Sophie stood outside. The rain had been pouring for hours. She was cold and wet, but the fear of going inside was greater than the fear of catching cold. She passed by this place everyday and had never been tempted to go inside… those days had long past. So, why was she still standing there, wondering if she should try again?
Her mother had called that afternoon. “Sophie?” said the voice on the other line. “Mom? What’s the matter? You haven’t called me in five years. How did you even find this number?”
“Your father is dying.”
“Oh.”
“I think he wants you to be here.”
“Yes.”
“We’re at St. Mary’s Hospital, Room 402A.”
Dial tone…
Sophie hung up the phone and stared out her kitchen window. The sky was darkening and it was beginning to drizzle. She grabbed her coat and keys from the living room. Bruce was laying on the couch, shirtless, a beer in his hand, watching the game.
“Where you goin’, love?”
“Out.”
“Well, wait a minute—“
“I’ll be back. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Soph—“
“Bruce… I’ll be back.”
Sophie’s mind was in a whirl as she left her apartment building. She hadn’t seen her parents in years. Now Dad was dying? What would her mother say? She looked a wreck, had no job, and barely knew the man living with her. Sophie remembered the day that she left her parents’ house forever.
“Mom, I love him! It will all work out!” Sophie screamed.
“Sophie, he doesn’t love you! You’re seventeen for goodness sake!”
“Mom, you haven’t got a clue!”
“Soph…he impregnated you…”
“Not anymore…”
“What do you mean? You didn’t…”
“He came with me. They were very nice…said it wasn’t anything but cells at this point.”
“Sophie…”
“Mom, I knew what I was doing ok?”
Her mother started sobbing. Sophie’s dad had simply stood there, speechless.
“I didn’t know what else to do, Mom.”
“You could have talked to a bloody priest, first!”
“That wouldn’t have helped anything, Mom.”
“No, maybe it wouldn’t…”
Her dad had left the room. Sophie had just sat there—numb and empty. Her mother continued crying. Finally, Sophie’s dad reappeared carrying her school bag. It was full of clothes and toiletries.
“Dad, what—“
“Out.”
“What?”
“Get out, and don’t come back.”
“Are you joking me, Dad?”
Silence.
“Fine! I’m gone! Brad and I will get married and live happily ever after! You’ll see!”
Sophie grabbed her bag from the floor where her father had dropped it and stormed out the door. She had stolen her father’s truck and driven to Brad’s house. He wasn’t home. He wouldn’t answer his cell phone either.
Sophie moved into her best friend’s basement. Her dad came for the truck, but she didn’t see him. She got her friend to drive her to the bus station one day, and she used her last bit of money to get to downtown San Francisco. She bused tables at a Mel’s Diner and managed to get a shabby apartment. Brad never called back. The News said they found his body in the Bay… just another jumper for the month of November.
Sophie managed to find other guys over the years, but all the faces she had seen lying in her bed were now a blur. One had gotten her so drunk the night before, that she missed getting up for work the next day. There were plenty of people who could bus tables, so Mel’s Diner no longer required her services. That’s when she met Bruce.
He said he would take care of her. She didn’t have to worry anymore. And the first time he hit her and he’d never do it again, Sophie believed him. He hit her again—this time he left a mark. She told him to leave, but he just laughed and said she couldn’t get on without him. He was right. He paid most of the rent and kept her off the street. So, what was she to do? Bruce would stay.
So, Sophie tried to make the best of it. She would fix meals for herself and Bruce, and insist they eat at the card table and not the T.V. She had also tried looking for more work… but simply no one would a trashy looking girl with no experience and not even a high school degree. In the end, Sophie became a 22-year-old unmarried homemaker for an abusive boyfriend. Sometimes she wondered if Bruce even noticed when she brought flowers home for the card table, or that time she found that Van Gogh painting at Goodwill and hung it above the couch. Was anything worth it? Was her life even worth it? Maybe she ought to jump like Brad…maybe he was better off than she was.
All this replayed in Sophie’s head as she made her way to the hospital. No one smiled or even so much as glanced at her on the bus… This city, she thought, everyone is as miserable as I am. She melted into the crowded bus…just another nameless face.
Sophie settled next to an old woman who had a scarf around her head, and an old string shopping bag clutched in her gnarled hand. Sophie noticed she smelled like brandy and old cheese. The old woman turned to Sophie and smiled with decaying teeth. Sophie drew back, slightly disgusted, but managed a wan smile.
“What you doing?” the woman said in a thick Russian accent.
“I’m sorry?” Sophie replied, not really wanting to get into a conversation.
“I saaaay….What yooouuuu dooooing?” the woman said slower.
“Oh…ummm…I’m going to visit someone in the hospital,” Sophie replied.
“Ah!” the woman said, “I pray for them.”
“That’s not really necessary, thank you.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “I do it anyway,” she said, and she turned her head away from Sophie. Sophie rolled her eyes and stared straight ahead, hoping the old hag didn’t feel the need to say anything more.
The bus finally stopped. Sophie got up, and was about to walk off the bus, but the old lady grabbed her wrist. “You must visit him!” she said staring wildly at Sophie. “Uh…I am,” Sophie replied, confused and a little annoyed. “No,” the woman pointed out the window, “ Him.” She was pointing to the massive doors of Saint Ignatius Church.
Sophie looked at the woman, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry. I can’t,” Sophie said and she pulled her hand away and got off the bus. Sophie ran across the street, away from St. Ignatius, and toward St. Mary’s hospital. She walked in through the automatic doors and up to the check-in counter.
“Can I help you?” the nurse behind the counter asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for my father, Ed Atherton. I believe he’s in room 402A,” Sophie explained.
The nurse typed something into her computer. “Your name, please?”
“Sophia Atherton.”
The nurse printed out a visitor’s band and handed it to Sophia.
“Go to the fourth floor. It’ll be the third door on your left.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, and she walked toward the elevator. Her heart started pounding as she waited for the elevator. She was going to see her parents after five years. What would her mother think? Would her father forgive her? Would he even speak to her? Could she forgive him? Would he even be conscious enough to know she was there?
The elevator finally arrived and Sophie stepped inside. Another man got on with her. He was wearing a suit, and Sophie could also see he was very attractive. He was definitely one of those tall, dark, and handsome types. He smiled at her pleasantly, and smiled back, wishing she had more elegant clothing and a better haircut.
“Pretty nasty weather huh?” he asked.
“Yeah...” Sophie answered stupidly.
“So, are you visiting someone?” he asked.
“Yes, my father.”
“Oh, I hope everything is ok,” he said kindly.
“I’m not sure it is,” she answered.
“Hmmm,” the man said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you have the need for a priest…I know one in the hospital.”
Sophie stared at him. “Oh, ummm…yes, actually. He is Catholic. That might be nice.”
“What room?”
“402A.”
“Great, I’ll page him.”
“Ummm…thank you.”
The man smiled and got off on the third floor. Sophie frowned after he left. That was weird…she thought.
The elevator dinged on the fourth floor, but Sophie hesitated. I can’t ignore him, she thought, I have to at least see him before he dies. She stepped out, hands shaking and fluorescent lights shining in her eyes. Slowly, she walked down the hall.
The door to 402A was open, so she walked in. Sophie’s mother was sitting by the side of the bed, holding her father’s hand. His eyes were closed. There was a soft beeping coming from the monitor.
“Mom?” Sophie said hesitantly. “Sophie?” Sophie’s mother ran and embraced her. Sophie realized she was crying and pulled away. Her mother was crying too.
“Honey, we’ve missed you. Why didn’t you come back home?”
Sophie glanced at her sleeping father.
“He didn’t mean it…he tried to find you…He hardly even slept.”
Sophie nodded. Somehow she had known he would have let her come back. Pride and anger had kept her away. Sophie thought she could take care of herself. What did she have to show for it? Bruce? Yeah right…
Sophie moved over toward the hospital bed. “Dad?” she managed to croak. She took his hand. His eyes opened and he looked at her.
“Sophia…my little girl,” he said, tears in his eyes.
“Yes, Dad, it’s me…”
“Soph, I never meant…please…”
“Dad, it’s ok. It was my fault…all my fault.”
“No…no…I failed as your father. I made you run from the one place you should have felt safe.”
“Dad… please…”
“Sophia…forgive me. I can’t undo what I did, but I want you to come back…start over. Visit your mother…”
“I don’t know…Dad, things are…different.”
“Sophie, I know that I hurt you, and I caused you to stay…come back…for your mother’s sake.”
Sophie kissed her father’s hand and sobbed.
“I’ve ruined myself, Dad. I can’t—“
There was a knock, and the priest entered. “I’m Fr. O’Grady,” he said, “Someone paged me for this room.”
Sophie got up and left the room with her mother, while her Dad received Last Rites.
“Sophie, dear, come home,” her mother implored. Sophie just looked at her sadly. Sophie’s mother caressed her face. “Do not despair, my little daughter; there is always hope.” Sophie looked away.
Fr. O’Grady came out and told them they could go back in. The kindly priest took Sophie’s hand and squeezed it as she passed him. She turned to thank him, but he was already walking away, so she re-entered the room.
Sophie noticed her father looked more peaceful. She knelt on his right side while her mother moved to the left of the hospital bed. Sophie knew there wasn’t much time.
“Dad…I love you. And…I forgive you.” Sophie’s father stroked her face and several tears ran down his cheeks. Sophie’s mother leaned over and kissed her husband on the forehead. He sighed deeply and Sophie felt his hand go limp. Sophie looked up and saw her mother weeping. She knew what she had to do, but she was terrified.
Without a word, Sophie got up and left the hospital. She was barely aware that she was crossing the street. And that’s how she found herself standing outside the doors of St. Ignatius Church.
Why was she here? What was she doing? Was it the old woman? The man in the suit? Fr. O’Grady? Her father? Why couldn’t she just open the door instead of continuing to stand in the rain? Why couldn’t she just leave?
Suddenly, Sophie looked down. Sophie was startled to find a young boy smiling up at her. He looked strangely familiar…he had her eyes. The boy took her hand and led her through the doors. Before she knew what was happening, Sophie found herself in the sanctuary. Fr. O’Grady came out of one of the confessionals, and noticing her, approached her. “Welcome home, child,” he said. Sophie looked but the little boy was nowhere to be found. A single tear fell as she said with a smile, “Father, will you hear my confession?”
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, December 23, 2010
He'll Break My Heart
This is a poem I wrote awhile ago, just expressing some frustration over a stupid crush... enjoy!
He'll break my heart
I know he will
But there's nothing I can do
I pray to God I'll stop feeling this way
It's tearing me apart
I've known it for far too long
This can never be
The love I have for him
Will never be requitted
He will never love me
If not for Christ
My heart would be in two
So I kneel
And offer my pain for you
He can never know
How much I've suffered
For his sake—So when I am dead and gone
Please send this in kind
That my love for him was always pure
But his heart was ever blind
He'll break my heart
I know he will
But there's nothing I can do
I pray to God I'll stop feeling this way
It's tearing me apart
I've known it for far too long
This can never be
The love I have for him
Will never be requitted
He will never love me
If not for Christ
My heart would be in two
So I kneel
And offer my pain for you
He can never know
How much I've suffered
For his sake—So when I am dead and gone
Please send this in kind
That my love for him was always pure
But his heart was ever blind
Friday, December 17, 2010
To lay the smackdown or not to...
Initially, I was going to write this absolutely amazing smackdown regarding the "homosexuality" comment on a previous post. But I decided that maybe that is not the best course of action. People who suffer homosexual tendencies have heard all the arguments, and I'm sure they're sick of hearing the same things over and over again. So, I decided to do something different....something radical. And hopefully this will dispel the thought of me being bigotted and hatfeul, and...I hope... open the hearts of those who suffer homosexual tendencies and those who believe homosexuality is a good thing...
Dear Brother/Sister in Christ,
You are loved. I hope you know that. I love you, but most of all, Christ loves you. Even if you don't believe in God, the Truth still remains—He loves you. Keep that in mind as you read the rest of this letter.
What you are feeling, you know deep down in your heart is not true. It is a lie. Do not allow yourself to be tempted... This is a Cross that you must bear—allow God to carry it for you. You do not have to give in; you do not have to "come out" despite what the world tells you.
You know what a true family looks like—one man, one woman: husband and wife. You know this, because it is written on your heart. You know this, because that is how you came into being—the love of a Man and a Woman is Creative. It brings life! Love, true love, naturally spawns a new life! Any love without this is empty, lifeless, nothing...superficial.
There is a solution, although you may not like it. Turn to Him! Let Him take this disordered attraction from you! Turn to those who can help you and lead you towards a holy and chaste life.
I am praying for you everyday! May God bless you abundantly, and let His face shine upon you. I beg you...come home! The Truth will set you free!
Your Sister in Christ,
Meryl
For those interested in further information on homosexuality or homosexual counseling visit:
www.narth.com
Here are several books on the homosexual condition, as well:
The Truth About Homosexuality by Father John Harvey It can be found here.
The Battle for Normality by Dr. Gerard Aardweg, this is a self-counseling book for a struggling homosexual, but it holds a great deal of good information as well. It can be found here.
Dear Brother/Sister in Christ,
You are loved. I hope you know that. I love you, but most of all, Christ loves you. Even if you don't believe in God, the Truth still remains—He loves you. Keep that in mind as you read the rest of this letter.
What you are feeling, you know deep down in your heart is not true. It is a lie. Do not allow yourself to be tempted... This is a Cross that you must bear—allow God to carry it for you. You do not have to give in; you do not have to "come out" despite what the world tells you.
You know what a true family looks like—one man, one woman: husband and wife. You know this, because it is written on your heart. You know this, because that is how you came into being—the love of a Man and a Woman is Creative. It brings life! Love, true love, naturally spawns a new life! Any love without this is empty, lifeless, nothing...superficial.
There is a solution, although you may not like it. Turn to Him! Let Him take this disordered attraction from you! Turn to those who can help you and lead you towards a holy and chaste life.
I am praying for you everyday! May God bless you abundantly, and let His face shine upon you. I beg you...come home! The Truth will set you free!
Your Sister in Christ,
Meryl
For those interested in further information on homosexuality or homosexual counseling visit:
www.narth.com
Here are several books on the homosexual condition, as well:
The Truth About Homosexuality by Father John Harvey It can be found here.
The Battle for Normality by Dr. Gerard Aardweg, this is a self-counseling book for a struggling homosexual, but it holds a great deal of good information as well. It can be found here.
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Discussion on Sex...
I'm sure this will make a great deal of people angry, maybe even some of my Catholic friends, but I thought I'd post it anyway. I think this will also be an important read that preceeds my next post which will be on homosexuality... (I am not "hate-filled" as a previous commentor claims)...but that is for another day.
http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/document.php?n=999
This is an article by Alice von Hildebrand, whom I have tremendous respect for. I have always enjoyed her and her husband’s writing, and she always expresses herself so beautifully…I’m never left questioning what she really means. This is an article addressing Christopher West’s take on the Theology of the Body…something I’ve been struggling with for a long time, and she makes everything VERY clear. What I have been questioning in my heart, she has brought to light. I know that I am guilty of talking openly, even explicitly, regarding the Theology of the Body, but von Hildebrand reminds us that the marital act is something that should be approached with awe and veiled in mystery. It is not something to talk crudely about in a bar… Catholics too are guilty of talking in inappropriate terms about sex. As she says, “just because it’s wrapped in religious language, does not make it right.”
A couple years ago, I had the great privilege of studying with Dr Michael Waldstein, the very translator of John Paul’s Theology of the Body. He taught in precisely the way von Hildebrand says the subject should be taught. I was left in utter awe of the beauty of the sacrament of marriage, and the wonderful mystery that surrounds the human body. Our body’s speak a THEOlogy…a study of God. So, we are mysterious in our very existence as human. I have a lot of respect for what Christopher West is trying to do—reach out to young people who have been injured through pre-marital relations; but I believe von Hildebrand is right when she says he’s going about it in the wrong way.
I was talking to a co-worker of mine today, and she brought up a very crucial point. Planned Parenthood’s strategy is to bring the sexual act out into the open, and get young people talking about it…and the younger, the better. So, how is it right for US to try and do something similar? Talking about sex still gives rise to temptation, no matter how you talk about it, so it should be handled very delicately. I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk about it AT ALL, I’m simply bringing up the point, that maybe we should think before we speak, or get into one of those super-charged discussions about pre-marital sex and contraception. THERE IS a way to talk about the marital act, and Pope John Paul II expressed it, I would say, almost perfectly.
http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/document.php?n=999
This is an article by Alice von Hildebrand, whom I have tremendous respect for. I have always enjoyed her and her husband’s writing, and she always expresses herself so beautifully…I’m never left questioning what she really means. This is an article addressing Christopher West’s take on the Theology of the Body…something I’ve been struggling with for a long time, and she makes everything VERY clear. What I have been questioning in my heart, she has brought to light. I know that I am guilty of talking openly, even explicitly, regarding the Theology of the Body, but von Hildebrand reminds us that the marital act is something that should be approached with awe and veiled in mystery. It is not something to talk crudely about in a bar… Catholics too are guilty of talking in inappropriate terms about sex. As she says, “just because it’s wrapped in religious language, does not make it right.”
A couple years ago, I had the great privilege of studying with Dr Michael Waldstein, the very translator of John Paul’s Theology of the Body. He taught in precisely the way von Hildebrand says the subject should be taught. I was left in utter awe of the beauty of the sacrament of marriage, and the wonderful mystery that surrounds the human body. Our body’s speak a THEOlogy…a study of God. So, we are mysterious in our very existence as human. I have a lot of respect for what Christopher West is trying to do—reach out to young people who have been injured through pre-marital relations; but I believe von Hildebrand is right when she says he’s going about it in the wrong way.
I was talking to a co-worker of mine today, and she brought up a very crucial point. Planned Parenthood’s strategy is to bring the sexual act out into the open, and get young people talking about it…and the younger, the better. So, how is it right for US to try and do something similar? Talking about sex still gives rise to temptation, no matter how you talk about it, so it should be handled very delicately. I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk about it AT ALL, I’m simply bringing up the point, that maybe we should think before we speak, or get into one of those super-charged discussions about pre-marital sex and contraception. THERE IS a way to talk about the marital act, and Pope John Paul II expressed it, I would say, almost perfectly.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Super size me!
This is going to be a rather large post, because I haven't written in quite awhile and there are sooooo many things I want to write about. This incredibly delicious and overly long post will consist of 3 basic parts: Southern food, Ugrateful/Bratty/Undisciplined Monster Children (also known as trick-or-treaters), and You Know you're in San Francisco when..... Please bear with me and read all three. I think you'll enjoy! :)
Southern Food
A couple weekends ago, I had the pleasure of visiting my very good friend Lise who lives in Mobile, AL. Lise is awesome. Why? Because she's Canadian, Catholic, and cool. Three basic c words that define the word "awesome". But I'm deviating from the topic....FOOOOOD. Everybody loves food, and nobody likes it better than people in the South. I'm serious. I grew up in Georgia, and lived in the South most of my life, and let me tell you...those people can eat. The first thing I notice now whenever I'm in the Atlanta Airport, people are BIG! And I'm not talkin the good buff body builder big, I mean the you need to go on the Biggest Loser big... After living in California for a year and a half now, I have totally forgotten what really fat people look like, and when I went to Alabama a couple weeks ago my mind was violently jarred back to good ole Southern Reality. And I have found the reason for this horrible Fatty Fatkins epidemic...Lambert's!!
What is Lambert's you might ask? Well, allow me to enlighten your mind. It is positively the craziest, most fattening, awesome southern restaurant you have ever been to. I kid you not. Not only can you order great southern food like fried chicken, meat loaf, pot roast, fried apples, frog legs, etc. , but waiters come around with "pass arounds" all night long. These "pass arounds" include fried potatoes, macaroni and tomatoes, black eyed peas, fried okra, and so much more. And these start coming to you even before you get your food!!! Then.....oooooooh then....I haven't even told you the best part. Every few minutes, a boy comes around with a cart filled with fresh hot rolls (yum!) and....HE THROWS THEM AT YOU! I do not lie. There are flying rolls going over tables, booths, and fat people's heads all over the place! Let me just put this in perspective for you....
You're sitting at a restaurant just minding your own business, maybe talking with your friends, or contentedly eating your pass arounds while you wait for your real food (if it can be called that), and then you hear "HOT ROLLS! FRESH HOT ROLLS!" You look up. As if out of nowhere, you see a roll go flying across the room and into the awaiting hands of a fellow restraunter.... You look to see the source of the catapulting rolls, and you see him....and oh no....he sees you....and you've made eye contact. And before you can even think, there's a roll coming straight toward you, and even though you feel like a complete idiot, you go to catch it, because you'd rather it didn't hit you full in the face. And then...you're hooked. Every time the roll guy comes by, you have to yell at him and madly wave your arms so he'll chuck a roll to you. And before you know it, you're stuffed full of delicious white flour that's horribly bad for you. Then...your food finally comes. Oh no! What am I to do? I'm already full from all these amazing rolls and other fried fatty foods...what do I do with my main dish? And, instead of being smart and asking for a To Go box, you decide, "Whatever, I've already gone this far, so might as well keep going!" And you dig in with hopeless abandonment.
Now, do you understand why all these people are fat? I tell you...this restaurant is entirely to blame. Ok, maybe not entirely to blame....There are definitely some good ole Souther Moms that know how to whip up an old fashioned southern meal and a "Ya'll come back now, ya hear?" Mothers, why must you be so good to us? So, my faithful readers, let this be a warning to you....the South is awesome, but if you decide to go there, you might as well accept that you'll grow to be a blimp, or the size of a small killer whale.
Ugrateful/Bratty/Undisciplined Monster Children (also known as trick-or-treaters)
I have the happy privilege of living in the most popular neighborhood for trick-or-treaters in San Francisco. Why is it so popular? Because it's full of old rich people who actually give out candy instead of drugs, so parents feel somewhat more comfortable going there with their kids instead of the Castro district where they have drunken gay/lesbian halloween revelry. Yeah....San Francisco is great.... Did you catch that sarcasm? Anyways, let me tell you what Halloween has become....
When I was a kid, Halloween was awesome! It was a time when you got to dress up as the latest super hero, disney princess, or other awesome character that you totally wished you could be. You also got to go out with your friends (on a school night most times) and go from door to door asking for candy. How much cooler could you get? Well...for some reason, some people have this horrid idea that Halloween is a time to dress either scary as hell or as slutty as conceivably possible, get completely wasted, and run around acting like total idiots that have no souls. Sooo....I thought it would be better if I stayed at home, dressed as a hill-billy (a totally cheap, neutral, and non scary costume that does not make me look like a hooker), had some friends over to watch the world series, and give out candy to cute little kids.
Well....it was a great time, don't get me wrong. But let me tell you something....these kids were the biggest balls of snot, and I wanted to kick half of them off my porch and tell em they could get their candy somewhere else. This phenomenon of completely selfish little human beings was something I had not experienced to this magnitude before. Allow me to put this experience into perspective for you:
Your door bell rings for about the 25th time that night and you've about had enough of giving out candy, but you open your door anyway. Bad choice. There are literally 20+ kids on your porch, destroying your meticulously carved pumpkin, and kicking over your land lady's plants. Then, after you get over the initial shock and start giving out candy, these little brats notice the ginormous basket of candy behind you (there's a reason why you don't just stick the basket in front of the kids) and start stampeding into your house. Yes....true story. Soon, the little demon children are just helping themselves, and you look up to see about 50 adults who call themselves "parents" just staring at you from the bottom of the porch saying things like "Aren't they so cute?" and "Awww....this is my little darling's 3rd year trick-or-treating." They have no regard whatsoever that they've allowed their little monsters to penetrate your private place of residence and put you in a horribly foul mood.
As if that isn't bad enough, you also get the parents who still think they're hot enough to dress like whores and walk around with their pre-school age children. Really? You're Snow-White? I would have guessed your name was Bambi....or Candy. There are also parents who think that bringing their two-month-old trick-or-treating is a brilliant idea. I think that's a sad case of the parents just being too cheap to go and buy their own damn candy. Then, there are the teenagers who come to your door dressed as nothing but the bums that they are, expecting you to give them candy. I was so enraged at one point that I chucked Hershey's Kisses at their arrogant pubescent pimply faces and slammed the door. The feeling was quite euphoric.
So, my question is...where did the magic of Halloween go? Maybe it's just the city I live in....but this was probably the worst year of trick-or-treaters I have seen yet. I just did not want to witness that much of fallen human nature on one night. And the sad part is....I DIDN'T EVEN LEAVE MY HOUSE!
You Know You're in San Francisco When....
1. You realize that everyone who lives in this city is missing a piece of their brain
2. No one knows the basics of how to drive a motorized vehicle...a major one being a four-way stop.
3. You realize you're being a much more aggresive driver, because if you weren't you wouldn't get anywhere, since noone in CA knows how to drive their car.
4. No one has a real yard.
5. You see someone mowing their 2 1/2 by 5 strip of grass (they call this a yard) with a lawn mower....and all it takes is one push and they're done (not kidding...I've seen it)....and then you wonder why they don't just grab some kitchen scissors in order to groom their "lawn."
6. You can't find a parking space ANYWHERE no matter how hard you try, so you slip into despair because you know you'll be driving in circles for the next half hour until someone decides to get into their car and leave.
7. The priest at your parish decides to give a pro-gay homily that makes you want to projectile vomit across the pews.
8. The sacristan makes an announcement that the priest is late, and he wants us to "start Mass without him"....WHAAAAAT?
9. You already have plans to be out of town the weekend of the Gay pride parade....yeah, the one that's NEXT year
10. You're minding your own business walking downtown, and suddenly realize that a bunch of naked people are running a marathon right by you....but you're surprisingly not phased, because...it's San Francisco
11. You realize that when people talk about the "Tenderloin" they're not talking about a piece of delicious steak, but the most murderous part of town
12. No one smiles at you on the bus....in fact, no one even looks at you....
13. You realize after living in the city for three weeks, that you have seen little or no children, but you have seen plenty of dogs
14. Everyone who has a dog is too grossed out to actually pick up their dog's slobbery tennis ball, so they all own these dog "spoons" to get grab it out of their disease infested mouths
15. There are more dog parks than playgrounds
16. You wake up everyday and you already know what the weather is going to be like....foggy and cold
17. You walk outside in the middle of July in your heaviest winter coat
18. You wake up depressed, because you realize that you haven't seen the sun for 4 months
19. Every guy you meet is either gay or a total pothead...
20. Every girl you meet is either a lesbian or crazy nazi feminist
21. Going to the beach does not consist of swimming, because it's too dang cold
22. Every piece of produce you buy is DELICIOUS
23. Almost every restaurant is AMAZING
24. Food just tastes better and is amazingly better for you
25. Everyone jogs
26. Almost every person you see or meet is Asian
27. The bus announcements are not just in English and Spanish, but English, Spanish, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Russian....
28. You ride the bus and not a single person speaks English...including the driver...and you wonder if you're still in America
29. Pedestrians are the bane of your existence when you're driving....and drivers are the bane of your existence when you're a pedestrian
30. You're approached by someone from Green Peace or Save the Whales at least every other day.
31. There are no laws as to what color/colors your house can be painted
32. The entire city thinks a hurricane is coming if they hear one measely peel of Thunder...and the news makes it sound like the entire city is under water
33. You learn that they are using RECYCLED cement for the "new" part of the Bay Bridge, but they have figured out that it won't be strong enough to hold all the cars during heavy traffic....awesome
34. Bridge tolls are $4-$5 on the Bay Bridge, $7 during rush hour, and the Golden Gate bridge is $6....what the b**********p?
35. Public transit is completely unreliable....so to make it better, the city made cuts on certain bus routes...yeah, that was helpful
36. The buses are token "clean energy" vehicles
37. Everyone and their mom owns a Prius
39. Gas costs you your first born child....and the second born
40. Wal-Mart and Target are illegal within city limits....really? Yes.
There's soooo much more....and I'll add more as I think of them.
Southern Food
A couple weekends ago, I had the pleasure of visiting my very good friend Lise who lives in Mobile, AL. Lise is awesome. Why? Because she's Canadian, Catholic, and cool. Three basic c words that define the word "awesome". But I'm deviating from the topic....FOOOOOD. Everybody loves food, and nobody likes it better than people in the South. I'm serious. I grew up in Georgia, and lived in the South most of my life, and let me tell you...those people can eat. The first thing I notice now whenever I'm in the Atlanta Airport, people are BIG! And I'm not talkin the good buff body builder big, I mean the you need to go on the Biggest Loser big... After living in California for a year and a half now, I have totally forgotten what really fat people look like, and when I went to Alabama a couple weeks ago my mind was violently jarred back to good ole Southern Reality. And I have found the reason for this horrible Fatty Fatkins epidemic...Lambert's!!
What is Lambert's you might ask? Well, allow me to enlighten your mind. It is positively the craziest, most fattening, awesome southern restaurant you have ever been to. I kid you not. Not only can you order great southern food like fried chicken, meat loaf, pot roast, fried apples, frog legs, etc. , but waiters come around with "pass arounds" all night long. These "pass arounds" include fried potatoes, macaroni and tomatoes, black eyed peas, fried okra, and so much more. And these start coming to you even before you get your food!!! Then.....oooooooh then....I haven't even told you the best part. Every few minutes, a boy comes around with a cart filled with fresh hot rolls (yum!) and....HE THROWS THEM AT YOU! I do not lie. There are flying rolls going over tables, booths, and fat people's heads all over the place! Let me just put this in perspective for you....
You're sitting at a restaurant just minding your own business, maybe talking with your friends, or contentedly eating your pass arounds while you wait for your real food (if it can be called that), and then you hear "HOT ROLLS! FRESH HOT ROLLS!" You look up. As if out of nowhere, you see a roll go flying across the room and into the awaiting hands of a fellow restraunter.... You look to see the source of the catapulting rolls, and you see him....and oh no....he sees you....and you've made eye contact. And before you can even think, there's a roll coming straight toward you, and even though you feel like a complete idiot, you go to catch it, because you'd rather it didn't hit you full in the face. And then...you're hooked. Every time the roll guy comes by, you have to yell at him and madly wave your arms so he'll chuck a roll to you. And before you know it, you're stuffed full of delicious white flour that's horribly bad for you. Then...your food finally comes. Oh no! What am I to do? I'm already full from all these amazing rolls and other fried fatty foods...what do I do with my main dish? And, instead of being smart and asking for a To Go box, you decide, "Whatever, I've already gone this far, so might as well keep going!" And you dig in with hopeless abandonment.
Now, do you understand why all these people are fat? I tell you...this restaurant is entirely to blame. Ok, maybe not entirely to blame....There are definitely some good ole Souther Moms that know how to whip up an old fashioned southern meal and a "Ya'll come back now, ya hear?" Mothers, why must you be so good to us? So, my faithful readers, let this be a warning to you....the South is awesome, but if you decide to go there, you might as well accept that you'll grow to be a blimp, or the size of a small killer whale.
Ugrateful/Bratty/Undisciplined Monster Children (also known as trick-or-treaters)
I have the happy privilege of living in the most popular neighborhood for trick-or-treaters in San Francisco. Why is it so popular? Because it's full of old rich people who actually give out candy instead of drugs, so parents feel somewhat more comfortable going there with their kids instead of the Castro district where they have drunken gay/lesbian halloween revelry. Yeah....San Francisco is great.... Did you catch that sarcasm? Anyways, let me tell you what Halloween has become....
When I was a kid, Halloween was awesome! It was a time when you got to dress up as the latest super hero, disney princess, or other awesome character that you totally wished you could be. You also got to go out with your friends (on a school night most times) and go from door to door asking for candy. How much cooler could you get? Well...for some reason, some people have this horrid idea that Halloween is a time to dress either scary as hell or as slutty as conceivably possible, get completely wasted, and run around acting like total idiots that have no souls. Sooo....I thought it would be better if I stayed at home, dressed as a hill-billy (a totally cheap, neutral, and non scary costume that does not make me look like a hooker), had some friends over to watch the world series, and give out candy to cute little kids.
Well....it was a great time, don't get me wrong. But let me tell you something....these kids were the biggest balls of snot, and I wanted to kick half of them off my porch and tell em they could get their candy somewhere else. This phenomenon of completely selfish little human beings was something I had not experienced to this magnitude before. Allow me to put this experience into perspective for you:
Your door bell rings for about the 25th time that night and you've about had enough of giving out candy, but you open your door anyway. Bad choice. There are literally 20+ kids on your porch, destroying your meticulously carved pumpkin, and kicking over your land lady's plants. Then, after you get over the initial shock and start giving out candy, these little brats notice the ginormous basket of candy behind you (there's a reason why you don't just stick the basket in front of the kids) and start stampeding into your house. Yes....true story. Soon, the little demon children are just helping themselves, and you look up to see about 50 adults who call themselves "parents" just staring at you from the bottom of the porch saying things like "Aren't they so cute?" and "Awww....this is my little darling's 3rd year trick-or-treating." They have no regard whatsoever that they've allowed their little monsters to penetrate your private place of residence and put you in a horribly foul mood.
As if that isn't bad enough, you also get the parents who still think they're hot enough to dress like whores and walk around with their pre-school age children. Really? You're Snow-White? I would have guessed your name was Bambi....or Candy. There are also parents who think that bringing their two-month-old trick-or-treating is a brilliant idea. I think that's a sad case of the parents just being too cheap to go and buy their own damn candy. Then, there are the teenagers who come to your door dressed as nothing but the bums that they are, expecting you to give them candy. I was so enraged at one point that I chucked Hershey's Kisses at their arrogant pubescent pimply faces and slammed the door. The feeling was quite euphoric.
So, my question is...where did the magic of Halloween go? Maybe it's just the city I live in....but this was probably the worst year of trick-or-treaters I have seen yet. I just did not want to witness that much of fallen human nature on one night. And the sad part is....I DIDN'T EVEN LEAVE MY HOUSE!
You Know You're in San Francisco When....
1. You realize that everyone who lives in this city is missing a piece of their brain
2. No one knows the basics of how to drive a motorized vehicle...a major one being a four-way stop.
3. You realize you're being a much more aggresive driver, because if you weren't you wouldn't get anywhere, since noone in CA knows how to drive their car.
4. No one has a real yard.
5. You see someone mowing their 2 1/2 by 5 strip of grass (they call this a yard) with a lawn mower....and all it takes is one push and they're done (not kidding...I've seen it)....and then you wonder why they don't just grab some kitchen scissors in order to groom their "lawn."
6. You can't find a parking space ANYWHERE no matter how hard you try, so you slip into despair because you know you'll be driving in circles for the next half hour until someone decides to get into their car and leave.
7. The priest at your parish decides to give a pro-gay homily that makes you want to projectile vomit across the pews.
8. The sacristan makes an announcement that the priest is late, and he wants us to "start Mass without him"....WHAAAAAT?
9. You already have plans to be out of town the weekend of the Gay pride parade....yeah, the one that's NEXT year
10. You're minding your own business walking downtown, and suddenly realize that a bunch of naked people are running a marathon right by you....but you're surprisingly not phased, because...it's San Francisco
11. You realize that when people talk about the "Tenderloin" they're not talking about a piece of delicious steak, but the most murderous part of town
12. No one smiles at you on the bus....in fact, no one even looks at you....
13. You realize after living in the city for three weeks, that you have seen little or no children, but you have seen plenty of dogs
14. Everyone who has a dog is too grossed out to actually pick up their dog's slobbery tennis ball, so they all own these dog "spoons" to get grab it out of their disease infested mouths
15. There are more dog parks than playgrounds
16. You wake up everyday and you already know what the weather is going to be like....foggy and cold
17. You walk outside in the middle of July in your heaviest winter coat
18. You wake up depressed, because you realize that you haven't seen the sun for 4 months
19. Every guy you meet is either gay or a total pothead...
20. Every girl you meet is either a lesbian or crazy nazi feminist
21. Going to the beach does not consist of swimming, because it's too dang cold
22. Every piece of produce you buy is DELICIOUS
23. Almost every restaurant is AMAZING
24. Food just tastes better and is amazingly better for you
25. Everyone jogs
26. Almost every person you see or meet is Asian
27. The bus announcements are not just in English and Spanish, but English, Spanish, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Russian....
28. You ride the bus and not a single person speaks English...including the driver...and you wonder if you're still in America
29. Pedestrians are the bane of your existence when you're driving....and drivers are the bane of your existence when you're a pedestrian
30. You're approached by someone from Green Peace or Save the Whales at least every other day.
31. There are no laws as to what color/colors your house can be painted
32. The entire city thinks a hurricane is coming if they hear one measely peel of Thunder...and the news makes it sound like the entire city is under water
33. You learn that they are using RECYCLED cement for the "new" part of the Bay Bridge, but they have figured out that it won't be strong enough to hold all the cars during heavy traffic....awesome
34. Bridge tolls are $4-$5 on the Bay Bridge, $7 during rush hour, and the Golden Gate bridge is $6....what the b**********p?
35. Public transit is completely unreliable....so to make it better, the city made cuts on certain bus routes...yeah, that was helpful
36. The buses are token "clean energy" vehicles
37. Everyone and their mom owns a Prius
39. Gas costs you your first born child....and the second born
40. Wal-Mart and Target are illegal within city limits....really? Yes.
There's soooo much more....and I'll add more as I think of them.
Monday, October 11, 2010
A snippetty snippett...
My readers will have to forgive me, because my book is still in the "extremely rough" stage. Also, please keep in my mind, that this is only a snippett...so events may be slightly unclear.
Start of a new chapter (the thoughts of Lori Russell, age 14)
September 3, 1993
I'm beginning high school. I never thought I would make it this far. Who am I? What am I? What am I to become? It's so large compared to our little Green Meadows Elementary. Karen is, as expected, very excited. She's so boy crazy...geez. Well, the boys don't interest me. I have too much studying to do, and if I want to be a lawyer, will I have time to be a wife and mother? Besides, I don't think I want to get married. Maybe if mom were still here...maybe I would want to. No, my mission has now...no, to call it a mission sounds too...charitable. My DESTINY is to overthrow the rule of the Kensington family. Gross, destiny sounds romantic. Ah...yes...this is my REVOLUTION. "I want to be change, change for the truth, the better good, the people." -to use Daniel Kensington's own words. He is change not for truth, but for falsehood! Maura's father has become insufferable. He has ruined so many families with his dirty schemes. And now...he wants to run for state governor? What is to become of our town...our state? Is there no justice? I seem to be the only person my age who sees this, except for Karen, and maybe the infamous Ty Waters, whose family has been bankrupt by the Kensingtons. Everyone else thinks Mr. Kensington is just dandy! They have been so blinded by his superb acting skills. I have seen him for what he really is...And I cannot tell anyone, not even Karen. No, I must not even write it. It is too terrible a truth...for now it must continue to haunt my dreams, along with the lady in the strange veil and robes. Mom would have known what to do...
September 5, 1993
Although I may hate Maura Kensington, I cannot help but pity her. I walked by Kensington Manor today and heard screams. I rushed by, wishing not to see more than I already have. Oh God, if there is one, what do I do? I cannot hide in the shadows forever.
***
The day had been a bleak one. Foggy, rainy-but not the good kind of rain, the kind of rain that only spits, frizzes one's hair, and makes you feel like a dirty wet dog all day. Lori was tired...she had had another dream about the lady again.
"Lori, would you please answer my question?" Mr. Slater had called on her. Oh Christ, what were we learning? Lori thought frantically coming out of her doze. "Geometry, please, Ms. Russell...not daydreams." Mr. Slater reprimanded.
Ty Waters and his chronies sniggered behind Lori. She didn't care about Ty, she was used to it by now, but offending Mr. Slater was the last thing she wanted to do. Shamed, she sat up straight and bent over her notes trying to concentrate.
After class, she apologized to Mr. Slater and he had been understanding...even worried. "Lori, I've noticed you looking very tired all the time. Maybe less studying and more sleeping?" "Right," she said, "more sleeping." If only I could sleep, she thought. Would Mr. Slater understand a mysterious woman visiting her dreams? No, it was best not to let on you were crazy, especially in a small town.
She walked out of the classroom, thankful it was Friday, and bumped into Ty in the hallway. "Excuse me, Ms. Daydream...I mean Ms. Russell," Tyler tipped an invisible hat. "Ugh...very funny Ty," Lori grunted, bending to pick up her books. "Very original, really." Tyler bent to help her. "Here you go, Ms. Daydream," Ty said, slipping the last book into Lori's already full arms. "Yeah, whatever, thanks Ty," Lori said disgruntled. Tyler walked away laughing.
Lori rolled her eyes at Tyler's back and turned down the hall toward Literature class. They had been reading Anthem. It was an interesting read and Lori, of course, had finished it before everyone. But there had been something wrong with the ideas in the book. Was it really all about individualism? Lori had wondered. She had voiced her skepticism in class one day only to be met with stares from her classmates who clearly did not understand. The teacher, Mrs. Keating, although kind, had given Lori quite an unsatifactory answer. "Ms. Russell, I do believe you have read ahead, and we will have to address this later," Mrs. Keating had said.
When Lori had asked her father about it later, he had asked to see the book. Mr. Russell flipped through the last few pages of the book and dismissed it as a "horrible philosophy that left no room for charity." Lori wasn't sure about charity, she thought that sounded terribly religious. But she had agreed that it was a horribel philosophy. The author was clearly off her rocker. How could a world survive with people only thinking of themselves? Their "I"?
So this was why on this particular day Lori was slightly apprehensive about Literature class. Lori hated disagreeing with teachers, but what she hated even more was not voicing her opinion. Clearly, today's final book discussion was going to be heated.
However, it so happened that Mrs. Keating failed to see Lori Russell's hand waving frantically in the air for the entire fifty-minute class period. Thus, the dear Mrs. Keating had succeeded in convincing almost everyone in the classroom that the way of the "ego" was the best path through life. Lori, determined to right this serious miscarriage of justice, decided to "have words" with Mrs. Keating after class.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Keating," Lori began politely, "but I do want to tell you that I strongly disagree with your opinion on the book."
"Opinion?" Mrs. Keating said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, opinion."
"My dear Ms. Russell, I understand that you are a highly gifted child, but perhaps this time you have allowed your pride to blind your intelligence."
"I'm sorry?" Lori replied, highly confused.
"You see, Lori. May I call you Lori? What I taught today was not my 'opinion.' It is a philosophy which everyone must strive to live. There is no absolute right or wrong. Our conscience must be shaped by our "I." Who are we to judge if what someone does is right or wrong?"
"Mrs. Keating, how can you--"
"Lori, I know this is difficult to understand for someone your age, but the Board of Education has sent me and several other teachers now residing in nearby towns to help correct your smalltown upbringing. The modern world is moving on from these so-called 'Christian morals' and you must learn to move on too."
"But, Mrs. Keating, I--"
"Lori, dear, I know how much you enjoy questioning and discussing, but you must not do so much of that in my class. You might put ideas that are contrary to the New Age into your fellow classmates' heads hmmm?"
Lori stared at Mrs. Keating in shock. A teacher encouraging her not to ask questions? Lori frowned. Maybe Mrs. Keating had won this battle, but the semester had only begun.
"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Keating," Lori finally said. "Of course," Mrs. Keating replied cordially, and she picked up a book and began to read indicating that Lori was free to leave. Lori left, but not before noticing what Mrs. Keating was reading...Starhawk.
Start of a new chapter (the thoughts of Lori Russell, age 14)
September 3, 1993
I'm beginning high school. I never thought I would make it this far. Who am I? What am I? What am I to become? It's so large compared to our little Green Meadows Elementary. Karen is, as expected, very excited. She's so boy crazy...geez. Well, the boys don't interest me. I have too much studying to do, and if I want to be a lawyer, will I have time to be a wife and mother? Besides, I don't think I want to get married. Maybe if mom were still here...maybe I would want to. No, my mission has now...no, to call it a mission sounds too...charitable. My DESTINY is to overthrow the rule of the Kensington family. Gross, destiny sounds romantic. Ah...yes...this is my REVOLUTION. "I want to be change, change for the truth, the better good, the people." -to use Daniel Kensington's own words. He is change not for truth, but for falsehood! Maura's father has become insufferable. He has ruined so many families with his dirty schemes. And now...he wants to run for state governor? What is to become of our town...our state? Is there no justice? I seem to be the only person my age who sees this, except for Karen, and maybe the infamous Ty Waters, whose family has been bankrupt by the Kensingtons. Everyone else thinks Mr. Kensington is just dandy! They have been so blinded by his superb acting skills. I have seen him for what he really is...And I cannot tell anyone, not even Karen. No, I must not even write it. It is too terrible a truth...for now it must continue to haunt my dreams, along with the lady in the strange veil and robes. Mom would have known what to do...
September 5, 1993
Although I may hate Maura Kensington, I cannot help but pity her. I walked by Kensington Manor today and heard screams. I rushed by, wishing not to see more than I already have. Oh God, if there is one, what do I do? I cannot hide in the shadows forever.
***
The day had been a bleak one. Foggy, rainy-but not the good kind of rain, the kind of rain that only spits, frizzes one's hair, and makes you feel like a dirty wet dog all day. Lori was tired...she had had another dream about the lady again.
"Lori, would you please answer my question?" Mr. Slater had called on her. Oh Christ, what were we learning? Lori thought frantically coming out of her doze. "Geometry, please, Ms. Russell...not daydreams." Mr. Slater reprimanded.
Ty Waters and his chronies sniggered behind Lori. She didn't care about Ty, she was used to it by now, but offending Mr. Slater was the last thing she wanted to do. Shamed, she sat up straight and bent over her notes trying to concentrate.
After class, she apologized to Mr. Slater and he had been understanding...even worried. "Lori, I've noticed you looking very tired all the time. Maybe less studying and more sleeping?" "Right," she said, "more sleeping." If only I could sleep, she thought. Would Mr. Slater understand a mysterious woman visiting her dreams? No, it was best not to let on you were crazy, especially in a small town.
She walked out of the classroom, thankful it was Friday, and bumped into Ty in the hallway. "Excuse me, Ms. Daydream...I mean Ms. Russell," Tyler tipped an invisible hat. "Ugh...very funny Ty," Lori grunted, bending to pick up her books. "Very original, really." Tyler bent to help her. "Here you go, Ms. Daydream," Ty said, slipping the last book into Lori's already full arms. "Yeah, whatever, thanks Ty," Lori said disgruntled. Tyler walked away laughing.
Lori rolled her eyes at Tyler's back and turned down the hall toward Literature class. They had been reading Anthem. It was an interesting read and Lori, of course, had finished it before everyone. But there had been something wrong with the ideas in the book. Was it really all about individualism? Lori had wondered. She had voiced her skepticism in class one day only to be met with stares from her classmates who clearly did not understand. The teacher, Mrs. Keating, although kind, had given Lori quite an unsatifactory answer. "Ms. Russell, I do believe you have read ahead, and we will have to address this later," Mrs. Keating had said.
When Lori had asked her father about it later, he had asked to see the book. Mr. Russell flipped through the last few pages of the book and dismissed it as a "horrible philosophy that left no room for charity." Lori wasn't sure about charity, she thought that sounded terribly religious. But she had agreed that it was a horribel philosophy. The author was clearly off her rocker. How could a world survive with people only thinking of themselves? Their "I"?
So this was why on this particular day Lori was slightly apprehensive about Literature class. Lori hated disagreeing with teachers, but what she hated even more was not voicing her opinion. Clearly, today's final book discussion was going to be heated.
However, it so happened that Mrs. Keating failed to see Lori Russell's hand waving frantically in the air for the entire fifty-minute class period. Thus, the dear Mrs. Keating had succeeded in convincing almost everyone in the classroom that the way of the "ego" was the best path through life. Lori, determined to right this serious miscarriage of justice, decided to "have words" with Mrs. Keating after class.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Keating," Lori began politely, "but I do want to tell you that I strongly disagree with your opinion on the book."
"Opinion?" Mrs. Keating said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, opinion."
"My dear Ms. Russell, I understand that you are a highly gifted child, but perhaps this time you have allowed your pride to blind your intelligence."
"I'm sorry?" Lori replied, highly confused.
"You see, Lori. May I call you Lori? What I taught today was not my 'opinion.' It is a philosophy which everyone must strive to live. There is no absolute right or wrong. Our conscience must be shaped by our "I." Who are we to judge if what someone does is right or wrong?"
"Mrs. Keating, how can you--"
"Lori, I know this is difficult to understand for someone your age, but the Board of Education has sent me and several other teachers now residing in nearby towns to help correct your smalltown upbringing. The modern world is moving on from these so-called 'Christian morals' and you must learn to move on too."
"But, Mrs. Keating, I--"
"Lori, dear, I know how much you enjoy questioning and discussing, but you must not do so much of that in my class. You might put ideas that are contrary to the New Age into your fellow classmates' heads hmmm?"
Lori stared at Mrs. Keating in shock. A teacher encouraging her not to ask questions? Lori frowned. Maybe Mrs. Keating had won this battle, but the semester had only begun.
"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Keating," Lori finally said. "Of course," Mrs. Keating replied cordially, and she picked up a book and began to read indicating that Lori was free to leave. Lori left, but not before noticing what Mrs. Keating was reading...Starhawk.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I Couldn't Help But Notice
This is a short little diddy I wrote for my own amusement, and, as usual, it turned into something waaay too deep. Nonetheless, Enjoy!
Oh, P.S. if I get more than 10 comments on this story, I'll post a snippett of my book this weekend.
I couldn't help but notice that your eyes bore right into mine. That was my first clue that you were more than you appeared. "My name is Clark," I said, not really expecting you to answer or even care. But you looked up at me, eyes shining, smile radiant. "I'm Emily," you said. I couldn't help but notice that you blushed when I shook your hand. My heart leapt with hope.
We talked for hours at that party. Was it a party? I hardly remember other people there. I walked you to your car, utterly fascinated by the way your hands moved and your eyebrows rose whenever you talked about something important to you. I didn't want you to stop talking, but you had a curfew. As you drove away, I realized I didn't get your number. What chance would I have with you anyway? Well, you held me spellbound, and I simply had to find you.
I found you. You were walking hand in hand with another man. Oh how I wished I was he! You were talking together, but I could tell you were unhappy, because your hands were still and you didn't smile. As I drew closer I couldn't help but notice the way your face reddened as you saw me and let go of his hand. The boy was not happy about my unexpected presence there. You didn't seem to mind at all. Eventually, you left, out of pity for the boy, but not before you said, "It's Emily. Emily Dunham." Emily Dunham. My salvation. You handed me a small slip of paper, unnoticed by your escort. I hope that poor unlucky lad will forgive me one day. I watched you walk away. The boy tried to hold your hand again, but you didn't let him. I couldn't help but notice.
Our first date, I had respectfully asked your father's permission, because you deserved it. A picnic. A little cliché, I'll admit it, but I wanted to see you in the sunlight, not in the dark of a movie theatre. You wore a sky blue sun dress, and your hair was pulled back to stay out of your eyes, and it fell down your back and shoulders. There were small pearl earrings in your ears, and your feet were bare except for some white flip-flops. You were perfect, and I told you so. Your cheeks glowed the way I love. I couldn't help but notice.
You let me do most of the talking this time, and I couldn't help but notice that I was completely comfortable. I stopped talking. I was talking too much. "No," you said, taking my hand, "Please tell me more." So I did, but I couldn't help but notice how your hand fit perfectly in mine, and the way your hair smelled as the breeze gently blew it off your shoulders.
I brought you home, wishing, hoping, it wouldn't end. I put my hand gently on your cheek. I couldn't help but notice how soft and warm it felt. You looked right into my eyes, and I felt completely vulnerable, like the first day I met you. My heart was beating so loudly I was sure you'd hear it. I leaned in, kissed you softly, and said one word, "Emily." You looked at me as you slowly closed the door, and when you could not hear I said, "I love you."
We were in love. It's true. Why you would love me was still impossible to discern. But you did. We were back at the park where you first took my hand. Underneath a magnificent oak, your face was so full of love, it made my heart near to bursting. I knelt on one knee, praying to God that you would have me. I barely choked out the words that would make you mine forever. Before I knew it, your arms were around my neck, and your lips were on my head, my face, my hands, my lips... Finally...could my heart handle the joy I beheld in your face? Could it be true? "Yes," you said. And my life was changed forever.
There were moments I thought I couldn't possibly love you more. But everyday my heart would swell larger and larger--I loved you so much, it hurt. But I didn't mind the pain. I no longer mattered, there was only you. The days until our wedding could not have come any slower, but I simply enjoyed the anticipation. Nothing could possibly make me unhappy.
Our wedding day finally came. God must love me so much. As you walked down that aisle, there was not a fiber of doubt in my body that you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I would love you until the day I died. I could see us growing old together, and there was no fear. Now I understood. Now, in this moment, I grasped Love Eternal.
Our baby girl! She gasped and screamed, her tiny chest heaving, as I held her for the first time. Her little fists were clenched, and she had your eyes and mouth. I stared at her in absolute wonder. A new life in my hands--so delicate and beautiful. And...she was ours. Our love created her. Could there be anything more miraculous? I gently placed her in your arms. I couldn't help but notice that your face was white from pain and exhaustion, but you had the most joyful glow in your eyes. Our daughter immediately stopped crying as you held her. She opened her fist and curled it around your finger and began to nurse. You looked up at me and smiled. I slowly slid into the hospital bed next to you. You fell asleep on my shoulder while stroked Therese's soft head.
25 years, and I still love you as much and infinitely more as on the day I met you. Our anniversary isn't fancy, just a typical dinner with the kids, and I love every minute of it. Joey, as always, makes everyone laugh with his ridiculous 10-year-old humor. Therese is blossoming into a beautiful young woman--she has your spirit. Kevin is making faces at Mary, and you're helping Thomas cut his meat. When everyone is finished, you bring out our "anniversary cake." The kids helped decorate it, and it looks more like a 5-year-old's finger painting than a decadent dessert. Nonetheless, we eat and enjoy with only minor icing casualties--Mary somehow got icing in her ear, and Kevin is looking at you with his best innocent face. You simply shake your head and scold Kevin as you clean out Mary's ear. You finally look up at me and mouth "Happy Anniversary." I get up and kiss you, despite the "Dad!"'s and "Ew, gross!"
I'm walking our trembling daughter down the aisle. Wasn't it just yesterday that I held her tiny body in my arms and rocked her to sleep? As I look at her husband to be, I can't help wondering if he feels the same about her as I do about you. I hope so. He is a good man. Therese deserves nobody less. She kisses my cheek and steps up to the Altar. She is no longer mine. A single tear runs down my face. If I did not have your hand to hold, I would feel like a lesser man.
The kids are all gone. Thomas just left for college and it's just you and me again. We hold hands as we take a turn around our empty home. You look at me sadly, and I hold you tight while you cry. "You have given five new people to the world," I said, "You should be proud." "No," you replied, "We have brought five beautiful children into the world, and stayed together. We should be proud." We went to the park and fell asleep under our tree.
My time has come. We have had 75 beautiful years together. I wish we could have more, but He is calling me home. You hold my hand and stroke my face. The soft "bleep, bleep" of my heart on the monitor is barely audible. "Clark," you say, "I love you." "I love you too, darling. I'll be waiting." Some time slips by. It's become more difficult for me to stay. Finally, my soul is free. I have been anointed. I am leaving you now. I pray that our two souls may become one in Paradise.
Oh, P.S. if I get more than 10 comments on this story, I'll post a snippett of my book this weekend.
I couldn't help but notice that your eyes bore right into mine. That was my first clue that you were more than you appeared. "My name is Clark," I said, not really expecting you to answer or even care. But you looked up at me, eyes shining, smile radiant. "I'm Emily," you said. I couldn't help but notice that you blushed when I shook your hand. My heart leapt with hope.
We talked for hours at that party. Was it a party? I hardly remember other people there. I walked you to your car, utterly fascinated by the way your hands moved and your eyebrows rose whenever you talked about something important to you. I didn't want you to stop talking, but you had a curfew. As you drove away, I realized I didn't get your number. What chance would I have with you anyway? Well, you held me spellbound, and I simply had to find you.
I found you. You were walking hand in hand with another man. Oh how I wished I was he! You were talking together, but I could tell you were unhappy, because your hands were still and you didn't smile. As I drew closer I couldn't help but notice the way your face reddened as you saw me and let go of his hand. The boy was not happy about my unexpected presence there. You didn't seem to mind at all. Eventually, you left, out of pity for the boy, but not before you said, "It's Emily. Emily Dunham." Emily Dunham. My salvation. You handed me a small slip of paper, unnoticed by your escort. I hope that poor unlucky lad will forgive me one day. I watched you walk away. The boy tried to hold your hand again, but you didn't let him. I couldn't help but notice.
Our first date, I had respectfully asked your father's permission, because you deserved it. A picnic. A little cliché, I'll admit it, but I wanted to see you in the sunlight, not in the dark of a movie theatre. You wore a sky blue sun dress, and your hair was pulled back to stay out of your eyes, and it fell down your back and shoulders. There were small pearl earrings in your ears, and your feet were bare except for some white flip-flops. You were perfect, and I told you so. Your cheeks glowed the way I love. I couldn't help but notice.
You let me do most of the talking this time, and I couldn't help but notice that I was completely comfortable. I stopped talking. I was talking too much. "No," you said, taking my hand, "Please tell me more." So I did, but I couldn't help but notice how your hand fit perfectly in mine, and the way your hair smelled as the breeze gently blew it off your shoulders.
I brought you home, wishing, hoping, it wouldn't end. I put my hand gently on your cheek. I couldn't help but notice how soft and warm it felt. You looked right into my eyes, and I felt completely vulnerable, like the first day I met you. My heart was beating so loudly I was sure you'd hear it. I leaned in, kissed you softly, and said one word, "Emily." You looked at me as you slowly closed the door, and when you could not hear I said, "I love you."
We were in love. It's true. Why you would love me was still impossible to discern. But you did. We were back at the park where you first took my hand. Underneath a magnificent oak, your face was so full of love, it made my heart near to bursting. I knelt on one knee, praying to God that you would have me. I barely choked out the words that would make you mine forever. Before I knew it, your arms were around my neck, and your lips were on my head, my face, my hands, my lips... Finally...could my heart handle the joy I beheld in your face? Could it be true? "Yes," you said. And my life was changed forever.
There were moments I thought I couldn't possibly love you more. But everyday my heart would swell larger and larger--I loved you so much, it hurt. But I didn't mind the pain. I no longer mattered, there was only you. The days until our wedding could not have come any slower, but I simply enjoyed the anticipation. Nothing could possibly make me unhappy.
Our wedding day finally came. God must love me so much. As you walked down that aisle, there was not a fiber of doubt in my body that you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I would love you until the day I died. I could see us growing old together, and there was no fear. Now I understood. Now, in this moment, I grasped Love Eternal.
Our baby girl! She gasped and screamed, her tiny chest heaving, as I held her for the first time. Her little fists were clenched, and she had your eyes and mouth. I stared at her in absolute wonder. A new life in my hands--so delicate and beautiful. And...she was ours. Our love created her. Could there be anything more miraculous? I gently placed her in your arms. I couldn't help but notice that your face was white from pain and exhaustion, but you had the most joyful glow in your eyes. Our daughter immediately stopped crying as you held her. She opened her fist and curled it around your finger and began to nurse. You looked up at me and smiled. I slowly slid into the hospital bed next to you. You fell asleep on my shoulder while stroked Therese's soft head.
25 years, and I still love you as much and infinitely more as on the day I met you. Our anniversary isn't fancy, just a typical dinner with the kids, and I love every minute of it. Joey, as always, makes everyone laugh with his ridiculous 10-year-old humor. Therese is blossoming into a beautiful young woman--she has your spirit. Kevin is making faces at Mary, and you're helping Thomas cut his meat. When everyone is finished, you bring out our "anniversary cake." The kids helped decorate it, and it looks more like a 5-year-old's finger painting than a decadent dessert. Nonetheless, we eat and enjoy with only minor icing casualties--Mary somehow got icing in her ear, and Kevin is looking at you with his best innocent face. You simply shake your head and scold Kevin as you clean out Mary's ear. You finally look up at me and mouth "Happy Anniversary." I get up and kiss you, despite the "Dad!"'s and "Ew, gross!"
I'm walking our trembling daughter down the aisle. Wasn't it just yesterday that I held her tiny body in my arms and rocked her to sleep? As I look at her husband to be, I can't help wondering if he feels the same about her as I do about you. I hope so. He is a good man. Therese deserves nobody less. She kisses my cheek and steps up to the Altar. She is no longer mine. A single tear runs down my face. If I did not have your hand to hold, I would feel like a lesser man.
The kids are all gone. Thomas just left for college and it's just you and me again. We hold hands as we take a turn around our empty home. You look at me sadly, and I hold you tight while you cry. "You have given five new people to the world," I said, "You should be proud." "No," you replied, "We have brought five beautiful children into the world, and stayed together. We should be proud." We went to the park and fell asleep under our tree.
My time has come. We have had 75 beautiful years together. I wish we could have more, but He is calling me home. You hold my hand and stroke my face. The soft "bleep, bleep" of my heart on the monitor is barely audible. "Clark," you say, "I love you." "I love you too, darling. I'll be waiting." Some time slips by. It's become more difficult for me to stay. Finally, my soul is free. I have been anointed. I am leaving you now. I pray that our two souls may become one in Paradise.
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