The End

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Re: The End

Post by Hansontoons »

Sgt. Howard wrote:A totally awsome story... one with a beautiful (if harsh) message as well. Bravo!
Ditto.

If only this could translate into real life. Get the boneheads out there to have a moment of clarity, realize what really is important.
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Re: The End

Post by Atomic »

More to come -- just dealing with an editing challenge...
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Re: The End

Post by Atomic »

Suzie parked at Nuevo Monterrey and walked toward the entrance. The Sunday lunch crowd was packing their way in and several were waiting outside the door. The veranda was filling up with patrons as well. Smells of cooking, chiles, meats, and seasonings filled the air.

“Hey Red! Over here!” Paulo Gutierrez waved from a waiting area as she entered the doors. “We've got a room at the back. Cousins, Uncles, even my Grandma is here.”

Suzie looked around the busy dining room. “Looks like a fun place!”

“Sure is!” Pico replied. “Say, I wanted to let you know I haven't told anybody about your, ah, special skills. It would freak some of them out. I figure if you wanted to bring it up, that's for you to decide. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” answered Suzie. They worked their way to the one of the private rooms.

“Ladies and gents, may I introduce Suzie McBride, FBI agent and thinker of deep thoughts!” Pico waved his hand as he made an entrance. “Red, behold mia familia: Abuela Louisa Somosa, my parents Alberto and Juanita Guiterrez, cousins Maria and baby Rosita, Yolanda, and Rosa...” The list continued through over a dozen people. Smiles, handshakes, and nods all around. Maria was nursing Rosita. One waitress was circling to get orders while another delivered water, chips, and salsa.

“Thank you for knocking some sense into Paulo's head,” called grandmother Louisa. “I hope it sticks this time.”

“We only had a brief meeting, and it was helpful,” replied Suzie, “I'm happy to be here as thanks.” She was going to say more, but heads were turning toward another person entering the room.

“Hey Paulo – everybody!” said the man with a wave. He moved over toward an empty seat. He kissed Louisa and Juanita on the cheek as he passed.

“Red, my little brother Enrique,” said Paulo. “And Ricky, call me Pico, OK? We've been over this.”

“Oh jeez, Maria, give it a rest. Nobody want to see your boobs.” Ricky plopped in the seat and grabbed a nacho bowl.

Juanita frowned. “Enrique, I nursed you and Paulo, so you give it a rest. It's normal, proper, and legal. May your child someday be as happy as Rosita. You want to hear her cry instead?”

“She can cry somewhere else. I'm here for the food and Paulo. Sorry, Pico,” he said, looking down his nose with a pouty face.

“Ricky, this is family,” announced Alberto. “Be polite and respect our guest, Ms McBride.”

“Oh, so you're the super detective that solved the case of whatzzname, the artist guy?”

“Ed Clarke,” answered Pico. “And he was a decent guy. He helped me with math and stuff.”

“He wanted something and used you to get it.” Ricky munched another chip. “He did it in trade. So what. Maria, you going to strip or what?” She was shifting sides to feed Rosita.

“What my asshole cousin is trying to say,” announced Maria, “is that he's an asshole. We can only hope it isn't catching.”

Suzie spoke up. “A lot of people don't appreciate history. They've got no idea how things work today because they've no idea how things used to be. They don't see how today is built from yesterday.” Suzie starred at Ricky.

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Ricky replied.

“Let me lay it out for you,” said Suzie. “People appreciate things based on how much work they put into it. When stuff is transparent, they don't value it much.”

“Simple things, like refrigeration and medicines,” added Louisa.

“Yes, exactly,” continued Suzie. “Consider what life was like, say a few thousand years ago. You had your village, and people hunted and farmed. And people died of everything. Between about 16 to 35, women gave birth a dozen times – about every other year. And the only baby food was the breast for most of a year. Babies didn't fully wean for at least three or four years. Now add it up - for two decades, you are pregnant one quarter of the time and breastfeeding constantly for 20 years. But, they died. Two left in birth, two more in the first year, four more by age 10, and then two others from injury or animals. That left two to carry on. And when yours died, you helped the other women by nursing their children, or the orphans when those women died in childbirth.”

“For real?” asked Rosa.

“That's where Roman names like Septimus and Octavia came from – Seven and Eight. The Romans even held a big party for their 17 year old children to celebrate. Hey! You're still alive!”

“So like Quinceañera then? Or a sweet sixteen party?” said Rosa.

“Yes. Same idea – a celebration of life, but also of survival,” said Suzie. “But the point is that boobs aren't just decoration. They're an essential part of life. Respect that.”

Ricky scowled. Louisa jumped in.

“So, you think that's baloney, do you?” began Louisa. “You think those ancient days don't mean anything anymore? Well then learn. When my parents, Raul and Maria Somosa, came to this country in 1938, they both worked. Father was a carpenter, and Mother was a seamstress. I was the youngest of four children – I was born in 1940 – but by then one of my brothers had already died. With World War Two, breastfeeding was emphasized because glass and rubber were needed for the war effort. Mother fed not only me, but seven other babies over the next ten years as a wet nurse. It was normal – it was common. It was the way it was. And people were polite about it!”

“So you're telling me people just flopped around with their tits out everywhere, and it was a thing,” sneered Ricky. “Why isn't in any of the movies?”

“Because it's a movie! Show me an old movie where blacks and Hispanics weren't anything but servants, musicians, a bad guy, or maybe a romantic. Movies are fairy tales.” Louisa scowled. Ricky scowled back.

“And let me remind you – my Abuela Camila – your great great grandmother – was one of seven children. When she married at age 19, in 1876, she was an only child.”

“Bottle feeding took off after the war ended, because there were enough supplies to sell,” Suzie added. “Bottles were modern, bottles were fashionable. The machine age was here, don't be old fashioned. Blah blah blah. But 95% of the planet still used the breast. It's free and it's worked for all of time.”

“Think a minute, Ricky,” said Louisa. “We celebrate our past, right? Consider – you've shaken my hand, yes? In a single touch, you reach back to a world before World War Two. With my mother, back to the Mexican Revolution and 1917. And I shook my grandmother's hand as well as other old people. With that, you reach back before the Civil War in the 1860s, and one more takes you back to Mexican Independence in 1821. Two centuries in three handshakes. That's how close our past is.”

“And war? Can you imagine war?” Suzie leaned forward to face Ricky. “Think of it. One morning, you're standing in the village you grew up in, and then the Romans come over the hill. That afternoon, everything you've ever known is burning in front of you, everyone you've ever known is dead, and you're being... taken... taken away as... as... entertainment.”

Suzie realized her fists were clenching the tablecloth. She let go and slid back into her seat. She flattened the rumpled cloth in front of her, then folded her hands in her lap.

“Umm guys,” offered Pico, “Red here is way deep into history because of her job. I imagine it's all pretty real that way. I think her point is that nursing is a normal and honorable thing, and we should respect that.”

Suzie took a breath. “Thank you, Pico, and I apologize. This is Pico's day and I've completely derailed things. I'm sorry.” She took another breath. “Long ago I lost my family and my baby around the same time. With all of this here going on, I think it kind of bubbled up. Sorry for getting off track like that.”

“Oh Suzie, I'm so sorry for that,” offered Yolanda. “You're still young – is there hope to try again?”

Suzie looked down and shook her head. “Fraid not.”

“Well, enough then,” said Maria as she buttoned her blouse. Young Rosita had been burped and was resting comfortably on her shoulder. Maria stood up, walked to Suzie and pulled a chair over from a nearby table. She draped the baby blanket over Suzie's shoulder and breast, then put Rosita on her shoulder. Suzie cradled Rosita while Maria sat down nearby. Rosita felt Suzie's face. Suzie looked into the sparkling brown eyes.

“Yolanda,” called Alberto, “Tell us the cat story. We need a happy story. That's a good one!” Yes, yes, came other voices. Rosa elbowed her in the ribs and smiled.

Rosita grasped Suzie's red hair, squeezing and wiggling it. She pushed it about with one finger, then grabbed it with her whole hand, tugging gently.

“OK, already – the cat story.” Yolanda pushed back her chair and stood up. “So, like, it was morning and I'm in my PJ's taking out the garbage after breakfast. So I go out to the trash can and there's this cat.”

Rosita rolled over on to her side to better face Suzie. Suzie adjusted her support. Rosita patted Suzie's breast and necklace. It jingled.

“It was an orange cat, kind of stripey like Garfield, you know? And it's looking at me like – What? And I'm looking back with a bag of trash and the cat's in the way of the trash can, you know?”

Rosita let go of the necklace and patted Suzie's cheek.

“So I try walking around the cat and it starts moving in front of me. I still can't reach the trash can, and I don't want to step on the cat! Just then I hear this skinny bitch calling me from the sidewalk.”

Suzie smiled at Rosita. She was warm and soft and smelled of baby powder and lotion and – baby.

“ 'Hey! What you doing with that cat?' she yelled. I swear – she was wearing this baggy green jacket with brown stripes on it – sort of like a cammo pattern – and these black leggings on her skinny legs. She looked like a blob of snot on toothpicks.”

Somewhere deep within her, something changed. A scar that had been with her all her life was healing. The memory of smoke, of screams, and the smell of burning flesh was being pushed aside. Now she had the smell of food, laughter, and the touch of a happy baby.

A tiny hand held her ear. She closed her eyes and smiled.

The huevos rancheros were wonderful. The cinnamon churros were magnificent.
Last edited by Atomic on Mon Sep 07, 2015 12:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by lake_wrangler »

Bravo! Bravo!

I love the interaction between the baby and Suzie. Nicely done!
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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Incredible!
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Re: The End

Post by AnotherFairportfan »

Are we gonna recognise the cranky cat lady?"
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Re: The End

Post by Atomic »

Lily had been wandering around the city all morning. She was on her second pack of smokes, had drained a storefront coffee-latte-espresso something sweet, and was now munching on a blueberry bagel with cream cheese. The place was pretty busy for a Sunday.

Head down, hand in pocket, bagel in the other, she just kept walking. Eyes up enough to avoid on-comers and obstacles, but just walking. She passed St Bartholomew's an hour ago, and now she was passing it again. She stopped to look up at the stained glass and stone work. The last of the bagel went in her face and she licked some cream cheese off her fingers. She knew what she wanted to do, but just how to do it? She wiped her hand with the napkin, then tossed it in the trash. Time for another smoke and more walking.

Now she heard the noon chimes. She'd been walking past random storefronts, occasionally staring in the windows. Art shops, children's clothing, book stores, various offices and banks. Buses trundled down the streets, traffic was increasing, and a few food trucks had set up for the tourists. Who else would be in town on Sunday? She fished in her pack for a last cigarette.

The museum posters advertized an art show and pioneer days exhibit. Furniture, farm implements, wagons, glassware, pitchers, utensils, and so on. 1850 to 1870 – the expansion years on the Prairie when the population more than doubled. Farming, barbed wire, and the railroads. What she wanted wasn't in there.

Suzie was off at her luncheon by now, and just plain wandering around had Lily back in front of St Bartholomew's again. She was out of smokes. The 10 o'clock service had let out some time before. Again, she stared at the stained glass. Blues and reds, yellow and green. She wondered what they looked like from the inside.

“Dog,” she said to herself, “You have every right to laugh at me. I don't expect anything. I just want to do something for Ed. That's all.”

Lily shifted her weight as she stood, watching, waiting – for what, she wasn't sure. She fished in her cigarette pack again. It was still empty. She went over to a lamp post to lean back on it. She kept watch in case the stained glass did something. She watched the shadows. She noticed they had moved a bit when she looked back at them.

A nun in an apron was at the top of the entrance stairs. She was sweeping. Side to side, step by step, she worked her way down the broad stairs. Leaves mostly, and the odd piece of windblown paper. Not many slobs around here it seemed. The shadows had moved a bit further from when she last checked.

The nun was nearing the bottom of the steps. Lily crushed the empty cigarette pack and tossed it in the nearby trash can. She approached the nun.

“Excuse me, Sister?” asked Lily.

The nun propped her broom and faced her. “Yes, child – how may I help you?”

The nun's face was old, but not old. She had a thin smile and piercing gold eyes. There was – something – about her. Her hands on the broom were large and strong. She looked Lily in the eye – deep in the eye. Perhaps further.

“Ummm, Sister, I was, ah, hoping to light a candle to remember someone. But I really can't go inside. Is there a way you can do it for me, please?”

“Oh?” said the nun. She took a step toward Lily, less than an arm lengths away, and took a deep breath in through her nose. Her upper lip was curled slightly as she inhaled. Seconds later, she let out the air as a sigh. She smiled. As her lips broadened, Lily saw her beautiful white teeth. Teeth with a large pair of incisors. Not the thin piercing type she saw in the mirror, but the broad, thick kind that could grip and tear flesh.

“So, I guess you have problems with garlic and mirrors?” She held out her hand to shake Lily's. Lily took her hand. The nun gripped it, tightly. And tighter, and more still. Enough to crush a brick if she had held one. Lily returned the crush. The grip loosened.

“So,” Lily smiled, “I guess you have problems with silver and moonlight?” They both laughed.

“I'm Sister Luke, though some know me as Sister Lupus. Whom have I the pleasure of meeting?”

“I am Lily Pratt.” She swallowed and stumbled her speech. “I just want to, ah, to...”

Sister Luke dropped the broom and held Lily. Arms around her back, chin on her shoulder, a hug as deep and strong as Lily had ever known.

“Come Lily, be welcome in the House of the Lord. Come remember, come rejoice, come and be at peace. Be welcome in His name.” Sister Luke stepped back, her hands on Lily's shoulders. She was smiling.

Lily was trembling. She managed a smile, and Sister Luke took her hand. She picked up the broom with the other, and together they went up the stairs to the doorway.

Sister Luke kept her company as she lit a candle, then two more. She got a tour of the chapel and the stained glass windows. She learned the meaning of the various dioramas and characters in the glass. She sat in the pews and admired the altar. Sister Luke introduced her to the visiting Friar Xavier, who himself had some very special qualities. Lily talked with him for nearly an hour. She wound up staying for the 4 o'clock service.

Afterwards she floated about the city again. Eventually hunger struck, so she headed to the Korean place and had samgyupsal. The kimchi perfectly accented the broiled pork. Everything tasted better than ever. It was the best meal she'd had in ages.

When she got home, Suzie told her all about her luncheon and the never-ending cat story. She told Suzie what the inside of a church looked like. They'd both had a great day, and topped it off with ice cream and an episode of Lone Wolf with Cub.

Lily was restless that night. She crossed the hall to snuggle with Suzie. They spooned and soon fell sound asleep. They both had a good night's rest in peace.
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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

...wow... a vampire nun... and at peace with it... I have been outshined!
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Re: The End

Post by AnotherFairportfan »

Interesting last line.
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Re: The End

Post by jwhouk »

That wasn't a vampire Nun.

A Werewolf Nun... There's a joke there, but I can't put my finger on it.
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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

OOOOFFFF! Yes, of course she's a werewolf... silly me... and she of the order of "Our Lady of the eternal Fur Wedgie"...
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Re: The End

Post by DinkyInky »

Samgyeopsal 삼겹살...

Did she have ssamjang 쌈장(dipper made with red pepper and bean pastes, scallions, garlic(Some use ginger), sesame oil, and molasses sugar) or gireumjang 기름장(dipper made with sesame oil, pepper, salt)?

I bet on gireumjang. I also bet she eats Kkakdugi or Dongchimi, for the same reason.

Everything else is usually obscene with garlic.
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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

I tried getting obscene with garlic... did you know that raw garlic will sting mucus membranes?
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Re: The End

Post by Atomic »

Art News – Charity Auction Raises $385,000

The Hawthorne Gallery last night held a charity auction for the collected works of the late Edward Clarke. Sixty pieces, 17 pencil and 43 watercolors, drew national attention when recently introduced by local arts patron, Brandilyn Oduya. The auction, including telephone bids from overseas, raised $385,450 for the American Cancer Society.

“This collection is every bit as important as the Matisse portraits of his wife, or Gauguin's island series,” according to Milton van Eyke, one of the bidders and curator for the Museum of Modern Art. “Not only are these stunning pieces, but even more so considering the limited resources available to Mr Clarke. You have a man with all of Whistler's love for his mother played out in the memory of his long deceased wife and child. Add to that his imprisonment and exoneration shortly after his death, and now you're reaching Van Gogh levels of tragedy, but with every bit of skill and emotion, and superb level of artistic mastery brought to bear.”

The series are the reflections of Mr Clarke's wife Maria and daughter June, for whose deaths he was sentenced to life imprisonment in 1967. He was exonerated last year with new evidence and the conviction of the actual murderer, ironically a fellow inmate, also serving a life sentence at the time.

Absolute provenance for the pieces are by way of the FBI evidence stamp on the back of each simple sheet of typing paper, from when they were removed from his prison cell. “There will be no more,” said van Eyke, “and it's our loss. There will never be a collection like this again.”

The highest bid, $23,000, went to a watercolor of a child in silhouette, leaping through tall grass against a sunset background. Ms Oduya commented, “These glorious images are testament to the indomitable spirit of man. May we all be so inspired.”

The collection will remain on display through the end of next month at the Hawthorne Gallery on East 53rd Street.
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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Atomic wrote:Art News – Charity Auction Raises $385,000

The Hawthorne Gallery last night held a charity auction for the collected works of the late Edward Clarke. Sixty pieces, 17 pencil and 43 watercolors, drew national attention when recently introduced by local arts patron, Brandilyn Oduya. The auction, including telephone bids from overseas, raised $385,450 for the American Cancer Society.

“This collection is every bit as important as the Matisse portraits of his wife, or Gauguin's island series,” according to Milton van Eyke, one of the bidders and curator for the Museum of Modern Art. “Not only are these stunning pieces, but even more so considering the limited resources available to Mr Clarke. You have a man with all of Whistler's love for his mother played out in the memory of his long deceased wife and child. Add to that his imprisonment and exoneration shortly after his death, and now you're reaching Van Gogh levels of tragedy, but with every bit of skill and emotion, and superb level of artistic mastery brought to bear.”

The series are the reflections of Mr Clarke's wife Maria and daughter June, for whose deaths he was sentenced to life imprisonment in 1967. He was exonerated last year with new evidence and the conviction of the actual murderer, ironically a fellow inmate, also serving a life sentence at the time.

Absolute provenance for the pieces are by way of the FBI evidence stamp on the back of each simple sheet of typing paper, from when they were removed from his prison cell. “There will be no more,” said van Eyke, “and it's our loss. There will never be a collection like this again.”

The highest bid, $23,000, went to a watercolor of a child in silhouette, leaping through tall grass against a sunset background. Ms Oduya commented, “These glorious images are testament to the indomitable spirit of man. May we all be so inspired.”

The collection will remain on display through the end of next month at the Hawthorne Gallery on East 53rd Street.
Are they ALL sold?
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Re: The End

Post by jwhouk »

"Wow, that's a neat watercolor you picked up, Jet!"

"Thanks, it was worth the cost. Your friend Brandi got me an in on the auction bid. I love the pose of the woman on this one."
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Re: The End

Post by DinkyInky »

Sgt. Howard wrote:I tried getting obscene with garlic... did you know that raw garlic will sting mucus membranes?
I've not found that to be the case, no. Those funny Orange peppers make me a little warm if I end up with the seeds in the dish.

Now fresh grated horseradish cleans the sinuses just great.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.

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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

DinkyInky wrote:
Sgt. Howard wrote:I tried getting obscene with garlic... did you know that raw garlic will sting mucus membranes?
I've not found that to be the case, no. Those funny Orange peppers make me a little warm if I end up with the seeds in the dish.

Now fresh grated horseradish cleans the sinuses just great.
You are adorable, you know that?
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Re: The End

Post by Just Old Al »

Sgt. Howard wrote:
You are adorable, you know that?
Don't knock innocence, mate...it's nice to see some few humans still posess it...as oppposed to the rest of us. :mrgreen:
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Re: The End

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Just Old Al wrote:
Sgt. Howard wrote:
You are adorable, you know that?
Don't knock innocence, mate...it's nice to see some few humans still posess it...as oppposed to the rest of us. :mrgreen:
It was meant as a sincere complement.
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