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I'm participating in the Platform Building Campaign. If you're a fellow campaigner stopping by, make sure to leave me a comment if you follow me so that I can find you. Sometimes there's not a link in your profile on the GFC so I don't have a way to figure out where you came from. I'm looking forward to meeting everyone and to reading your posts!!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Premature Smoke

Finally, after weeks away I am able to get back into my weekly writing prompts. I decided not to participate during April simply because the Challenge was overwhelming enough. Now that it has ended I am looking forward to participating in these prompts again. This week's prompt was a bit different. Here it is:

 When I was little, my grandmother smoked 3-4 packs a day. After she got sick, she cut down to half a pack a day. By the time I was 12, I would walk to the local convenience store and buy her cigarettes for her. Laws in small towns are different from those in the big cities. Of course, it probably helped the owner of the store had known me since I was a “youngin”. Things were different back then.

I often asked her why she didn't quit. Her reply was always the same, "I just can't". Except there was a time when she did quit. Right after my daughter was born. 

I was barely 7 months pregnant when my daughter decided she had been inside long enough and was ready to see the world. Of course her father's fists helped her to make that decision. I guess she was curious as to who was knocking on the door and decided to take a peek as to who was there. She and I spent two months in the hospital and when we finally came home there were lots of rules. Top of the list was my daughter couldn't be around anyone who smoked. Ma was determined to see her great grand baby. No cigarette was going to stand between her and that little 2 pound bundle of joy. 

Once the doctor gave the OK that my daughter could be around her as long as she smoked outside, she started right back up again. I am certain it was more of a nervous habit than an addiction. It kept her hands and mind busy. Ma had lots of reasons to worry. 

Even though she smoked, she would always chastise me and tell me to never pick up the "nasty habit". However, Ma wouldn't have been Ma without that long Saratoga in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.


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