Ridenour 2004 Christmas Letter


What can I say that I have not already said in past Christmas letters?  I am not in good health.  My blood pressure is high.  My cholesterol is high.  If things were any higher, I’d be Bob Dylan.


My dad is doing fine in his retirement years.  He is exercising everyday and has lost a lot of weight.  He has become a pussycat over the years especially with the arrival of five grandkids.  He was very rough to live with growing up.  He used to spank the dog out of me and my brothers.  That may be one reason why the Ridenours are cat people. 


Since Ridenour is German, the original spelling being Reitenauer, we used to call my dad Hitler.  Russian boys have their dad’s first name as their middle name plus they add “ovich,” which means “son of.”  My friend Sergei Vladimirovich Almazov is the son of Vladimir.  Sergei calls me Adolphovich, or Son of Adolph.


My mom is still working at the Episcopal Diocese in Dallas at age 68.  Isn’t it great that we live in a country of religious freedom where a daughter of a Baptist minister can work at the Episcopal Diocese?  I am not sure why she has not retired.  No one on their deathbed ever said “I wish I would have spent more time at work.” But then again, they never had to live with my dad.   


My brother Dale is doing the same - same life, same job, same skinny legs.  He is dating again and his current love is Shaniqua Spielberg Rothschild.


My brother David?  Haven’t seen him or his family since last Christmas.  Perhaps they are hiding from the federal government.  Maybe they’re just avoiding me!


A friend of mine published a book of poetry this past year and she included my photographs.  I was really excited about that.  You can order the book at www.janajustice.com. Some of the titles of the poems are “I Hate Your Guts,” “Cleaning My Gun,” “Scumsucking Dirt Bag,” and “Sweet Baby Jesus Boy In A Manger Lay.”


Our black cat Bo disappeared last year shortly after our Christmas picture.  Probably a dog or coyote got him, or he was sacrificed by the Baptist preacher’s eight kids at the end of the street.


I was helping a friend move and he was going to leave his cat behind.  I took his cat and since she was so sweet, at least at first, we named her Sweetie.  Here is some good advice - Never help a friend move!


Merry Christmas from Paul and Dottie Ridenour




                                                                                Dad                                   Mom

                                                                                                David                                     Dale

                      Dottie                             Me and margarita