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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: E who wrote (44373)	1/2/2000 12:33:00 AM
From: Rambi	Respond to of 71178

THose are terrible stories, E. My maid's mother died a year ago of lung cancer. She would sit on our porch smoking and telling me about how awful the death was and how frightened she was that she would get it. Her children were begging her to quit, so she wouldn't die like Nana" so she tried - it lasted a couple of weeks, then she started back ("but I'm not smoking as much!") trying to limit herself, and now she seems to be on the porch as much as ever. How you could watch your own mother die like that, and still smoke, --it must be a terrible addiction. I smoked in college and a few years after, but I just quit. I don't remember that it was that hard. Thank God. I was lucky. On the other hand, colon cancer- lots of cancer- is all through my family, and I am no better about diet and exercise than my maid is about smoking, so I guess I'm calling the kettle black, when I should tend to my own clean-up. I do get nasty tests on a regular basis.

To: E who wrote (44373)	1/2/2000 1:20:00 AM
From: Ilaine	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Your story reminds me of one of my first jobs, being trained as a draftsman by the Louisiana Highways Department. One day a very strange old man appeared next to my light table, and informed me that he was probably related to me because we had the same last name, or maybe his mother had the same last name, I don't really remember. He saw my name on a list of new employees. My maiden name is unusual, and very French. He suffered from emphysema, had a button in his throat which allowed him to talk, but what really, really horrified me was that he smoked by sticking the cigarette into the button in his throat. He didn't live much longer.

To: E who wrote (44373)	1/2/2000 11:18:00 AM
From: Jacques Chitte	Respond to of 71178

When I was a little Lather in Lederhosen both my parents smoked. My dad smoked ciggies and had an aromatic pipe rack, and he kept his hardware odds&ends in "Balkan Sobranie" tobacco tins. We would sneak into the basement and pull the lids and breathe deep of the aroma of unburnt pipe tobacco. I always liked that smell. It's when youtake a match to it that it goes all wrong. My dad quit smoking when I was six - by an act of will. Decided one morning that cigarettes were a liability, and badda-bing. Gone was the pipe rack, and the odor slowly faded from the tins of nails. My momma on the other hand - she had a thang for Pall Malls. Serious smokes in unfiltered Camel territory. Tar and nicotine in teaspoons, not demure little milligrams. She quit twenty times in as many years, and she finally quit for keeps when I was in grad school. She had this COUGH that took five years to resolve. She's seventy-plus now, and so far, so good.