Baby Boomers – Page 2 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Let’s Just Kiss….And No Goodbyes

Every color...all unspooling.... — Every color… spooling….

Momma says that life is no box of chocolates…with surprise fillings…some pleasing…some not so much….No, Momma says life is more like a Spool of Thread that starts unwinding, sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly, with your first breath, to you’re your last breath…least that’s how she sees it and she has seen a lot apparently…well, according to her…..

Now Momma’s not going to say the minute she clapped her eyes on RIP Daddy that she knew that he was her death-till-do-us-part-partner. As you know, she’s one of those analytical, logical, step-by-step Virgo ….not prone to head-over-heels reactions…still, RIP Daddy’s impression lingered long enough and deep enough for her to take a second look, go with the flow, give him a chance.

How they met was purely Lady Luck since Momma was out with her family at a very staid-older-crowd bar. It was more a Whiskey-Drinking-Musac-Listening rather than a Shake-Your-Booty-Crowd but somehow, RIP Daddy noticed Momma and came over.

Every one knows the actual first date is the deal maker or breaker…and it conveniently was 1973 so they went to see the movie, ‘Jesus Christ, Superstar’. Momma’s family said ‘Cool’….RIP Daddy’s family, being Evangelistic-No-Movies-No-Dancing-Christian-Reform-Born-Again-Bible-Thumpers said, ‘Oh, my’ …. which was a forerunner of things to expect, throughout their 38-year-old marriage……till death did he finally part.

Sometimes that Spool of Thread of life unwound in a mannerly fashion, providing Health, Wealth and Happiness….at other times, the thread unwound at a pace that traveled like a Shanghai Maglev Train, ready to jump the track……which it did on occasion…leaving mayhem in its’ path.

Our Wonder Boy at 6 weeks... — Our Wonder Boy at 6 weeks…

The finished product... Wonder Boy and his Dad. — The handsome finished product… Wonder Boy and his Dad.

RIP Daddy and Momma closed their eyes, held on tightly, took the twists and turns like professional race car drivers that won the race of life at the birth of their only child, Wonder Boy. They know when the awards are handed out, the prizes collected, there will be no mention of their contribution, not even their ….ability to hang on… till they are once again united again.

If it is in your ♥, think of them, as your own Spool of Thread unwinds and Remember, Remember:

So it wasn't a fashion statement...Momma was going through some stuff.... — No ,it wasn’t a fashion statement…Momma was going through some **Pink Ribbon** stuff….so Daddy shaved his head in Solidarity!

Many years have now passed by….And Momma misses you, she can’t lie…She’s got ties and so do you…She knows not else what to do…
So let’s just kiss.. And no goodbyes.(Paraphrase The Manhattans)

You Don’t Tug On Superman’s Cape

Glittering, twirling balls of light. Dancefloor_Balls_ From Morguefile.com 1504 (2).JPGBy Alvimann — From Morguefile.com
1504 (2).JPGBy Alvimann

So Momma comes home and tells Wonder Boy she pulled a Justin Bieber. Oh, no, no, no, the Paparazzi do not stalk Momma…but if she is in a car and anyone purposely gets in her way, well, she won’t run over you (maybe) but she will deafen you with her horn.

You see an Opportunist of Questionable Intent thought it was a great idea at 6:30am to wade in to the traffic and solicit tips, no services required… I know, I know, it happens in The Big Smoke all the time but not here…really, even if it is the 9^th most populated city in the country…everyone knows someone who knows you…and you wouldn’t want your Mom to know you were panhandling down at the Four Corners…Shame, Shame….no Ho Ho Santa Claus coming to you this Christmas.

The egg we came from...... From: Morguefile By: trisofficial — The egg we came from……
From: Morguefile By: trisofficial

Still the Two Footed are a polite bunch which the Opportunist of Questionable Intent full well knew. It seemed the drivers of our city in front, behind Momma were like sheep being led to the slaughter. They dutifully dug in their pockets, even going for more, when the Entrepreneur of Questionable Intent told them what they had given wouldn’t even buy him a cup of coffee at Timmy’s.

Oh, but not Momma…Sometimes she wonders if she and her sisters should have to wear a sign that reads ‘Daughter of A Dragon’ to warn the innocent and ward off the disreputable because those girls…they burn pavement…ferociously…everywhere they go…when crossed, that is.

The swwt sisters look so...normal but Momma especially (back row left)...has that cut to the bone stare... — The smiling sisters look so…normal but Momma especially (back row left)…has that cut to the bone stare…

So as the Opportunist of Questionable Intent argued for the drivers to dig deeper (hands in your pockets 🙂, Momma laid on her horn… made not so subtle sign language ….the Opportunist, looked over, vexed….this was not going as planned and momentarily considered approaching the next car in the line. However, a second glance at Momma’s thundering face and he saw, heard, recognized A Daughter of A Dragon and disappeared in to the Light of another Morn. Better he lived to see another day. Because…

Don't tug on Superman's cape...Little dude! From: Morguefile By: Edens — Don’t tug on Superman’s cape…Little dude!
From: Morguefile By: Edens

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape…You don’t spit into the wind…You don’t pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger…And you don’t Mess Around with THEM…

Paraphrase Jim Croce

A Closed Door

An impenetrable door... Fr: Morguefile By: Kconnor — A Closed Door… Fr: Morguefile
By: Kconnor

I am A Closed Door….You cannot see through…. Or over or around…I yield few clues as… Doctors try in vain to…Push open the door …Even a wee bit.

The Wall... you can't get over or under...Fr: Morguefile By: Lisaleo — The Wall… you can’t get over or under…Fr: Morguefile By: Lisaleo

Still I stand firm…For all to face… My exterior only…Which looks approachable… But remains impenetrable.

Itty Bitty...the pain etched on her face, sporting a Patty Duke 'do'. — Itty Bitty…May 30, 1958 to November 25,10`7.

Some erect walls…For others to scale… But me…I am…A Closed Door…..

The strife is o’er, the battle done; The victory of life is won; The song of triumph has begun. Alleluia, Alleluia.(Psalter Hymnal)

We’re All Just One Charge Away

No doubt, with progress, comes situations that the Geeky inventors, are helpless and hopeless to anticipate… In a Geek’s world, logic prevails…while for the rest of mankind, it is part logic, part magic, part spiritual and the rest just falls out into various vexations that we saw coming, but had no way to control.

Like ‘in the day’ everything was plug it in, plug it in from home appliances, to entertainment equipment. Oh, sure, if you wanted to take say, first your transistor, later your boom box to the beach party, you brought along batteries…a lot of batteries….Now it is a ‘no go’ in the Nanny State Western World where there are laws prohibiting breaking the sound barrier…with hefty fines…maybe even jail time for offenders…go figure.

I bet you got one too... — I bet you got one too…

Today, it is still all about plug it in …to a charge station. It seems like every member of the house needs at least one super-duper power bar, with six to eight plug units, with an extra bar set up for general family use…that much-needed carbon monoxide monitor (the smoke detector still uses batteries)…and the Family GPS, (Global Positioning System) used frequently because does anyone really know where they are going? The GPS is fun because you can tease it by not going in the direction it suggests…then listen to Recalculating, Recalculating… Just don’t follow it verbatim when it directs you to the middle of a lake…after all…it is artificial intelligence.

Now you know what the individual power bar for each family member charges…because we each have our own cell phone that requires daily top ups from all the downloads, necessary to keep us entertained 24/7. Then we need space for charging the IPad, since the bigger screen streams better videos and shows as well as the digital news (no wonder the newspapers are going bankrupt). There is the digital camera we use and…. Let’s not forget we have to charge the toothbrush. We need a couple of spots for when a friend drops by and has to top up their equipment….sounds marvelous, clap on the back smart…till you meet Diva Calico Gen.

Still the latest, greatest scratch your head and roll your eyes…the EV (Electric Vehicle) wherein it takes hours to recharge…definitely only for the upwardly mobile who have a garage full of cars to use while the EV is in Charge Mode….and do you get your own station or abandon your EV at a community charge centre and walk home…all scary stuff way beyond my pay grade to ponder.

Gen shows her pretty white belly with a black belt separating the north from the south, the splotches of various colors weaving a map in her rich fur. — Gen….looks like trouble to me.

And how will the Diva Calico Gens of the world react? Have the Geeks considered that aspect….ya think?

Now Jakita, the Ultimate Earth Dog would never lower herself to chew wires (although Kleenex are still fair game)…in her puppy days, she was a chewaholic but she went to Chewaholic Anonymous so that passed…Bad Boy Andy has no interest, not a Geek, bigger fish to fry (if he can find them)….and Charlie, Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte refuses to be bad…but for Diva Calico Gen, life is a relentless pursuit of self entertainment . She methodically whips, then chews all wires, in every charging station because apparently…kitties just want to have fun….and duh, you can buy new ones…good for the economy…oh, and it is a challenge for Geeks to rethink their game plan ….so it is all good, right?

Honest Engine...True. — I am depending on you, Geeks.

So give it some thought, Geeks. There surely is a solution for every problem that in turn will create another conundrum….just keep in mind Diva Calico Gen…(maybe 14 years old but has the wherewithal of a kitten), she lives to one up you, with sharp incisor teeth, a bat of her paw, and a sweet and innocent Cheshire grin…it’s always game on, Geeks.

We’re all just one charge away…No Superman to save the day….Use friends stations if you may….We’re all just one charge away. …..from Chaos! (Paraphrase Charlie Puth)

And A Thing Called Love

Let me tell you ‘bout the birds and the bees and butterflies and trees…and the moon up above…and a thing called love….

The late 60’s was a powerful if sometimes a toxic place to live. As Bob Dylan could testify…the times they were a changing and even the most innocent were swept along with the cool hippies and burning radicals who would help shape today.

Born and bred in the inner city, The Boy was cool…way cool…tall, dark and handsome and a handful for his parents who were country born and bred and had no desire to become or understand city slickers.

So you know what happened…The Boy and the latest love of his life, both teenagers, ended up with a baby, who they both loved but had no clue how to parent. Lucky for The Boy, his parents let them live with them…until they finished school…got jobs….matured….but that was a pipe dream that never came to pass. Next thing you know there is another baby on the way and The Boy panics and bolts, leaving his parents to support (now the Ex) Love of his life.

Now the Ex Love of his life has decisions to make, along with the support of her own family. Baby #2 was put up for adoption at birth….but what to do with Baby #1, a gorgeous little girl, full of light and love. When the Ex Love of his life said she was also putting Baby #1 up for adoption The Boy’s parents were devastated…they went to court…but the Judge ruled the Grandparents could only adopt Baby #1 if the mother agreed…she didn’t…and then there were none.

Who would not love to live facing on ocean, backing on to mountains? From Morguefile.com Sillouhettes_1519.jpgBy dpawatts — From Morguefile.com
Sillouhettes_1519.jpgBy dpawatts

The Boy literally left his life behind, moved from the West Coast to the East Coast, got counselling, years and years of counselling, met a terrific lady who he would marry on one condition…they would never have children because his parenting skills had absolutely wreaked havoc on two innocent, precious little lives already.

Today he may be labelled a dead beat dad. Over the years he kept his silence about that part of his life but the Real Love of His Life who shared 42 years of wedded bliss with him, said he wanted to find his children but feared rejection, so he went to his grave with a heart heavy with sorrow.

What we know is The Boy, who eventually turned into The Man, was the favourite uncle of every niece and nephew in his family. He made each one feel special, listened to their stories, chided them when necessary, supported them wholeheartedly.

That would be the Wanderer, holding a can to feed the black bear. See Photo -developed August 1961. — The Wanderer, very much like The Man!

Actually, a big bear of a man, a ready laugh, a little paranoid about the digital world…still, he always had an opinion to share…yup, he was a father figure to countless youth.

So if you were adopted and wonder…did my biological dad even care…Well, it’s so very plain to see….That it’s time you learned about the facts of life…..
Starting from A to Z. (Paraphrase ShaNaNa)

That being said….Believe me…The Boy…The Man cared…lived in regret…and ♥ed you….enough to walk away!

Love Thy Neighbor

♥ thy neighbour, as thyself… especially if you are an 80 pound weakling…like Momma.

It was a crazy month, December…it snowed, then it snowed some more, then just when you thought we had enough, well, it snowed again…Kept Momma hopping, even with a contractor that cleans out the driveway and shovels the walkways…

Brick barrier at bottom of summer garden that the plow chews and spews.

But then there are those noisy-good-for-nothing sidewalk plows, driven by the city clowns (so says Momma) whose one passion in life (it seems) is to cut up your front gardens, chewing and spewing bits of our brick hedges like a Pac-Man on speed…and if that is not enough , after your gateway has been ploughed….they are back…(like a poltergeist) heaving heavy slabs of ice in absolute mountains, blocking any chance of exiting with a car…until spring comes or Momma gets out her shovel.

One day, like a cowboy, Momma decided to take a chance, ride the wave, scale the mountain. It did not turn out well….because, how do I put this delicately…Momma is a woman driver. I mean, I, the Ultimate Earth Dog could probably have done it…but Momma…not so much…even with a fairly new car (well 2 years old but hardly driven) and top of the line winter snow tires. Momma got stuck…she could not go ahead, she could not go back, her goose was cooked and it was not even Christmas Day…and 7:00am…like who in their right mind is out and about at that ungodly time of day to help her?

Oh, but God is Good and Momma has no shame.

She’ll pray to the Virgin Mary and Sweet Baby Jesus, and if that doesn’t work, she’ll beg for help…that is the positive thing about being a female…we can suck it up, shake it off and never feel any the worse for it.

And so Momma went to our neighbour next door. He is a sweetheart says Momma…but alas a sleeping sweetheart…he either didn’t hear or didn’t answer because he did not feel like pushing another car this blankity-blank month.

Just then, across the street, in that house where we are not really sure what goes on (Momma sees everything)…We just know important looking men usher all manner of folks in to sign on the dotted line for high interest loans that banks refuse to give them because they are new to the country or single parents or high credit risks. Also ensconced in what is listed as a residential home so their taxes stay low, (hey, the city was told but they would rather fight with the residents than turn away any business, legit or fishy), is an apartment where a very young, beautiful couple live. The Little Lady, who has the beauty of an Angel, leaves the house at 7:00am everyday, hiho, hiho…it’s off to work she goes…she is as regimented as Momma, it seems. But Momma has talked to the Young Gent, who is what every Mother dreams her son will be…polite, friendly, helpful…the list goes on and on and on….so cool with all those tats and shiny earrings.

Like quick silver, Momma rushed over, explained her predicament and the Little Lady was very understanding (considering the number of times she had talked to Momma – Zero…but they had waved at each other, friendly like). In no time, the Young Gent was out and being a construction worker, cautioned Momma after surveying the situation, it would take some revving. Like, no worries, having grown up around 1st Cousin Buddy, Momma understood heavy-duty revving…Cousin Buddy revved motorcycles, snowmobiles, cars or anything with an engine, till it saw it his way and cooperated.

Momma waves to neighbour. — Momma waves Bye Bye to neighbour.

In no time the Young Gent had the car unstuck, told Momma, anytime…and was off…We are hoping that Momma learned her lesson but being a cousin to Buddy, we make no promises.

So…. Best Practise: ♥ thy neighbour, as thyself…because you never know when you might need them.

My Boy’s Gonna Make It In the Big League

Momma says even more demoralizing than the Annual Christmas Brag Sheet Card, depicting the birth of Sweet Baby Jesus, born long ago in a Manger, is that Social Media Message that pops up, unsolicited, from someone you knew, ‘in the day’ (as Baby Boomers say), left behind because well, she had a different incomprehensible agenda.

Let’s call her Miss High School Sweetheart, not interested in attaining an education….no, she had a nesting instinct…kind of old-fashioned for the Flower Power Children of the ‘60’s but to each his own. Now Momma, she was all about leaving (what she considered) her Godforsaken, claustrophobic, bucolic town behind, to meet and conquer the world. (LOL)

Kudos to Miss High School Sweetheart for having Plan–Check–Do Act before businesses even threw three day conferences to bring it to the masses. Her strategy must have trickled down from her father who had a prestigious executive position. Although more Girl-Next-Door than a Beauty Queen, Miss High School Sweetheart had the advantage of being from Snob Hill, which made some guys look twice (well, at least one Good Ole Country Boy).

Like bees to the honey, Miss High School Sweetheart trapped her unsuspecting-hockey-playing-never-saw-it-coming Good Ole Country Boy. They walked down the school halls hand-in-hand. They stole kisses when teachers weren’t looking. Apparently they also did much more when no one was looking because in no time they came along pushing a baby carriage….no more talk of higher education. Upon graduation Good Ole Country Boy got a job at the local mill while Miss High School Sweetheart became what is known today as a Stay-At-Home-Mom…sacrifices all around or was Plan–Check–Do Act a success?

So… what would Miss High School Sweetheart, want with Momma, at this stage, you wonder…well, to Brag, of course….that Baby in the Carriage had made it in the Big League, (National Hockey League) which is more precious in small town Canada than all the green tea in China, all the Crown Jewels…you get it….it is BIG…oh, and the Baby in the Carriage was in University on a scholarship because of his hockey prowess.

It's true...her mother says so.... From Morguefile.com File 1532482557 By: Drummerboy — It’s true…her mother says so….
From Morguefile.com
File 1532482557 By: Drummerboy

Oh…and one more thing…did Momma have any contact with Ms. Doctor-in-Chief, (born with a stethoscope around her baby neck), also in the same grade as Momma and Miss High School Sweetheart ….also from Snob Hill. Miss High School Sweetheart was desperate to let Ms. Doctor-in-Chief know the Glad Tidings which was all rather strange to Momma… Ms. Doctor-in-Chief, was so dedicated to her future success that she would never hang out with fluff-on-the-road-to-nowhere.

Momma shot off a quick reply to Miss High School Sweetheart and to date has not heard from her again….too bad…so sad…and, oh Congratulations cause…

RIP Daddy (Lt) with #999- The Great One (Wayne Gretzky)...or as we say... The Great One with Wayne Gretzky — RIP Daddy (Lt) with #99 – The Great One (Wayne Gretzky)…or as we say… The Great One with Wayne Gretzky

My boy never made it to the Big League / My boy never turned some heads / My boy never made it to the Big League / My boy never knocked some heads…in the Big League (Paraphrase Tom Cochrane).

Starting Right Now I’ll Be Strong

So…somewhere, somehow, in the wee hours of the morning, as Itty Bitty (Momma’s sister) went from the Neurology Floor to Cardiac Care, all h-e-double-l took place and like a game of Hot Potato, Itty Bitty got passed on…to Intensive Care…

How do you put Humpty Dumpty together again? Very carefully... CrackedEgg Fr. Morguefile — How do you put Humpty Dumpty together again? Very carefully…
CrackedEgg Fr. Morguefile

Where only the most brilliant, the most dedicated of medical staff tend to your medical disasters trying to put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Have you ever felt like a doctor was drowning you, absolutely throwing buckets and buckets of information over your slow-to-assimilate-head? Meet Dr. Information-On-Steroids. Should you be fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to end up in her war zone, she will go to battle for you…she’ll treat you like you are her own mother, she said, she did….she will speed read and absorb your file, knowing if you had a hang nail ten years ago, asking questions about the patient that baffle and bewilder you. Is she an Einstein, a Psychic or the Good Lord Herself?

Itty Bitty's Super Boy...wake me up before you go-go... — Itty Bitty’s Super Boy…wake me up before you go-go…

Dr. Information-On-Steroids told poor innocent Super Boy she was putting his mother on life support and he said , ‘Well then, I’ll just be off to work’ … And she said, ‘What??? You are off to work. I may rupture a kidney, tear her stomach wall and you are… off to work???? I probably won’t. I am very good doctor but still…don’t you think you could wait until I completed the life support system procedure?’ ‘Yeah, I could do that,’ stammered Super Boy.

So, you may be curious, what happened to Itty Bitty exactly? The Perfect Storm – multiple total organ failure (Kidneys, lung, heart) pneumonia and, oh, a heart attack… Made that ulcerated diabetic foot with gangrene about to set in, seem like a walk in the park. Now Itty Bitty would have lots to complain about, well, if she wasn’t in a coma on life support. As our Uncle Patriarch would say, ‘Always something to take the joy out of your living.’

Applying layers of healing to poor, sick Itty Bitty Baby.

Dr. Information-On-Steroids wasn’t done yet. No, no Momma had to know the facts, the statistics, the possibilities. Had Itty Bitty been ten years older and in the same condition Dr. Information-On-Steroids would not have resuscitated her. Okay…good to know… I guess. It seemed there would be no more Sprints, only Marathons for Itty Bitty… The good news was 59% of patients made it through the initial crash with Dr. Information-On-Steroids help (be it the car crash, heart attack, organ failure or idiot drug overdose – her choice of words, not Momma’s. But the bad news was only 19% of Multiple Organ Failure patients lived longer than a year. Now that was a good soaking with a bucket of icy water. Breath, Momma, Breath.

There is a certain chaotic rhythm to any ICU where monitors glow, numbers change rapidly, graphs rise and fall while the ventilator hisses and gurgles… a multitude of beeps, then the alarms…apnea alert … blood pressure rising…oxygen level slipping…it is not the place to catch 40 winks, well, unless you are in a coma, of course….that helps. Oh, and only two visitors at time…got to keep room around the bed just in case the crash cart is needed.

Yeah, a lot to absorb… doesn’t help when a body feels punch drunk from sleep deprivation. But… read my lips … better days ahead!

Itty Bitty...I still got... a lot of fight left in me.... — More healing hands for Itty Bitty…I still got… a lot of fight left in me….

Starting Right Now She’ll Be Strong…Cause she’s still got a lot of fight left in her..

Go Ask Alice, When She’s Through it All

So sorry, but Momma’s sister, Itty Bitty, like Alice in Wonderland has gone chasing rabbits down an unknown rabbit hole and until she comes back, Momma will be at her bedside in the Intensive Care Unit where an induced coma and a machine to breath for her, keeps her tethered on Planet Earth….

Itty Bitty - before — Itty Bitty – before

Thanks for understanding…can’t wait to tell you about the Rabbits Itty Bitty caught in that black, black hole, in her pursuit home.

So soft, so sweet. Who could be mean to a little white, fluffy bunny rabbit with pink stick-up-straight ears? From Morguefile.com IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert — So soft, so sweet.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert

And if you go chasing rabbits….And you know you’re going to fall

Tell them a polka dot rabbit….Has given you the call

Go Ask Alice…..I’m sure she’ll know….Paraphrase: Jefferson Airplane

What Happened in Mayberry, Stayed in Mayberry

Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left...in to the unknown. — Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left…in to the unknown.

Let’s have some straight talk…there has been mean girls and bully boys, since Adam and Eve. They may not have been taunting victims on cyber space, but they got their licks in, under the all-seeing eyes of parents and teachers. Then there were those who saw, heard and ignored the obvious signs of distress.

Now, this is not a story with a lived–happily–ever-after ending…As a matter of fact even till today, it has an unknown ending. That is why Momma thinks it is important to reflect on the past, pick up that mirror and scrutinize that image peering back at you. It may not feel comfortable but it is all about making sure it never happens again.

Mirrors are so spooky. There is always an image hovering, lurking, breaking through the surface. — Mirrors. There is always an image hovering, forcing you to face the truth.

It was not exactly Shangri–La, where Momma was born and grew up, miles from a city, yet still touched by all known human sins and errors (sometimes of omission). No, it was more like boot camp, with parents, teachers and principals of the school able to hand out attitude and corporal punishment at will. As the adults bore down on the children, Momma says that children retaliated by bullying the weaker who lived among them.

In order to make your way through this maze it was a big help to not be too smart, too slow (mentally or physically), too fat, too poor, too pretty, too ugly, uh, you get it. Otherwise you were ignored, cast away, ridiculed, sometimes served cruel teasing from all those who met the unwritten standards, written in indelible ink in our brains.

It has been a girl nicknamed Melancholy that haunts Momma. Her family was not only poor, the story was told that they abused poor Melancholy mentally and physically, making her sleep in the barn.

Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here? From Morguefile.com IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay — Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here?
From Morguefile.com
IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay

She came to school with her beautiful platinum blonde hair that we all would have died for, in an absolute rat’s nest. She wore the same tattered, smelly clothes day in, day out. And so everyone ignored her. No one talked to her, not even the teachers interacted with her, since they probably thought to center her out, would make her feel more uncomfortable, so it was best to ignore her.

One day Momma met up with Melancholy in the washroom where they were both washing their hands. Their eyes met in the mirror but Momma did not even acknowledge she could see her. Until today, Momma doesn’t understand why, the quintessential cheerleader that she was all of her life, no peer pressure because no one else was around, did not say one word, ask her how’s it going, what’s up, to Melancholy.

All Momma knew is, one day, Melancholy never came back to school. Since she was invisible, or so it seemed, no one questioned it… Still it haunts Momma. Did the teacher or principal of the school finally report the angry bruises all over her skinny arms and legs… to the Children’s Aid or the police? Was Melancholy relocated, put under protective custody, in a home where she at last she found love, peace and security? Or did she finally get the nerve to run away from home? Did a more grisly event happen to her?

Those of us in loving homes were so blessed.

Momma likes to think that Melancholy went to a good home, grew up, worked hard, fell in love with a good man, had 2.3 kids and lived–happily–ever-after At the end of the day we’ll never know but:

I Remember, I Remember….Those days are hard to forget. Why did we deny your very existence? You live in memory, our only regret.