on love and... not so much

mom mentions chinese new year.
dad: has it passed? or is it coming up?
me: it's this weekend. this year, valentine's day is dumpling day!
mom: no, it's *dumping* day.


photo from cooking with krista.

on fruit

this is lime!.... i mean, lame.

on progress

when someone first decided to swear at his enemy rather than throw a rock at him, civilization was born.

on diffusion

mom: oof... my eyes hurt from all this marking!
me: aw! would you like some chamomile tea?
mom: no, thanks. i've been drinking chamomile all day.
me: no, i mean for your eyes...
mom: i'm sure the tea has reached my eyes.

on blood and water

mom: people keep telling my sister that she looks jewish.
me: what?!
mom: yeah. she knows a woman who keeps saying that she looks like the wife of some rabbi she knew in israel. she says my sister looks jewish!
dad: maybe she is.
mom: *my* sister?!

[the following day, watching janice stein on tv]

mom: oh, she's jewish! she's one of us!
me: no, she's one of *us* - you're not jewish.
dad: but your sister is!
mom: i'm jewish enough. if they round up all the jews, i'll go with you!

on closure

for a change of pace, this time i want to share some advice i gave my mother. brace yourself: this may be the smartest thing i've ever said.
when i was six, i left the resort where my family was staying and hiked up a wooded hill all by myself. my parents had gone into town and my sister was crying because she missed them. so off i went to solve the problem: the plan was to hike to the nearest resort, then to the next, and finally find my way to town, where - i imagined - it would be easy to find mom and dad.

in the meantime, my parents came home, realized i was gone, and freaked out. eventually, they discovered where i was and my dad came to get me. i didn't know what i had done wrong, but i felt horrible. somehow the plan was inherently flawed. then dad explained the problem: i had made three mistakes. i had left corina alone, i had hiked by myself, and i hadn't told anyone where i was going. (the last one was technically untrue, but we'll move on.) then he told me that my mom was back at home, and very upset.

i had never seen my mom cry before, and that was pretty scary for me. somehow, though, i was able to offer her a little wisdom: "mom, lie down and try to forget it ever happened."

on the irony of senility

mom: today i couldn't remember the word "alzheimer's."