Friday, April 30, 2004

"But she sure can cook..."

And just like that, it ends. Only a cascading and snaking trail of fallen dominoes remains, her evidence of being here three weeks after arriving eight hours late. The time itself competed with other coinciding events preplanned well in advance so what eventually happened involved more hopscotching than is usually normal. But as is the case when cultures clash and egos fray, basic communication broke down and a minor hell broke loose.

First the medicinal broth so pungent that it reeks of immigrant roots followed by an unfortunate aversion to catfish. Then a high fever blamed from not dressing warmly enough that results in the emergency room. Next an unfortunate relapse misdiagnosed initially as an uterus but subsequently changed to kidney infection. All bad luck compounded by strong independent wills unaccustomed to maternal instincts counseling (nagging) post partum caution and preaching tradition.

Naturally the whole thing exploded. From the safe distance afforded the mute and preoccupied, such needles in the haystack only bug the extraordinarily thinnest of skins and of course no amount of bandaging could stop the bleeding. Hopefully her flight back will heal the open wounds as she is happy to be home.

It is fortuitous to be on the periphery looking in, able to jump in and apply a torniquet.

Friday, April 02, 2004

The Wonderful Life of Henry Wong

Yesterday was as good a day as any to be born. Just ask an officially seventy-four year old paper son. He managed to wingding double celebrations by way of flippancy for nary six score. But the crisis so to speak passed for the expectant parents-to-be. Both deemed the cursed day marked by its lack of gravity inappropriate for the grand entry of their scion. And this from those who would curse an offspring with a nickname rhyming with "spank", "stank", and no doubt "wank". A boy named Sue suffers less cruelly.

So what used to be a matter of luck, pacing back and forth, wearing out a rut of a miniature racetrack now is a predetermined shot-in-the-ass away. Where except in reruns of sitcomed fiction can you find the slapstick of childbirth anymore? Then puritan antiseptic hospital linens whitewashed the blood and gore. No wonder reality television rules nowadays.