Habitual Obituaries

Final Bows

2010-12-30T22:11:00.000-08:00

As we approach the end of another year, let's remember some of the celebrities who took a final bow in 2010. May their star continue to shine in our lives.

Still Here

2010-06-24T20:41:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. In many ways, I'm still that angry teenager he left behind, marking the day and counting the years just to keep him and my anger alive. But, after 24 years and with less tears in my adult eyes, I now know that this day never took with it my dad.

Liberace is turning in his grave!

2010-05-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

Eww! Celebrities as dead cockroaches? See it to believe it!

Bloody Hot!

2009-12-15T12:52:00.001-08:00

It's hard not to fall for vampires any bloody ol' time , but this Fall, I'm happy that the sexy undead made blood the new black this season.

Top-Earning Dead Celebrities

2009-10-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

Just in case you're wondering, they take their money with them!

A Pair of Aces

2009-09-14T20:14:00.000-07:00

After her second stroke at 73, Angelina lost all feeling from the neck down. Her only daughter Julie, busy with work and her own family, could no longer care for her mom so she put her in a senior's home where her mother could receive proper care around the clock. For the most part, Angelina grew accustomed to her new home and didn't mind the revolving door of nurses and other caregivers attending to her every need. She had accepted her fate and knew that her days here on earth were numbered. Her family and friends visited her practically every day and her father and younger brother played cards in her room all day long.

Angelina could talk, but it was too tiring and her words came out slurred. The nurses did their best to understand her, but they always ended up doing something she didn't ask for or giving her something she didn't want. Her father and brother, on the other hand, always understood her, but advised her to talk less and to sleep more and then went back to playing their card games. When she woke up, they'd wave at her and immediately go back to playing their card games. She'd ask them why they didn't go home and they'd ignore her. They wouldn't eat, they didn't sleep and they never stopped playing those darn cards! Angelina didn't understand why they were always with her and eventually, she stopped talking to them. She'd glance over at them every now and then and fall heavier into sleep.

One night, she felt so rested that she could get up on her own. She looked over at her father and brother and they pulled out a chair for her. She walked over to them and decided to join them for a game of cards.

"It's about time," said her brother.

"To learn the rules of this game," added her father.

And, just then, she remembered that they were dead.

Lost and Obliged

2009-07-22T23:03:00.000-07:00

It was an ordinary night. As Charles left his house, he wondered if she would remember him this time. Who was he kidding? With his car keys jingling in his hand, he walked to the car, unlocked the door, sat in the driver's seat and paused for a few seconds before attempting to start the car. The same doubts were polluting his mind. Why did he bother visiting her every day? She seemed to be getting worse and he wasn't sure he could put up with one more violent outburst. Did anything he would do or say really matter at all anymore? He lifted his heavy hand and put the key into the ignition and started the car. He hoped it wouldn't start so he could use car trouble as an excuse for not visiting her. No such luck. The engine revved and he was obliged to drive 10 km to the hospital, two streets south of the highway and one traffic light east of the dead end street to visit the woman he married 43 years ago and the wife who no longer remembered him. He always timed the drive over even though he knew it took 20 minutes. Tonight, he arrived at the dead end street in 13 minutes and decided to turn on it. He parked the car, got out, looked in the direction of the hospital and starting walking the other way. He didn't know where he was going, nor did it matter. Nothing really mattered anymore. He was already lost without her.

RIP King of Pop

2009-06-25T21:00:00.001-07:00

Pop!
This is just another incarnation.
You'll always wear the crown
and the famous white glove
so you could hold the world in your hand
and change its colour.
Be as young
as you want to be
in your Neverland
cause this is Thriller,
Thriller Night...

RIP Everyone's Favourite Angel

2009-06-25T20:11:00.001-07:00

In my 1970's school yard, we used to act out "Charlie's Angels" during recess. Being a short-haired brunette, I was always, by default, chosen to be Kate Jackson's character, Sabrina Duncan. My best friend who had the long blond hair always got to play Farrah Fawcett's character, Jill Munroe. Each recess came and went and I never gave up hoping that one day I would be able to play Farrah Fawcett's character. It never happened and my resentment towards my best friend and towards the boy who played Bosley and who only chased after her secretly grew. I was barely seven years old and already learning that the world would treat me differently for not looking like the favourite Angel.

Thirty something years later, wiser and still, thankfully, a brunette, I still wonder what it would have been like to play Jill, if even for just a day.

Battling the Queen B

2009-06-23T19:58:00.000-07:00

I had to kill it! A queen bee flew into my car unnoticed when my doors were open and managed to stay hidden until it started buzzing around my dashboard like a queen bitch. My baby girl was in the back and my killer mother instincts took over. There was no time to think this over. The bee needed to make an exit fast or I was going to squish it to oblivion. I tried to save its life by rolling down all the windows and shooing it away, but it fought back with its menacing buzzing, crashing into my dashboard in retaliation. My last whack sent it flying into my lap and I when I jumped up, it landed near my left foot -- still fuckin' alive --, so I attempted to crush it with my heal as I kept one eye on it and the other on the road. And, today of all days, all of my traffic lights were green so it took me a good 5 minutes before I could pull over and kill this thing once and for all.

When I finally pulled over and got out of the car, it was still moving around despite having lost pieces of its busy body by my foot crushing! I grabbed a wad of tissues, picked it up, throw it to the ground and stepped on it for a good 20 seconds. And, it was STILL moving!!! It left me with no other choice. I had to resort to jumping on it, much to the amusement of my daughter and the shoppers exiting the store near where I parked.

Jumping on it finally did it in. And, there is no way in hell that the sucker will rest in peace. It'll probably come back and sting me in some other way.

The Grim Scensters

2009-05-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

They normally roam the streets on their own because it's better for business, but sometimes, you'll find them lined up with engines revving where traffic infractions, car collisions and untimely deaths occur on roads and then they'll race against each other to win the grim work. On a good day, they'll run out of gas driving back and forth from no parking zones to accident hell, but they'll rarely call it quits or go home to eat because they stay awake and alive feeding on the misfortune of others. Don't ever think that they're "really" helping you out. Don't even think you can hide from them. They watch you all the time. They'll find you anywhere and take you away as many times as is required and leave you with a hefty bill every time.

Rain or Shine Man

2009-05-25T19:13:00.000-07:00

Every day, rain or shine, he'd be perched at the same spot wearing the same smelly clothes and shoes that didn't have much longer to go until the sole peeled off completely. You could see through the bald patches of his beard that his skin was darkened by the dirt and sun. His unruly hair hadn't been washed for months and there was enough dirt under his fingertips to plant potatoes. If you happened to catch his eye, you'd see past his outer filth and heaven forbid be drawn to his beautiful inside. He'd always have a smile waiting for you and and would send you off with a blessing if you stopped to chat or dropped off money or food. He'd tell tall tales to anybody who'd listen and tell you the same stories again tomorrow. For the most part, he was just homeless to the majority of people who walked past him. He didn't care for them. He used to be just like them. Had it not been for the handful of people for whom he was the familiar, a nameless and ageless kindred spirit to greet on the way to work and back home, nobody would have ever known that he was long gone.

Happy Birthday and beyond...

2009-05-18T20:11:00.000-07:00

Today is my dad's birthday. He died 23 years ago and as I walked to his grave with flowers in my hands, I noticed birthday cards and pictures taped to other tombstones nearby feeling somewhat guilty for not marking this special occasion more. But, knowing my father, he'd probably haunt me in my dreams tonight if I left one of those annoying musical birthday cards behind. See, Dad? You still make me smile! Happy Birthday and beyond...

At a Loss for Words

2009-05-03T18:58:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Adams husband died 12 years ago and every year on their wedding anniversary, her cousin Eva sends Mrs. Adams an anniversary card. Mrs. Adams has never thanked her cousin Eva for the cards.

***

To kill time before a job interview, Sydney walks into a Hallmark store and spots a new section of cards under the category of "Loss" for miscarriages. She reads it, buys one for her friend and never sends it.

***

When Darcy finds out that an old high school friend is battling breast cancer, she feels awkward calling her because they haven't spoken in years. She decides to write her a letter instead, but keeps forgetting to post it in the mail. Finally, after a week of carrying the unsent letter, she mails it and feels a sense of peace. A few days pass when Darcy receives a call from her friend's husband who informs her that her friend passed away a week ago.

Love Never Dies

2009-04-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

He's an Ex for too many reasons, but HE still haunts you. Your pillow isn't as wet anymore, but you still have the occasional sobby night when you still cry yourself to sleep asking, "Why"? Your heart still skips a beat when you think you've spotted HIM on the street. You pull out old photographs and get upset that you can't see HIS face behind the giant X you marked on it. You still read HIS horoscope and say a little prayer for HIS commitmentphobic heart. You still wear the jewellery HE bought you and can't seem to throw away the perfume bottle HE bought you for Valentine's Day four years ago because there's still a drop in it. You've kissed other men since him, but pretend it's always HIM. Your friends have banned any conversations about your failed relationship and you fooled your shrink into believing that you've moved on. You Google HIS name everyday and cry every time HE posts pictures of his new girlfriends on Facebook. When HE accepted your Friend invitation on Facebook, you believed with all your heart that you were back into HIS life for good. HE never responds to your postings, replies to your e-mails or answers your calls. Your nearly had a conniption when HE changed his cell number. But, you're still a Facebook friend. HE still, HE has, HIS face, it's still HIM... There's hope. It's fate. It's written in the book. Face it.

TGIF, even the 13th!

2009-03-13T19:06:00.001-07:00

I hope you survived Friday the 13th unscathed, but if you didn't, take solace in the fact that this Friday the 13th is the last damned Friday of winter.

A Fairly Tooth Ending

2009-03-04T20:25:00.000-08:00

For 42 somewhat years, he used to boast about never taking care of them. He used to smoke, drink coffee and never brush away any of these nasty habits. He used to pop beer bottle caps with his lateral incisors and rip apart a good hard sandwich made with ciabetta bread to prove he could bite his own as the head of the table. He ignored pleas from the missus to go for routine check-ups insisting that if something wasn't broke, it shouldn't be fixed. Then, one day, as he bit into a tiny almond crisp biscuit of all things, one of his molars came loose and although he thought he could wash away the pain like a real man by rinsing his mouth out with a swig of whiskey, swig after swig and a 750 mL bottle of it later, he was stupidly drunk enough to pull out his tooth and collapse on the kitchen floor. The missus decided to leave him there with a bloody mouth and the droolies all night as punishment for not listening to her after all these years of urging him to visit a dentist. She was his wife, not the tooth fairy, and in the morning she'd take his wallet and keys to the car and let him suffer a little bit more.

A Killer Premium

2009-02-20T19:53:00.000-08:00

Today, I was just about to avoid that mid-afternoon call when I decided against my better judgment to answer the phone on the last ring. A telemarketer -- what a surprise! I had to endure the usual mispronunciation of my last name and after three attempts of correcting the verbal butchering of my name, I gave up and before I knew it, I was listening to the sales script.

The special offer this time was coming from an insurance company which was offering women coverage for cancer.

The sales script went something like this: Was I between the ages of 18 and 55 and did I know that the risks of being diagnosed with not only breast cancer, but cancer of the fallopian tubes, cervic cancer, skin cancer, lymphoma, cancer of the... [suddenly depressed, I began tuning out].

The tone in the telemarketers voice shifted from serious to hopeful when she went on to describe the exclusive offer they were pleased to offer me today and today only. I would receive x dollars for medication, x dollars for a leave of absence from work, x dollars for hospital coverage, x dollars for my family members should I die and did I know that...

Two and a half minutes into the one-way conversation and I was already six feet under. I had to interrupt the doomsday telemarketer, but was nice enough to be polite about it. I declined giving the reason of having life insurance and extended medical care benefits.

She was ready for my objections and desperate to sign the deal fired back with, "If you stay healthy and don't get cancer, we refund all of your money. Do your other insurance companies offer this?"

Hey lady, let me first figure out how not to get cancer and I'll call you back, okay?

A Frighteningly Funny Vision in the Night

2009-02-08T07:36:00.000-08:00

It was a whistling-windy, wintry Saturday night
with sheets of ice on the roads and not a creature in sight.
Driving along with nothing but miles of black ahead
suddenly, I saw the light and knew I could be dead.
Enter enter
gales of laughter
à la Vincent Price ever after.

A Family Reunion

2009-01-28T19:31:00.000-08:00

Maria Christina never fully recovered from her daughter's sudden death six years ago. She was just 42 when she collapsed on her bathroom floor. She had just moved into a new house with her husband and the daughter they waited so long to arrive. If only the adoption had happened sooner. Baby Jennifer would have known what it was really like to have a mother.

Barely two years after that tragedy, Maria Christina's husband Edward who had been healthy as a horse for most of his 76 years passed away peacefully in their empty nest.

Soon after they buried her beloved, all of Maria Christina's days turned into nights and as the days passed, the darkness thickened the minute hand of time, drawing out the hours of her painful losses in utter and unshakeable misery. Two more years of living in complete blackness didn't bring them back. It took precious more from Christina.

This time, it was her son Joseph. He went into the hospital with a high fever and never came out. His heart stopped, just like that. She knew it was bad news when her phone rang at 2:20 AM. She was already up.

After they buried her son, she starting checking out herself. She barely got out of bed and hardly ever went out. If the phone rang, she didn't answer it. If the doorbell rang, she hid. As the dishes and bills and laundry piled up, Maria Christina only cared about bringing fresh flowers to the graves of her loved ones. On her next visit to the cemetery, she planned to check herself into the hospital and wait for the only cure that could save her.

Two weeks later, she paid for a private room in the hospital and for the first time in years, she slept peacefully through the night.

Maria Christina was diagnosed with cancer and refused treatment. A year later, she was finally reunited with her family.

The best is yet to come...

2009-01-12T19:28:00.001-08:00

Today, I spotted this old proverb written on the page of a book and it turned my day around.

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, she became a butterfly.

Always remember that the best is yet to come...

Highway to Hell

2009-01-10T20:28:00.000-08:00

Tonight, as I was stopped at a red light, eager to get home safely through the winter storm, a radio commercial came on reminding listeners of winter safety driving tips. For thirty seconds, I half listened to what it was saying knowing very well how I should drive during icy conditions, but I realized only at the very end of the commercial that I should have really listened to it. The commercial was brought to us by a funeral home and as the light turned green and I had to accelerate, the sudden realization that I was in a death trap couldn't have hit me harder.

The Living Dead

2009-01-09T17:26:00.000-08:00

They're trapped and they like it
going back for the bait
over and over again
cause they just don't get it.
They don't live.
And, they kill too.
Stabbing others right in the back.
You might see them on the
subway during rush hour
tripping over their rat tails
or giving you a blank stare.
If you say something to them
and they don't respond
or make a move,
don't be scared.
Just check their Blackberry for a pulse.
They are the Living Dead.

Bad Things Come In...

2009-01-08T17:52:00.000-08:00

Growing up, my mother always used to tell us that bad things came in threes and I would hazard to say that for the most part, she was right. She had this old-country wisdom in her eyes when she forewarned of more troubles after a sudden misfortune, accident or loss.

Even today, I shudder at the thought of someone close dying, knowing two more deaths are imminent.

In the last three months, three of my dear friends lost their fathers; two were sure to happen and the one was unexpected.

I comfort all of them, well versed in this same tragic loss and then by will and not force, I call my mother and tell her that she's always right.

RIP 2008

2009-01-07T07:32:00.000-08:00

It started off as all others do with strong resolve
to quit, stop, change, commit, do, do and do.
In the quiet reflection of its onset
a fiesty spirit brewed,
stirring all the right emotions
to bring newness within reach.
But, before transformation could be unleashed,
the winds of storm,
a familiar battle,
knocked you back to the familiar and safe.
Days of sameness turned into
weeks of weakness and before you knew it
the seasons flipped in and out
of the rerun channels
that you and only you
PLAY.

For All Your Changing Seasons...

2008-11-18T07:25:00.000-08:00

For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Happily Ever After

2008-11-17T19:25:00.000-08:00

I was invited to a Divorce Party. I didn't know what to expect or bring (is there a registry for such an occasion?). What would I wear? Was it formal? Which side should I take? He was still living in the basement. I half expected a pity party. Au contraire! There were no tears, no regrets, no name calling, no male bashing. There was, however, lots of wine, chocolate and spirits I couldn't pronounce. The room was full of girl power, the kind of energy charge you need in times like these. Their kids were there too. It was clear they didn't like daddy's new girlfriend.

Wow! I was having fun. I almost forgot the reason for the party.

Oh, yeah. They broke their vows, they didn't last till death and when it all fell apart, it's clear this ending couldn't be happier.

Cheers!

P.S. She didn't wear a tiara, but she had a cake.

Dead in Your Face

2008-11-13T22:10:00.000-08:00

5 Dead Things I noticed today:

1. Unidentified road kill
2. "Fresh" meat hanging in the butcher's window
3. Wilted flowers in a vase atop a table in an empty restaurant
4. An "Out of Business" sign
5. A burnt out street light

Heroes Remembered

2008-11-11T07:17:00.000-08:00

“It is a blessing to die for a cause, because you can so easily die for nothing.”
~Andrew Young

Learn more about the extraordinary lives of Canadian war heroes who had the courage to make history with their brave hearts:

http://www.vac-acc.gc.ca/remembers/sub.cfm?source=collections/hrp

I Can't Quit You

2008-11-10T18:02:00.000-08:00

She often said that her love affair began "foolishly" at the age of 11. She did it everywhere and in front of her friends, but did everything possible to keep it hidden from her parents. She used soap, shampoo, detergent, toothpaste, mouth wash and gum to hide the evidence of her affair. It was the first thing she thought of as soon as she woke up and the last thing she did before she went to bed. She was a happy addict for the most part and and even when she tried to quit, not for herself, but to please her loved ones who begged her to stop the filthy affair, the love affair prevailed every time. It was the longest affair she ever had and even at the age of 72, breathless and frail from this deadly affair, she still refused to butt out. As fate would have it, there would soon be no more lights to fan the flame of this affair. But, even in the end, she made sure the affair would drag on. She had no parting words, she just looked up at the swirling cloud of smoke around her head, smiled and inhaled deeply as her eyes closed.

The mistress of this affair left behind an empty pack of evidence.

If a Tree Dies, Plant Another One

2008-09-28T20:58:00.000-07:00

Last week, we were awakened by the loud noises of city trucks chopping and tearing down the massive Maple tree across the street. It was deeply disturbing to watch this happen all day long and if I was the kind of neighbour to walk out and ask the person whose house this was happening at and who, by the way, I had never met, why oh why this unjust deed was occurring, I would have done so in a heartbeat. But, shamefully, I didn't want to get involved or come across as a nosy parker (we just moved in last year) and instead, watched in disbelief how this supreme gift of nature and magnificent source of oxygen disappeared from the Earth and our lives forever.

I recall reading somewhere that a mature leafy tree produces as much oxygen in a season as 10 people inhale in a year. Who is saving the trees? Arborists, tree planters, tree huggers and environmentalists need our help.

Later that same week as I was downtown, I noticed a happy-go-lucky young man walking down the street with a guitar strapped across his back stopping at every tree on his way and kissing it.

Peace, dude! You have the right idea.

Let this simple gesture be a lesson for all of us. Hug or kiss a tree today.

This Little Piggy

2008-09-28T20:52:00.000-07:00

Today in traffic, your view of the road ahead was completely blocked by a truck carrying livestock. Traffic wasn't moving, you packed your BlackBerry in your son's lunch bag today and the sounds coming out of the radio were rubbing salt into your wounds. With nothing else to do, you had no other choice but to concentrate on the truck ahead of you. Eyes peered out at you and you could smell fear in the air. It was dinner time so your stomach was rumbling and thoughts of juicy pork chops, a hearty lamb stew or veal parmesan seemed viciously inappropriate.

The guilt was killing you. You knew you had to save these poor little piggies. There was no time to waste. These piggies were raised for profit and they would be in your market by the weekend. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, beads of sweat were rolling down your face and your teeth were clenched.

You fling your high-heeled shoes in the backseat and suddenly, you're out on the street. You find a wrench in your trunk, march to the truck, hike your skirt up to your hips and jump on. Luckily for you, traffic hasn't moved an inch. You hit the lock repeatedly, but can't seem to break it off. You're about to give up, but drivers in the cars behind you start beeping. Some even roll down their windows and cheer you on. With all the cameras flashing, you might even make the 6 o'clock news. You keep banging on the lock and your efforts are rewarded. The lock comes loose and you jump off and run away as fast as you can. Before you know it, all the little piggies are behind you and for the very first time, you really understand what "crying wee wee wee all the way home" really means.

A Labour of Love

2008-09-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

For nine months or 40+ or - weeks, your belly blossomed beautifully to your due date. It was the only time in your life when your obstetrician or midwife applauded your weight gain. If you were lucky, you survived only small bouts of nausea and morning sickness, but then developed a ferocious appetite which made you believe you were really eating for two when the excuse suited you. You had that "glow" which attracted all kinds of energy, attention, flattery and questions from strangers. Your bosom grew to the delight of your partner and your larger behind only meant that you became bootylicious. Your complexion was clear, your nails grew like weed and your hair had never known such verve and volume. Inside, your little miracle grew from the size to of a pea to a football and as it kicked, stretched, hicupped and moved non-stop, unimaginable love poured into every cell of your body with each movement. Surely, you were on the longest emotional rollercoaster ride of your life and perhaps it was the only time when you could blame all of your outbursts, irrationalities, crying sessions and absent-mindedness on the hormones. It's true, we believe you. And, right at the end when your feet grew and you couldn't sleep a wink at night and you just wanted to pop already, this labour of love ended with the greatest and most perfect tiny new life.

The Last Supper

2008-09-16T21:57:00.000-07:00

The other day, I walked by a cemetery near my house and a picnic table parked near the tombstones just under a tree caught my eye. Later that day as I took a stroll through the cemetery grounds, I noticed many fruit trees lining the roads of the graveyard, fallen apples and pears everywhere. I've spent a lot of time in cemeteries, visiting the grave sites of loved ones who have passed on, putting fresh flowers in their vases, lighting candles, sitting alone, praying, crying and reading epitaphs. Never once did the thought cross my mind to eat during one of my cemetery visits. Perhaps I was never hungry enough to indulge in this experience, but I wonder, is eating in the cemetery under the trees in poor taste? Something tells me it's a can of worms waiting to be opened.

Top This

2008-08-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

Harry Harold's Hairy Halt

Harold Noggin really wore his name well. Blessed with a full head of coarse black hair at birth, it's no wonder his mom suffered heartburn for most of her pregnancy. Harold quickly became Harry for short and as his thick black hair continued to grow, he had no problem answering to the apt modification of his name. Year after year, he continued to enjoy the gift of the coif and every yearbook picture proved it. Not a square in Harry's pictures wasn't ever filled by Harry's big hair. Harry continued on this path of hairdo bliss for a solid 34 years until two days before his 35th birthday when he glanced in the mirror and almost fainted when he saw early evidence of what would become a rapidly receding hairline. Harry couldn't believe it. No, he wouldn't believe it. He brushed his hair back knowing very well that it would fluff out, but much to his dismay, he saw more scalp than hair and dropped the brush in the sink. He ran his hands through his hair and wish he hadn't because hair was falling out everywhere. By his 36th birthday, the Harry we knew stopped looking in the mirror. His hat collection grew and he began insisting that people call him by his real name Harold and not Harry anymore.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Spoiled Rotten

2008-05-30T16:13:00.000-07:00

She Wears Labels to the Market

Charlotte only ever has five minutes for breakfast, until today. It all started with the sour milk. Had her senses been sharp enough, she would have caught the wiff of spoiled milk before it hit her bowl of raisin brain cereal. But, what her perky little nose didn't catch her mouth did and her impressive spitting reflex saved Charlotte's petite body from a day of battling food poisoining. Who knew a girl could spit like that?! Hungry and irritable, Charlotte attempted to find a replacement breakfast, but upon opening the fridge door again, a quick scan of the items on her sad fridge's shelves revealed blue-skinned cheese, furry-capped mushrooms, rotten eggs, an unidentifiable liquid with a brownish film atop and a drawer full of discoloured fruits. Eek! Charlotte let her head hang in shame, but felt slightly better when she glanced at her new Prada shoes she picked up last night. Won't she look stunning at the supermarket tonight?

~ Miss Mo Rose

Good, Long, Holy and Mourning

2008-03-21T16:53:00.000-07:00

In Germany,"Good Friday" is known as Karfreitag (Mourning Friday). In Norway, they call this day "Long Friday" (in reference to the length of the day's church services). In Latin America, they call it "Holy Friday". The Orthodox Churches refer to this day as "Holy Friday" or "Great Friday". Some scholars have written that early Christians commemorating the sad event called it "God's Friday".

~ Miss Mo Rose

Good Friday?

2008-03-21T16:25:00.000-07:00

So it is Written ...

In observance of Good Friday, I am reminded of a childhood memory in which the local parish priest, Father Frank, visited our school during Holy Week. I was in Grade 3 and attended the Roman Catholic School just around the block from our home. Father Frank was well loved by all of the students in our school. He was a young Franciscan Friar who wore Adidas sneakers under his brown robe and attended school tournaments to cheer on our sports teams. He knew almost everyone by first name and when our teacher announced that he would be visiting our class during Holy Week, the announcement was met with boisterous cheering from my classmates.

Father Frank happened to make his rounds to our classroom on Holy Thursday. After the loud welcome we gave him, it took him a while to calm the class down and to invite everyone to sit around him at the reading station so he could discuss the real reason for his visit -- Easter, the most important Christian celebration. Father Frank had a serious tone when he launched into a dramatic discussion of the events leading up to Jesus' crucifixion and eventual resurrection.

Although most of us were 8 or 9 at the time and too old to admit we wanted anything from the Easter Bunny at Easter, we still equated Easter with lots of chocolate, a school play, giving up something "easy" for Lent, time off school and the obligatory visit to church with our family on Easter Sunday. We didn't fully understand why Jesus had to die to save us from our sins. We weren't even born at that time. We had all heard the word resurrect enough times to know it meant rise from the dead. When Jesus appeared to Mother Mary and Mary Magdalene, weren't they scared because he was a ghost? If Jesus died, but was still living, did that mean that heaven was inhabited by living dead people? When people came back from the dead in movies, they were usually blood-thirsty vampires, abominable zombies or evil ghosts.

When it was time for question period, I wanted to ask Father Frank all of these questions troubling my young mind, but didn't dare to speak up because my mother and teachers taught me not to question religion, that I should just believe in our faith. If I asked these questions, it meant that I wasn't a true Christian. And, I was! I was baptized, went to a Roman Catholic school, had my communion and went to church with my older sisters on Sundays. So, I decided instead to ask Father Frank why Good Friday was "good" because Jesus was crucified on that day. Shouldn't it be called Bad Friday? He laughed, stroked his beard back and forth on one side before answering and then explained that Jesus died and knew he had to because he had to save us from our sins. He then patted me on the head and said again, "He died for us. You understand?"

I vigorously nodded before I lied and said, "Yes, Father Frank!"

~ Miss Mo Rose

The Clock Stops Here

2008-03-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

Battery-Controlled Mornings
RIP Wrist Watch

At precisely 6:02 every morning, you are awakened by the ear-piercing and heart-jumping buzz of your alarm clock. You press your snooze button which is set at 5-minute intervals twice before rising out of bed. Sleepy-eyed, you feel the ground for your slippers which are placed in the exact same spot every night. You descend from your bed, open your bedroom door and walk straight to the kitchen where you fill up your kettle with 3/4 water, turn on your stove and place the kettle on it. You have approximately 12 minutes to shower, shave and dress before you're back in the kitchen to make your cup of tea.

You walk to your washroom, plug in your electric shaver on the counter and turn on the water in your shower. You have about 45 seconds to urinate, wash your hands and shave before your mirror gets steamy. You grab your toothbrush and jump in the shower. You rinse yourself quickly, wash your face first and then brush the top of your teeth for 30 strokes and the bottom for another 30 strokes. You put your toothbrush down and reach for the bodywash. You turn the bottle upside down, pour a big goop of your lavender liquid soap directly into the middle of your sponge and cover the remaining surface of it in swirls by moving in a clock-wise motion. You wash yourself, neck first, chest, left arm, right arm, left leg, left foot, right leg, right foot, back and leave your private parts for last. You rinse the soap from your body, turn the water off, grab your towel, dry yourself and jump out of the shower. Before you leave the washroom, you flush the toilet, wash your hands again, put deodorant on, apply moisturizer to your skin and splash aftershave lotion on your face and neck. You walk back to your bedroom, make your bed, get dressed (thankfully you set your clothes out last night after you checked the weather report), put your wrist watch on and smile cause you beat the clock. Your primping routine took 11 minutes today.

You walk back to the kitchen, get your favourite Souvenir from Newfoundland cup, grab a pomegranate and mint tea bag and pour yourself a cup of tea. As it steeps, you take your lunch that you packed last night out of the fridge, pack it up for work, pop two slices of whole-wheat bread in the toaster for breakfast and check on the colouring of your tea. It's perfectly maroon colour this morning. Your toast is ready. Lemon jam or peanut bread spread? You decide on lemon jam. Your check the clock and have approximately 7 minutes to eat breakfast, get dressed and grab the 6:50 bus to the subway.

You walk out the door, but have to go back because you forgot your umbrella. You have to move fast because you're losing seconds and can possibly risk missing the bus. Mission accomplished. You leave your house and head to the bus stop.

En route, the minute clock of your wrist watch hits 6:47 and stops. You tap your wrist watch but nothing is clicking. You see the usual suspects at the bus stop so know you haven't missed the bus. You check your watch again to see if it's working, but it's surely dead. The bus arrives and it's packed. You join the queue and attempt to file onto it, but the doors of the bus start to close. You push the person ahead of you who makes it onto the bus, but the doors close as soon as you get to them.

You're going to be late for work. You turn to ask the first person you see behind you for the time, but there's no one there. You stand alone at the bus stop. The minutes feel like hours.

Out of thin air, you hear a voice say, "It's the beginning of the end." You look around you and no one is there.

You look at your wrist watch out of habit and the time is still 6:47.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Blow Out the Candles

2008-03-07T19:18:00.001-08:00

Friends Last Forever
RIP Oldest and Dearest One

Friends forever. It was something I wrote in your cards since kindergarden, something I meant with all my heart, but something I never really understood until I lost you. Today is your birthday, the first one without you. I'm taking all the high notes from singing you happy birthday, the sprinkles from your cakes, the words from your birthday cards and the thought in all your gifts of birthdays past and wrapping this day up entirely in you. Thank you for being born. Thank you for years and years of friendship. Thank you for too many memories to count -- good and bad ones. And, in leaving so bravely after a courageous battle, thank you for giving us all your forever. Happy Birthday!

~ Miss Mo Rose

Counting Crows

2008-03-05T19:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning as I left my house, I was greeted by the cry of three crows which fluttered in circles just above the snow-dusted branches of the Maple tree across the street. I couldn't decide whether this was an omen or just a picture-perfect Canadian Tuesday morning, so I left it all to rhyme and no reason.

One for sadness, two for mirth;
Three for marriage, four for birth;
Five for laughing, six for crying;
Seven for sickness, eight for dying;
Nine for silver, ten for gold;
Eleven a secret that will never be told.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Dead on Your Feet

2008-03-04T20:50:00.000-08:00

Now that your birkenstocks are gone, have you given some thought to resting for an eternity on your feet? Well, vertical burials are already a reality in Australia, the Netherlands and in some Asian countries where land for cemeteries is scarce. On these resting grounds, bodies are buried upright in holes just over 3 metres deep in biodegradable bags to conserve land space. Cheaper than standard funeral packages (on average, vertical burials cost approximately $1,500 Canadian) and arguably, a more reasonable alternative to lessening environmental impacts (the land can always be converted back into grazing pastures for animals), vertical burials might just mean that more people will start going green with their interment choices.

~ Miss Mo Rose

No More Sole

2008-03-04T20:20:00.000-08:00

Walk a Mile in My Birkenstocks
R.I.P.

Purchased in 1990, tried, tested and and weather-withstanding true for over 18 years, say goodbye to the rubber footbeds that were your birkenstock sandals. Skinned of their sole and with barely enough cork left in the heel to cushion your liberal standing, you took your final steps in them today as you hit the pavement and they fell apart. Onlookers wearing flip flops rejoiced, but you didn't mind because you knew these posers would only survive a season.

Your blessed birkenstocks were with you when you graduated from your Anthropology studies. You never wore more comfortable shoes under a gown again. You wore them when you attended grunge concerts in the underground concert hall at your campus and they survived bodysurfing activity, toe-stomping. beer splatterings and late-night walks home. They were the only shoes you wore on your tour de France and despite the snooty looks you received in Paris because of them, your toes always smiled back in comfort. All through your 20s and even during their last days in your 30s, you've seen enough knock-offs to witness how they can always be imitated, but never ever duplicated.

Rain or shine, slush or snow, with socks and without, your dear birkenstocks will be remembered as your biggest shoes to fill.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Punch the Clock

2008-02-28T20:35:00.000-08:00

On the Third Year, You Rose Again
R.I.P.

Every day was like Monday. In at 9, out at 5, a bi-weekly paycheque and a false sense of security. You lasted three years in a job with no title change, no career advancement and today, it all came to a crashing end. Your job was terminated and to congratulate you for making the cut and for saving the company's operating budget this year, you were given your walking papers and escorted out of the building by Lucy in HR who desperately chewed her gum on the elevator ride down in order to avoid conversation. You thought about telling Lucy that she looked like a cow and that she chewed her gum like a cow chewed cud too, but decided instead that you should simply say "thank you". Tomorrow morning, Lucy and everyone else would read your famous last words in the company-wide e-mail. "Job termination is a euphemism for fired. It's about time! Thank you, everyone!"

~ Miss Mo Rose

Forever Young

2007-12-02T10:53:00.001-08:00

Your Youth Kicked the Bucket
on the Eve of your 30th Birthday
Always Young at Heart, Forever in Denial
R.I.P.

Dude, your Youth escaped you and no Flock of Seagulls
haircut can ever bring it back. Your Youth leaves behind
a dated wardrobe, friends you've outgrown, but still keep
around, student budgets, hostels for hotels and all-night
partying with dire recovery consequences.

On the upside, it is survived by a hair and style makeover,
a new age bracket, corporate ladder climbing,
a salary increase, higher taxes, love, marriage,
home ownership, 2.5 kids and new friends called The Joneses.

~ Miss Mo Rose

2007-12-02T10:53:00.000-08:00

No More Apples

2007-11-17T18:11:00.000-08:00

Miss Bernadette Parsnip, Teacher of the Year,
Victim of a Fatal Commuter Accident
on Friday, November 16, 2007
R.I.P.

Bernadette Parsnip, beloved high school teacher at Middle Grounds High was hit by a bus on Central Avenue as she ran to catch it. Witnesses say the light was red, but that the victim waved to the bus driver to stop. She was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident by the mortified bus driver. The time of death was 4:15 PM, 30 minutes after the dismissal bell.

Miss Parsnip was an English teacher with a passion for Canadian literature and Dramatic Arts. She founded the Atwood-Laurence club for aspiring young writers at Middle Grounds High and was voted "Teacher of the Year" six times. She was six months away from taking an early retirement and had plans to complete her first book. She was 49 years old.

Bernadette Parsnip leaves behind her two cats, Lady Oracle and Stone Angel.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Life is a Highway

2007-11-16T18:56:00.000-08:00

The latest victim of a road fatality is Mr. John Doe
Squirrel who was killed on Escape Road on
November 16, 2007

Today, in his ongoing search for his winter stash of food, Mr. John Doe Squirrel scurried across the street and almost made it to the other side of the road had he not stopped in his tracks to pose in Mr. Nine-to-Five's headlights who left work punctually at 4:59 PM and sped along Escape Road at 5:02 PM at which time precisely Mr. John Doe Squirrel traversed the road to meet his fatal end.

Fondly remembered by many as "Wings" for his daring high wire acts, Mr. John Doe Squirrel leaves behind his faithful partner Mrs. Jane Doe Squirrel, his triplet sons, twin girls and sixteen grandchildren. Family and friends are encouraged to attend a memorial service which will be held at Tree 37 in Chestnut Park tomorrow morning before rush hour.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Cooked!

2007-11-15T20:00:00.000-08:00

Cooked!

Bun today, No Din tomorrow
Dinner, as we know it, came to its untimely end at 6 PM
Reserve your seat now at a restaurant near you.
R.I.P.

Dinner died at 6 PM. Affectionately known as supper to hungry mouths everywhere, dinner leaves behind the memory of meat and potatoes, garden salad, homemade bread, freshly baked seasonal fruit pies and lively discussions after a long day at work or school.

Dinner is survived by take-out menus, frozen, packaged and canned foods, no conversation, 6 o'clock news and no one at the table.

~ Miss Mo Rose

A Tragically Delicious Remembrance

2007-11-14T18:15:00.000-08:00

A Tragically Delicious Remembrance of Your Diet
which was fatally killed on October 31, 2007
R.I.LBS.

On Hallow's Eve, your diet died suddenly and happily.
After a battle with a bowl of bite-sized treats,
your diet succumbed to instant gratification
and maxed out in minutes what should have been your
caloric intake for the week.

It leaves behind less than a 1/4 of a candy bowl
for the empty-handed, 2-feet tall victims in costumes who stood in line behind your gluttony. Your diet is survived by guilt, a month-long detox and dutiful trips to the gym until a week before Christmas, when the onslaught of nibbles and drinks begins again. Family and friends, sadly, no donations are being accepted on behalf of a weight gain fund -- strict Doctor's orders.

~ Miss Mo Rose

Welcome to Habitual Obituaries

2007-11-14T18:05:00.000-08:00

Good Mourning!

Welcome to Habitual Obituaries, the blog where death is given the same reverence as life and where it is seldom seen as the end.

I see death everywhere and it watches me.

Check out my obituaries daily and send me your condolences, if you dare!

~ Miss Mo Rose