Greetings from Boston

I'm just saying hi; there's little to blog about as yet, apart, perhaps, from dad's concern about my getting up here. I called my parents last night to touch base. Mom asked what time I was getting in. I said, "I think around 2pm?" Dad pointed out that I was quite wrong, that I was arriving much earlier and that the departure time was 11:30am. I assured him that I'd already calculated what time I'd have to leave the house (i.e., just after 10am).

 So he calls me at 10:22 am this morning. To see where I am. I told him I was just about to leave the house. He said I was cutting it close. I said, "I know. That's why I have to go. Bye." He said to keep him posted. I left the house a few minutes later and arrived at the security line at 10:40. I called dad from the gate a few minutes after that, partly because he asked me to and partly because I couldn't help pointing out that he needn't have fussed.

 ***
Upon boarding, I resisted my newly-possible urge to tweet about how yappy adults are almost bad about screaming kids. The woman in the row behind me wouldn't shut up for the entire flight. Noise-blocking headphones can only block so much.

 ***
Got home, was offered food. Gladly wolfed down some grape leaves, thought about how I was warned not to by HuffPo. I thought that was an incredibly misguided article; there are almost no foods you should never eat, and those especially are not so egregious as to merit that kind of language. You know I'm a big fan of whole grains, not only because they're healthier but because I prefer the taste. I love brown rice. But I don't see how having white rice once in a while will bring about the end of the world. But I digress.

Mom and I talked about going to the grocery store (dad went back to work after dropping us off at home). I asked her to shower first. She said she hadn't eaten anything all day; I said, okay, eat first, but we're not leaving the house until you shower. She took it well. We agreed that I'd make her oatmeal while she showered. But first she had to find the oatmeal. She looked in the pantry; I heard a loud noise and ran over to the pantry. I noted a package of bread that looked moldy.

A long argument ensued, in which she argued that I'd lost my mild, no way was that mold. That's just the type of bread. To which I repeated, "it's mold. Of course it's mold." Finally, she relented, said, "huh, that's odd."

I found the oats, made oatmeal, and noted a cup of tea on the kitchen table.

A.: Even your tea is moldy, mom!
Mom: You're crazy, that's not mold!
A.: What is it then?
Mom: Hmm. Well, it's not my tea. Maybe it's dad's. Or maybe I was drinking it a few days ago and forgot about it.

Then I came to blog, and mom offered me brie. I reminded her I didn't eat cheese.

Mom: What did cheese ever do to you?
A.: We can have this conversation for the hundredth time when I'm done here.
Mom: What would you do with all the cows?
A.: I'm busy, mom.
Mom: Would you just kill all the cows?
A.: The whole point is not killing all the cows. Cows get killed to make cheese.
Mom: How does that work?
A.: What do you think they do with the calves that would otherwise feed on the milk that instead gets diverted for human consumption?
Mom: Huh?
A.: Will have this conversation for the hundredth time when I'm done.

***

Mom: I'm putting cream in my oatmeal. You must be jealous.
A.: Nope.
Mom: Cream is made from milk. You know that, right?
A. Uh-huh.