruction, eh? That's life. It ain't all Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce fairy tales. (Over-under on that fiasco is July 1 and I'm taking the under. You?) It seems when Aaron Rodgers "ruptured" his Achilles in Week 1, the NFL execs needed to find a new drama queen for the season, and since Joe Exotic was still in prison, they trotted out TayTay and Trav.
But we Haugens have our own young lovebirds. We call them Layla - Luke and Kayla. A year of wedded bliss under their belts, they continue to live in northern Virginia with Klaus, their German Shepherd. Kayla is food safety supervisor for the Wegman's supermarket chain (any of you remember the Safety Dance by Men Without Hats? Another reason '80s music was the best.). Luke is still a catcher of bad guys and if you're a psycho creep doing dirty deeds you just might run into him or his buddies someday.
This summer Stetson and Rylee upgraded from their loft apartment to a house just a couple blocks from the University of Illinois campus. But enough about them. The star of that union, the one who puts the bubbly in Champaign, the "Noise" in Illinois and the "Grand" in grand-daughter is Josie Jayne. Coming up on 2 years old in a couple months, she's already been accepted to MIT and qualified for the 2044 Olympic games 400-meter run, but remains humble, which you kind of have to do until you're at least potty trained. She's a heck of a singer though and likes her kitty and dogs.
The eldest child, Katie, and her boy-toy, Kwinn, will be tying the knot this March in Florida in an exclusive beachside affair. She continues directing all things west of The River for our congressman; while Kwinn continues searching for the gold nugget of his dreams.
Not much new with me. Still working for Senator Thune. It'll be 19 years in January, far breaking the record of my previous longest job tenure of 5. I'm also grudgingly facing down the big 6-0 in six months. Pretty much approaching the golden years with Dylan Thomas' words in mind: "Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Meaning? Stay out of my way.
As for the doggos, it was kind of a rough year for ol' Huckleberry, as he celebrated his 11th birthday with a few more aches and pains than usual. He continues to mostly ignore the new pup and has claimed my lap now that Stanley isn't around. Crazy Finn, the lab, isn't one of those guys who eases into the day, like me. He hits the ground running and doesn't stop until dark, but he keeps me somewhat fit.
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