The House was Full of the Scent of the Ointment

 25th March 2024

The House was Full of the Scent of the Ointment

"...Mary brought in a pound of very costly ointment, pure nard, and with it anointed the feet of Jesus, wiping them with her hair; the house was full of the scent of the ointment..."

These words from the Gospel today made me think. Mary's gesture was most extravagant in that the ointment was so precious. She used so much of it that the whole house was drenched in the sweet perfume. Judas would question the reasonableness of spending all that  money. 

I am struck by her generosity and her love. Of course her generosity is born out of her great love. I am reminded of Mother Teresa saying "Give until it hurts and then,  give some more." Like Judas, I question the Wisdom of giving too much. I calculate what I should give, how I should give, when I should give. Where is the Love in that?  And as I quibble about being asked for more, I find that I'm in a quagmire of grime and stench that stops me moving forward, that keeps be bound to myself.

Lord help me, during these days of Holy Week,  to be like Mary, to Love you more, to give without counting the cost. Help me Lord to fill my house with the sweet aroma from the ointment of  self giving, so that I can  rise with You at Easter  into the Light of Your Love.

 

Actually it's Eleven

21st March 2024

This section of my memoir has touched many people. I've had a great deal of positive and emotional feedback from it. Thank you to all who contacted me . 

4th June 2020


Ten Things Of Thankful.

I thought for the TTOT today I'd share a chapter from my memoir. I am enormously thankful to God for all the experiences here.
I could count to many more than ten, but hey, who's counting. And to be fair who can count God's blessings.
Obviously, as it's just a chapter in the middle of my memoir, there is some knowledge that is assumed. If you want clarification please ask.

Actually It's Eleven

October 1982

I enjoyed my pregnancy and planned to do things right this time. My wonderful midwife, Brenda Tucker gave me a book on breastfeeding, “Breast is Best”. It became my bible. The first time round I got mastitis and was advised to stop feeding which put me off trying again the second time.

 With number three I was determined to get it right. Everything natural, including a home birth and no pain relief.  Studying the book, I could see where I had gone wrong before, which made me a bit sad, but also gave me great hope that I could succeed. I read it from cover to cover over and over. 

“I’ll book you into the midwives’ unit. It’s homely and you’ll be out six hours after the birth. It’ll be fine.” She patted my hand. She knew I was  disappointed, apparently, too high a risk for home birth because of the twisted womb that I was left with after Emma.

“And I’ll try my best to be there and if it’s not me, the rest of the team are brilliant too,” she smiled. I had come to rely on her. She understood exactly where I was coming from. I had seen a few of the other midwives. They were lovely, but Brenda was special, we had a bond. Even when I said I’d like to try without pain relief she said she’d help me with that. One of the others just laughed saying, “we’ll see.” I think it was because Brenda treated me with dignity, as an intelligent person, that I was so fond of her.

On the due date, October 1st I went to A morning of recollection in Winton, Oxford with Helena, Sonia, Sheila, and another I don’t remember. Feeling healthy I thought nothing of the forty minute drive and anyway, Helena was driving. I sat in the oratory and prayed. I was thinking about joining The Work (how members refer to Opus Dei) and was asking God if that’s what he wanted. Everything about it seemed to be just for me.

“Lord, if the baby comes tomorrow, then I’ll take it as a sign that I have a vocation,” and I hoped. The next day was the anniversary of the founding of the work,  2nd October 1928, which, obviously was significant. I read all I could about the founder Josemaria Escriva and loved his emphasis on holiness in the middle of the world - so attractive to me.

Sure enough that night I got inklings that baby was coming. Contractions on and off, fifteen minutes apart, then none for an hour. I’d had Branston Hicks contractions the week before, so initially didn’t get too excited.

“Do you think this is it?” Peter handed me a cup of tea.

“Just put it there,” I pointed to the coffee table while pacing up and down the living room. It was a Saturday so he was at home, which I was grateful for. By mid afternoon the pains were every ten minutes and sometimes closer.

“I think I should take you in,” he was getting nervous. His mum who had come up to look after the others agreed.

“No, we’ll wait a bit more.” I wanted to leave it as long as possible before going in.

An hour later we drove the fifteen minute journey to the Royal Bucks Hospital. Brenda met us and stayed with us the whole time, helping me have the birth I’d planned. Peter held my hand, tried to be helpful, always one for solving problems but completely out of his depth in this situation. With the absence of normal hospital equipment, although close at hand if needed, the room was set out like a bedroom, with comfortable chairs, coffee table with books on and pictures on the walls.

I walked about for a lot of the labour but eventually pulled myself  up onto the bed for the last stage.

Yes, the birth was painful, I won’t pretend it wasn’t, but I worked through it with my helpers and Katherine Sarah was born that evening weighing 6lbs 7 oz. She lay on top of me, Peter’s eyes filled up. He looked at me. I put out my hand to his, squeezed, both of us now shedding tears of joy.

As arranged, I was left without any drugs to expel the placenta, wanting everything to be as natural as possible. It wasn’t the normal way they did things, Brenda said and I’d read as much, that it could take quite a while for the placenta to come away. Baby was even still attached by the cord after ten minutes and was happy feeding.

“You’ve done it. And just the way you wanted, couldn’t have gone any better, so proud of you.” He kissed me gently on the forehead. He was right, all had gone well, very well.

“I know, she’s lovely, I’m so happy,” a delicious sense of achievement flowed warmly through my body.

I even got up after half an hour to go to the toilet. We’ll be home soon, I said to myself.

But it was not to be. The afterbirth came away, or so it seemed, but I started to feel unwell and it transpired that some of the placenta had been retained and I’d have to have a manual evacuation under general anesthetic.  We were not going home that night.

“Don’t let them give her anything, not even a drink of water,” I pointed my finger at my husband who stood there stressed, frowning.  I didn’t want to be separated from her and had genuine concerns and fears that they might decide she was hungry and give her formulae, which I was adamant she was not to have.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll make sure they don’t do anything untoward.” He rubbed my back while I gave baby her last feed of rich colostrum.

He was true to his word and when I woke later I heard her little whimper and looking around saw her in his arms, him cooing at her, the two of them totally in love.

Even though I was tired from the operation, I spent most of that first night feeding her. Peter had been sent  home. I was left alone. Staff wanted to take baby away too,  so I could get some sleep.  I knew there was no chance of that.

In those days we weren’t allowed to take the babies into bed with us so I sat in an upright chair, hooked up to a drip filled with IV antibiotics, and watched my baby feed, her little hand  squeezing my finger, both of us locked together in a sweaty embrace. I prayed through that night, thanking God for everything he’d given me.

Life with the  new baby.

“Oh mum, she’s so cute,” I lay on my bed,  Emma sat one side of me, James on the other.

“My turn now,” James positioned himself more uprightly. I prised the baby from Emma and placed  her in James’ outstretched arms. He immediately lifted her to his lips and kissed her forehead.

“She’s so tiny,” he said not taking his eyes off her.
 They loved their new sister form that first moment. They’d waited, peered out of our bedroom window and on seeing us, ran to meet us as we got out of the car.
 One of the first things Peter did was go shopping for some clothes for her. She was so small that the first size baby clothes we had swamped her. He ended up buying dolls clothes, which worked well for a month or so.

She was never without arms to hold her, from Peter’s mum and his sister Chris, my sisters Di and Kay, to all my new friends from church who came round with dinners, clothes, and cards, so many cards. It seemed that she brought joy into the world with her.

Life was good. I settled into a beautiful life, looking after our new addition and growing more and more in love with her as the days went on. Our little family grew close. At nine days, she was baptised, with my good friends Audrey and Jose as her Godparents. Audrey, now a catholic was over the moon to be asked, it was like we were family. They moved to Tenerife a few years later, to start a business. Although I was happy for them, I was also sad, especially as we couldn’t afford to go see them. We kept up contact by Christmas cards and the odd letter, but It would be  thirty two years before we’d see  them again, when in in 2016  Peter and I had week’s all-inclusive holiday in a hotel near where they live. We went for coffee had meals together and it was like the years just melted away. We definitely won’t leave it another thirty-two years.

When she was just eight weeks, I took Katie on retreat with me to Wickenden Manor, an Opus Dei house in Sussex. Helena took me down and had her four month old daughter, Mary Anne, with her. Three days of peace, praying, time to think, to work out with the Lord what this chapter of my life was going to be. Although we were in silence in the house, Helena and I found time to wander the grounds with the babies and chat. And sometimes I would keep her awake late in the evening with my enthusiasm to hear more about what it meant to live my vocation.

Life with our new baby was not only a great joy, but also so much easier than I expected. The feeding went well and I fed her anywhere, discretely, of course.  In fact, I had a better social life than ever before, visiting friends, going to prayer groups and church meetings. Nobody minded baby coming, quite the opposite, it was always a conversation starter.

-------------

“I need you to come home,” I never phoned him at work. Any problem or disaster could usually wait till he got home.

“What’s up, what’s the matter?” I could hear the machines in the background and the office door being shut. “That’s better, I can hear you now. What are you saying?”

I told him I was bleeding, that my tummy hurt, but not like when you have a period, that I nearly passed out.

By the time he got home I was in tears in the bathroom.

I’d thought I might be pregnant but as I hadn’t had any bleeding in the ten months since Katherine was born, I didn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry love, I was worried, I suppose it could be just the first period after so long, but it doesn’t feel right.” I knew in my heart it wasn’t.

“What do you want me to do?” he stood on the landing, looking at me.

“I’m not sure. Make a cup of tea for now.” I stayed put. He went downstairs.

“Love, can you come up,” I shouted out. He came bounding up the stairs.

 We both stared, both  peered  into the toilet bowl, both not knowing what to say, both linked hands trying to take it in. The fetus was not even the size of the palm of my hand, maybe seven or eight weeks, no more.
 Now, even thirty seven years later I find it hard to think of it, still a wound within me.

 There was only one other time I had a miscarriage. That was ten years later in 1993, in Studland Close. Our neighbour, Molly, helped me that time. There were eight children by then.  I lost a lot of blood, had to go into hospital for a D and C and a blood transfusion. Again, it was early, about twelve weeks. I don’t recall much, I was too ill, but like the first one it’s remained with me and when I tell people I have nine children inside my head I add, actually it’s eleven. 

A Long Life

  

 20th March

 A Long Life

Your life is not long on this earth ,

open  your wings,  flutter in royal magnificence,

reaching far and wide.

Your life is not long on this earth,

with patience gather those who are poor,

in kindness bring abundance .

Your life is not long on this earth,

with joy, bring  rest to the weary,

to the anxious , bring peace .

For your life will be long on  this earth, 

according to the love you have for the others, 

according to how little 

you think of yourself.

So here's to a long life lived,

with days spent 

in fullness and joy.

reach for the stars.

St John Bosco

 We celebrate the Feast of John Bosco today. I've always had a great love for this Saint.

With a particular concern and care for the young, first with evening classes where hundreds came to listen to his teachings about God and Heaven.

he eventually set up a boarding house for apprentices and workshops for education and training, which is wonderful , thinking about them working and doing well and not just thinking about their spiritual lives. After all it's all one , our struggle with sanctity and our whole life is part of that. 

Some of his sayings:

"My children, jump, run, and play and make all the noise you want but avoid sin like the plague and you will surely gain Heaven"

"learn to flee from bad companions and bad books"

"Without confidence and love , there can be no true education. If you want to be loved ... you must love yourselves, and make your children feel that you love them."

"Act today in such a way that you need not blush tomorrow"

"Servite Domino in laetitia!" (serve the Lord joyfully)

All over the floor

2nd October 2023

 

All Over the Floor

All over the floor,

From one side of the room 

to the other, 

strewn haphazardly,

lay little mounds of clothes.

She sits in the midst,

her hand reaches for  

a purple jumper,

a tear falls 

and she breathes out 

a slow sigh.

As she always did, 

with black bags that 

were left on her doorstep,

she'd tipped  them out 

all over the floor. 

It was something she always 

felt excited about. 

What would she find

among the clothes, the brick o back, the books.?

Always something she needed, 

for the children or the house. 

But always, too, an unexpected 

treasure.

Like the time,

it was near Christmas

when there was a pair of 

burgandy coloured patent shoes,

the sort you'd go out dancing in, 

the sort she loved but 

couldn't buy for herself,

the sort she could now wear to the 

Christmas party with their friends.

Memoir

 17th May 2023

How's The Book Going ?

That's a question I'm often asked .

So:

Let me tell you how things are going with the book. xxx

The short answer is , amazingly well, thank you. In fact way beyond my expectations!!

Without any real marketing or advertising,  lots of orders are coming in for my memoir. This is both surprising and truly unexpected. 

However, as I find it virtually impossible to promote myself, it's also  been helpful.

  My old friend, Imposter Syndrome, finds many reasons why people wouldn't be interested in my story.    You know how it goes:                                                                                                                    "Who do you think you are, you're not a real writer."                                                                                                                            "You're a rubbish writer, so immature," he continues, "You've absolutely nothing interesting to say," and, "Who on earth would want to know about your life?" And so it goes on. 

Well,  Mr Imposter Syndrome, judging by the feedback, apparently lots of people want to know about my life.                                                                                             And, what's more, My Imposter Syndrome , I actually went and did it. I did.  I went and  wrote the book!  So there!!

Anyway, I'm no longer friends with him. I'm letting him drift quietly, out of my life. Or, maybe he'll cause a scene.  That doesn't matter. All I know is, he has to go. He's taken up far too much time and energy and is no real friend at all. If he comes knocking at my door I'm going to firmly tell him to get lost. 

So, dear friends, those who read my blog regularly and those who have stopped by on the off chance, let me share with you a sample of some of the beautiful comments I've received about my memoir, "Nun to Nine".  

The blurb on the back says:

The  title  brings  the question over and over, " Were you a nun , then?" , to which the answer is variations of , "Well now, you'd have to read the book to find that out, wouldn't you?" And this is encouragement enough for some.

Some comments from those who've read it:

  "There is Plenty to recommend about this book.... It is deftly written, with an eventful and entertaining life story and has pace and vitality...                                                                    I think Marian's storytelling is, by far, the strength of her writing. She writes effortlessly, with believable dialogue and with an eye for good storytelling. The reader is drawn into the story immediately with the account of the death of her parents... The story is both lively and interesting throughout, and maintains the readers  interest from start to finish."  ( C) (Part of a much longer piece!)

"Finished! A really good read and I didn't want to put it down. I completely "got " the characters, you're so clever! You took such a risk, opening your heart as you did. Your courage has be in absolute awe. I hope you have already started the next book... Thank you for such a beautiful and heartfelt memoir. It will remain with me for a long, long time!" (M)

A friend says:

"It is very much your voice: direct, personal, honest. And the  thread that runs throughout is your and Peter's love for each other. God knew that your vocation was to marriage - with all the sacrifices that entails - not to a nunnery. It wasn't blind chance that brought you together; it was the providence of God... " (F)

"...what an opening chapter. Emotional and beautifully told 💓😭 in pieces." (K)

"...the first chapter has me in floods of tears! Do I dare continue? 😟" (J) Rhetorical question, obviously.

"Thoroughly enjoyed reading the fabulous Marian Green's recently published memoir. It was as though she was with me, on my train journey, telling me her story." (C) 

"Had to contact you to say I started reading your book and love it." (M)

"Dear Marian,                                                                                                                         just started   reading your book last night and was   in floods of tears at the picture you painted of your parents' deaths.

You are very good at making the scenes come alive by describing the little details. For example, the purple blanket that you and Peter first bought in London which you couldn't bear to get rid of. 

You seemed such a warm and plucky person full of determination and full of fear simultaneously. I can relate to that!. The early times in Northampton when you felt the darkness inside you before you found Faith. And Peter's steadfast love for you even when you annoyed him!

I am hooked by the story and find it very heartfelt ... I haven't finished the book yet  as I want to savour it for a bit longer. " ( E)

      "Finished reading your memoir. I didn't want it to end . I was hooked from the beginning and wanted more..   Marian that was a well written memoir ... (Name) keeps asking me about your book and if I've read it...I loved reading it and hope you write a further book ..." (K)

"Hi, I just finished your book. Loved it...I thought it was a triumph. I found myself engrossed in the beauty of seemingly ordinary life. It's charming, conversational pattern warms the reader. What I loved most about it was, well, while it is of personal interest to me, its social commentary highlights the wider human experience. Its ontological truth it highlights on human nature is fascinating , like holding up a mirror to what intrinsically makes us human.                                            PS.  I might use it with my philosophy class next year..." (M)

" Wow, what a lovely memoir. I definitely wanted to know more about your life. So interesting." (F)

"I so loved reading your memoir Marian. I took it on holiday and it was like having a friend with you telling all the stories of their life. x  I can't wait for next one " (K) 

And  many people ( well, probably over  ten ) have said  they passed it on to others, (some two or three times) to a family member, or friend.   

Someone came up to me and said she'd been reading my memoir - her friend gave it to her and told her it was brilliant.

Another person told me , "your memoir is doing the rounds of all my friends. I'm sure they'll love it. " (W)

And a friend caught me after church one morning and said, "Marian, I am loving your book. I've known you for how many years now, is it twenty something? Well now I know you better. You were very brave being so open. It's wonderful and I'm passing it on to ..." ( C) 

And from Marnie Summerfield Smith , my mentor:

"This is an absolutely wonderful memoir. I am very proud to have assisted Marian, who came to one of my writing retreats and invited me to read and feedback on her work. A wonderful woman and a very insightful memoir, full of retrospection, thoughtful writing and emotion. Bravo, Marian!"  ( www.yourmemoir.co.uk ) 

Well, thanks Marnie. 

I am absolutely blown away by such wonderful reactions.

So, if you're wondering how to get your own copy, email me at:

marian-green@hotmail.com  

The Gate of the Sheepfold

 Gospel : John 10:1-10                                                             30th  April 2023

Jesus said:

‘I tell you most solemnly, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but gets in some other way is a thief and a brigand. The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out his flock, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They never follow a stranger but run away from him: they do not recognise the voice of strangers.’ Jesus told them this parable but they failed to understand what he meant by telling it to them.  So Jesus spoke to them again: 

‘I tell you most solemnly,  I am the gate of the sheepfold. All others who have come are thieves and brigands; but the sheep took no notice of them. I am the gate. Anyone who enters through me will be safe: he will go freely in and out and be sure of finding pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so that they may have life and have it to the full.’

                                 

        Jesus you  tell us You are The Gate to the sheepfold and we must enter through You. But You  also say, the one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock. Could it be that Jesus, You are  both the gate and the shepherd?                                                                      And Jesus,  could it also be that the Holy Father  and the Bishops with him are the shepherds who  lead the sheep, the flock, us, through the gate .                                                                                   Again, Jesus, could it also be that You  call us  to, not only go through Jesus ( the gate) , but also be shepherds ourselves,  to the many sheep who  wander the world not knowing in where to find the Truth, where to find Eternal Life, where to find Salvation. 

         Jesus, You say You have  come "that they may have life and have it to the full", that we may have life and have it to the full, finding green pasture and bringing, hopefully, many with us.  

Help us be mindful,  Jesus, on this Good Shepherd Sunday,  that we have to follow You closely, to get to know You well,  to listen attentively to You, knowing that You will lead us through the narrow gate, to be with You and be safe. 

         And to do that we have to be very close to Him, to know Him well, to be intimate with Him.  

The Feast of St Joseph The Worker

  1st May 2023

St Joseph the Worker.

For a long time now this Feastday has been one of my favourites.

The Gospel for today gives that that wonderful description,   meant to be derogatory but,  when we think about it , so meaningful, of Jesus after the people heard Him teaching in the Synagogue in Nazareth:                                                       "Where did  the man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers? This is the carpenter's son, surely? Is not His mother the woman called Mary,...."

Jesus - Son of the carpenter, a worker. 

The worker:

Haven't we, like Joseph,  from the very beginning been created to work?

Gen 2.15 "The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it."

From this verse, we can conclude, can we not, that man's God given purpose, is  to work?   

The purpose of creation is to give Glory to God and the way we humans do that is by our work.  To do our work well, whatever it is, is an opportunity for us to give Glory to God and be part of His creative process.                                                                                               What is the best work we can do for God then, what will please Him more?                                                                                            The doctor saving peoples lives?                                                      The farmer growing crops so that we might live?                                     The teacher imparting knowledge to our children?

I'd say the one who does their work with more love of God.

And that could be the simple road sweeper, or any other worker, who works well and does it with great love of God.

All work, any work, is an opportunity to love God more.

And as that's what we are made for, we can do it all of our life.

Of course, after the fall work became difficult, but that does not negate the beauty of it. Work is not a punishment that was inflicted on humanity because of our pride and disobedience. 

Gen 3:17

"Then to Adam He said, Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten the tree about which I commanded you, saying, "You shall not eat from it"; cursed is the ground because of you: With hard labour you shall eat from it all the days of your life."

So, Adam's curse is one of hardship in doing the necessary work of life, work that would otherwise have brought joy and meaning to his existence. 

"Get rid of the idea that work is a punishment. Work is our way to give Glory to God. Rather than being a punishment it is how God intended for men and women to mature , growing into His image and likeness" (Bishop Echevarria)

It was after my third daughter was born, that I  understood for this for the first time. To realise that my "work" in the home, as a wife and mother was my way to sanctity, changed my life forever. 

Changing the babies nappy, washing the kitchen floor, doing the dishes, everything was now working for God. 

 

May is the Month of Mary and thinking about the Holy Family today is a good start to the the month. 

Thankfuls

 29th April 2023

Hello, friends, although this post is for the Ten Things of Thankful blog hop, I first, to get it off my chest,  want to mention a little "sorrow" that I'm feeling. 

April is   National Poetry Month. It's the same every year and in the past I've enjoyed taking part in it. The idea is to post a poem  a day  throughout the month of April. I love   challenging   myself with this brain aching activity.                                                   I am so sad that, this year, I missed it.  Yesterday, I saw a post  about it and  was gutted that it was too late to get involved. 

However, it did make me think that maybe I need to be more involved with a community of writers through my blog. 

So, folks, the first thing I'm grateful for today is that I was prompted to search out the TTOF bloghop. 

When we came to buy our house, it was a main concern of mine to have a south or south west facing garden, so that while sitting out in the afternoons and evenings we'd get beautiful views of the gorgeous sunsets across the bay. And our garden is definitely  a very pleasant place to be throughout, not just the summer, but spring and autumn too. 

The plants - a rhododendron, four rose bushes, two climbing clematis, and  lavender plants  are just a few - give me so much joy and a feeling of calm. The only problem? Yes, you got there. There's just never enough time to spend in the garden.

That's the back garden,  as I said, facing south west, which was a priority. 

However, it   didn't occur to me to think about the front of the house and the fact that it faced East.  I never gave it a thought, never imagined it might make an impact on our life. 

Well, I'm here to tell you that it does. 

You see, our bedroom faces East, which means we get the early morning sun streaming in as soon as it makes an appearance. And, at this time of year, when there's still a little bit of a chill in the air and we have a window open for ventilation and to keep the mould at bay, it's such a blessing to have the warmth of the early morning sun drench us as it casts itself  in rectangular strips across our bed. 

We listen to a meditation, with the birdsong interjecting and drink our first cup of tea. It's a treasure I didn't expect. 

With my heart full to overflowing, I think that's enough for ten thankfuls  for today. 

Until next time then... 

  

Spring Cleaning

 17/04/23

Spring Cleaning

Forty days of lent, that long, penitential, pilgrimage, 

 brings us to Holy Week.

Holy Week , when, hopefully we've been trying to be more

 closely united to Our Lord, 

concludes with the three days of the Easter Triduum, 

where we try to put even more effort in to accompanying  

Jesus and His Blessed Mother, our Mother, on His journey to the cross. 

Finally, after all the beautiful liturgies, that are completely draining,

 both  spiritually and emotionally  we  reach the climax, 

the Easter Vigil and Wow,

 now the Joyous season of Easter begins. 

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia  

This joy, this hopeful  tone,

 this feeling of a new beginning, 

spills over into other areas of  my life. 

 For instance, there's  something, isn't there, 

 about the warm spring air 

that makes us ( it can't be only me !)

 want to clean, to clear out, 

to declutter  and to reorganise.  

The new light shows up the dust,

the grime, the messy corners. 

Under the bed, those cobwebs, 

where did they come from? 

Out you go.

That pile of books, can it be

culled?

OK! 

I'm not going that far

How long have those sticky

 fingers prints been on the glass doors?

I'm coming for you.