Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Well....okay...

The new place is up, but Sadie and Phin are still working on getting me properly dressed.

Not a natural beauty, please understand it takes longer for some of us to get presentable for company, than others.

Because I have been testing out my blogroll from there, those of you who keep an eye on your sitemeter have already found me.

So, here's the new URL: http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/

See you over there!!

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Choices

To live this life we must each make choices.

These decisions can be made actively or passively, verbally or tacitly, but whether we engage in action or inaction, decisions are ultimately made.

This week someone close to my little family attempted suicide.

She was unsuccessful in her bid, but her actions have a not so insignificant impact on my daughters.

Suicide is a choice.

If someone is intent on ending his or her own life, he or she will eventually do so.

There is nothing I or anyone else can say or do to prevent that from happening.

I know there are twenty-four hour suicide watches. I know there are medications and therapy for depression. However, despite the best of intentions, if someone has no desire to live and seeks the darkness of eternity, that person will finally succeed.

Each of us is fundamentally responsible for himself or herself.

No manner of support, intervention, mollycoddling or anything else will make a damn bit of difference. The person in crisis has to discover, then commit to the value of his or her life.

I know and understand the impairment of depression and how it clouds reason and judgment. I am not unsympathetic or uncompassionate regarding the severity of the condition and its impact on an individual.

While willing to render support, love, and aide to someone in need, I do not believe I or anyone else is responsible for another's suicide.

I choose to use the life events which surround us as teaching tools for my children. I shield them as much as I can from a lot of the harshness of reality, but the older they become, the less I actively engage in withholding certain information from them.

I want my children to be children and enjoy the pleasures of an essentially carefree existence where they are not forced to face the often harsh and grim world in which we live; however, they also need to know and understand that reality is not sugarplum fairies, gumdrop trees or rivers of chocolate.

Wee One is far too young to know or understand anything about suicide or what leads a person down that path.

Sweet One is mature for her almost thirteen years. She had been privy to the bits and pieces of the phone calls and discussions regarding the attempt and she exercised restraint in not making inquiry; however, I knew she knew something was going on.

I am also painfully aware that the age-group with the highest rate of suicide is teenagers.

Thus, it was with great thought and consideration I broached the subject with her.

Her first question: Is suicide hereditary?

Her second question: What could be so bad that someone would want to die?

While we briefly touched on the specifics of this one individual's situation, I shifted the focus from there to suicide in general and teenage suicide specifically. I felt I needed to give her the tools to cope with the pain and adversity she might one day face.

I did my homework and gave her the statistics. She was shocked, of course.

Why teenagers?

We covered the usual suspects: the difficulty in dealing with leaving the world of childhood behind and slowing morphing into adulthood; the struggle to find one's place or niche in the fishbowl world of school and other groups; the not so subtle effects of hormones; experimentation with drugs and alcohol; the heartbreak of rejection and first love. We covered a wide variety of topics.

Fortunately, she is accustomed to my matter-of-fact and no-nonsense approach to relaying information, as well as my often questionable humor.

She knows my goal is not to be her absolute bestest friend in the whole wide world, but to be the best mother I can possibly be.

I've outlined more than once for her what my role as mother entails: to provide for her, protect her, teach her, and help mold and guide her into being the very best human she can be.

I try to do all those things with unconditional love, the absolute best and most accurate facts I can provide, and open arms to welcome her home whether she has screwed up or not. Then, there is the never-ending supply of freshly baked cookies and cakes to cheer her up when her day is something less than she wanted it to be.

With all we discussed, she kept coming back to one element running through all the possible causes for one to consider suicide: pain.

She could not fathom a pain so intense and powerful that it would make someone want to die and actively seek death.

I made a choice at that point to share something with my daughter I had hoped I would never have to because I did not want her to ever think less of me. I shared something with her because I felt and believed one day the lesson I learned might actually help her when she is cold, alone, and consumed by some unknown pain of her own, even though I pray for her, I pray she never has to experience any of that first hand.

I told her of a young woman who was newly married and at twenty-four was practicing law with one of the most influential law firms in the country. I described an accomplished young woman who was haunted with grave insecurities of her ability to meet the expectations of everyone around, as well as the too high expectations of her own. The young woman was plagued by guilt and self-doubt which filled her heart with a seemingly ceaseless pain that only appeared to grow with each passing day.

Without going into specific details, I told her the young woman woke up one day and when her husband asked if she was going to work, she replied: "I would rather put a gun to my head than get up and go to work."

Fortunately for the young woman, the husband took her seriously and immediately found someone in whom she trusted to share her load. Through many, many tears the young woman discovered things were not as bleak or dire as she had led herself to believe. With help, she was able to put things into better perspective and she learned that trusting her pain with others made it easier for her to not only carry the burden, but dispose of it.

A week after she uttered the fateful words: "I would rather put a gun to my head ..." the woman learned she was expecting her first child.

The child was Sweet One.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Two Things

First, I liked this quote:

When I am abroad, I always make it a rule never to criticize or attack the government of my own country. I make up for lost time when I come home. ~ Sir Winston Churchill

Second, the new site should be up and running before much longer. I appreciate your patience.

In the meantime, I'm having great fun over
here.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Blogger Schizophrenia

Okay, those who know me, know I can be a bit flighty on occasion, despite my very dark and long hair.

What can I say?

I guess I'm easily bored.

That's not really true, but it is somewhat difficult to explain what has prompted all this blog-hopping.

One of the great things about blogging is that each of us can be whoever we please, whenever we please, wherever on the net we please.

I started off feisty and rather gung-ho, but ended up grinding myself down as a result. Feisty is certainly a facet to my personality, but it makes up less than ten percent.

Alex Sinclair is a pseudonym I have had and used since high school. There have been volumes of poetry and prose that no one will probably ever read written under the nom de plume of Alex Sinclair; however, Alex is yet another facet of me.

Feisty Chrissy has taken up residence with my lovely sistah Sadie, a home for which I am most grateful. With her blessing, I shall continue popping in and up over there again and again, as the mood, inspiration, and whimsy strike. With my girl covering my backside, I hope to gain the confidence to unleash the political and constitutional animal over there.

Feisty Repartee shall remain as it is with archives intact; however, I will not be returning there.

This Coop has been a great place to hang out as I worked through some things, mostly personal.

Everything in this life is a journey. Each step we take, each move we make takes us down one path or another.

There's one last move in me. Pixy Misa have given me an opportunity to return to munuviana and is setting up my new URL.

This time there will just be me.

The new place will be called Just *dot* Christina because that's all I am. Just me.

When it's up and running, I'll give a shout out and I sincerely hope you will follow me to one more place.

In the meantime, I'll be here.

Well CRAP!

I didn't intend to change the blog template and lose my friggin' links, but it looks like that is what I have done.

Dammit.

Shit.

Crap.

I just thought I was having a pretty good day.

My mistake.

UPDATE:

Bloody F*cking Hell.

I managed to lose Haloscan, too!


UPDATE II:

Have I mentioned, I hate this farookin' template?!

Gremlins

Forgive me, friends, but my age must surely be showing. While I have never had much of a rear, it has certainly been dragging lately.

Last night I got home late from the office and was so wiped out, I was the first one to bed. Seriously, I abandoned Wee One to Sweet One's watchful eyes and hit the sack early.

This morning was the first day in the last ten I did not awake with some kind of a headache. Woohooo!

When Wee One popped out of bed this morning she greeted me with a lazy smile and brown colored stains all down the front of her pink princess nightgown.

Shocked, I inquired what was all that and pointed down the front of her frock.

"Oh, that," she responded, "that's chocolate ice cream from last night. I spilled some."

There was no point in asking whose idea the ice cream was or who provided it to her.

Apparently, there was an ice cream party after I went to bed.

Gremlins, I'm sure.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Where there's one...

rattler.jpg


...there are bound to be others.

I don't care if it's a baby rattler, it's still a rattler.

Yes, it's dead.

Yes, that's my patio.

ish!

Birthdays Abound!

Tell me people don't get frisky in the cold month of January.

Tomorrow, October 12th is best friend Susan's birthday. She is the lovely and stalwart cohort who accompanies me to blogmeets and lets me lean on her with grace and dignity when the world gets to be too hard for me to stand alone.

Friday, October 14th is
Eric, the Straight White Intrepid and Conqueror of the Deck's day in the sun. Cheers, man!

Saturday, October 15th marks the anniversary of the
Divine Miss Silk's Debut! And, no, the world has never been quite the same.

Sunday, October 16th is the 19th birthday of our beloved and surprisingly (for such a teenager)well-developed (and I can't believe your Mom let you get tattoos and wear your hair like that)
Zonker. It's time, man, it's time. Manhood awaits. This is your year!

Monday, October 19th my dear Mother has a birthday; however, because my father could not remember her actual birthday when he filled out her naturalization papers (he wrote down July 20, the birthday of his first wife!) and her culture celebrates Chinese New Year as a birthday for all, she actually has three birthdays a year. I'm telling ya, she looks pretty damn good for a gal going on 186.

Marking another trip around the sun on Monday, October 24th is the delightfully sincere and introspective Mr. Random Fate.
Jack was going to celebrate the milestone of his 40th birthday last year in Scotland, but things did not work out that way. Perhaps, this year, he'll enjoy a Scotch in the Highlands and reflect on all that is good in his world. I hope so.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday, my friends.

I love each of you!

I am also blessed to know you.

Thank you for your friendship.


UPDATE: Yet another man with whom I am enamored. Darlin' Denny has a birthday on Tuesday, October 25th! He intends to spend his special day sampling wines from around the world!! Sekreet note to Denny: The Texas Hill Country is known for it's wines, too. Hint, hint.

LOLLYGAGGIN' UPDATE: The dynamic and anything but subdued Pammy has a birthday on Friday, October, 21st!

Good Lord, people! How many October babies of you are there out there?!

WIZARDLY UPDATE: Or would that be Warlock?! The wonderfully wacky and loveable
Wizard informs me he will be 41 on October 31st!!

PARKWAY UPDATE: Holy Cannoli is right, Batman!! The beloved Godfaddah has a birthday on Sunday, October 16th, too! Do you suppose he and Zonker were separated at birth? They are both from New Jersey!

Monday, October 10, 2005

Oh, NO!!

Fire destroys 'Wallace and Gromit' warehouse.
A spokesman for Aardman said the building housed props and sets from the company's history, including its first three 'Wallace and Gromit' films.
As mentioned over the weekend, we watched the new movie: Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit.

It was good, but I have to admit the ten minute short preceeding the feature film: 'A Christmas Caper' was just excellent. The short starred the penguins from Madgascar.

Seriously, it was hysterically funny.

"Shiitake mushrooms!"

Indeed!

Sunday, October 09, 2005

In the mood...

Decadent, indulgent, and hedonistic aptly describe my present mood.

What to do?

What is a girl to do?

As a woman, I have the same wants, needs, and desires as any other. There are times when my body screams for satisfaction.

I have visions in my head of sharing hot sweet pleasure with another.

Oh, yes.

What I have in mind involves partaking in something very special, indeed.

Alas, while unilaterally satisfying on occasion, some things are just infinitely better when experienced together. Thus, I hope to corrupt another with a hidden desire and one of my secret passions.

Dare I bare all and reveal just one of the lovely little things which makes my heart definitely beat with the urgency of need and, moreover, desire?

A little encouragement may be necessary because even I am a little shy about some things.

What's that you say?

Please?

Please what, dahling?

Oh, yes, I love it when you ask nicely.

Okay, here goes, I just returned from the grocery store with Heath Toffee Bits and semi-sweet chocolate chips. I have the best cookies you have ever, ever slipped into your mouth baking in the oven. In a few more minutes, the soft gooey pleasure will be mine; however, I am so willing to share.

This guilty pleasure is definitely better when paired with cold milk.

So, I have the cookies, who has the milk?

Chocolate Chip/Toffee Cookies

1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon Amaretto
2-1/4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 cup Heath Toffee Bits

Cream together butter, sugar and Amaretto until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs. Sift together flour, soda, and salt. Gradually add to creamed mixture. Mix well. Fold in chocolate chips and toffee bits.

Drop by teaspoon onto greased cookie sheet.

Bake at 375 degrees F. for 10 minutes or until light brown. Makes a soft cookie.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Poor Baby!

Last night it was soap, tonight...

Wee One decided to take her toothbrush and toothpaste into my bathroom tonight. She prepared for bed, watched television with me for a little while, then decided to have some juice. I told her to brush her teeth again.

She came back a few minutes ago sputtering and spitting.

I left the Icy Hot cream on the counter and she had mistaken it for toothpaste.

The Black Sheep

There is no doubt my mother and my sister love me. I know that and do not doubt it; however, they have always shared a special bond and relate to one another on levels that are simply alien to me.

When I was younger I was jealous of their relationship, but years ago I learned to accept they are more like one another than I am like either of them. Age and maturity has taught me that I should be grateful they are able to have one another because they can each be there for the other and instinctively know what the other needs and how to provide it.

My role in what remains of this family unit is to take care of business. Despite the very troubled and dysfunctional relationship I had with my father, I inherited certain traits from him.

I learned at an early age that I have a very clear vision of what needs to be done in most situations and how to execute tasks efficiently. In crisis that makes me the go-to person, but the other ninety-nine percent of the time when things are rocking along copacetically, I just piss people off with my no-nonsense style of assertiveness and few have much use for me.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I awoke very early this morning with a screaming migraine and after I was finally able to keep the meds down, I returned to bed to sleep off the pain.

When I next emerged from my bedroom, my sister had arrived from Houston and Mom decided she would go with Beth and return next week. I think my sister was here for three-quarters of an hour before we waved them off.

While the last to know, it was not a surprise.

Sweet One has a birthday party to attend this evening and Wee One has informed me if I get cleaned up I can take her to the movies tonight. The only rated G show at our local multiplex is Wallace & Gromit. I showed her the trailer and with delight twinkling in her eyes, she informed me it was, indeed, acceptable. God love that child.

The husband, as he has stated, is on the road again.

There it is, just me and my Wee One. And, yes, I'm counting my blessings.

Just Shoot Me

Awoke around 2:30 this morning with a screaming headache. Instead of getting up right then and taking some Imitrex for it, I convinced myself I could just sleep it off.

Right. A migraine wakes me up and I actually think I can sleep it off. Like that has ever happened.

I'm damned for the day.

Back to bed.

Enjoy your weekend.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Soap and a Switch

Wee One as she pounded on the bathroom door:

"Open the damn door!"

I'll leave to your imagination just how well that went over.

Ummmmm...

It's wonderfully chilly, wet, and rainy out today, a stark contrast to the unremitting sun and heat of the last six months.

I spent a few minutes this morning releasing a few extra rocks back to the "wilds" of the building's florascapes.

My good deed done, now, I am savoring a deliciously hot cup of Earl Grey in lieu of my standard Diet Coke.

I am feeling rather refined, but have no fear, I am quite sure it will be fleeting.

Never a moment to myself

It would appear I do not sit still for very long because just about every time I take a bathroom break the cat follows me and immediately jumps on my lap to be petted and scratched.

Talk about multi-tasking...

Sheesh.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

An Irish Blessing

This came to my attention today and I wish it for all of us:

May the hand of a friend always be near you.

Put a Rock in it

Absent-mindedness, fatigue, or "just don't give a damn," the past few months I have been less than enthused about a great many things and my attention to detail has pretty much faded.

In my profession I deal with big files. I mean big dog files which stand at least a foot or two tall on their own before I even touch them.

Once upon a time I was most diligent and way too organized in the manner I handled and approached these files. Whether I have now become more comfortable with what I do or too doggone tired to care, I have streamlined the workflow. Enough said.

At one point I had nice desk accessories: silver letter opener, leaded glass paper weight from the United States Supreme Court, another attractive Murano glass paper weight, etc. I often used these items to hold open a section of these monster files or keep my page as I flipped through it. Not surprisingly, they began to disappear.

At first, I attempted to track them down through the office because it was apparent they were not being stolen, but were effectively being eaten by these gargantuan files.

There is a switch inside my head that says when I am done, I am done. There is no going back. When I finish with a case file, I am done. I do not want to look at it again. I stink at proof-reading and simply hate to do it.

Translation: I do not proof-read.

That switch also applies to perusing a file for extraneous items such as desk accessories.

Fortunately, I have learned not to use my mobile phone, sunglasses, small framed pictures or keys as bookmarks; however, everything else is pretty much fair game.

Seriously, these files are so huge that once closed and sitting atop a desk, it is not readily apparent such things are contained within them.

There are eighty-five other people in my office and it became widely known some time ago if something unusual was in a file, it was to be returned to me; however, after a certain point the really nice items simply disappeared. I admit, it was my own fault and there are no hard feelings about that.

These days, I have discovered the smooth river rocks which adorn the plant-scapes in our building make excellent paperweights. I have quite a collection, in fact.

This morning one of the judges with whom I work closely and primarily presented me with a large box tied with a bow. This box was one of those in which reams of paper are routinely delivered. As he presented the box to me he mentioned something about a "record."

When I opened the box, I discovered it was filled with two dozen or more smooth and round river rocks. Rocks he had collected from the files on which I have worked.

The record?

Well, the last dog case I gave him had three rocks in it.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Tormenting the Innocent

Last week I needed to pick up Sweet One after school rather than have her ride the bus home. She attends a new school this year and instead of 200 sixth graders, there are over 800 seventh grade students alone.

I called the school and requested she be informed of this change in regular plans. The practice is for the office to deliver a note to the student's teacher which is then passed on to the student.

Ten minutes prior to the end of the school day I arrived and waited in the parents' pick up line. Half an hour later, there was no Sweet One. I parked and went inside. The office confirmed a note was sent to the classroom, but Sweet One could not be found. Rather than panic, I returned home to await the bus.

Another half an hour later, the bus with my elder child finally arrived. When she exited, she was upset and very apologetic. She said while she was waiting for the bus, her teacher approached and told her: "I guess I should have given this to you sooner."

With the bus pulling up she made a judgment call: run out to the front of the school to see if I were still there or take the bus and not risk being left stranded at school. She made a damn good call. While irritated at the teacher, I was proud of her.

Because she is in band and participates in sports and other extra-curricular activities, I decided to add her to my mobile calling plan for the cost of a new phone and another $10 a month. To my way of thinking that is an inexpensive price for what remains of my peace of mind.

She now has a phone and is absolutely and unequivocally ecstatic, even though she understands that is strictly for emergencies and for me to keep tabs on her. She knows it is not a toy for her to text and gossip with her little friends.

It is no secret I love and adore both my daughters; however, I am not blind to their natures and habits.

Sweet one is sweet natured. Wee One is a miscreant; however, delightful.

While the little one is much like me in that she awakes early and easily with a smile on her face, Sweet one is definitely NOT a morning person. Her wont is to laze in bed until noon and it is a constant struggle to get her up in the morning, even though she genuinely loves school and never complains about going.

As with most people, mornings are hectic. There are two dogs to attend to and I have to get myself and two others up and prepared to greet the day. With the dueling objectives of keeping mornings sane and completing the routine in an efficient manner, I struggle with losing my temper when Sweet One requires repeated admonitions to GET UP!

Her room is upstairs and I have long entertained the notion of tying a rope to her toe and yanking. At my insistence, her alarm clock is positioned across the room, but she has the ability to sleep through noise, as well as sleep walk to it, shut it off, and stumble back to bed without losing a Z.

When a plan comes together, no matter how infantile, it is great cause for celebration

This morning sweet revenge was all mine.

Two minutes before her alarm was to go off, I stood at the bottom of the stairs and called Sweet One on her mobile phone.

Within seconds she was up and scrambling to find the damn little thing. As soon as she answered, I hung up.

There was a moment or two of complete silence before she wailed: "MMMOOOOOOMMMM!!"

{{Insert evil laughter}}

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Shades of Blue

Have you wondered how it is that people are ever really able to communicate with or relate to one another on any level with true understanding?

We have language, concepts, and ideas; however, something as simple as the color blue means something different to each of us. One might think sky blue, another sea blue, yet another cobalt, while all the while, I am thinking periwinkle blue.

In this context, blue is less a color than a notion with a range from the palest of baby blue to the deepest midnight blue.

To make myself clearly understood, I could hold up a color chip of the specific shade of blue to which I was referring, but any attempt to name or describe the color would then again introduce ambiguity because each of us would perceive it differently.

This leads me to believe our ability to communicate with one another is a very fragile process, indeed.

Short of reading minds, how is it that we really know what is going on with those around us, particularly of those we actually care?

Some are more willing to share the thoughts which circle the inner confines of the mind, but that act of sharing is still limited by language and even in the absence of thoughtful intent, words carry differing emotional charges and values and we each perceive and receive those words differently.

Then, there are those with inscrutable dispositions who hold tightly onto not only their feelings, but knowledge, information, and insight. They are motivated not by avarice or ill will, but through the mistaken belief others should already know.

I, for one, am at a complete loss. I may think I know and, perhaps, even understand some things about others, particularly those for whom I actually give a damn, but in the end, I do not believe I actually know anything about anyone.

So screams the heart and mind of one who desperately wishes to connect with another in some meaningful way when those tenuous strands of communication are stretched far too thin to transmit anything other than despair.

What's the point?

What the hell.

What the bloody hell.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Hmmmm

What do you think?

Is it me?

bad-to-the-bone-chick_small.JPG


H/T: Tincanman

One to Rival

Back in March I wrote about my mother's trials with the English language:

It has been reported many times that my Asian mother does not speak English that well.

Today, she called from her car to ask if the girls wanted anything from Sonic on her way home from shopping.

Wee One wanted a grape slush.

When my mother arrived, she came in and handed the baby the grape slush, then turned to me and asked: "WHAT is that called?"

Confused, I answered slowly: "A grape slush."

She tried to repeat the word "slush."

I laughed.

She said that crazy woman at Sonic just couldn't hear.

What I heard her say was: "Grape sluts..."

Well, I think she may have managed to top that one.

When we were in the grocery store the other day my mother wanted grapes, but not just any grapes would do.

While I was off with the unenviable task of choosing the freshest garlic and onions, I saw my mother approach one of the grocery clerks and engage in conversation.

By the time I returned to my mother, she had rendered the poor clerk confused and flustered and Sweet One's face was beet-red with one of her hands covering her mouth.

Sensing a translation problem, I gently inquired if all were well.

The lady clerk just looked at me and my mother was obviously irritated. She turned to me in exasperation and said: "All I asked for were shitless grapes."

SEEDLESS, that would be SEEDLESS grapes...

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Sound Bites

Yesterday we did find a Vietnamese grocer in San Antonio!

After a long day of shopping for just about everything under the sun, the final stop before heading home was Albertson's where there was a friendly, but definitely goober bag boy who appeared to be twenty-five or so.

Unable to take his eyes off my twelve-year-old, he pushed a cart into a parked car when we walked into the store and managed to be the one to bag our groceries and escort us to my car when we were done.

As she was getting into the car, he told her: "Excuse me, I just want you to know that you are beautiful."

While I saw him speak to her, I had not heard what he said.

Wee One certainly did because before I could start the car she announced: "Sissy has a boyfriend..." then spilled the beans.

Oh, God. Let's not go there just yet, shall we?

My mother and Wee One, of course, were endlessly amused.

Sweet One and I were horrified.

Her father expressed the need to clean his guns.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

My Mom


 Posted by Picasa

Outed

Yesterday I felt comfortable enough to go to the office and leave mom home with Wee One.

Now, those two are a dangerous combination.

Sometime during the day, Wee One got on my laptop and showed my mother how to use it. Remember, she will be five in December. She even knows how to access the internet. (Before anyone cringes, I have it set up where she can only access sites I have pre-approved.)

Apparently, she revealed I had a website, but confessed she did not know how to get to it.

When I got home, mom asked me about it and I showed it to her. I told her I had been writing stories about her and she insisted I read them to her. I also shared the comments.

She was absolutely delighted.

Shortly after I stumbled out of bed this morning, I found my mother on my laptop trying to get back to this place. She said she wanted to read the stories again, particularly the comments.

I showed her what bookmarks were, how to navigate, and access the comments. She kept asking if there were other stories out there. I then showed her the old site and pulled up a few more of the stories about her.

She read, laughed, and read some more.

After my shower she handed me a piece of paper with hastily scribbled notes all over it. She said: "Here, you have to write these stories now."

Then she added: "I wish I could write and spell better, I would like to write some stories of my own and see what your friends would say."

Bless her.

We are now gearing up to head to San Antonio is search of Asian grocers. I advised that Asians make up less than four percent of the demographic population, but she asserted: "I know there are more slang-eyes like me around here."
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