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      "parent_author": "dm584",
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      "author": "steemitboard",
      "permlink": "steemitboard-notify-dm584-20190927t013736000z",
      "title": "",
      "body": "Congratulations @dm584! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@dm584/birthday3.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 3 years!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@dm584) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=dm584)_</sub>\n\n\n**Do not miss the last post from @steemitboard:**\n<table><tr><td><a href=\"https://steemit.com/steemfest/@steemitboard/steemitboard-supports-the-steemfest-travel-reimbursement-fund\"><img src=\"https://steemitimages.com/64x128/https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmXDHs9xfx8ZZ3DESFUqHRUQAcQT5kUWobArsRoJg2Yz1F/image.png\"></a></td><td><a href=\"https://steemit.com/steemfest/@steemitboard/steemitboard-supports-the-steemfest-travel-reimbursement-fund\">SteemitBoard supports the SteemFest⁴ Travel Reimbursement Fund.</a></td></tr></table>\n\n###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes!",
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      "body": "This past summer, I lost a friend. My best friend’s mother, in fact. I’ve known this family for half of my life and watched as cancer took its toll. I consider myself lucky that I was able to be with her in her final days and in her final moments. My friend had been taking care of her for the better part of the year. She put her life on pause to come home and act as nurse, friend, therapist, and daughter.\n\nThe family gathered around daily to wait. We knew we were waiting for her to go, but there was also that glimmer of, “Maybe she will say something?”  “Maybe she will improve?”\n\nShe didn’t.\n\nWhen we finally had reached the end, the plan of action was no longer keeping her alive and comfortable but now planning a proper goodbye. Neither of us had ever been anywhere involved in this process. We’ve attended many, but like a large family dinner, it was always prepared for us before we walked in.\n\nAfter the flowers were ordered, cremation plans made, and services were arranged, we had two days to sit around and do absolutely nothing. The bed where she had previously slept was a rented hospice bed. She slept in the living room of their small apartment for the last few months and now it didn’t seem so small, just depressingly empty. The night following her passing, we sat on the couch struggling to think of what to do. Of course there were tears and constant grieving, but there’s nothing worse than anticipation and dread of something you simply don’t want to do.\n\nWe took a trip to the store, I can’t remember why and I’m sure it was utterly mundane and unnecessary. In the distance was a ferris wheel. The town was setting up their carnival for the end of summer. When we arrived, we noticed that it wasn’t to start for a few days. Glimmer of light extinguished.\n\nWe began to look up all of the carnivals within an hour’s drive that were running. However, there was nothing on that night and it was growing later and later. Instead, we drove the hour and a half to the Jersey shore and went to the boardwalk. We shoveled cheese fries and sweets into our mouths. We rode dizzying rides and smiled and took pictures. We looked in the stores for random objects and items that served no purpose. We played in the arcade and won a fake mustache and a lunchbox.\n\nWe are both 30.\n\nAll the while, there was a shared guilt between us. We’re supposed to be at home crying. We’re supposed to be feeling her pain. We couldn’t tell anyone about this venture. And certainly photos couldn’t appear on any social media for fear of being chastised. We were expected to behave in a certain way. Ms. Manners would be pissed.\n\nThe drive back home was shorter, as it always seems to be. We had one more day left until the big day. The day to say goodbye. The shiny black shoes, primped hair, handshakes and smiles that had to appear friendly but not ecstatic. Grieving smiles. “Good to see you, but not under these circumstances” smiles.\n\nThe thing is that we have this view of how we are all supposed grieve but in the days before the funeral and the day of, we all told jokes, sometimes idiotic, sometimes funny and sometimes a bit wrong. Never once did we leave the grieving process to do this, it was just a part of our own healing. It’s something that we haven’t spoken about to many people and it’s sad that we can’t.\n\nHer mother would have loved it. She was a ridiculous woman full of fun and adventure. She would have been there with us and, in fact, we would have been forced to ride more rides and eat more deep-fried nonsense. That was who she was.\n\nThat night, we took a vacation from our lives and our grief. We did something spontaneous and fun and thoroughly selfish. We did it because we needed to and we did it because we wanted to. I don’t feel the need to hide it anymore. Perhaps pieces of our loved ones enter us and we embody that person for only a certain amount of time. Maybe we went because she wanted us to go.\n\nWhatever the reason, on a night we were supposed to be crying, we were laughing. And I see nothing wrong with that.",
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      "title": "The Shiny Talentless Ass",
      "body": "Kim Kardashian’s ass. For some reason this has been a news story before, but ever-clinging to fame, this exhausting diva of reality shows glistening shank on the cover of Paper Magazine popped up in my news feed again today.\n\nNo one should be surprised and if you are, you have not grasped the world we currently live in. Fame has nothing to do with capacity of talent. Nepotism is simplifying it, but Ms. Kardashian is of a new and growing breed: Fame by fame itself.\n\nWhere actors, musicians and artists once graced the 16×20 posters hanging in our bedrooms, inept and powerful women and men sign autographs, produce perfumes and pose nude as if it actually means something.\n\nHeck, Paris Hilton at least attempted to act once or twice between shopping trips.\n\nViewing this photo brings out an anger in me. As sufferers of trypophobia, the fear of irregular holes, cringe at beehives, I get queasy staring at this shiny and talentless ass. Pun intended.\n\nIt’s easy to cry out, “What has she done to deserve such attention?” or “Why is her ass talked about far more than education reform?”\n\nBecause seriously, children are being left behind and pitbulls are being slaughtered yet this jackass is allowed to roam free?\n\nThese are excellent questions for which I have no answer, but the root of the problem lies in marketing and you. The moment this cover appeared, the world went all screwy.  Memes were created. Photoshop’s sales no doubt went up. Paper Magazine’s staff will send their children through college based on the sales estimates.\n\nI’m all for freedom of the press, and the nudity doesn’t bother me, nor does it seem to bother a lot of people. That’s not the issue.\n\nThe issue is WHO she is. Who gave this waste of air an open door into my life? I never asked for it and I sure as hell wish there was a return policy.\n\nThen there is the class behind it. Or lack thereof.\n\nThe human body is beautiful. Why do we need six pounds of Great Value vegetable oil and arguably the most unflattering pose since the Beyonce SuperBowl photos to cram this strumpet down our gullets? Haven’t we been getting our daily allotment of BS  as recommended by the FDA for years now?\n\nI already know about this girl’s wedding, divorce, favorite ice cream, and now I can tell you for a fact if her perineum teared during childbirth. Why do I have to know this?!\n\nGive me Farrah Fawcett in the red swimsuit. Cute and playful. Or Marilyn Monroe winking. Silly but smart.\n\nDon’t give me a trust-fund kid in an adobe hut with overpriced champagne leaking on an equally stifling dress.\n\nWhen i’d rather see Betty White pose nude than Kim Kardashian, you know something must be up.",
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      "title": "Soy Vay: A Multicultural Thanksgiving Culture",
      "body": "Thanksgiving to my mother is the only day in the year we can eat with the family and not overload on matzoh balls, gefilte and kugel. I’ve never understood it. She’s never been one to play Mah-Jong with the girls or cook in the kitchen until the smells of judaism waft into every room of the house, not only offending my “goyim” friends, but also any-barely-clinging-to-life plants adorning the windows.\n\nMy mother, while nurturing, was at her best when not in the kitchen. Yet her obsession with cultural food and family is as grating as back-to-back showings of Fiddler On The Roof when a holiday looms. My Great Grandfather, Isidor (“No E,” my Grandfather shouted at his funeral in ’93 when the superfluous vowel was added to the end of his name) led the Passover seder every year with an iron fist. The well-dressed children sat in horror and hunger attempting to read the Hebrew-only book of prayers and only after Izzy started the seder at sundown. This guaranteed no one was fed until at least 9:30 and several of the younger punished were down for the count before soup was served.\n\nThese seders were often led in my house growing up and as such, I was required to smile throughout as if I had any idea what was being said and my growing concern for the existence of food was not nagging at me every other minute. The week before the seder, mom would clear the grocery store out of every Manischewitz product on the shelves and hoard them. No, we weren’t even allowed to eat them! As if the apocalypse was coming and the neighboring chosen ones would come knocking on our door for the last potato latke they would ever taste, my mother stood on ceremony and most likely put several little Jews through college under the Manischewitz umbrella. These Jewish meals have traditions, some silly and some necessary, but mom welcomes Thanksgiving with open arms.\n\nFor one, it is of course a chance for us all to be together and share stories and laugh, but for a woman so obsessed with Jewish food, she nearly breaks into a song and tap dance number over Thanksgiving. Even when my brother and I were younger and my parents were in the process of a divorce, she made it very clear that Thanksgiving was HERS and dad could have Black Friday if he so chose.\n\nThis year, we head to Bayside, Queens to have what we call a, “Soy Vay” Thanksgiving. My Grandfather is Jewish but my Grandmother is Chinese and Trinidadian, so holidays are always a bit different in my family. The true test of a Jewish family gathering? An hour long drive in gridlock traffic, a welcoming hug and kiss upon arrival, a festive holiday drink or soda offered as the guest seats, and then the inevitable, “What took you so long? Did you take the tunnel? Neva’ take the tunnel! Always take the RFK! Here, let me write down directions for the way home.”\n\nMy mother and I glance at each other with a look that simply says, “Oy!”",
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      "body": "Quentin awoke again to a new day in his queen sized bed. He stretched his arms into the air, letting out a guttural yawn from deep within his lungs.  Summer had arrived outside, providing a sticky and hot cloud to perspire within while others uncovered their pools and their floated cares away. \n\n Looking around the room, one would identify Quentin as a very ordinary man. His water glass dripped with condensation on his nightstand. This was a ritual of his. Prone to late night thirst, Quentin would keep a glass at all times just in case. Often, he would leave the glass stewing for days on end without refilling. “Just water and particles,” he thought, “No matter”.\n\nHis room was decorated in a cost effective, organized way. No paintings clung to the walls to mesmerize the eyes, no photos to bring memories back flooding.  The bed spread was a cotton black and white checkered print that did not lend itself to visible stains. The white walls with yellowing and cracks were normal to any home.\n\n Quentin could see none of this however, for he was blind. He had not laid eyes on the world since he was a young boy. The doctor leaned in and told him his bout with scarlet fever had taken his sight. His mother was sobbing in the corner of the room, unable to take in such news.\n\nSure, some days he was mad about it, but he had grown accustomed to his life. He had always been a resilient guy. “If I wanted to live in the past, I would have to kill myself,” he thought.  His friends were not the doting type. The closest confidantes he had were the ones that he could joke around with. They would sit and laugh over a drink and make fun of each other. “Chicks dig disabled dudes, It’s a project” he would often lament. \n\n“Keep talking like that and we’re going to rearrange the furniture in your house when you’re not looking,” they would quip back, never realizing how ironic that was.\nThe friendly gatherings always involved some new significant other for one of his friends. Quentin always showed up alone. In his entire life, he had never had a serious relationship. He was a romantic at heart. He had purchased every literary giant in the Grommer’s Braille Classics Series. His fingers ran through Jane Eyre, Sense and Sensibility and Romeo and Juliet.\n\nAs much as he joked, his blindness had affected his life. Woman paid such little attention to him. He was always the “friend”, the “buddy”, “good ole reliable Quentin.” All he wanted was someone else to be there with him in the dark.\nBecause of his impairment, Quentin missed a lot of the beauty in the world. He missed the crisp leaves falling in the autumn and the angelic visage of a newborn baby. Today, the most important thing that Quentin missed was the red blood splattered along the walls, across the majority of his apartment. In some cases, it had even trickled down onto the floor where it had dried up. His water glass contained swirls of red amidst the bubbles, evidence of an eventful night before.\n\nQuentin continued about his day, with no hesitations. He nearly stepped into a bit of dried blood as he proceeded, half awake, to the bathroom. The tile, normally cold against his feet, was now burning up. After dressing himself with care and brushing his teeth, he thought of making the bed but didn’t see much point in it as he would be returning there by himself, as always, that night, anyway. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the front room’s stone table, and closed the wooden door behind him.\n\nOutside, the sun was brutal. He could feel it on his face. Sweat poured from his brow and the usual city smells seemed to be magnified. Quentin had achieved a sort of “Daredevil” sense. He could hear and feel the people around him and make a visual map in his head. He very rarely bumped into anyone or stepped on pets. He was very much aware of his surroundings, provided they were moving in some way. This worked so well that he rarely used a cane except for when attention was needed, such as an airport or any other large or unfamiliar place.\n\nQuentin took his walk to work every day, alone. His feet would stomp against the sidewalk, and he would imagine his good friend, Patty walking next to him. They would discuss the weather, or maybe the next dinner party. It didn’t matter what they talked about, as long as it meant walking with her.\n\nHis long walk took him out of the heat as he arrived at work and greeted his co-workers. He always shook hands with everyone. Hugs were a little difficult to pull off as he could not always tell if they were sitting or standing. But an outstretched, open hand was a universal sign. Patty was noticeably absent today. This was odd .Patty was supposed to return today from her honeymoon. Quentin tried to figure out who her replacement was.\n “Can I help you, sir?” said the unfamiliar voice.\n “Oh you must be new here, my dear. I’m Quentin and I work here”, he said with a smile.\n “Oh I am so sorry! I’m just a temp. The regular girl did not show up for work and they called me in. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quentin.” She stood up and shook his waiting hand. Quentin gave a suppressed smile and a nod of the head.\nWith no Patty in the office, Quentin had to set up his massage table and lotions on his own today. He had grown accustomed to not having Patty around, the week before, but he loathed having to go to the stock room and figure out which items were which. \n\nThe air conditioner unit seemed blow only hot air around, throughout the day. He called for the temporary receptionist for help but she always seemed to be busy. “Another one, Sheesh” he thought.\nIt was a light day. Not many clients seemed friendly, not that they were required to be, but it was always nice to have some conversation while not only being trapped in darkness but providing the same monotonous pressure he had applied an hour ago. \n\nPatty had been always there to pass the time. He could talk to her for hours at the front desk about everything; things he would never tell a soul, like, his longing for touch and compassion. She empathized with him more greatly than he realized. Her fiancée had been a strict workaholic. By the time he returned from home, he was too tired to talk, let alone make love.\n\nOften, she would place her hand on his and massage it slightly as they spoke. It wasn’t out of desire but of mutual respect and caring. Maybe, she did it out of abandonment. Her polished nails atop her smooth fingertips were rubbing and caressing his dry skin.  Quentin wondered if he had control over his eyes, would they be rolling back, aroused from the sensation?  Her smooth and lotion saturated hands were like heaven on his. \n\nOnly a few days before her wedding, they sat in this very room. He sobbed in her lap. “Why can’t I have you?” he said. “Why?” he shouted over and over. Patty twirled her fingers through his sweaty auburn hair and took it all in. \n“I love him, I made a promise” She said. “I can’t be with you, Quentin.” Quentin knew this was the way it would be, but hoped it would change if he just kept begging. Patty continued to play with his hair. Inside, she knew she wanted him too. Quentin could no longer handle the loneliness and the desire. \n“He won’t love you like I will,” he said. “God, I want you so bad.” He continued to sob and moan in Patty’s lap, until she stood up, kissed his hand and walked out the door.\n\nThe temp listened outside as Quentin was recalling that day. He didn’t even realize he was saying her name out loud with grief. “Patty! Patty” He missed her already, thinking about her. “I can’t wait to get home and just get in bed.” He thought.\n\nAs he was cleaning up his room, the temp entered. “This girl Patty is really throwing you all for a whirl isn’t she?” Quentin stopped and faced the table. He felt so angry that this stranger was commenting on his friend, but knew she was just trying to be friendly.\n\n “I miss having her at the front desk” Quentin said pointedly. The temp formed an awkward smile, missing the dig. She nodded her head and walked back to the front desk.\nHe stood at the doorway to his building taking in the summer night. The air smelled like the smokey barbecues on the front lawn and the trees in full ambrosial bloom. “Maybe I’m just a curmudgeon.”, he thought. “Maybe it has nothing to do with me being blind.”\n\nQuentin walked home exhausted with only sleep in his mind. He narrowly missed the puddle of blood once again when he was taking off his shirt. He leaned just next to the blood splattered wall when he took off each of his shoes. He stretched out in bed and set his alarm for next morning’s wake up.  He leaned over and gave a kiss to the cold body in his queen sized bed. “Goodnight Patty…I missed you”. He then took a sip of water from his drinking glass. “Hmm just water and particles” he thought with a grin. Quentin laid his head on his pillow and drifted to sleep.",
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