Late breakfast

I got up around 7am, stretched some, and, suspecting that my parents were going to dilly dally for a few hours, ate some goat cheese and an apple. My suspicions proved correct--see below (and skip past this next section if you've had it with my food writing).

***
As active as I am about food--you can call it picky or, as my mother did yesterday, dogmatic--I'm not a food snob. In my cabinets you won't find truffle oil, but you will find what some (silly) people refer to as "poor people food," such as lentils and other dry pulses. Because I like them. They're tasty, they're affordable, and they're easy to prepare well. I have friends across the food snob scale--a trend chaser who does think that truffle oil actually adds anything, another who won't eat leftovers (I would eat crap if I were above cooking up, say, a pot of black beans and a pot of buckwheat, and eating portions of both throughout the week), one that eats primarily processed foods. I'm not evangelical about my food habits--I have better things to do than convert other people, even when they (see RM stories) ask me to. Which is why don't feel that I should have to defend my food choices. And yet, mom needs an explanation for everything I do or don't eat.

Here's the thing about food preferences in my family: as far as mom's concerned, you can't have too many flavors in one food or too many foods served at a time. The concept of competing (or overwhelming flavors) doesn't exist. As far as my dad's concerned, if he hated something as a child or at the mess hall, he'll hate it now. No point trying anything new. As for me, I like food that speaks for itself: you can enhance most flavors with a little salt or garlic or olive oil, etc., but if you have to drown something to make it palatable, it's not worth eating. And if you add salt, garlic, and olive oil to something, you don't also need to add, say, cheese and nuts and mint.

Oh, and here's a really important thing about me and food, which also pertains to the simpler-is-usually-better rule: I want to eat when I'm hungry, not two hours after I'm hungry. And if mom would embrace that concept, she wouldn't feel the need to eat everything in the house at once.

***
Mom, handing me a shampoo bottle: What do these instructions say?
A.: Same as regular shampoo.
Mom: It says "brunette": will it make me a brunette?
A.: Um, no. It will, supposedly, bring out any brunette color you already have.
Mom: Any shampoo will do that.
A.: Why did you buy it?
Mom: It was a dollar!
A.: [Sigh]

Mom studies the bottle.

A.: Mom, would you go shower so we can have breakfast?
Mom: I'm going.

She returns, and the absurdity of all of us making individual breakfasts is lost on none of us, particularly since we're using similar ingredients. Dad fries eggs for himself, and one for mom. I hard boil mom (sometimes I like fried eggs, but I'm not feeling it today). I make my oatmeal with milk (and cinnamon, lemon and ginger), mom makes hers with half and half and a whole bunch of crap. Dad won't touch oatmeal because he hated it as a child. When mom offered him a teaspoon of hers, he told us how his great aunt tried to trick him into eating it as a child by mixing it with rice, his favorite (and my least favorite) grain.

Mom: Sesame seeds are good for you. I read it in Edgar Casey's book.
A.: I think there's consensus among nutrition experts that sesame seeds are healthful. Nonetheless, I don't feel the need to eat them with everything, and I still don't want them in my oatmeal.

Five minutes later

Mom: Almonds are the healthiest nut.
A.: Many nuts are very healthy in various ways.
Mom: Edgar Casey was particularly into almonds.

Mom: I love cinnamon.
A.: That we can agree on.
Mom, to dad: Are you sure you don't want to try some?
Dad: I'm sure.
Mom: Of course. Didn't like it as a child, never mind that it was different oatmeal...
Dad: Just let it go.
Mom, to dad: Well, if you're not going to eat oatmeal, we'll need to find you a vehicle for cinnamon.
Dad: [Shrug]
Mom, to me: Are you sure you don't want to try some?
A.: I'm sure it's wonderful, but I've had enough to eat.
Mom: It's very good.
A.: I believe you.

Mom: I was going to make these beets with mayo and walnuts, but you don't like that any more.
A.: I didn't say that... I just had a plain one with lemon yesterday.
Mom: So you would eat the shredded ones with mayo.
A.: Yes.
Mom: But you like them better plain.
A.: They're different, I like both.
Mom: So should I make the shredded ones?
A.: If you want.

Food pushing aside, it's a surprisingly calm Saturday morning at the house. Mom hasn't thrown a fit. She did start to go off on the POTUS, but I ignored her and she lost her train of thought.

***
Now that we've talked about food, let's turn our attention to shampoo. There are myriad shampoo bottles in my parents' home, most of them, I'm sure, purchased for $1 and most likely purchased because they were $1.

Mom's clutter drives me up the wall, largely because crap everywhere isn't good for anyone's soul, but also because my mom's predilection toward acquiring crap threatens me because it's something I've had to overcome in myself. While my parents are far from wealthy, they're no longer poor. Unfortunately, their shopping habits haven't caught up with their socioeconomic progress. and, I would argue that even if they were poor, they'd be better off buying one, solid vacuum cleaner than four mediocre ones. And one bottle of shampoo at a time rather than one bottle of shampoo every time they see one for a dollar.

The kitchen table is a microcosm of the house as a whole.

Mom: Why did you move the remote control??
A.: So I could eat.
Mom: There's plenty of room for your plate next to the remote.
A.: I like my place setting sans remote, thank you. And sans vitamin bottles, but I pick my battles.

I can handle it here. It's her house. It's when she pushes the stuff on me, and tries to enlist me in shoppnig trips for more crap, that I get weary.