April's Real Blog

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Trust me when I say, BWUH?

More abt Liz telling Candace a buncha stuff she heard abt Anthony and Thérèse.

Candace was all, "So, Y did she have a baby?" And Liz sed, "They'd bought a house. ...I guess she thot she cd buy in2 the whole domestic package!" OK, w8. No. They had the baby and THEN bought the house. This is what Anthony told Mom @ Thérèse's baby shower. Nice try, Lizard. NEway, then she told Candace, "Anthony was thrilled when Françoise was born, but Thérèse became depressed. She went back 2 work and left him w/the baby." Hm, shdn't she have been evaluated and treated 4 PPD (post-partum depression)? I'm surprised Candace didn't bring this up. I've heard of this, and I haven't even studied psych @ university. So, Liz continued w/"She spent more and more time @ work. Eventually she admitted she was having an affair with a co-worker. She asked 4 a divorce, and he agreed. She left him w/the house, the baby, and a lot of debt. ...He's only just started 2 trust again." Candace: "And.... he trusts U?" And then, according 2 Liz, "I gave her one of those meaningful looks and I told her, 'Trust me. ...He does."

OK, bwuh? That's how this retell ends? And what's that supposed 2 mean, that Liz and Anthony have made the beast with 2 backs in his Liz shrine bedroom? And what abt Thérèse's ability 2 trust a guy not 2 lust after an ex-girlfriend and try 2 push her in2 a mold she doesn't fit in (yeah, I know we're supposed 2 think THERESE tried 2 change ANTHONY and that her evil PARENTS R supposed 2 have pushed her towards motherhood and home ownership--but my memory hasn't been wiped out, eh?).

Sorry, Liz, U haven't made me like Anthony this week. Tho I feel loads of sympathy 4 Thérèse.

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  • At 2:23 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    hey, peeps, don't tell my mom, but i m @ the airport rite now, and mike is abt 2 pick me up. he insisted that I come back this wkend 2 surprise my mom 4 her b-day. i m not sure whether i'm back 2 stay or going 2 manitoba again this coming wk. no1 tells me nething around here.

    so, yeah, 2morrow is mom's b-day, and mike has arranged a b-day celebration this evening.


  • At 1:38 AM, Blogger howard said…


    I think I am ready to tell you a little more about my supper with Beatrice Alfarero. We started talking about her children she had with her husband, the Navy pilot who died serving in Afghanistan. I said to her, “Why did you have two daughters with a man in military service?” Beatrice said, “I just bought into the whole military wife domestic package. After we got our house in San Diego, we had a visit from the United States Navy officials, who told me about different packages for wives whose husbands are serving overseas. There was the ‘postpartum depression’ package where you have a child and get very depressed, but only when your husband is on duty at home. This depression drives you to become a career woman. There was the ‘have an affair’ package, where you mess around on your husband while he is overseas. Then there was the ‘domestic package’, where you get to have a lot of children each time your husband is home, and then send him pictures of the new born baby over the internet while he is overseas. I decided the domestic package was the nicest one of the set. The other two seemed a little cruel to me.”

    I said, “How was he with the girls?” Beatrice said, “He was thrilled with both our girls. But when he was killed I had real depression to deal with, and not the kind of depression that makes you want to have a career. I sought psychiatric help; I tried different kinds of antidepressants. Nothing seemed to work. Then one day, a small miracle happened. I was waiting in a doctor’s office, and a lady sitting beside me noticed I was crying. She came over to sit beside me and said, ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ I told her my husband had been killed in Afghanistan and I had to raise my 2 daughters by myself, and I had a lot of debt and I just couldn’t keep from crying all the time.’

    The lady said, ‘I know just what you need. You need to go and work for my friend Elly up in Milborough, Ontario. She is just the best person. She never has a cruel or demeaning thing to say about anyone. She never raises her voice no matter how mad she gets. Everyone likes her. And the best part is that she can make people laugh from the things she does that are just like the things most people do.’ Then she told me all these stories about Elly’s life that made me laugh and cry and feel a whole lot better about myself. They were funny. They were heart-warming. I said, ‘This woman sounds fantastic. This may be just what I need. I’ll call her up and ask her if I can work for her.’ The lady said, ‘Oh absolutely. I loved her so much, I sold her a book and toy store that had been in my family for 3 generations. My family was upset and practically disowned me when I did it. It didn’t matter because it was for Elly. And I even left a whole pile of antique toys worth hundreds of dollars in the basement. For free. And I did it all so I could spend the rest of my day cooking and entertaining friends, with occasional trips to Italy. Doesn’t that sound like fun?’ Then she handed me a card and said, ‘I got this from Elly, one of the last times I met her.’

    Then a doctor came over and spoke to the lady and said, ‘Mrs. Petrucci. It’s time for your medication, and you really shouldn’t be wandering over here into the waiting room.’ The doctor said, ‘I hope she hasn’t been bothering you.’ I said, ‘But she seems perfectly fine.’ The doctor said, ‘Poor Mrs. Petrucci fell into a time warp around 2002 and her mind hasn’t been the same since.’ I said, ‘A time warp?’ The doctor said, ‘It’s very rare. But it is a phenomenon where the person’s memory of how something happened is altered. In Mrs. Petrucci’s case, she remembers a Mrs. Elly Patterson from Milborough, Ontario fondly. She thinks she is very funny. Well, we called up to Milborough, Ontario and asked if Mrs. Patterson was funny, and everyone we talked to said Elly Patterson was one of the most judgmental and unpleasant people in Milborough.’ I felt badly for Mrs. Petrucci and this made me depressed again.

    Then I Iooked at the card she gave me. It said, ‘For Elly Patterson. One rewrite of history. Fill in the history you wish to rewrite.’ Written in hand-printed letters was, ‘I want to be a great businesswoman, and have a landmark business. I no longer want to be known as the lazy worker, who spends most of her time eating pastries.’ Then it was signed Elly Patterson.”

    I said, “That can’t be right. People can’t just fill out a card, sign it, and change history. It is not possible.” But Beatrice said, “But what if it is right? Then I could get a card like that and rewrite history so my husband would be alive again.” So I accepted a job working for Elly Patterson and tried to get her to tell me about the card. But she didn’t trust me.” I said, “Didn’t trust you? You were one of her best employees.” Beatrice said, “Trust me. She didn’t trust me.”

    I am starting to feel a little emotional again, so perhaps I will tell you more tomorrow.

    Howard Bunt

  • At 1:59 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. Mom’s 56th birthday. I wanted to make it special for her, kind of like it was really her 60th birthday, even though she still has 4 more years to reach that milestone. Deanna and I decided we would get a birthday cake from none other than the store The Pastry Chef. Personally I think it reminds me a lot of a great place I remember from North Bay, Ontario called The Swiss Pastry Chef, who was involved with the Heritage Railway and Carousel Company during their "Adoptions Day" at the Winter Wonderland Carousel.

    But such remembrances do not matter. What is important is that my lovely wife, Deanna went to the store and I got mom a birthday cake, and not one of those multi-leveled cakes they had in their windows. I picked it out all by myself, while Deanna went to the Lingerie store nearby to see if they had any pink lingerie to match her all pink outfit. As we were leaving, Deanna remarked that she thought the business buildings were extraordinarily tall and she wondered why the upper windows had no window treatments, but I was so excited about the cake I did not really notice. I even did a little Irish step dancing to celebrate, right there in the street.

    We got into our car and as it hovered along the road I once again got the feeling our car always seems to look different every time we drive. But the road near the The Pastry Chef is one of those roads where everything seems to tilt at 15-degree angle, so I was too busy trying to keep the car on the road to think too long about anything else.

    Finally, back at our house, the whole family gathered around as I revealed the cake. I was so excited; I could feel little lines flowing out of my head. Liz was there, my lovely Deanna was there, and you were there of course and you had one of the googly-eyed puppets or dolls and you were showing it the cake. It said, “Happy Birthday, Mom!” and it had a picture of 8 flowers, mom’s favourite flowers, the little roses which stick right out of the ground and have no thorns.

    I had gotten 56 candles and I was getting ready to light them up when Liz made some kind of hand gesture where her pinky finger was sticking out. For some reason, Liz was speaking in pictograms, but I could clearly see she felt the smoke from 56 candles would overwhelm mom and her glasses would fall off.

    So then I raised the French fry which sometimes masquerades itself as my right hand’s index finger, and I decided to use a pictogram too. My pictogram was of a lit light bulb with little black lines coming out of it. This picture was to symbolically indicate how much I liked light bulbs. Liz seems startled, and you had a look on your face which I think you told me meant, “Surely you are not thinking of using a light bulb instead of candles.” “Well, of course not,” I responded as I went for idea #2, flammable dishware.

    You crossed your arms and looked at me skeptically, as I reached up for a glass on the top shelf of our cabinet. The cabinet looked especially neat, with even the coffee cups stacked on top of each other. I could tell Deanna had been getting ready for mom to come over.

    Not to fear though. I had a cunning plan. Instead of lighting the glass on fire, I would use the glass to cut a circle out of the cake with a FWUMP sound. You looked at me curiously then, but Liz was horrified. I think she said something about “How dare you mutilate mom’s cake? She puts the ‘grand’ in grandma.” I said to Liz, “When will you ever trust me? I know what I am doing.” But Liz just stared at the cake with the hole in left by the glass, and you looked back at that little piece of her hair which kept coming unbunned.

    Deanna and I got out an old box of giant candles, she found left by mom from when she moved out. The box was labeled XL Candles, and it actually was extra large candles and not candles with the Roman numeral XL (40) on them, which is good since mom is 56 years old and not 40. We found a one of the candles had already been previously lit, so we decided that was the one to use. After all, we knew it could light, because there was drippy candle wax all around the top of it, which a regular unlit candle would not have. And it was a birthday miracle; I did not have to cut out more from the hole in the cake to put the candle in. After all, candles and glasses are usually not scaled to the same width and circumference.

    We were finally ready for mom’s birthday.

    I called dad who brought mom over. We sat her down at the table in the chair of honour, and I brought out the cake. We sang “Happy birthday dearrrr….” And then things kind of dragged as each person tried to remember their relationship to mom. You and Liz sang “mom.” My children sang “grandmaaa”. Dad sang “Elly”, Deanna and I sang generic notes because we really couldn’t fit in “great woman without whose old candles this birthday would never have happened”. There was more to the song, but your head got in the way of finishing it.

    Mom stared down at the candle for a long time before she blew the candle out. Afterwards, I asked her what she thought of the cake. Her response, “Did you keep the part of the cake you cut out?” She cried when I told her I threw it out. It was a great birthday party, until mom asked where the presents were. I knew there was something I forgot.

    Michael Patterson


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