“like slivered almonds in the bulk section,” by Julia in The Loop, Chicago

Monday September 10, 2018
10:38pm
5 minutes
Parsley
Listen Chen

Jessie keeps her handkerchief in the secret pocket of her purse. Nobody knows it’s there but her. A tiny reminder of her tiny grandmother who left a big hole in her life when she passed away. She has never been the type to use a handkerchief but knowing that it’s there makes her feel better. It is yellow and white and sweet and floral. It makes her feel lavish. Abundant. Like all those slivered and blanched almonds in the bulk section. Nothing else goes inside the secret purse pocket. It has to stay clean and folded there where all the memories live.

“It gave her a deep sinking feeling” by Sasha at Vancouver Folk Festival

Friday July 13, 2018
9:21pm
5 minutes
Cujo
Stephen King

I was bred to say yes
Keep my head down
Eyes have power I learned
too young
Waiting for the train
I accidentally look up
and he’s leering and
cat-calling and
asking how much

Taught to nod
Use the delicacy
of the clavicle
for broccoli and wine

I was bred to open
to suck
to receive
to mm-hmm
to reveal
to tempt
to oblige

Waiting at the gas station
whistles and waves

How far we’ve come
from how it used to be
my grandmother says

When women were lauded
were bowed to
were worshipped

“the holy monkeys and the colourful birds” by Julia on the bus to Phong Nha-Kẻ Bàng

Tuesday January 30, 2018
8:39am
5 minutes
You
Anna Margolin

In the morning before we said goodbye to Ann, the tiny blue bird with the long beak that I had seen in my half sleep from the bus reappeared. It cradled a thin branch near the water with its feet and stopped the world from stepping. I tried to tell you that it was a sign. You couldn’t see the blue and told me it was probably some other bird. It was the same one and I knew by the way it sat. Its stillness was a perfect one. I would know it anywhere. I managed to quiet my heart beat long enough to hear. To sense the strength or the message or the absence of expectation. I heard it like the humming of my Nonna, her voice soothing while she used to mend my favourite sleep shorts. I would know that sound anywhere. I would.

“feel free to play around” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday January 8, 2018
7:12am
5 minutes
http://ohsheglows.com/

My daughter and her daughter sit on their
front porch and sing to the shrubs

My daughter and her daughter walk to the river
and throw stones in
see how the current weaves

My daughter and her daughter
peel clementines and eat the sections slow
fussing turns to laughter turns to fussing
turns to laughter turns to nap

My daughter and her daughter sleep in a bed
with lavender tucked in the pillowcases
dream of a time when the world might be better
dream of a future where there’s curiosity and hope

“store it where it’s safe” by Julia on the plane

Monday September 25, 2017
12:22pm
5 minutes
overheard on the UP express

Money, my grandmother taught me, was meant to be given away, not stored in a sock drawer or a book you’ll never read again. She said the last one because once she was visiting and snooping and doing what she does, and she opened up my bible and a crisp hundred dollar bill fluttered to the floor. She asked one day, Kelly, where do you keep your karma sutra? I spit out my orange juice onto the front of my blouse. She then said, maybe now that you’re a lesbian, you should find a place to keep your money where you’ll actually look! Then she took a toonie out of her apron and snuck it into my palm, closing my fingers around it like a precious jewel. Buy yourself a clue, she said.

“keep this info handy” by Julia at her desk


Sunday August 20, 2017
10:01pm
5 minutes
the Shaw pamphlet

Mom gives me the phone card passcode so I can call Nanna in Berlin. She lives there now. She said it’s nicer than Whitby. I tell her that I probably don’t have time to call her cause I have finals this week and she doesn’t let me finish my sentence. She doesn’t think school is a good excuse not to do anything. Probably because she only finished the 8th grade. Probably because she knows when I’m talking out of my ass. Mom tells me to keep that info handy and maybe taake a photo of it on my new fancy icamera. I tell her it’s not an icamera, it’s an iphone, and it’s not fancy, it’s a 4s, and life is not as easy as she thinks.
When I ask Mom why she cares so much if I call Nanna or not, she laughs for longer than is necessary and comfortable. “If you have kids,” she says, “and they don’t call me, I will always blame their mother first.”

“I lied all the time” by Julia at her desk


Thursday May 11, 2017
10:04pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Louis C.K
Sunbeams of The Sun (May 2017 issue)


five years old, Nonna visits,
leaves her face creams tubed in the upstairs bathroom
curious, five years old, sneaks into the upstairs bathroom
counts the black tile, counts the white,
opens the cream, smears it on, five years old,
closes it, runs away to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary
mother, thirty-five years old, yells at all of us
because one of us, five years old, left the tubes partially open
Nonna wants to know who would, since she wouldn’t
five years old wants to blame it on the upstairs bathroom ghost
thirty-five years old asks flame on lips for the last time,
shoots missile from eyes, no prisoners
five years old, scared, ashamed, caught, decides to lie
blames it on the upstairs bathroom ghost,
learns guilt, confesses
one hour later

“I had a big fight with him” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday December 5, 2016
12:42pm
5 minutes
From an interview transcription

In the months before she died
my mother’s mother ripped herself out of pictures
because she thought she looked fat.
When I was seven and we visited her
in Florida at the apartment by the river
where manatees swam by
I took the Werther’s Originals from her candy bowl
and filled my pockets with them
She told on me to my mother.
I had a big fight with my boyfriend
the day after she died
He was in Toronto and I was Montreal
sitting on pillows on the floor
of a hotel room I shared with my sister.
He said that he didn’t know if he
could get off work for the funeral.

“With a couple of girlfriends” by Julia at BC Children’s hospital


Saturday November 26, 2016
12:52pm
5 minutes
overheard at BC Children’s Hospital

I imagine her carrying her black bag, (bottomless, gold hardware, disgusting) to the gym and then the bank. She fishes around: hand plunged into crusty zipper pockets and crumbled Nature Valley Granola Bar lining. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for and what she’s hoping to find but she knows the answer is deep down somewhere between the Revlon Matte Lip Stain and the broken bronzer pallet staining her receipts pumpkin. I don’t think she’d ask a man to carry it for her when she gets tired of it, but maybe when she has to bend to tie her shoes. She knows in one of the pouches there is a yellow hanker chief that her grandmother gave her and laughed at when she told her she would wear it in her back pocket (peeking out just a bit) as a fashion statement. I imagine she tells her this joke during one of her grandmother’s coughing fits, but not that she will miss her when she’s gone.

“shouldn’t cost you money” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday October 11, 2016
10:10pm
5 minutes
From a Tangerine ad

No one tells you that you become invisible. Your nose gets bigger, you sprout hair out of your ears, you lose all your pubes, and you become invisible. That’s the truth. I want you to know it because I wish I had. I would’ve given a heck of a lot less attention to how I looked when I actually looked like a Goddamn goddess. I’m not exactly sure when the invisibility cloak was placed over my shoulders… Fifty five? Sixty? I even tried dressing extra sassy, then extra sophisticated, then radical… Didn’t real change a thing. It really showed me what we were fighting for in the Women’s Lib Movement… If you aren’t deemed valuable, viable (ie. child bearing) to MEN, then suddenly society doesn’t value you. You are no longer sexual currency. Might as well be in the bargain bin.

“Bought wedding bands on Etsy” by Sasha on the couch in Swansea


Friday July 29, 2016
10:41pm
5 minutes
from a Facebook post

Ever since I started wearing your wedding ring I’ve been having bad dreams, seeing things I’ve never seen before. I wake up sweaty, the sheets soaked, and shaking. I tried to write the dreams down once or twice, but it freaked me out too much, when I went back and re-read it. Molly really really wanted it. I don’t know why you didn’t just give the ring to her. Dad says that because I’m the oldest granddaughter it had some sort of special significance to you, but you never showed that, I mean, I never knew you felt that way when you were alive. To be honest, I didn’t really think you ever liked me. I got a birthday card from you once or twice, but other than that, and Christmas visits, you didn’t seem to care for me or Bill. Molly and Kenneth were another story. I know that you took care of them more when they were still cute and cuddly. It’s not my fault my Mom thought you were irresponsible.

“where the water is still” by Sasha at the kitchen counter


Thursday July 7, 2016
11:39pm
5 minutes
Cranes and Egrets
Marlene Cookshaw


“When you swim far out, way out past the break, past where the waves are tall as houses, the water is still…” Granny eats a piece of honeydew, the juice dripping down her chin. She wipes it with the back of her hand. “You have to be very brave to swim out that far, you have to be bigger than you are… Fifteen or sixteen. It takes strength of mind an’ body, you see, an’ something else, too…” At this time of night her accent gets thick. “You need the determination, the power that comes along with really believing in yourself.” She swats at a mosquito. “I used to spend hours and hours out there, in the still water, thinking up what might happen. I’m more of a future person than a past person. Past people, they’re more apt to get all depressive. Future people? Like me? Anxiety… But on the still water, floating on my back an’ my front an’ treading water – just calm.”

“Be wildly generous” by Julia at her dining table


Friday May 20, 2016
6:15pmm
5 minutes
from Julia’s notebook

My grandmother had been staying at our house after her hip surgery. She was sleeping in my room and she liked to spend her time organizing my bookshelves and my underwear drawer. One day she called me into our room to show me her latest clean-up effort. All of my underwear, she showed me, beaming with pride, were folded and stacked neatly according to size, colour, and functionality. I was 16 at the time and I had been wearing thongs for a couple years by then. My grandmother pointed to each stack reminding me “These ones are your nice ones, these are for staying at home only, and these ones are for your ‘holidays'”. She was pointing to the tiny stack of thongs and she was clearly referring to my ‘romantic encounters’. I remember, before I could defend or deny, she brought her finger to her lips, shushing the air as if to say “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.” I raised my eyebrows in relief and mouthed the words “thank you.” She smiled wide and squeezed my shoulder, thrilled to keep my business just between us. The truth was, I wasn’t, actually wearing thongs for my ‘holidays’ as I hadn’t had any ‘holidays’ yet, but I just never mentioned that to her. I could tell she needed my secret more than she needed my honesty.

“We’ve got your back” by Sasha at Macdonell


Tuesday April 26, 2016
11:10pm
5 minutes
from a Suburu ad

Gramma makes apple rose tarts and we aren’t allowed to touch because she’s hosting Bridge tonight and all the ladies are going to get their finger’s into egg salad sandwiches. Me and Ceecee will have to stay in our room right up til bedtime and then we can come down and have one glass of Sprite and say goodnight to everyone. Mrs. McDougall smells like Thin Mints. Mrs. Clementine smells like she might’ve forgotten to change her shirt this week. Mrs. Oliver paints her nails only bright bright pink and Gramma says that colour has been out of fashion since before her First Communion.

“in response to” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday November 11, 2015
6:11pm
5 minutes
From Performing Site Specific Theatre
Ed. Anna Birch and Joanne Tompkins


my mother’s mother had a strong jaw
my mother has a strong jaw
i have a
strong jaw
women like foothills
hips that lead to knowing
women like water
shoulders that feel the weight

my mother’s mother
all interruption
all control
all strength
all smoke
all ash
all sun
all dust
all breath
all power
all shame
all grace
all cherry tree
all candle wax
all salt
all curve
all language

my mother’s mother
a legacy of cabbage rolls
chocolate worship
picked the scabs on her arms until she bled
i pick the scab on my arm until i bleed
the story spins a web of then and now
my future daughter
my mother’s mother
my mother
my sister
the story spins a dreidel
marking roots
marking laugh lines
marking tear tracks
marking what’s good
what’s bad
the space between

“senior’s line dancing” by Sasha in the bath


Wednesday November 4, 2015
10:11pm
5 minutes
theseniorshub.org

Grams rolls her cigarettes with the concentration of a surgeon, or a chemist. The photos of her smoking are my favourite in the series, even though I don’t like that she does it. I photograph her every time I go to Sudbury and stay in the guest suite at her Nursing Home. She meets me in the dining room for breakfast at seven thirty and she’s wearing a lavender dress and a black cashmere sweater with teal pumps. Her hair is in a french twist and her lipstick matches her dress. I take her picture, as she eats her cream of wheat.

“senior’s line dancing” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday November 4, 2015
9:13pm
5 minutes
theseniorshub.org

Nonna doesn’t stop talking until you ask her to talk about herself.
In fact, that is how you get Nonna to stop talking.
It was an accident that I found that fact to be true, but it’s true none the less.
I asked her once to tell me about when she was younger.
“Tell me about the dancing! Tell me about you and Nonno dancing or kissing or both.”
“Oh, we were young, yes, a long time ago. We did some dancing.”
She tells me this, in Italian, as she lays the tomatoes out to be sun-dried.
“No, Nonna, I mean tell me about your dancing. What kind of music did you like? What kind of necklaces did you wear?”
But she doesn’t want to tell me, or remind herself, and instead she trails off in a way that makes her sound like she doesn’t quite believe the sound of her own voice.
“Okay Nonna, tell me about the tomatoes.”
“Oh, these tomatoes? I picked these tomatoes. All by myself. This morning. I hurt my joints because I picked them so long.”

“I begin to understand” by Julia at her kitchen table


Tuesday August 19, 2014
11:57pm
5 minutes
You Got It
Roy Orbison


Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young John Travolta? It’s a compliment, really. I mean, hey, it’s John Fucking Travolta. Who wouldn’t want to look like him? It’s true, he’s no Tom Cruise. Oh my God, have you seen Eyes Wide Shut? He’s a fucking dreamboat in that one, right? Oh my god, like a perfect little angel man. He’s got a nice casual condescension that he plays so easily, so effortlessly. I hate to admit I was attracted to him during the whole film, even when he’s acting questionably. Oh my good fucking god, it’s not a spoiler, who doesn’t act questionably in a movie? It’s a movie! But you! You’re a John. A good one, a good good one. And it’s probably, well mostly, because of that cute little chin of yours. You can just tell that you’re good cause of that. It looks like you have an extra space to fit the love in! That’s what my great grandmother always used to say. Well not always, I mean, I only knew her for like a year before she died and in that time I think we ever only talked about bum chins that once.

“Maximize your chances” by Sasha on her couch


Wednesday April 23, 2014
12:56am
5 minutes
http://www.zerve.com

I was the kinda kid that wanted freckles, I wanted to be better at football and I wanted parents that cared enough to stick around. My Nana raised my brothers and I. She was the kinda lady that always had a bed for you and some leftovers staying warm in the oven. My Dad was busted for some criminal activity at the lounge he was managing and had to spend sixteen months in a minimum security prison. My Mom was “following her heart” and find Jesus on some farm in the Midwest. My oldest brother Donny went on a lot of dates. He was only allowed to go out on Fridays and Saturdays, though, so he had a wait list of girls… Or so he said. I’d watch him get ready, clenching his jaw as he looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing hair gel between his palms and smoothing it over his head. Donny wasn’t even the best looking of all of us, but he tried the hardest. He spent an hour lifting weights and doing pushups and sit ups in his room every night before bed. I knew it because Paul and my room was next to his and Karl’s and we could hear his grunts and he struggled and counted – “fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight…”

“skill testing question required” by Sasha on the King streetcar going West


Friday April 4, 2014
5:03pm
5 minutes
from a receipt

Answer the question correctly, Angel, and we might actually get somewhere! We might actually get out of this hell-hole of a trailer park! Think really hard. Please. Think the best you possibly can. We might actually progress beyond communal showers and deep fried hot dogs. I love you, Angel, but… It’s harder when you’re old, like me, to really feel like you’ve got much of anything. If I can offer you one word of advice, it’s this… If you let them chain you, they will. Don’t let them chain you, Angel! I guess that’s more than one word. Shit. I got chained, I got chained too young. Barely seventeen and I was chained to that bald man for fifty three years! Can you even imagine?

“I’m working on organizing” by Julia at Starbucks


Friday February 7, 2014 at Starbucks
3:45pm
5 minutes
An e-mail from the Playwright’s Guild of Canada

I’m working on organizing my life better. I told my mother on the phone that I couldn’t talk right then and that as soon as I got my shit together I would phone her back. I haven’t called her since December. That is not okay, and as a human being with higher education in more ways than one, I know this. I fully understand and acknowledge my position here, I really do. My mother never wants to disturb me. Even when it might be a good time to tell me that my grandmother who was in the hospital with something as small as anemia, actually died in there, and I would have gone to see her, if I had just known she was sick. So now that I haven’t called her, she hasn’t called me, and honestly, that’s a great great thing. Because she’ll ask how I am, and ask me to come visit, and ask me to come live with her, and ask if I say no to all of those things if she’d rather she just offed herself with sleeping pills, and when I say no to that, she’ll ask, even the ones that Michael Jackson was using, and I’ll say too soon mom, it’ll always be too soon.

“Hooded Shawl” by Sasha at her desk


Thursday February 6, 2014
11:56pm
5 minutes
the Circle Scarf tag
American Apparel


We were wiser when we were younger. Tuned into our hunger and our thirst. Seeing only the best and not the worst. Every person their own snowflake, melting on the tongue of the universe. We were wiser when we were younger. Brewing our tea in tiny cups and shaking hands with every stuffed bear at the party. No fashionably late. Always on time. You would braid my hair, fancy and french, and I would tell you made-up stories about a place we called “Venitaville”.

“We were wiser when we were younger,” you say, pouring more beer in my glass and getting really whimsical about it. “Remember that hooded shawl thing you had? That you’d wear October to April?” My Bubba had made it for me out of and old sweater. It was pink and purple.

“Where are you going?” by Julia at Sambuca Grill


Tuesday November 12, 2013 at Sambuca Grill
8:44pm
5 minutes
Overheard by Sasha on the Lansdowne bus

He was waiting in his underwear for her on the couch when she got home. She hadn’t given him a key yet, so he had to charm her neighbour into believing she had and he had just misplaced it while helping another old lady cross the street. It seemed like a likely story. When he let himself into her apartment, he washed all her dishes, then washed between his legs, put back on his underwear, a bow tie, and some coconut body lotion, and sat himself on the couch to surprise her. He was planning a big night. One that would start out as a joke and end up as a proposal. He wanted to “open her mouth with laughter and then shove the truth down” as he had heard his acting teacher say in second year. He agreed with that sentiment, and knew she would be disappointed with any other display of something that meaningful. He had heard her say millions of times that if anyone ever proposed to her with her family around, or in a public space, she would have no problem breaking up with him right then and there, on his knee or not. He knew that he would have to stand out and showcase that he had heard her all those times. He also wanted to make sure she wasn’t even slightly suspecting a ring, because that, he was sure, would ruin things. He had been waiting for a long time. She had failed to mention that she was flying to Montreal to visit her grandmother for her birthday that weekend.

“smooth even the toughest” by Julia at her kitchen table


Tuesday, October 29, 2013
12:55am
5 minutes
the back of the Aveda foot lotion

From when I was young to now, to right now, I’ve been fighting with my hair! I know I know it’s sad. It’s true, though! That’s the biggest problem I have; combing out the knots and wishing I didn’t have any to begin with. My mom. My mommmmmmmm. She used to try to comb through each strand and she’d pick and pull and wish and hope and I’d scream and pick and pull and wish and hope. She was just like her mother was to her. After you’d come out of the shower, she’d be standing there with a wet comb and a half smile trying to persuade me into wanting it. I can do it myself, I’d say, but what is it with these woman who actually want to comb hair all day? They wouldn’t listen and I wouldn’t fight them because I needed all the energy I had in me to fight with my hair! It’s sad, I know I know, but it’s true!! I used to draw my stick figure self as a kid completely bald! That’s true too! Because I knew it would be easier without any of it. Without even a little peach fuzz to keep me warm!

“social insurance number” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday, July 23, 2013
12:34am
5 minutes
from the back of an envelope from the government

“Who is left that remembers?” she keeps asking, a Werthers tucked in her cheek for sweetness and lubrication. When Nanna laughs it’s like the sky is singing Hallelujah hymns, it’s a spiritual event. She’s talking about when her and Russ, my grandfather, and Russ’ brother Gus (I know) escaped from Poland during World War II. “I guess there aren’t very many people left,” I say, opening her fridge and taking out a litre container of Tropicana, extra pulp. It’s like drinking swamp water, but I enjoy it. Only at her place. She’s lived in a condo in the Florida Keys since Russ died. Nanna and Russ were my great escape from the quiet and over dramatic introspection of my own mother and father. I spent any time I had a break from school on the pullout in their den. Nanna always secretly paid for my flight. Guss wouldn’t have been into it. He believed in everyone carving their own path, paying their own way. They had separate bank accounts until he died of prostate cancer in 2002. Nanna giggled as I sat beside her, clutching her hand, as she told the branch manager to merge their accounts. She looked up and said, “It all works out as it should in the end.”

“FEAST” by Sasha at Thom and Shelagh’s kitchen table


Monday, July 1, 2013
4:13pm
5 minutes
FEAST
Nigella Lawson


When you aren’t sure what to make, dig out your grandmother’s recipe box. Each rectangular, lined, piece of card-stock paper is dotted with chocolate icing, splatters of beef jus, a piece of shredded cheddar cheese, a tomato sauce thumbprint. Find the recipe for what you used to ask for for your birthday between the ages of twelve and sixteen, that time when you were hazy with the new knowing of yourself and couldn’t see beyond the tip of your nose. You really knew what you wanted then. That was clear. You’d ask for a feast, a spread of epic proportions. You knew you deserved that level of celebration.

“All natural” by Sasha on her kitchen floor


Thursday, April 4, 2013
2:36am
5 minutes
Cameron’s beer coaster

VeeVee wasn’t the kind of woman who got her nails done. She thought spending twenty five dollars on polishing the endest bit of an extremity was the biggest block of baloney. It wasn’t because she lived through the Great Depression. It was because she knew the value of a dollar better than any person you’ll ever meet. She knew how to read the stocks pages of the newspaper but she was artist. She did all of her children’s taxes. Her name wasn’t really VeeVee it was Violet. But that’s what my sister called her when she couldn’t say her real name and then it just kind of stuck. VeeVee lived on the top floor of our house when we were growing up, in her own suite. She’d share some dinners with us, or babysit when my parents went out on a Date Night or to an Auction. She’s give us as many caramel candies as we could stomach, the only real “grandma” type thing she actually followed through on, but the whole time she’d say, “Don’t blame VeeVee when you get a bellyache!” And we didn’t. We blamed ourselves. VeeVee had been married four times. My mother’s father was a fisherman whom she’d met at the Market where she sold the jewellery that she made. She was their only child. She had seven brothers, though, from the three other marriages. VeeVee and my mother had a tense relationship. In fact, after one particularly bad fight, VeeVee packed up all her things and spent a week at the Youth Hostel on Hastings. She was eighty-two.

“Serving 4 blocks” by Julia at her kitchen table


Thursday, December 20, 2012
11:44pm
5 minutes
From the back of a Godiva chocolate bar

A hundred pretty ladies wearing aprons and artificial curls in their hair were discussing the annual block party. Kimberly, a saucy blonde, was dividing her white computer paper into sections, and Matilda, the tiny brunette was playing hangman with her self. Matilda didn’t want to be coming to these meetings without an idea, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sucking up to Kimberly just to be heard. Instead Matilda never spoke. She wanted the society ladies to come crawling to her when she made it seem like she had something they all wanted…
Kimberly handed out a square of perfectly torn paper to each lady present. She told them all to write down one word.
Matilda looked at the paper for what felt like hours. She didn’t want to write the wrong word. Right now, she sensed, was the perfect opportunity to show these mousey, stuck up, manufactured women what she really thought.
Kimberly went around collecting the papers. She began reading out the words when she saw fit. “Apples. Good choice, Meridith. Ooh, Gifts. Nice job Linda.” She walked by Matilda with a smirk on her face. “Let’s see ladies. What’s the good word from miss Matilda Matthews?” Matilda handed over the square, a fire burning inside her. Kimberly looked down in shock. “Oh my Lord,” she whispered.

“appreciate something different.” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday, December 19, 2012
6:11pm
5 minutes
shutterbean.com

It’s all too real and blurry. It’s all to shake and hurry. It’s all too warm and furry. It’s all too break and bury.
One of those things was written in a letter to me from my grandmother. She died before I was born, but was documenting her life so that I might have some semblance of her in mine. She had bright red hair, even in her old age. She dyed it, of course, but it looked like it wanted to stay vibrant for her anyway. I only got to read the letter when I turned 18, so it held some mystical properties that I believed would save me. My grandmother was filled with wisdom and ideas. She used to talk to animals just to work her thoughts out. She lost her hearing by the time she made the video so it’s very loud and very shouty. God love her. She was one of a kind. Always telling people around her that she knew she wasn’t beautiful because she was able to make others laugh. Apparently, according to my grandmother, beauty and comedy didn’t co-exist.