Happy New Year, cont.

As Wendy and I are both crossword addicts-- when she and her husband graciously hosted a visit from me last year, we spent hours working on an NYT crossword book-- she brought over six Sunday Globe crosswords to carry us into the new year. We finished four of them.

We missed you too, Martha, and hope you're feeling better! That's the thing with kids, they're little germ factories.

We were struggling over the last few clues on the fourth puzzle-- eventually thwarted by a bizarre alternate spelling of "appalled"-- when my mother decided to complain that we would miss the change in year.

Mom: It's time.
A.: We have fifteen more minutes!
Mom: Fine! Miss it! We'll be in the living room.
A.: We'll join you in a minute, we're almost done.
Mom: You don't have to join us. Sit there.
A.: If you could stop yelling at me, I/we could focus on this puzzle and finish it with plenty of time to watch the ball drop.

After a few more heated iterations, we finished the puzzle (well, gave up on it in frustration with two clues left) and joined my parents in the living room, with a few minutes to spare.

***
A., to Mom: When is Russian new year?
Mom, haughtily: Now. Now is every New Year.
A.: No, it's not.
Wendy: What are you writing?
A.: Blog notes.
Wendy: Oh.
A.: You have the right to opt out.
Wendy: No, it's best that our crossword addiction be documented.

Wendy attempted to teach me to count to five in Mandarin. I could get the sounds, but not the tones. I should probably get a tape.

***
Earlier in the evening

Wendy: What is that illustration, on the cover of that book?
A., embarassed: It's an enema.

Actually, it's a woman flying on a broomstick, except there's an enema, rather than a broom, on the end. The title is "Energy Enema." It's a book about spiritual health, and it's on display in my parents' house.

***
Wendy, in an e-mail to Martha and me:

A. didn't mention in the blog how her mom generously offered us an entire _large_ piepan of (yummy) pumpkin bread, then later told us we could have more in case we needed it. nor did she mention all the painfully bad puns we had to wade through to finish the puzzles...i'm trying to put them out of my mind!!

***
There was a time when my mom would regularly pepper me with articles about how great it is to work at Google (hence the title of this blog). One of them described the ideal candidate for employment at Google as someone who enjoys doing puzzles on a Saturday night. I fit that description, except I'm addicted to word, not number puzzles. My parents occasionally walked past Wendy and me as we were enrapt in our crosswords; once or twice I caught an incredulous glance. Thinking about it now, I'm amused that mom didn't take the opportunity to point out that I should apply to Google.