“he became a living legend” by Julia in her office

Tuesday December 3, 2019
5 minutes
from Elvis Presley’s gravestone

He gave a call to his grandmother every Friday at 3
She liked to sit and knit a scarf or a blanket as he he’d speak
The wind was sometimes louder than the other days he’d ring
but she would stay on the line not to miss a thing
He’d tell her about his week at school and how he won the game
He’d ask her what news she learned even though it was always the same
He’d tell her she was his favourite and no one could come close
She’d smile and wipe a drop from her eye and say she loved him most

One day the phone rang and rang without her familiar greeting
she did not answer when he dialled and left him afraid of feeling
What would he do without this woman who had held his tears
Now that she was resting peacefully no longer here
He left a one final voicemail to tell her of his day
and knew that he could tell her that he loved her one last way

“All it takes is time.” by Sasha on her couch

Friday April 11, 2014
5 minutes
A quote by Kurt Vonnegut

You’re comforted by the past – “I was the captain of the Basketball team!” You say. “I was Prom King,” you smile, “and I got early acceptance to all six universities I applied to…” You relish in those “good ol’ days”. “I beat the record time for the hundred metre dash,” you tell me. “I used to be able to slam dunk, did you know that?” I did, but I shake my head.

You were born in an age where these things mattered. You were born in a place where when you were there, everyone felt good, felt glad, felt warm, felt lucky. It’s no surprise that I’m the only one that you haven’t alienated, my mother (your daughter) can hardly stand to think about me coming over every Sunday and taking you grocery shopping. “Grandpa, tell me the story of how you met Grams?” I ask, trying to get you out of your narcissistic spiral. “Oh, that’s a good story. That’s a very good story…” You smile and sigh. You rub the bridge of your nose. “I met Rosemary in the doctors office at the University of Toronto. She had the brightest red hair I’d ever seen. Her cheeks were flushed. I sat beside her, frozen peas on my sprained ankle, and I asked her what was wrong. She was taken aback! She was a shy girl from the country, you know. And I was there on full scholarship, starting point guard, top of my class?”

(an image from National Geographic) by Sasha at the CSI Coffee Pub

Wednesday October 23, 2013
5 minutes
National Geographic Photo Issue
October 2013

“Remember when you forgot your own postal code? That was soooo funny!” Lukas laughs. “Remember when you put all those sticky notes everywhere? With all those reminders? That was hillllarious!” He picks at a chicken pock scab on his forehead. “How many days til Christmas?” He asks. The scab is bleeding. He holds his finger to it and then tastes. “My blood tastes like perfume!” He holds out his finger to me, “Wanna try?” I pause. I nod. How can I ever say no to this boy? He squeezes his forehead and a red droplet appears. He extends his finger to me again. I take it into my mouth and suck, gently. Rose and lilac, lavender and mandarin. “That tickles! Grandma! That tickles!” I bite down and he squeals.