My family plays this card game, Spoons, because it's an easy one for even the little ones to play. Although we found out that due to a certain ruthlessness in our genetic makeup, it became necessary to tell the little ones that not only could they not play with us, they couldn't even stay in the room where we were playing. Because my mother? She will wrench your wrist around on your arm and laugh while she's doing it in order to take possession of that last spoon.
I don't think this group of sisters plays quite that violently -- I don't see blood on anyone's habit -- but those flying hands lead me to believe that there's quite a spirited game in progress. Maybe if I'd found a picture of them taken later that day, one of them would have been in a sling? Who can tell. I doubt it, though. It would be very hard to say in confession, "I confess that I broke Sister Immaculata's pinky finger because she wouldn't give up the spoon." That would be difficult for anyone.
Happy pills - I think my first encounter with depression happened when I was a junior in high school. No one called it "depression" then, but that's what it was. I don't...
3 days ago