Looking for info on the novel by Chinua Achebe?

Go here.





Archives:

08/01/2001 - 09/01/2001 09/01/2001 - 10/01/2001 10/01/2001 - 11/01/2001 11/01/2001 - 12/01/2001 12/01/2001 - 01/01/2002 01/01/2002 - 02/01/2002 02/01/2002 - 03/01/2002 03/01/2002 - 04/01/2002 04/01/2002 - 05/01/2002 05/01/2002 - 06/01/2002 06/01/2002 - 07/01/2002 07/01/2002 - 08/01/2002 08/01/2002 - 09/01/2002 09/01/2002 - 10/01/2002 10/01/2002 - 11/01/2002 11/01/2002 - 12/01/2002 12/01/2002 - 01/01/2003 01/01/2003 - 02/01/2003 02/01/2003 - 03/01/2003 03/01/2003 - 04/01/2003 04/01/2003 - 05/01/2003 05/01/2003 - 06/01/2003 06/01/2003 - 07/01/2003 07/01/2003 - 08/01/2003 08/01/2003 - 09/01/2003 12/01/2003 - 01/01/2004 06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004 07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004 08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004 09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004 11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004 03/01/2005 - 04/01/2005 07/01/2005 - 08/01/2005 08/01/2005 - 09/01/2005 09/01/2005 - 10/01/2005 04/01/2006 - 05/01/2006 05/01/2006 - 06/01/2006 06/01/2006 - 07/01/2006 07/01/2006 - 08/01/2006 08/01/2006 - 09/01/2006 09/01/2006 - 10/01/2006 10/01/2006 - 11/01/2006 11/01/2006 - 12/01/2006 12/01/2006 - 01/01/2007 01/01/2007 - 02/01/2007 02/01/2007 - 03/01/2007




contact
about



Everything you see is © by me

(Except the Zeldman above)


Wednesday, June 07, 2006

 

2005 -- at about this exact time last year, I got the call from my brother. My mother's liver had ruptured again. This time, the doctors weren't going to do anything. I was in the middle of a long story department meeting and everyone knew something was up because I always had the phone out, waiting for the call, and this was the only time I ever looked at the call display, then excused myself and stepped outside. Outside. It was warm and windy, and that industrial corner of Winnipeg was deserted, the railway workers and factory seamstresses having gone home for the day. I leaned against the wall, utterly confused. Was there enough time to get on a plane. Could my fluish state even handle travelling. In both cases, the answer was no. I returned to the meeting and sat it out, silent, mortified, terrified of what life would be like without my mother. Three hours later, she was gone, and I'm still getting used to this reality.

2006 -- at about this exact time, I was outside the building watching our stunning camera department set up for the next shot. As Leslie Nielsen sauntered past wardrobes-Carmen and I on his way to video village, he let fly a loud and rather meaty fart. Carmen and I shared a glance. "Was that what I think it was?" she asked. "I hope not, but at the same time, I'm pretty sure I felt a strong wind against my leg as he walked by me." Carmen cringed. "I think I'm scarred for life, and I mean, I'm German, I'm supposed to like that kind of stuff." Moments later, I spotted the fart-squeezer carefully concealed in his left hand. We'd been had by a master.

Ah, the difference a year makes.


posted at 6:32 PM


 


Get a GoStats hit counter

Powered By Blogger TM


Comments by: YACCS