MAKURA NO SOSHI: A WOMAN WHO LOVES INSECTS
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
FRAGMENTS OF PHONE CONVERSATIONS WITH MY JAPANESE MOTHER
You Should Marry A Carpenter
JM: Isn't it nice that E. have carpenter husband so can fix her house? You should find handy carpenter man and marry so when you buy house he can fix all up for you.
[Indignantly wanting to retort that I don't need a man to fix up my house for me, while simultaneously having to acknowledge to self that being rather clever when it comes to assembling put-together furniture does
not
really count as having significant carpentry skills.]
AH: Mom, I'm gay! Remember? Besides, aren't you the one who's always criticizing anybody I've ever dated who's short of a Ph.D. or an M.D. [i.e., 99.9% of everyone I've ever gone out with] as being "ambition-less"? So now you're changing your tune?
JM: Well maybe you not gay. Maybe you just too fat to get man anymore. But maybe you can marry handy carpenter man and he could be very useful for fixing house.
AH: Tell you what. A carpenter son-in-law? Not going to happen. But if it'll make you happy, I'll find a nice handy carpenter
woman
and marry
her
, and then you can have a handy carpenter
daughter-in-law
. What do you think of that?
JM: Don't be stupid. No such thing.
On Dealing With The Fuzz
JM: What's matter with you? You forget to take allergy medicine? Sneezing, sneezing!
AH: I took it, but it's not helping.
JM: Ack! I bet you rubbing nose like crazy in public. Don't do that.
AH: No I'm not.
JM: I don't care even if allergy season, don't ever rub your nose in public because that's the Drug Abuser Salute. If Polico [pronounced pole-ee-ko] see you do that you going to be arrest.
AH: [Laughing] Mom, I'm pretty sure that it's illegal to throw someone in the pokey for rubbing their nose in public . . . there needs to be a little bit of Search, a little bit of Seizure, a couple of warrants . . .
JM: Don't joke about. Not funny. I had nightmare you smoked marijuana and went to jail and then all night long I can't sleep. So when Polico pull up next to you in car make sure don't look at him, otherwise he think you guilty of something and you end up in jail.
On Musical Taste
JM: You have somebody in your house? I can't talk private if somebody there.
AH: Nobody's here . . . I'm just listening to music.
JM: Good grief! I thought what that crazy sound?
Woooo woo woo!
I thought maybe one of your mongrel cat in heat. What kind crazy music you listen to?
AH: You mean Joni Mitchell???
JM: You too old to listen to that crazy kind music any more. Everybody going to think you a hippy. I don't know what's wrong with you. Junior high time you listen to that Throat Cancer Singer.
AH: You mean Rod Stewart???
JM: I don't know who that is. He keep singing "Do You Think I'm Sexy" but so stupid. Nobody think he sexy . . . I think he have throat cancer.
Posted by Artichoke Heart |
10:23 PM
|
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Tuesday, November 12, 2002
WOOD SMOKE
Isn't it strange how a single smell can take one back years and years, calling up a lost memory? I spent the entire day wrestling with a migraine . . . one that slowly climbed up the back of my neck, paralyzing each vertebrae one by one until everything was stiff and brittle and locked . . . then it started up in broad, liquid circular washes of pain first in the back of my skull -- growing larger, harder, and wider -- before moving on up into the top of my head and pounding in oceanic waves against the front of my face. When I finally emerged at dusk, disoriented, with dark circles under my eyes, I stepped outside into the smell of wood smoke.
It made me remember driving up into the mountains with my parents as a small child to see the aspens turning in late fall . . . their slender limbs and hot-coal colors. There were salty chewy squares of beef jerky in my coat pocket, and it was the first time I can remember ever eating jerky. I loved how it lasted so long, like salty spicy gum. I had on a yellow sweater with red, blue, and green flowers my mother knit for me, and a matching yellow hat with dangling red, blue, and green pom-poms. There were antelope running along the highway with their graceful, bob-tailed strides, and I watched them through my father's binoculars.
Afterwards, at home, there was a fire in the fireplace . . . that wonderful burnt tangy smell of wood smoke. It was a Sunday night. And that meant I got to watch Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, and after that, Walt Disney, on the black and white T.V. I thought it was the best day ever.
Posted by Artichoke Heart |
9:25 PM
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