Another Reason Not To Change Your Name When You Get Married

N's mother very sadly passed away in 2004.

Dying wish was grass-only grave.

There will be no flowers growing out of my head, Mom of N declared. It gives me the creeps.

Several hundred rainy Sundays later, N is at cemetery visiting multiple deceased relatives.

Hey are those pansies on Mom's head?

Turns out there were, indeed, flowers in full bloom on the heretofore grass-only grave.

Waits till business hours.

Calls cemetery.

There seems to be a problem.

(Explains).

Cemetery says: Aren't you Mrs. Cohen?

Yes.

Well we put the pansies on Mrs. Cohen's grave.

No you didn't. You put them on Mrs. Goldberg's grave.

You are Mrs. Cohen. We put them on your mother's grave.

I changed my name when I got married. I am Mrs. Cohen. My mother in law, Mrs. Cohen, g-d rest her soul, wanted flowers on her grave. You put the flowers on Mrs. Goldberg's grave.

Mrs. Goldberg didn't want flowers?

No. My mother, Mrs. Goldberg of blessed memory, wanted a grass-only resting place.

Mrs. Cohen?

Yes that's me. (Finally we are getting some where.)

We have just changed our computer system.  With the new  computer, you are the daughter of Mrs. Cohen.  There is no way on the new screen to have a Mrs. Cohen as the daughter of a Mrs. Goldberg.  Hey, that must be how your mother, blessed for all eternity, ended up with flowers in the first place.

Now that we have figured it out, can we update the screens.

I am sorry but that will be impossible.  I have to check with my boss before I make any changes in the system.  You understand, no doubt, that I answer to a higher authority.

Don't we all.

Hey, I'm Just Here to Drop Off A Book

5:26pm. Sun shining. Leafy suburban street.

Ring the doorbell.

Shadowy figure gestures Hang On A Sec.

93 seconds elapse.

Door opens.

Sorry we couldn't get to the door sooner, sixtysomething father of friend says.

My wife was naked, and I wasn't wearing any pants.

Book Complaint

Wrote book.

Turns out they give awards for best non-fiction and best first book.

Delivered my books in person.

Yes, to the right place.

Yes, I was also on time.

(Thank you for the vote of confidence).

Went to Edmonton. Hightailed it immediately to stopped at very crucial errand.

Checked e-mail.

Big Mistake.

Book disqualified.

No non-literary books allowed. No cookbooks. No "How-To" Manuals. No "self-help" books.

You must be so disappointed, e-mail said.

Immediately called and calmly asked for explanation.

Was told it was a grey area. Major concern: If book goes forward, and wins, and someone contests it because it is technically a self-help book, what will they say?

(Resisted the urge to recommend possible responses.)

So disappointed.

Called my husband.

Sobbed hysterically.

Left store empty handed as red t-shirted and beige panted employees gently backed away.

Complaint Tie-Ins

1.  Perfectly good shopping experience crucial errand ruined by checking e-mail.

2.  No amount of complaining, effective or otherwise, will change jury's decision, which according to all the fine print, is final

3. Book was disqualified because it is good. Had it been bad, and stood absolutely no chance of winning, it would have been no threat to anyone and would therefore not been disqualified.

4. Does this not remind you of the time I lost my cool in the library? What is it with me and literature that is just so damn sensitive? Maybe need to screw the book thing and take up basketweaving.

Not Sure Who Has A Bigger Complaint

Get on the plane, exhausted.

Lady next to me has no magazine, historical romance, crochet needles or earphones.

Bad sign.

As predicted, she gave me:

And that's when the 88 year old woman straddled Ginger, our miniature horse

the tree trunk all the way to the left of the page, showing that she lives in the past

So just because of that, Ron and I aren't allowed in our daughter-in-law's house any more

Ever since I gave Mom's eulogy, I've been attracted to the colour blue - before that, it was all about brown, but now I feel blue is a spiritual colour

the Victims Assistance unit of the RCMP, and I think the worst call was in December, when

My response:

I just wrote a book. Wanna read it?

How To Live to Be 100

Friend has Grandpa who has been driving same sedan for 16 years.

Just got admitted to hospital for variety of minor ailments.

Driver's License unfortunately revoked minutes shy of 100th birthday.

Much discussion about how to get rid of car.

Family trying to donate car to disabled children, foundation for lung disease, battered women.

Women and children understandably not thrilled with prospect of 16 year old sedan.

Found someone to take car off hands.

Grandpa, where are the keys?

To what?

Your car (sighing gently).

Got rid of the car. Put an ad in the paper, guy showed up with $4000 cash, gave him the keys.

Shocked looks.

Did you think I was waiting around for you to take care of it?

Complaint about Childhood Cancer

Because six year old E has leukaemia, I couldn't take a shower this morning.

OMG! Is E one of your kids? Were you so busy with him that you couldn't wash?  Were you in the hospital where there was no shower?

No. E is my husband's first cousin's younger son.  He lives in another country.  We visited this weekend.

Oh - I get it.  While you were there, you contracted some visiting disease that prohibits showering.

Huh? What visiting disease would possibly prohibit showering?

I know, I know. Did you say they were American? You must be saving money to send to the family so you have forsaken hot water. And shampoo.

Yes, they are American. No, they have insurance. (And for your information, you can buy shampoo at the dollar store. Or so I hear.)

So the only possible explanation then is that you are refusing to shower to draw attention to the plight of childhood leukaemia. Hunger strikes are so 2012.

Nope, but good guess.  I'll tell you the truth.

We went to visit E this weekend. He smashed my knees several times with a baseball bat, played kickball in the yard and refused to try sushi.  Typical six year old boy.

He also has bald spots, a bag of chemo drugs and is prohibited from entering a shopping mall. Typical cancer patient.

I anticipated that it would be a difficult weekend. I knew we would have some good times, I knew we would share some emotional moments. We have been to hell and back Disney with these people. Our families are very close.

Still, I stupidly didn't anticipate that my three kids, aged 14, 12 and 8 would be so shaken up.

One has not stopped crying.

One has not liked any food I have served, including offensive meals such as salmon and rice, chicken breasts and in a particularly inspired gourmet moment, spaghetti.

The third has stayed home from school with a case of the vapours sick. For two days.

My kids are upset. They need attention. They want their Mommy, which as it turns out, is me.

I therefore have to give them a little extra attention this week.  Including a little extra attention in the morning. Which means that at 7am I was sitting and chatting instead of rinsing and repeating if desired.

E taught me a very valuable lesson.

Diseases like this, even if the prognosis is optimistic, are ravaging in so many different ways.

We worry about the ill child. We worry about the parents. We worry about the long road ahead.

And we watch our children worry.

E, I wish you the speediest of recoveries.  And to your parents, I wish strength and courage.

To my own kids, my heart breaks for you as you watch someone you love suffer.

And for myself, well, I'm setting the alarm a bit earlier tomorrow morning.

I really have to take that shower.