8 posts tagged “moments”

My parents are visiting this week and certain childhood memories started bubbling up to the surface. A lot of the memories are food memories. I've been taking my parents around town to sample the local restaurants, mostly Asian cuisine which is what they are interested in, but once they discovered the Chinese grocery just around the corner from our house, my dad has been cooking every day. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because I'm getting to eat Filipino food again - I do cook Filipino food on my own but there are a few dishes which M just doesn't have the palate for so I don't make - and bad because I almost instantly started gaining weight once they arrived.

So far, my dad has cooked chicken and beef asado, chicken and pork adobo, a dish of sauteed Chinese sausage and onions, garlic fried rice, tomato and onion salad with a little radish as garnish to go with the adobo, and right now, my mom is marinating her infamous BBQ pork (although we did have to visit 4 stores to find the country style pork ribs she wanted). I'm enjoying it both because it's good food and also because there are a lot of steps, which would never be included in a cookbook that he's passing on to me, lessons he learned from his grandfather. They're little steps I would never think of and don't quite understand but apparently they do make the difference, such as when you pour the vinegar and soy sauce in the pot you shouldn't stir it until it starts to boil or the asado will be too sour. It's good to learn these things and my house smells like vinegar and garlic.

As you can see, my dad sure likes his meat. And here's the memory that came to mind: my dad at the grill. After my dad was finished with being on first call at the hospital all night, he would stop at Kroger's - the local grocery chain - on the way home and pick up a few steaks. He'd drive home and before coming inside the house, fire up the grill outside, come inside to season the steaks, and head back out. He would do that all year whenever he finished a particularly long or hard shift at the hospital.

M was listening to us talk about it and said, we grill all year, too.

But you see, I grew up in Ohio and my dad still grilled all year long - even in the heart of winter. Before entering the house from the garage, he'd switch from his leather boots to his winter boots, change the nice coat he wore to work to the huge parka with faux fur-lined hood pulled up and tied tight so he'd look like an eskimo, and then he'd grab his plate of steaks and the tongs and trod out into the foot-high snow and bitter cold. As little kids, we'd set the table and see him re-enter the house with the steaks, snow flurries chasing him inside and chilling the room, and then we'd sit down and have a nice hot dinner.

We were lazy and slept in today when the doorbell rings. Our front door is composed of clear glass panels for the top half so we can see out and whoever is standing by the door can see in. I will someday replace this door, but doors are shockingly expensive. M scrambles out of bed and runs up to the door and is greeted with the vision of an older, heavy-set couple in black, formal suits. Although I did not see them, I think of the pair as a larger, modern day version of American Gothic at our door.

"Um, good morning?"

"Good morning! We have good news about G-d for you!"

"Oh, that's very nice. I'm sure my rabbi will share it with me." I imagine M sleepily yet cheerfully poking his finger at the mazuzah nailed into the doorframe.

"Let us come inside and share our good news about G-d with you!"

"Um, no. I think my rabbi has probably got that covered."

"Let's share the good news!"

"Um... I'm not sure how my rabbi would feel about this."

"But it's really good news!"

"My rabbi has been really depressed, and I don't want to depress him further. Thank you! Good bye!" And he waves them off.

"G-d still has good news for you! Good bye!"

It was an interesting approach, probably not a tack I would have taken which is usually more clumsily polite but blunt, but I was thankful that this time he did not engage. Normally, M offers solicitors a drink of water while they stand outside and then cheerfully converses - like when he discussed evolution with the fervent intelligent designer for 20 minutes and suggested the idea of G-d as a clockmaker versus ka-boom! everything is as it is (which was another morning visit and I remember pulling the sheets and pillows over my head).

We've noticed a pattern among our solicitors. Whenever I open the door, they always want my money - either a kid selling magazine or newspaper subscriptions to go on a trip or to buy books for college or someone raising donations for a non-profit of some sort. When M answers the door, he gets the Watchtower folk, the creationists, and people who just in general want to save his soul, which is not a terrible thing (unless we should be offended that they think our lives need saving and theirs doesn't) but sometimes we just want to sleep in.

M has been sick all week, and he has been very upset with me because I had a sore throat the week before him but was well by the time he started showing symptoms. He hasn't gone into work, has slept most of the week, and when he's up for an hour and tries to do some work, he starts to get feverish. Result: he has been home stir crazy, restless, bored, and well, not happy.

Tuesday night, I came home late from work to find dinner on the table. T had been nice enough to purchase Max's for us. A place was set and next to it was a carton of orange juice set between M's glass and my own.

I poured myself a glass and began drinking. M sits back down at the table and grabs the carton and says, "This is my orange juice. Yours is in the fridge."

"What do you mean?"

"This one is mine."

"I just poured from that."

"Nope, this one is mine. See?" He holds up the carton. He has printed his initials neatly on the cap in permanent marker. He sets the carton down nervously and points at the cap. "See?"

My voice goes very flat. "Why would we need two cartons?"

"Why didn't you see my name?"

"Why would I think there would be separate cartons? I didn't think I lived with anyone barbarian enough to drink from the carton."

T chortles from his corner of the table. "Well, you know, if you in fact gave him the same strain as you.... Wait 48 hours."

48 hours later. I'm fine.

72 hours later. I'm coughing.

Not good.

Prior to flying out for the holidays, the subject of family feasting came up. M started wagging his finger at me and said slowly, "Now, you know the Thanksgiving monster is coming, and you know what the Thanksgiving monster is going to want you to do, so what are you-?"

"I know! I know!" I interrupted, jumping up and down excitedly. "When I see the Thanksgiving monster, I'm going to beat it up" *punching and jabbing motions* ("yeah!" M cries), "slap it down" *chopping motions* ("great!" he cheered), "slice it and tear it up into pieces" *ripping motions* ("yeah!"), and then gobble-"

"Stop! Do everything but that last step!"

I wonder if other couples have pep talks like ours.

We will make up for all the excess by eating green leafy things until the next holiday eating binge... oh yeah, Friday.

While I was tapping out the last Vox entry, my husband came to stand in the office doorway. "I can always tell - even when I'm pulling into the driveway - when you're surfing or when you're writing."

"That's a little scary."

"I'm glad that you think so, too."

And then he walked away.

Yesterday, I was scrambling all day because I had 2 VIPs on different continents breathing fire down my neck. Thankfully, they are happy for now because I helped accomplish one of two things that needed to be done. Now, I just have to finish the other time critical task by next week. We think it can be done; we just have to do it. I hope we can do it. I'm not sure we can do it.

In the midst of all this, M is away on a business trip, a friend called me at work in a crises while the VIP is in my cube, and an undergrad friend came to town. Tofu is in town! It's been awhile since I have seen her so I was not sure what to expect although not much worried. She is smart, speaking at a conference, and not quite as strange as I remember. I picked her up from her conference and the convention looks like a Magritte painting, random white men in black suits walking along the concrete.

M left a giant stuffed gorilla in the car trunk, which leaves no room for any bags. I keep startling myself whenever I open the trunk because I keep forgetting about the gorilla. It was very hard to explain to Tofu why it was there so I did not bother. I told her she had to make up a gorilla story to get the explanation and put her bag in the back seat.

And I am still coughing. I have been coughing for a month. I feel very Victorian but without the lacey kercheif and whalebone corset.

It is high time for bed.

My husband is showing me the beginning of the Jojo video "Too Little Too Late." It starts out with Jojo in the car after catching her boyfriend kiss another girl at a party. Jojo is not pleased, and the boyfriend hands her a ticket and asks her to show up at his game. Jojo is still not pleased.

My husband says, "It's too late. He messed up."

"Oh, she kills him," I nod slowly, waiting for the trailer to go into horror mode.

"NOOOOO!" It's a music video, not a horror movie trailer.

Anyway, it would have been more entertaining if she had. Instead, she sings in the rain angry and heartbroken and takes out her anger on the poor teddy bear which she throws in the garbage. Is that any way to treat a poor bear?

My husband says that I am a bad role model.

Life in general has been so busy and so good that it was inevitable that a bad day would hit when I least expected it. Not enough sleep. Errands I don't want to do. Conversations I don't want to have. A trip to the doctor who neglected to call in a prescription. And on top of it all, bad plumbing.

These are the days that are supposed to make me savor the good days.