So many of our dear friends (“so many” being defined here as “fewer than one”) have requested that we fill you in on our activities of the past year (or “Tweltmont” as they call it in some foreign country I recently read about) that we have decided to accede to your demands and come out peacefully, our hands over our heads. Actually we haven’t received requests so much as blackmail and threats, accompanied by dark hints of bloody violence. But either way, we’re happy to fill you in on the highlights of what we jocularly call our “lives.”

Actually, we don’t need that much urging. At this fetid time of year it’s only natural that we grow nostalgic, longing for the innocent days of our youth when we were still institutionalized. And we think about those days, often obsessively, although I must say the Lexipro helps.

Frank was brought up, as most of you doubtless know, in a poultry slaughterhouse. His parents didn’t work there – the rent was just really reasonable. Many holiday traditions were born right there on the sluice floor that doubled as their family room. To this day, no Christmas in the Thompson Household is complete without the loud squawks and flying feathers of “Beak Night” and we all look forward to the magical evening when we festoon the tree with ragged chicken claws, duck entrails and gory aprons.

Claire had a more traditional upbringing. Each Christmas, her parents would make a festive red dress for her entirely out of reindeer giblets. She would dance around cutely, begging someone to end her agony with a bullet, as the adults laughed and drank toast after toast of Merlot mixed with Robitussen.

But enough about the miracle of childhood. Let’s catch up on our recent doings.

This past summer, Claire found that there is a race of tiny, not-very-bright cave dwellers who live in our cheese. Thrilled by her discovery, Claire naturally hoped that because of her obvious superiority, she would be worshipped by them as a god. Instead, they seem to regard her more as a wacky neighbor. Plus, many of them still hold a grudge after the unfortunate rarebit incident. On the plus side, recently a new professional venue has opened up for Claire as she began teaching Body English as a second language.

Frank’s most exciting news (except for the cosmetic surgery that, at long last, lowered his number of noses to one) was his film debut in the tense drama “Out! Out! Dammed River!” His scenes proved to be so riveting that the studio made the unusual decision to print all copies of the film on flammable nitrate stock, in hopes that they will decompose more quickly than usual.

But acting was just a huge miscalculation of a sideline for Frank. His main job continues to be writing books, his most recent being a tribute to St. Swithin’s Day, written entirely in a language of his own invention. His literary work has been recognized in all corners of the earth, albeit with profound apathy, and he recently received The Isaac Asimov Award for having produced “the most words with the least impact of any writer of 2004.”

Our oldest son Brenda has been missing since 1987, but neither Claire nor Frank  have ever given up hope that he will just stay gone for good. Nevertheless, especially at Christmastime, they often pass by tattoo parlors, crack houses and traveling carnivals with a wistful sense of “what if…”

The twins, Flo, Mighty Emperor of the Amazon, and Pinky, have been taking night classes at their day school and recently caused a ruckus with the health department when what we always assumed were velvet shirts that they wore every day for months turned out to be moss that actually grows out of their chests. On the bright side, Flo seems to be producing truffles, too. Selling them gives him a great deal of spending money, but he’s often harassed by boars. But then, aren’t we all?

In short, we have lived the last year in a mood reminiscent of Job, except without the laughs, and we face the future with the kind of devil-may-care insouciance undoubtedly felt by the Romanoffs sometime late in 1917.

So to you and yours from us and we…

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!