365 Attempts (At Life)

She wrapped him around her little finger like a white string just in case her memory faded.

Today I went to a hipster pop show that celebrated religious music. It was set in a community center theater that looked very much like a church. Only instead of an altar they had a stage. And instead of host or holy wine, they had beer and a merch table. As I sat there in a wooden pew, hot sun shining through stained windows, fanning myself with the festival program I tried to recall to memory that 'going-to-church' feeling. All that sitting and standing and kneeling and sitting and standing. Yawning uncontrollably. The unbearable urge to stick in the exposed shirt tag of the helmet-haired lady standing in front of me with the strong perfume. You see, my dad was a devout Catholic so we had to go every Sunday. Our church wasn't anything to write home about. It was a small old army barracks that they converted into 'Our Lady Queen of The World'. There were no majestic high ceilings or stained glass, just some pews and an altar with a cross. It was plain. It was hum...

I feel like you don’t really know the people you know until you play Monopoly with them. In my experience, the fun and laughter board games are supposed to bring, do not apply to this game. This is serious play-money business. Faint hearts should stay on the sidelines with the official rules that come with the box. I say this because, have you noticed how the rules change depending on who you play with? No? Then you haven’t met my family. Cheater 1: Nooo, I rolled a double. That gets me out of jail. And I land on Park Place by default. Cheater 2: Yesssss! Free Parking! That means I win all the money in the middle of the board and each of you have to give me twenty bucks. Every Thanksgiving, my family would rent a cottage up in the mountains. After a long day of hiking in fresh air, excessive eating and drinking, someone would traditionally utter those fateful words: Hey, let's play Monopoly! It always got ugly. Mom, for starters, instantly became a mobster. She...

I just found a love note from ten years ago. I read it, and it still made my cells sparkle. Isn't that funny? How the heart remembers a lot more than it can forget.

Tonight, after a family dinner at my parent’s house (and after my sister and her family noisily tumbled out the door) I found myself sweeping the kitchen floor. Over the clinking and clanking of dishes in the sink, dad calls out to mom in the other room. Dad: Rosa, did you take the garbage out? Mom (muffled) : Yes. Dad (not hearing her): Ro? Did you do it? Or do I have to do it? Tanya, ask your mother- Me (cutting him off) : Yes, Dad, she did it. Mom (loudly now) : He can’t hear me anymore! Yes , John! It’s done. Dad: Ok, thanks honey. Can you pass me the dishcloth over there? Then we got quiet, and I could hear the dryer tumbling in the other room. The scent of fabric softener and dish soap wafting through the air. My eyes were on the floor as I began sweeping under the same kitchen table as I did back when I was seven or twelve or nineteen… And without warning I had a flashback to ‘teenager me’ sweeping in my childhood home. I was wondering about my homework...

Very early yesterday morning, I made my way to the hospital to get all the electrodes removed from my head. It’s a pretty funny set-up they have in the EEG department, it sort of looks like a hair salon. They have salon chairs and sinks, and blow-dryers. Since I was there at the crack of dawn to bring the equipment back, it was just me and the technician. He was a soft spoken Indian man, with the loveliest Punjabi accent. He directed me to my chair and got all his equipment together to start the removal process. Him: So this is the good part, where we remove the torture device. Me: Yeah. It wasn’t so bad, just awkward. And the glue made my head really itchy. Him: Yes, that’s very, very common. OK, Tanya, I’m going to need you to close your eyes and keep this towel against them. The product I am using is acetone and dangerous to get in your eyes. Me: Acetone? Like nail polish remover?! Him:  Yes. Me: Is my hair going to change colour? Him: Not supposed to. Me (eye...

"This house shall permit a yard, but not a garden." The builder specified that in his contract. Such a shame. You see, the buyers were avid gardeners. Who wanted nothing more than to sit and watch their flowers grow. But this home was all they could afford.