The emails

As of a month or so ago, I became the assistant organizer to the writers group that I am a member of, and already the treasurer. I was super excited about being able to help, promote and come up with new ideas. Ben appreciates the help. But little does he know one tiny idiotic move on my part can create a plethera of emails that comtinue to hit every member of the groups email inboxes..

Next week we have a guest speaker coming, author Grant Blackwood. I have been trying for a few days to get all the details together so I can post the meeting on our meetup.com webpage. Hoping that the sooner I have it posted, the more people will come. After getting all the details from the author, the owner of the location and Ben, my mind begins to whirl. Ambition takes over, I want to make SURE that people will come. All morning I had been emailing another member regarding his play I was critiquing for him. He happens to work at a local newspaper.  So I asked him if his paper had a spot for upcoming events or announcements. A place that I might stick a blurb in about our upcoming meeting/guest speaker. Something that might assure we have a good attendance, and hopefully promote Northern Colorado Writers Group.  After realizing that people might have to sign up to RSVP to the meeting, I wonder if I should put an email in the notice. One that people could just email how many would be coming with them and I could keep track of how many were coming, since seating was limited. After searching through the organizer menus and whatnot on meetup’s page, I find an email address. OH! I think. This must be the one that goes just to the organizers. But, just to make sure, I send an email to it.

Not more that two minutes later, the emails flood in. I replied to some funny ones with what I though was a witty response. Only to later realize that when you hit ‘reply’ it goes back to ALL of the members. Oh dear god.

I think there was a total of 15 emails that some people came home to last night. As of this morning two people have clicked on reply, so the humiliation continues. I have to laugh, cause if I don’t I will never be able to face any of these people again.

Here are some of the resonses that I thought were funny:

me: Ok, it goes to all of us. Never mind. 

 G: OK. . . .put me back on. . .  

me: I was looking for an email that would only go to organizers for people who wanted to come to a meeting but not join… this wasn’t it.
What should I put you back on?

That one went to everyone… errrr. So I send out an email apologizing for inundating their inboxes with my lunacy, explaining about how I happened to miss the text at the end saying ‘if you click reply, it will go to all members on the meeetup mailing list.’

These next ones I had figured out my mistake and replied to their personal emails…

JW: I’m not you.

me: Thanks.
What a mess that was, and probably still is!

J:I am not you, nor am I a part of the you that is “us”. But it was still great to hear from you us’s…

R: I am not you…but I might be you in a parallel world…oh oh, the
possibilities about, BWAAHAHAAHAHAAAHAHAAA  ( <—– diabolical
laughter )

me: Oh god, this is getting to be hilarious. I keep hitting the reply button and sending yet another stupid email out to the ENTIRE group….
hmmm my alter ego? my dark side twin ( insert evil laughter here)
possibilities are endless….

R: We forgive you…what are you cooking at the next meeting for us all?

:0

me:Cooking up? Well, if you mean that I am cooking up a plot to have you all worship me as your leader before we drink some kool aid…
If you mean food, I’m not cooking anything. This time. There is a coffee shop right there…

P: It has been an interesting string of emails….sounds like a good story plot.  The subconscious forwarding of her innermost secrets?

Anyways, you get the point…. What a fiasco. Oh well, It will be a while before I can forget about this one. I will be reminded of my dumbass move because as each member checks his/her email, they will find the messages and I know there will be a few more that don’t see that wonderful little message at the bottom of the email.

Please Note: If you hit “REPLY”, your message will be sent to everyone on
this mailing list

 

I don’t wanna grow up

The sound of rain pelting Ethan’s window coming through the monitor is filling the room. It’s kind of a tinny, crackly noise. Every once and a while a snort or a snore comes through loud and clear. He’s a little snotty right now, so his nose gets plugged every once and a while. Logan is up in his room listening to music and creating some kind of race car with legos. I have a cup of hot chocolate on my desk next to me, the washer and dryer are going. I cleaned the fish tank this morning. (I had some kind of algae growth that would not go away. So I bleached everything. And while trying to rinse the bleach out of the tank, it cracked. A nice big crack on the side. Dammit. So I went to the store to buy a new one… Only ten bucks. But it still makes me mad that I broke it.) My writing exercise for tonight’s writers meeting is done. Dishes are clean, living room picked up. I feel like I accomplished a lot. I know I did.

But why do I still have the feeling like something is missing. Like I need to try to cram more into my already crammed lifestyle. But I am trying to downsize that. I want to make more time for the things I really need to do. The things I love to do.  I feel like if I have too much going on, I will speed through each one, and miss something.

I wanted to go back to work. Because I loved my job, I really did. But I know I need wait a while. I need to be a mom right now. So, I stay at home, every day. I spend 4 days with just me and the boys. The weekends are something I treasure, since that’s when I acutally have someone else here to help me with the boys, and for adult companionship and conversation.

I wonder how I can have no clue what I want to do with my life yet I have so many things I want to do. I wan to spend more time reading, writing, crocheting, sewing, hiking, climbing, playing with the boys…. The list goes on and on. But when you really get down to the nitty gritty, I don’t have a clue what to do with myself in the future… You know, when I grow up.

 

Writing assignment #?

This exercise was to think of an experience you had in a nursing home and write about it from the other persons point of view.

This was harder than I thought it would be. Because I had to make up some things about Maxine, because I never really got to talk to her much.

 

 

I hate these darn peas. Maxine thought as she pushed them around on her plate. I wish that young man in the kitchen would spice up these meals. They are just so bland, so plain. Oh I know he’s just doing his job. Just like the rest of the people in this God forsaken place. No one really takes pride in their work. Not like I did. I made sure I did a good job at whatever I was doing, whether it was mopping a floor or filing a report for Mr. Shyster lawyer. 

Her husband, Arnold, had left a few minutes earlier after they spent the entire meal yelling and arguing. Maxine didn’t want to be there. She missed him, wished she could go home to live with him. Or maybe he could come live with her. 50 years of marriage makes a person used to the other, the closeness, the companionship. 

Taking small bites of chicken and chewing them 50 times each she tried to finish her dinner before they came to wheel her away. The kitchen staff was already out clearing the dirty dishes and glasses from the empty tables. Maxine was always one of the last to finish.

Chewing the last bite of the over peppered chicken she watched as the new kitchen girl cleared trays and plates, politely asking other residents if they were finished with their meals. She had been walking out of the kitchen when Arnold was leaving, his last words accompanied by a grunt as his gnarled hands flew to sign good bye to her. Maxine had watched the girls eyes widen with shock. Most of them were surprised to find out that both she and her husband were deaf mutes. She waited to see if the girl would take the plates without asking or raise her voice to ask if she was done with dinner, as most did. As if yelling would make her hear it.

Watching her while she cleared the table next to hers, she noticed that the girl smiled at the flirtations of the man occupying it.  The smile reached her eyes, which was surprising. Most pasted a smile on their face as they went through their tasks, thinking that no one would notice the façade they tried to portray. The smile brightened the face that was dominated by large blue eyes.  Pushing the cart to her table, the girl made eye contact with Maxine and smiled.  She knew her mouth opened a bit in shock when the girl’s hands came up and fumbled through each letter of “Are you finished?”

The girl said the words as well; mouthing them in a way that she was sure made it easier to read. 

My goodness, what is this? Thought Maxine. The girl was chewing her lower lip while signing her name, Melissa. She may only know the alphabet, but at least she is trying. Maxine was touched by this rare display of kindness and signed back, “Almost.”

Using her spoon to scoop up mashed potatoes she ate the last bite of her food and then pushed her plate across the table with a smile.

The next evening Maxine sat at her usual table, watching other residents eat their dinners. Arnold wasn’t coming tonight so her table was empty. Whoever did the seating arrangements must have felt that since she couldn’t have a conversation with any of the other residents, that she wouldn’t mind sitting at a table by herself.  Stupid people, never thinking beyond what they can’t understand. Maxine thought. If only they would ask me if I like sitting alone, if I mind that they seat me facing away from the window.

A rattling cart made her turn and look down the hallway. It was Melissa, pulling one of the heavy food tray carts out of the kitchen. She must be taking dinner to those in jail. She liked to think of those behind locked doors as being in jail. There was nothing else to look at besides bulletin boards with things pasted onto them, so she watched Melissa pull the cart down the hallway, stop at a door, take out a set of keys, unlock the door and pull the cart through.

Dinner tonight was served by the tall Barbie one. The smell of cigarettes followed her throughout the room. Tonight she had pink hair. She smiled sometimes too.

Maxine ate her dinner watching the hallway for Melissa to come back with an empty cart, hoping that she would help Barbie clear the dinner plates.  Maybe I can show her more sign language since it seems all she knows is the alphabet.

Melissa and Barbie both came out of the kitchen to clear tables. Maxine smiled as they came by her table. They both made eye contact with her and smiled back.

Maxine watched as the girls moved about the dining room, clearing tables talking with residents and making them laugh.

What a difference, these two, she thought. They care, really care. Not like so much of the staff here. I hope they work here for a while.

Melissa made her way around the room stopping lastly at Maxine’s to carefully sign “Are you done?”

Maxine smiled and signed “Not yet.” Pointing at the cart and the kitchen, Melissa signed “I’ll be back”

Slowly eating her dinner, Maxine savored each bite. She liked the way the cook made tonight’s meal of spaghetti and meatballs. It must be the tall skinny one, she thought. He makes good food sometimes.

“LET’S GO MAXINE!”

It was one of the nurses, and she didn’t bother to see if Maxine was done with her dinner. Or that she was reaching for her glass to take a sip of water. Melissa had just come put of the kitchen carrying a plastic tub, watching in shock as the nurse, detached and businesslike, flipped Maxine’s feet into the rests on the wheelchair, unlocked the wheels and pulled her away from the table. Yelling and banging on the arms of her chair, Maxine tried in vain to make the nurse listen. Suddenly, the nurse stopped. Maxine watched and tried to read lips as Melissa started telling the nurse that she had asked if Maxine was done, and she wasn’t. She pointed at a table on the other side of the room where three men were sitting, talking. All were done with their meals.  The look on the nurse’s face was deadly as she turned around to shove Maxine’s wheelchair back to the table and stomp off to the table of men.

Smiling, Melissa signed “Now you can finish”. Maxine felt tears come to her eyes as she signed “Thank you” and reached over to grab Melissa’s hand and give it a squeeze. Turning to her plate, she ate the rest of her meal while tears of joy blurred her vision.