And Deliver Us From Eevir..

Writing 101: Day 15
You’re told that an event that’s dear to your heart — an annual fair, festival, or conference — will be cancelled forever (or taken over by an evil organization). Write about it.
For your twist, read your piece aloud, multiple times. Hone that voice of yours!
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He really meant “evil”, but it came out eevir, due to his growing up in communist China.

Father Poon was the sweetest and happiest priest I ever met. Because of his thick accent, it took me a while to realize he not only had a great sense of humor, but was  a smart-ass like me. This will forever keep him in my thoughts and prayers.

St. Michael’s Church has new priests now and Father Poon is retired, not from the priesthood, but rather from the daily work in the Parish. I envision him in a little boat, fishing in a beautiful lake. I’m not sure why. I have no clue if he likes to fish. However he is spending his retirement, I hope he is enjoying it greatly.

There is not a Lord’s Prayer that is said without thinking of Father Poon, and wanting to hear him say “eevir”.


Letter To The (Blood) Bank

Writing 101: Day 14
Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration. If you need a boost, Google the word and see what images appear, and then go from there.
Today’s twist: write the post in the form of a letter.

On page 29 the word ‘blood’ got my attention…
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Dear Blood Bank,

I’m sorry, but I do not understand your ‘policies’. Today I got your letter saying that you can no longer accept any more blood donations from me. Yes, I was in Germany in 1981/82. Suddenly this question appears on your long questionnaire and now I can’t give blood. What the heck went on over there? Should I seek treatment?

You used to call me constantly. You acted like my O-Negative blood was more precious than gold, especially after my blood passed a test and could be used for babies. An O-Neg Baby Donor, the rarest of the rare, you told me “you are so special!”  So I donated blood when the mobile unit came to my workplace, four-times a year.

Now?  You tell me you don’t want my blood. I answered one lousy little question ‘yes’, and  you dump me!  You were just using me to get my blood, and lying about how I was so ‘special’!

I feel so dirty now.

photo credit: steeleman204 via photopin cc

You CAN Go Home Again (But You Won’t Like It)

Writing 101: Day 13
Part II of  “Loss Squared

It doesn’t matter how old you are – your mom is your mom and she will treat you like a little kid who knows nothing. Especially when you are living under her roof again.

I was 54-years young when I moved in with mom to help sis take care of her. Mom could not get over how I forgot where the glasses were kept. Or the cooking utensils, pots, linens – whatever. She and dad had moved away in 1989, so her current house was not the house(s) I grew up in.

I was suddenly only 12-years old. I didn’t know how to cook, clean, do laundry . Luckily, I could drive. Sis had lost her driver’s license, and mom could not miss getting her weekly Lotto tickets at the liquor store. If not for that, we would live off of what Safeway delivered.

I also got crap from sis because when I did the dishes I didn’t always put them away in the right place. What the heck had happened to her? Sis was wound tighter than a slinky. She seemed angry and depressed all the time, which wasn’t new, but she didn’t even try to hide it anymore. Was living with mom for 2 years the reason?

After the first few months, I began to feel the strain of a care-giver. After my arrival, sis could let her hair down and relax. She ‘relaxed’ way too much, and now I was taking care of both of them.

I missed my house and my hubby! I missed sleeping in a real bed. Both bedrooms were occupied, so it was the couch for me. My clothing and items I brought with me were stored behind said couch. I did not have the guts to rearrange mom’s bedroom to accommodate my things. Or start packing up things in the house. How rude would that be?

We were all perfectly aware that her condition was terminal. Her ‘arrangements’ were all taken care of.  Mom went over the instructions on how she wanted us to handle everything. Like which of her grandchildren got what. I was surprised to learn she owned a Krugerrand. It belongs to her youngest great-grandchild now.

I think my fondest memories are the times sis and I climbed into mom’s fancy Sleep Number bed and got a massage while watching our (taped daily) soaps. Mom and sis even had ‘rules’ about soap watching time, like get your soda, pillow, knitting & whatever,  and go potty before we start, because we fast-forward through ads and we don’t like to pause and wait for anybody.

All-righty then.  I had stopped watching our soaps years ago. Then they sucked me back in! I couldn’t tell you what was going on in the soaps, but thinking about all of us crammed into mom’s bed talking, bitching, and laughing at the stupidity going on, remains imprinted in my heart.

Mom now watched (and somehow sis got recruited into watching)  Japanese soap operas, of all things. I kept my mouth shut about it – I have my own eccentricities. Like blogging. I have to admit that although the constant yelling in Japanese gave me a headache, they were entertaining to watch. Even the subtitles were funny.

I have never regretted spending my mom’s last months, living as a kid under her roof. I don’t think it was easy on any one of us, but I am so glad we could all be a family again – at least for a little while.