There have been several occasions when I've written about my parents. I usually set out thinking about all the things I could blame them for and then get sidetracked. I promise to eventually wander back to my The Horrors of My Youth series but until then, I present another side order of crazy.
On Friday, I got a letter from the old country. Mama? Is that you? As I've said before, Mom's a letter writer but I'm not sure if I mentioned her stationery. Mom and the friends of Mom used to write each other using the scraps and corners of whatever might be nearby. Nothing seemed safe: an old greeting card? Sure, just cross out the original message and keep on writing. The corner of a church bulletin? Baby Jesus won't mind, go right ahead. With writing up and down the margins as well as where it should be, it was like working at a puzzle designed just for you.
Then the war ended and the streets filled with confetti like so many wasted paper dots. Mothra (a name I call her to make my sister laugh) got into the habit of using *gasp* writing paper. Heady days indeed.
The letter I just received was written on the back of a pizza coupon! What a return to form! Could the people who printed internet specials on the front ever have imagined that it would go unredeemed in favour of the back becoming space for a short note and a listing of all the recently deceased denizens of Momtown?
For now, my plan is to ignore the behaviour and use the coupon. If the Internet truly does bring us all together, why should a measly 800 miles get between me and free Garlic Fingers?
As you can see from my fold over, not only did I get the writing on the back of the coupon but it also goes up one side just like in the good old mental days! I'm so glad the postage for sending a written on pizza box through the mail would be cost prohibitive.
In honour of this occasion, I've baked you a little mp3 love treat: Kate Bush - Mother Stands For Comfort. It also stands for crazy.