Was She Wrong?

This week's Red Writing Hood prompt:  

Write a short piece - 600 words max - that begins with the words, "This was absolutely the last time" and ends with "She was wrong."
 
Have fun with it. Think outside the box. Don't go with the obvious.  Happy writing!

This was absolutely the last time she’d repeat the conversation, which only stirred up negative, angry thoughts.  And yet, as much as she wanted to, she just couldn’t stop.  It didn’t seem to matter that so many others had been so gracious and generous with their care and concern -- checking in, reaching out, and helping her, in big ways and small, to hold it all together during what Queen Elizabeth surely would call an annus horribilis.  

Still, she looked for any excuse to repeat it -- as if each repetition could somehow erase a little piece of the spot where a red hot poker had seared it into her memory.

“I know she didn’t mean anything by it,” she told Meredith, as they sat catching up over coffee after way too many months without a girls’ weekend together.  “I even understand that she thought she was being supportive and funny, but Oh! My! God!  I’m in the midst of making impossibly tough choices about my body, my health and my life, and all she can tell me is that ‘it’s time to lop those puppies off??’  Really?!?” 

*   *   *

So, was she wrong to keep repeating the story, perpetuating the hurt, the anger and the disbelief she felt when she first heard the quip?  Wrong to fail to let it go, unable to exhale it forever in one deep cleansing breath?  Wrong to judge someone else’s personal best?  Wrong to let another’s seeming lack of empathy overshadow countless blessings from others?  Yes, yes, yes and yes.  On all counts.  She was wrong.

R

Red Writing Hood is the writing meme of  The Red Dress Club.  The finished piece should be no more than 600 words of either fiction or non-fiction.  Thanks for reading...and feel free to offer thoughts, ideas and/or constructive criticism.  I appreciate hearing what you have to say.

Let’s Play the Dating Game

The prompt:  This week, we want you to recall the games you played when you were young.
Did you love Monopoly, Yahtzee, or Uno? Or did you prefer backgammon, Trouble, or Scrabble?
Write a piece that explores one of your memories.
Let's have a 600 word limit.
 
Seated at the bar, but close to the door, he’d recognized her as soon as she walked in, hugged her, and motioned for her to take the empty seat next to his.  Once they settled in—he with a refill on his Ketel One, she with a sweating glass of Chardonnay--the words flowed.  It was good to put a face to the voice and to pick up where they’d left off over the phone—all without the rippling silence that often descends like fog on such first-time conversations. 

A while later, the hostess led them to a cozy corner table.  Was this chance or had he arranged it in advance?  No matter.  Their gentle dialogue was the perfect complement to the meal, and by the time they left to walk off dinner, there seemed to be a comfortable easiness between them.

“This was great,” he offered, as they approached the train station.

“It was.  Thanks again for dinner and a very enjoyable evening.”

“I’d like to do this again soon.  Give me a few days and I’ll be in touch.”

“Sure…that’d be nice.  Look forward to it.”

Another hug and he was lost in the crowd.  She headed up the block to catch the bus.

*  *  *

And so it was that she'd wasted yet another night playing the dating game.

Of course he didn’t call…they never do.

So now she plays Facebook Scrabble instead, waiting patiently for the page to reload so she can take her turn with the tiles.

Remembe(RED) is the memoir meme of The Red Dress Club.  Thanks for reading...and feel free to offer thoughts, ideas and/or constructive criticism.  I appreciate hearing what you have to say.

Sloth?

Earlier this evening, a friend tagged me in her Facebook post:

Bad news, Jewesses (Rachel Shapiro, Eliza Merwin, JBlogger, JanetheWriter, Gail Brown, Nancy Silverman) -- it's another one of those nasty 7 sins.

From my perspective, this is indeed bad news.  Needless to say, I’m Jewish (yes, some people refer to us as Jewesses) and as my grandmother might say, “Nu?....  Who knows from these seven deadly sins?”

Certainly not I.  In fact, I only managed to make my way through the “gluttony” prompt thanks to my medical insurance provider.  But sloth?  To me, it's synonymous with Sid from Disney’s Ice Age--nothing more and nothing less.

So, like any good researcher, I Googled “sloth,” and Wikipedia provided me with these basics, among others:

• Sloths are arboreal residents of the rainforests of Central and South America.
• Names for the animals used by tribes in Ecuador include Ritto, Rit and Ridette, mostly forms of the word "sleep", "eat" and "dirty" from Tagaeri tribe of Huaorani.
• As much as two-thirds of a well-fed sloth's body-weight consists of the contents of its stomach, and the digestive process can take a month or more to complete.
• Sloths move only when necessary and even then very slowly: they have about a quarter as much muscle tissue as other animals of similar weight. They can move at a marginally higher speed if they are in immediate danger from a predator,…but they burn large amounts of energy doing so.

As far as sloth as sin, I’m with my grandmother…who knows from this?  Perhaps if it wasn’t so late and I wasn’t so tired, I’d Google that facet of the word, too, but not tonight, my friends, not tonight. 

In the meantime, go ahead, call me a sloth.

R

Red Writing Hood is the writing meme of The Red Dress Club.  The finished piece should be no more than 600 words of either fiction or non-fiction.  Thanks for reading...and feel free to offer thoughts, ideas and/or constructive criticism.  I appreciate hearing what you have to say.

Where are the Hippies?

Today's prompt:  Write about the first (or second) memory that comes to mind when you see this image:

Photo:  Battelle.org

An ashtray, one box of Larks, one of Parliaments and two glasses of Boone’s Farm Apple Wine sat on the table in the kitchen. Amidst the avocado green appliances, two young women sat with them, alternately sipping the cloyingly sweet wine and, chins pointing upward, exhaling hazy blue smoke ceiling-ward. Only now do I realize how young they really were:  one, not yet 30, was the mother of three daughters; the other, at 36, was the mother of two, my sister and me.

This was their late afternoon custom—developed to fill the time after work, when we girls were at Brownies and it was too soon to start dinner. Or perhaps, it was the friends’ defense against a crazy world. Richard Nixon was president, body counts dominated the nightly news, and Helen Reddy, Peter Paul and Mary, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and the Kingston Trio were the musical backdrop to our lives.

Me (interrupting the peace of the women's afternoon ritual): “Ma, I told Nancy I’m going to be a hippie for Halloween and she said that God doesn’t love hippies.”

Ma: “God loves everyone—especially hippies."

Me:  "Why does God love hippies?"

Ma:  "Because they want to end the war.”

Me: “Then I’m going to be a hippie for Halloween.”

Where are today's hippies who want to end today’s wars?!

Remembe(RED) is the memoir meme of The Red Dress Club.  Thanks for reading...and feel free to offer thoughts, ideas and/or constructive criticism.  I appreciate hearing what you have to say.

Glutton for Punishment?

Note:  Thanks to my friend, Frume Sarah, I recently signed up at “the red dress club” and now receive regular writing prompts twice each week.  The first one—“gluttony”—arrived in my inbox earlier this week.

Dear Medical Insurance Provider:

It’s really very simple, and yet you just don’t seem to be able to get it right. 

On March 9, you issued a $100 check to me as payment for services that I’d received from an out-of-network provider.  Trouble was, you factored into your calculations a $25 co-pay that I (rightly) hadn’t paid.  (Remember, this was an out-of-network provider and thus there was no co-pay.)  And so I called you and listened to cheesy music until it was my turn.  When you finally got on the phone, thank goodness, you understood what I was telling you, apologized for the error and submitted the claim for reprocessing.  About a week later, a check for the additional balance due me arrived in the mail.

On April 18, you issued a $360 check to me as payment for services that I’d received from an in-network provider.  This time the trouble was that—as is the practice with such providers—I’d paid the requisite $25 co-pay and expected that the doctor’s office would bill you.  When I called to tell you that a check had been issued to me in error, you told me to sign it over to the provider.  If I did that, however, he or she could conceivably be paid twice.  And so the uncashed check sits in my ever-growing “Medical Insurance” file.  One day, I’m sure you’ll figure out the error and come looking for that money, and I’ll just return the check to you.

Yesterday, you emailed an Explanation of Benefits to me that detailed payments due me for services that I’d received from a (different) out-of-network provider.  Like the first time, though, you again factored into your calculations a $25 co-pay that I, once again rightly, hadn’t paid.  And so once again, I called you, listened to cheesy music until you came on the line and, thankfully, understood what I was telling you, apologized for the error and submitted the claim for reprocessing.  With any luck, when the payment arrives in the mail, it will be for the correct amount.  Needless to say, I’m not too terribly optimistic that it will be.

So, Medical Insurance Provider, let me fill you in on how it’s done.

When I see a provider who is in your network, I’ll pay a $25 co-pay, the provider will bill you and you’ll pay him or her a predetermined negotiated rate—generally less than what he or she charges—for the service provided to me.

When I see a provider who is out of your network, I’ll submit a claim for the full amount, you’ll tell me that the usual and customary charge for that particular service is some amount less than what I was charged and then, if I’m lucky, you will, without factoring in a co-pay that I didn’t lay out, issue a check for 80 percent of the lesser amount.

I hope this information is helpful to you, Medical Insurance Provider, and that henceforth you’ll use these guidelines when processing my claims.  Thank you for your careful consideration of this matter.

Sincerely yours,
JanetheWriter

R

Happy Birthday, Israel

Last year on Yom Ha'atzmaut, I borrowed an idea from two fellow bloggers and detailed the 13 things I love best about Israel. 

As my paternal grandmother was fond of saying, "It bears repeating."  And so, on this 63rd anniversary of Israel's independence, I send you back to that birthday list.

Happy birthday, Israel.  Miss you lots and wish I was there.

Letter to The Mums

Dear The Mums,

You know how Daddy always says that in Teddy Roosevelt’s time Sundays were reserved for letter writing?   Well, it’s Sunday (the one right before Pesach) and even though I don’t know the exact address of the Yeshivah shel Mal'ah where you’re probably hanging out these days, I’m sure that one way or another, you’ll receive this message.  (Rabbi Bogosian—and probably a few other people, too—is sure that you’re there all the time nudging God about why God didn’t let Moses into the Promised Land.  I can’t say I disagree with her!)

I know that you probably already know all the things I want to tell you that have gone on in the last 10 and a half months, but just in case you don’t, here goes…

It’s really hard here without you, but you’re always on our minds and we’re doing the best we can.  On the morning of Yom Kippur I carried “your” Torah scroll during the hakafah—the way you always did.  You know it’s always been my very favorite honor…and even more so now.  I had a chance to do it again a week ago on Shabbat B’Shir (obviously in the regular blue cover) when Danny Maseng was the scholar-in-residence. He was, as usual, wonderful, and I know you would have enjoyed seeing him and Terry.

Daddy and I will be back at temple on May 6th for the 50th anniversary celebration.  Eric’s speaking and everyone’s really excited…you’d think the pope was coming to visit. ;-)  Something else about Eric, too…he’s retiring in June of 2012 and Rick Jacobs from Westchester Reform will be succeeding him.  Apparently, there’s some possibility of job insecurity for me once he comes on board, but I honestly don’t think I’ll end up panhandling on Third Avenue.  We’ll see…

I’m sure you know about Uncle Jash, which was very hard for Aunt Claire.  In her indomitable way, though, she’s doing very well.  She’s making the seder tomorrow night and it will be a very familiar, albeit bittersweet, scene.  Daddy’s bringing the extra soup bowls she always borrows from you, as well as Miriam’s cup, and the haggadot.  We didn’t know where they were at first, but last weekend after the scholar-in-residence program, I went back to the house with Daddy and after starting in Fibber McGee’s closet, we finally found them in a big plastic box in the garage with all the other Passover stuff.  LZ’s making the desserts, and last night I made your delish crock pot brisket.  (Marc's making the choroset, which you know was always my specialty, but, alas, I had to let it go.)  I know that we’ll miss you more than ever tomorrow night, but also that you’ll be there with us, doing all the duh-duh-duh-duh-duhs at the end of every verse of Dayenu.  Oh, and please don’t forget about the weather…sunny and spring like would be wonderful.  Sanks!

One more thing:  Remember when you wrote in your ethical will that you wished for us the courage to face the things that we must face?  Well, I’m guessing you had no idea (or perhaps you did?) what a whopper I’d be facing these days.  After you died, LZ and I got tested for the BRCA gene mutations and although she’s negative, I’m positive (as we surmise you were) for a founder mutation that significantly increases my lifetime risk of both breast and ovarian cancer – up to 85% for the former and as high as 27% for the latter.  Mustering the courage to face the things that I must face, I connected with a great geneticist and team of doctors at Sloan-Kettering and had a full hysterectomy in December.  At the moment, I’m also in a high surveillance breast program that alternates mammograms and MRIs at six-month intervals.  A baseline MRI 10 days ago, though, uncovered two things that needed further investigation and so last week I had another MRI, an ultrasound and an MRI-guided core biopsy (Aunt Bea came with me for that one) before the docs, thankfully, could report that the two things were really nothing.  The experience, however, confirmed for me that I can’t live the rest of my life this way and so last week (with Aunt Claire in tow this time), I also saw a breast surgeon and am scheduled to see a plastic surgeon at the end of this month.  I’ve been doing a ton of research on various surgeons and procedures, and I’m totally comfortable that the prophylactic mastectomy and autologous reconstruction decision is absolutely the right one for me.  Courage to face the things I need to face?  As Sarah Palin would say, “You betcha!”

There’s lots more to tell, but these are the biggies.  The rest will have to wait for another Sunday and another letter. 

Chag sameach, The Mums….xoxo,
~ Boo!