The Mystery Of The Box Of Sardine

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Sardine

My father  owned a convenient store in Haïti,  a small  town, about forty-five minutes from Port-Au-Prince; the Capital of Haïti.  During the summer, our family often spent a few days  vacationing there, since there was also a house right behind the store. But I recalled one particular weekend, my aunt and I went up there alone, since her mom (Aunt Sawsaw” was the one in charge of the store. I was probably 13, while she was 18 years old.

That Saturday morning,  when  aunt Sawsaw had to run some errands, she left my aunt and I alone in the store. But, since she knew how much we loved sardine, she gave us a long lecture before she left.

“You see that box of sardine on the shelf up there?”

After we looked up, we said: “Yes Aunt Sawsaw.”

“Now,  whenever I come back, if I don’t see it right at…

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UNCONDITIONAL LOVE MY BUTT!

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Some brats must be taught a lesson.  So I’m filing a lawsuit against my daughter.

I heard she’s been having a ball “Par – Tea” every weekend. Oh yes! “THE HIP HOUSE” of Pembroke Pines, has been serving escargot and flan for breakfast to all her worldwide visitors, including her father’s ex/current girlfriends.

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And, should I mention the “Dom Perignon, and the “Veuve Cliquot” served in her Swarovski crystalline toasting flutes?

champagne

But, while she caters to her friends, I on the other hands am a major obstacle to her convenience. Although my last brief visit to her house was over four months ago. You think she would be thrilled to see me? Of course not! After all, who am I? I’m just her mother!

How boring!”

“Oh Mah, you can’t come this weekend, I have guests.” Was her response during our phone conversation.

My answer?

“And I have diarrhea and just need a place to shit!”

“Mahh! You know what I mean- this week is just too busy for me!”

“Honey, you should have sent a notice to your grand-father, to forbid him not to die this week.”

“Yeah! I know. That’s sad. I’m really going to miss grandpa Mah. But I was planning to travel to Brazil anyway; how long you’re going to be here for?”

“Oh me? That’s ok! You can always drop me off to your nearest “Abandoned Parents Shelter.”

“Mah, you’re hilarious! I have no problem with you in the house, but I just can’t pick you up today.” (Mind you, I’m traveling from CA. to Miami.)

So I told her, “What is it – You’ve been busy in action on your bed this weekend? I hope not.  Your grandpa just died, he probably watched the whole movie.”

“Mahhh!  I have my girlfriends in the house, not.”

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I purposely cut her off.

“Good, because my nurse/cook/housekeeping/babysitting job drained me, and I need some peace and quiet time to write.”

THE FOLLOWING DAY:

“Mah, I might not pick you up today ok. I’m still tired, so tomorrow.”

My answer: “I’m filing a lawsuit for parental neglect against you.”

“Mahhhhh?”

I was pissed. I ‘ve been hanging at my sister’s house like a stale coconut on an abandoned coconut tree.

“ I knew I should have filed for  “Parental Abuse lawsuit since you were three years old,” I told her.

Dialed tone.

Another call from her.

“Mahh!

“Going forward, please address my attorney. “His websites is:

“Howtogetevenwithungreatefulbratssuchasnadegechildren.com”

Flashback: She was about five years old, and the busiest body among all my children. I was preparing a special dish which required crushed jalapeno peppers. Within a few seconds I had turned my back, the cute little brat had rushed to the kitchen, climbed the high chair; and was getting ready to eat a full spoon of crushed jalapeno peppers.  I ran so fast that I tripped.

“Dawn it!” I said. “Why did I grabbed that spoon?”

“MAHH!”

So I said. “To start with, I’m demanding compensation for:

  • Nine Months you spent freeloading in my womb.”
  • Three years of sleepless nights due to your constant illness – Diarrhea and stinky vomit.
  • Reimbursement for all my makeup you dabbled your whole hands on and used them as your art experiment.
  • For all my perfumes you drained on your clothes and washed your tiny butt with.
  • And interest on all excess expenses, such as my shampoo you gurgled down your throat and my expensive soaps you soaked in water till they were liquefied; my gold jewelry you chewed, my pearl necklace you chopped off, and my gold watch you banged with a rock.
  • Lastly million $$$ for all my unconditional love I gave you!!!”

‘MAHH!”

“See you in court!”

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BLANKET OF FLOWERS — SUSANNE LEIST

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woodendreams (by Derek Kind) Take me to the light that shines bright in the far reaches of the deep forest. I want to bask in its heavenly glow until the moon raises its spotlight. Let the leaves tickle my hot skin as I lie down on a sheet of grass. Cover with me with a […]

via BLANKET OF FLOWERS — SUSANNE LEIST

I Can Only Imagine – Dedicated To My Father

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grden

I can only imagine my father now rejoicing at his welcoming party with all his ancestors. Since he often told us how spoiled he was by my great grandparents, chances are, they would be his point of contact to greet him at the entrance door from our ancestor’s hallway.

And, after they would squeeze his fleshless body, one among them would more likely ask him:

“Mais Papou, pouquoi vous avez attendu aussi longtemps?”

Yes, when great grandparents were alive, my father said they only spoke French amongst them. So, in English, they were really asking him “Why did my father wait for so long before he joined them?

Knowing my father, he will probably answer back:

“Oh-Oh!!! – Ah! Bon! “Je m’amusais M’a Tella!!!”

Meaning: Oh-oh!!! Ah! Well! I was having fun M’a Tella!

“Yes, “M’a Tella” was his Grandmother’s name. But, if by any chance it was my great grandfather who questioned him, he would  have said “Pa D’or” instead.

Yes, my great grandfather’s name was “Mon D’or” meaning “My Gold.” Interesting name, don’t you think? I bet you he was a spoiled brat like my father!

In fact, my  Father’s name was Ernst Moïse. But, “Papou or Passite” were his nickname.

My father often told us “Growing up, he was the charming prince of his family; dearly loved, as well spoiled by his grandparents. All his great aunts, uncles, and cousins adored him as well.” My siblings and I have witnessed the love they shared together, but unfortunately, we never met our great grandparents.

Two of my father’s favorite cousins were Aunt Solange and Aunt Jeanine. But aunt Jeanine and my father were like Bonnie and Clyde, because they were inseparable.

I must say aunt Jeanine was my favorite one as well. As a Caucasian Haïtian woman, she had gorgeous eyes. And her butt was as flat as an iron board, just like my father’s. So whenever our family went to the beach, all the children would empty their laughter boxes, because we laughed so hard.

“Papou, timoun yo ap  gin madichon wi, yap ri bouda nou.” Aunt Jeanine would say  to Papy in Creole while she was laughing herself.  Meaning “Papou those kids will be

Meaning “Papou those kids will be curse if they keep on laughing at our flat butt!”

But, that didn’t prevent us from teasing them, and we kept on laughing as well.  By the end of the day, we were rolling on the sand with teary eyes because aunt Jeanine’s skin looked like plum tomatoes from the sunburn.

“Ton-nè fout – Ou wè sa fout soley la fèm Papou?” Tante Jeanine would yell at Papy, as she attempts to carefully walk  like one of the robots from the Star Trek episode.

So, what exactly did she just said in Creole? ”

” Danm it! You see what that damn sun did to my skin Papou?”

“Wi-fout!” Papy would yell back, at his first glance at her. “You look like a wet chicken in tomatoes sauce and hot pepper.”

Then they both would laugh together. By the way “Wi-fout!” was one of my father’s favorite expression.

“Wi-fout! A la ti moun lèd!” Meaning:” Damn, what an ugly child!” Yes, my father would actually whisper that.

“Wi-fout! M’grangou!” Meaning, “Damn I’m hungry!” By the way, my father loved to eat.

Yes, I can imagine my aunt Jeanine being the second in line, awaiting her turn to rush toward my papy to personally welcome him.  And, since she won’t have a suntan, chances are she will be running,  pushing  her through the crowd, including both my grandparents just so she can say:

“Passite! Ki sa ou tap fout tan?”

Meaning: “Passite, why did you wait so damn long to join me?”

Papy’s answer? “Oh-Oh!!! M’té fout konnin ou té nan payi pedu sa?”

Meaning: Oh-oh! How could have I known you were in this lost city?”

At last,  I even imagine how my great-grand Father would pull my father’s arm in order to get away from the crowd. And, with a serious tone of voice he would  say:

“Nous avons quelque chose à discuter jeune homme!” (We have something to discuss young man)

Then, as they both take a long stroll together, he would ask my father the following questions:

“Young man, how do you expect your grandmother to comb all the kinky hair children you and the others brought into our family? And, where in heaven’s sake do you expect us to get enough bleach from up here to lighten their skin?”

Moving forward Haiti

Knowing my Father without a doubt the following would be his answer:

“Well, I can’t answer for the other folks but for myself only.  “God said “Soyez féconds et multiplier la terre.” Yes, to “Be fruitful and multiply the earth. So I did just what He asked of me; I had 23 children. But as for the color of their skin, He never mentioned any preference.”

My great grandfather  would finally acknowledge his weakness when he realizes that we were all created equal. To show his gratitude to my father, he would  give him a big hug.

“Mmm! Quand même, vous êtes toujours sages. Très bien mon fils!” He would say to my father.

Meaning: “Strange, but you are still wise, well done my son!”

“Of course!” Papy would reply, with a charming grin on his. Then he would say:

“Well, I don’t know about this fable “we were all created equal” because even in heaven there is a hierarchy. Some angels are greater in strength and ranks than others. So, we human may have been created all flesh, but are we all equal? Certainly NOT! “The maid is not equal to her employer, neither the engineer equal to a junky. Although, I do agree that respect is due to all  regardless…

“I fully agree, “My great grandfather nodded.

Then my Papy would say: “Now grandfather, let’s take into consideration another point.”

‘Why  should  you  be concern about all my dark skin children I graced our family with? Rather why don’t you thank me for not introducing any “spoiled race” into our family instead.”

“Spoiled race?” What does that mean you asked?

Well, this is how my father referred to an unattractive child. During  dinner, we were often reminded of this rule:

“Give me lots of grand-children, but DO NOT bring me any “SPOILED RACE, UGLY GRAND-CHILDREN.”

In our creole language he would re-emphasize:“Pa ban m’ “Gatè race; ti moun lèd!!!”

We would laugh of course, and so did all of our friends. Because they felt so comfortable to be around my father.

Yes, that was my father. He was at ease with his sense of humor, so he made us laugh. And during any family or friends gathering, the party didn’t start until “Passite” arrived, and the best table was reserved for us, in honor of my father.

My father was welcomed everywhere. He was the guests of honor in many small villages during their celebrations, many of which he was the first one who ever built schools and churches there. Upon our arrival, even the priest would anticipate his arrival. A special table was also set aside for my father and all his guests. While every paysan would welcome  him.

“Min Ginneer’m nan!” Or, Mim Magist’ pam nan!”

Meaning:”Here comes my engineer, ” Or, “He comes my favorite Maire!”

As a result, my father had enough God-children to occupy a whole school. Probably why he started building schools in the small towns.

Yes, I learned to be a good Samaritan from my father. As a young girl, I would watch my father planting good seed. Every village we visited, the people knew his car. Then they all would lined up to tell him of their harship. I watched my father giving each according to their needs.

“Magist, the wife just gave birth to another child. And, had to send your godson to school, you know?” The skiny paysan would say, with his straw hat,  balls of sweat rolling down his face.

Papy would answer “Wi fout! How often your wife give birth? I thought just like week I gave you some money for a new born?”

“Hihihi! Magist, you sure right, sometimes I think my wife gives birth every three months! Sure right-sure right!”

I learned to despise injustice from my father.

I learned to become the best chef because of my father.  For he showed enthusiasm tasting both my sour and tasty recipes, and not once criticized me.

At last whenever I would ask my Father “So Papy, what do you think of this recipes? He would answer,

“M’plin boudin m!”

Translation? “For me to know, and for you to find out!” LOL

What he truly answered was: “I ate so much that even my butt is full!” LOL

Below  are  before and after pictures of my father.

ERNST MOïSE 04/16/1931-07/11/2016

Papy 2

BEFORE:

papy 3

AFTER!

LIFE IS A “B” alright!!!

 

 

From My Sister Stephanie – To Our “Papy Chéri”

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Ernst Moïse, Notre Père Cheri,

Nous avons ensemble fait tant de choses, Et voilà maintenant tu nous as quitté.
Avec toi, nous avons partagé tant de projets, et il y a tant de choses encore que nous aurions pu faire ensemble.

Mais cela semble s’arrêter aujourd’hui, ce n’est plus ensemble que nous allons réaliser ce que tu espérais.

Tu etais notre héros, et tu le resteras toujours Papy Chéri…
Repose en paix…

PAPY

Je T’aime Papy Cheri

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My Father Ernst Moise passed away today.

My beloved Papy.

“Je t’aime Papy cheri.”

Puffed from Wedding Planning

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Puffed from Wedding Planning Planning a wedding is hard work. Fun. But tiring. On this day, several years ago now, we were trying on dresses. One day, if Mum gets married, I will be her miniature b…

Source: Puffed from Wedding Planning