MSI Press Blog

  Excerpt from Tucker & Me (Harvey) - RIDING THE WILD MATTRESS               I was a planned Cesarean birth. The doctor gave my mother a choice of several dates for delivery, and she picked the seventeenth. This was because her birthday was on the seventeenth, albeit in a different month. This was part of an inordinate role the number seventeen played in our family.                      I was brought home as a baby to our residence in the Los Angeles suburb of Monterey Park. I only lived there until I was two years old, but it was always referred to as the Hermosa Vista House, in reference to the name of the street. The street number was 417, thus continuing an odd streak of the number seventeen in our family residences. After that house, we lived in the city of Alhambra, with a street address of 1717. The next home we moved to the address was simply 17. Ultimately, the family settled in another town, where the house numbers were 1728. That’s an awful lot of seventeens for one fam

  excerpt from From Deep Within (Lewis)  The Cutting Group   The door to the outpatient clinic’s waiting room opened and flakes of snow swept in with a chilling cold. The room was shaped in a perfect square. Twelve chairs in total leaned on opposite walls. The upholstery had once been institutional grey, but now it had black marks throughout, with tears soaked into the fabric and yellow/brown filth embedded in the seams. The center of each chair had taken on a rounded contour from years of patients sitting in the same place. Footprint marks were embedded in the carpet in front of each chair, showing where hundreds of people had placed their feet over the years. The wear in the carpet reminded me of the worn yellow footprints millions of airport travelers step into every day when passing through X-ray machines at security.   When the weather was damp, the clinic waiting room smelled like wet dirty diapers. At one end of the room was a sliding glass window with one side open. Anita, the

  Since today is my birthday, this guest post seemed very apropos! DYING AND LIVING “Yet if we love one another, God dwells in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.” --I John 4: 12     I watched Dad die. I was only seventeen at the time, too young to understand much of what was going on. My father had been diagnosed with throat cancer two years before, a disease common to heavy smokers and drinkers. He underwent brutal cobalt treatments and lost his voice. He was in constant pain, unrelieved by the medications. For the last three months of his life he was bedridden at home. Mom, my brothers, and I took turns sitting by his bedside, mostly in silence. He could not speak, and I did not know what to say. It was decided not to tell Dad he was dying, so he could keep up his hope. But he knew. The priest later told us how Dad spoke with him about his dying and not to tell us. So no one said anything about the elephant in the room. In the silence during my death wat