Finals are upon us

Good morning! It is final exams week in the BP mom home and I wonder who is prepared and who is not. Sadly, Tink is stuck with me watching over her shoulder and looking for a book to be cracked open. She just left for the exam. There was a short review this morning at 8 am. She left at 7:55 which tells me that there is no way that she will make it to the review because it will begin before she makes a right hand turn at the end of the street. Therefore, good luck, girl friend. I expect a passing grade.

As far as Buddy is concerned, I can only report that he states that he is studying in between eating pizza and playing video games. OK, here I go....when I went to college (the first time, not the second or third), I was pasted to my books. My notes never left my hand for a game controller. I would study all night for a week, take the finals, run to Woolworths (today's WalMart) and pick out a few Christmas presents with the $4.00 I had to spend. It was tough dividing the $4.00 into 7 to buy gifts for my immediate family. They would receive cheap (and I mean stinky cheap) cologne, pencils, stickers, and candy bars. I would wrap them on Christmas eve with my brother the Runner and all would be well in our family. We would go to Midnight Mass, return home to open gifts from one another, and Grandmom made breakfast before we went to bed around 2 am.

Christmas Eve Mass was usually poignant and entertaining. I could not believe that I could stay up until midnight to go to Mass. Those days are long over...then the number of people who would arrive drunk was somewhat alarming. The church was always full of people and parishioners had to stand five deep around the church and entry ways and in the aisles. We had to arrive by 11:20 to find a seat and then sat there looking at the beautifully decorated church and the families and friends arriving late and standing in the alcoves.

And so it goes...those days are gone and a fond memory yet stay alive when I begin to reminisce about the neighborhood and family. As I start a story, someone usually says: "Did someone die in this one?" No, someone does not always die in my stories yet it seems like there are more weird ways of dying stories in my brain that I have recalled over the years. Generally my immediate family does not believe the odd death stories that I have until we gather as an extended family and someone would say: "Remember so and so and how he was hit by a car when he drunkenly fell off the roof at the corner house?" Thank goodness I have siblings who share a mutual past and can tell a "guess how so and so died story" as well as me....have a great day and stay off the roof!