Picture Perfect Blues_My Father's Wake_The Change_Roundabouts Suck
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Picture Perfect Blues
My wedding was in weeks, we hired all the people we would need to ensue a beautiful day. The day of my dreams. Except for one minor detail. We quickly realized that having the wedding of your dreams cost money. Lots of money. And we only had $300 to hire a photographer. I was heartbroken! I was sitting at the kitchen table with my mom going over things and she said, “I’m sorry honey, we saved but emergencies kept popping up”. I did not want her to feel bad, so I reassured her that I would figure something out. But it turned out that it was mom who solved the problem. She came in from work and ...
My Father's Wake
My Father’s WakeBy Wendy HayesI was sitting in the downstairs lounge of Collins Clarke Funeral Home, leafing through an old edition of Reader’s Digest that had been lying on the table beside me. I don’t make a habit of visiting funeral homes but I was there waiting for 3:00pm when my father’s wake would begin. A few minutes earlier, one of the funeral home’s personnel had popped in through the double door, next to the lounge, to see my mother and I. He had his hands clasped together, in a perfect imitation of Uriah Heep, and said to us, “Would you www.onedoor.cclike to see him, and spend some time with him ...
The Change
I spent the afternoon of my 50th birthday in my primary care physician’s office, enjoying our annual visit.We exchanged perfunctory greetings. How am I? Peachy. I pictured a wicker basket full of peaches, on top of a red-checker enrobed picnic table that screamed, “Summer greetings.”How’s life? Great. The only way it could be better today was if I were wearing a party hat, blowing out fifty candles on a fire-alarm, mile-high chocolate cake. It would take dozens of firefighters hours to sift through the molten lava of sugar, saturated fat and cholesterol to find any nutritional value. But that ...
Roundabouts Suck
Dear Editor,This is America. We have four-way stops here, the way God intended it. Not roundabouts like some kind of Godless European country. You know, the kind of country that’s utterly thankless that we singlehandedly wrestled them away from the Nazis after we mozied on in, fashionably late to the party. The American way. We like to come to a complete stop at an intersection and stare down the other driver straight in the eye like we’re about to quickdraw our six-shooters at high noon, tumbleweed bouncing across the dusty landscape and all. So why am I having to crane my neck to the left, h...