A.: So on Saturday afternoon, Jason and I are going hiking in the Blue Hills.
Mom: Why the Blue Hills?
A.: Because it's pretty there.
Mom: What, prettier than the place we went to?
Dad: They're going to the Blue Hills, let it go.
Mom: Alright, they're going to the Blue Hills.

***

Mom: Are you going to Northampton for work?
A.: No.
Mom: Then why are you going?
A.: To see friends.
Mom: I don't understand-- are you going for official purposes?
A.: I said no.
Mom: You're not going for work?
A.: No!

It's time to write the letter!

I was in the store with my hands full and expecting a call from my mechanic, who had promised to call to let me know when my oil was changed, but this is not a mechanic blog, and that is not who called.

Mom: It's time to write the letter!

From this sentence, I deduce that someone's pissed her off and she would like me to write a complaint letter, and I request details.

A.: What??
Mom: It's time to write the letter!
A.: I heard you. What are you talking about?
Mom: I'm about to tell you! I've never liked those jerks, they were difficult from the start...
A.: Who???
Mom: I'm telling you! Just listen!
A.: Tell me more efficiently, please.

I gauge that this might be a while and go over and drop my stuff in a basket.

I don't ask for a lot. I wouldn't have demanded that my mother begin the conversation with, "hi... how are you?" or even, "hi, how was your day?" However, I do think, "hi, is this a good time for you?" and/or, "do you have time to write a letter for me?" would have been in order. The answer to both of those questions was "no," but had she asked, I would have politely said, "not really but I'll call you when we get home," but she didn't ask, thus she was perplexed at my irritation.

The other thing that I don't ask is that my mother's English be perfect, or even very good. I do ask, when I write letters for her, that she not fight my choice of words or grammatical constructions, and I do suggest in general that she avoid figures of speech and other linguistic stretches, because they fall flat. I can only think that her opening line was an attempted twist on that old Dunkin' Donuts commercial ("It's time to make the donuts!"), but even had she gotten it right, it wouldn't have been funny.

To make a long story short, she tells me about how she's frustrated with ING Direct. I won't get into the details, but although I'm skeptical at first even though I've had my fair share of bank drama, she wins me over. Nonetheless, I request at regular intervals that she get on with the story.

A.: And....!
Mom: I'm getting there-- I need to tell you the details so you can write the letter.
A.: I am not going to remember the details anyway. I'm in the middle of shopping...
Mom: Oh, you're not home?
A.: No. Could you just send me an e-mail?
Mom: No, just write the letter.
A.: I'm not going to remember the details.
Mom: Well, I need you to get the general idea.
A.: I GET the general idea. Right now you are talking a lot about how frustrated you are and how "outrageous" this is, and that is not helpful.

And so on.

Anyway, I'd better get to writing that letter.

Why would someone possibly have holiday weekend plans?

Saturday morning c. 9:30am, my parents call.

Mom: Were you asleep?
A.: No.
Mom: Did you just wake up?
A.: No.
[This is only blogworthy for the logic I believe to be behind it: I wanted to sleep in the weekend I got in from Australia, leading my mother to be surprised that I'm up at 9:30am on a Saturday. Just a possibility.)

Mom: What time are you coming next week?
A.: A little before 11am on Saturday... which reminds me: did you have any plans that involve me for next weekend, because I was thinking of heading out to Northampton to visit friends...
Mom: Northampton?
A.: Yes.
Mom: Is that where Smith is?
A.: Yes... I figure it will be a busy weekend for buses so I wanted to look now...
Mom: Oh! I have an idea! Irina [family friend who lives in Berkshires] is always inviting us over for the weekend. We can drop you off in Northampton.
A.: Oh, great! That would be perfect. Let me know when you've confirmed with her.
Mom: No need- she's always inviting us, and she needs herring. Wait, did you want to spend more than a few hours there?
A.: Yes, preferably.
Mom: Why?
A.: ???

[call waiting; I have to take it, I'm expecting a call from a friend with whom I have plans to go hiking today.]

A.: Mom, I have to go, I'll call you back but in the meantime could you confirm with Irina so I can go ahead with my plans?
Mom: Oh, we can go to this place...
A.: I HAVE TO GO. I'LL CALL YOU BACK.

Less than two hours later:

A.: So have you spoken to Irina?
Mom: Why would I speak to Irina?
A.: To confirm plans for next weekend.
Mom: Oh, well she's always inviting us over, I don't need to do that.
A.: She may have plans.
Mom: Why would she have plans?
A.: It's a holiday weekend and she has family and other friends.
Mom: I don't think she has other plans.
A.: Well can you please check?
Mom: I don't need to check. She's always inviting us, and she needs herring. How long do you want to be in Northampton? Overnight?
A.: Preferably, yes. [I don't see how her need for herring precludes the possibility of her having other holiday weekend plans, including other guests].
Mom: Why don't you want to stay overnight at Irina's?
A.: I just want to spend more time in Northampton.
Mom: This doesn't need to be decided now.
A.: It does if I need to look for bus tickets!
Mom: Don't worry, Irina won't have other plans. I don't have time for this right now.
A.: Okay, I'm just saying I would feel better if you actually asked her and confirmed the plans.
Mom: Okay, later, bye.
A.: Bye.

Happy Mother's Day

While I tend to chronicle the absurd moments because they're more interesting, I want to take this opportunity to say that I really do appreciate my mother for the wonderful person she is and for everything she has done for me.

Survival of the quietest

J. had good things to say about Taronga Zoo in Sydney, but there was one downside: hordes of rowdy children. They grated not only on the zoogoers, but also, apparently, on the animals. Apparently, they were stressing out a tiger, which was observed pacing in irritation in its cage.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Rowdy children would not survive in the wild. They'd be the first to be eaten by tigers and other wild animals, if only just to make them shut the f* up.

Something to think about.

***

E.&V., our hosts in Sydney, are retired but work part-time delivering fliers and free samples. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had apparently volunteered me to accompany them on their flier delivery.

Now, it's not that I wouldn't have perhaps volunteered or agreed if asked by E. or had I thought it would have helped (as it turned out, as E.&V. were leaving for vacation several days after our visit, they decided to take extra time off, and E. told my mother she was nuts for even suggesting it, so it didn't come to my making a decision on the matter either way).

It's that I have to point out how generous my mother is with my vacation time and my not three full days in Sydney. And I don't think it was a whim: even had she thought it through, she still would have taken it upon herself to volunteer me for flier delivery.

I'm just glad my mom doesn't have any friends who, say, test ideas for Fear Factor.

Coffee is healthy! Don't you know that?

Sunday morning:

Mom: Coffee can help battle Alzheimer's.

Mom: Haven't you read anything about how healthy coffee is?

A.: I. Don't. Like. Coffee. Are you not sick of this conversation. [Turns to Dad]; Are you not sick of this conversation?

Dad: I'm not the target of this conversation.

A.: Mom, we have this conversation every time we see each other. I don't like coffee.

Mom: How can you not like coffee? There are all kinds of coffees... cappuccino...

A.: I don't like coffee.

***

My roommate, Kevin, likes ties. I brought him one from Sydney, wasn't sure whether he would like it, but it was an 'I was thinking of you' gift that came with a gift card to Trader Joe's as a 'thanks for taking care of my cat' gift. To my surprise, he seemed to really like the tie, I would venture to believe he actually did. My mom, apparently less naive.

A.: Well, Kevin seems to have really liked the tie.
Mom: He could just be saying that, you know.

***

A.: Could you zip this up for me, please? [Trying on a bridesmaid's dress that arrived while I was away; I'll have to wear it in less than a month].
Mom: I don't like it. It's ugly.
A.: Okay.
Mom: It's not zipping. You've gained weight.
A.: Could you try to zip it? It was actually a bit big when I tried it in the shop.
Mom: Right, you've gotten fatter.
Mom: I don't like the dress.
A.: Okay.

***

A.: Ooh, can we stop at Crate & Barrel Outlet?
Mom: Why would you want to do that? We have all the kitchen stuff you could possibly need.

***

I hugged my parents goodbye before went to work on Tuesday.

Mom: Won't you be hot in those shoes?
A.: No.
Mom: I think you'll get hot.

Mom, mid-hug: You HAVE gained weight.

***

Have I told you about how, in addition to listing my childhood failings, my mom likes to tell me the story about how when I was a little, all the other kids on the swing set would push themselves but I would just sit there and wait for her to push me? I believe I told it in the context of claiming that there would have been more constructive ways to change my behavior than by retelling the story. Anyway, I invoke it here in a different context.

If you look back at any or many of the other blogs, you'll notice a tendency to micromanage and coddle. It hit me-- the pattern did-- in Australia, where E. and her husband, out of concern and care, mind you, did everything to almost literally and actually metaphorically spoon-feed me. I won't go into more detail here.

I sometimes criticize myself for not being independent enough, for not being enough a lot of things, etc., but when I look back on my upbringing (much of which was happy and conducive to healthy adulthood), I think it's a wonder I've ever had an independent thought in my life. It's a wonder I push myself on swings (well, I would, if swings didn't give me motion sickness), buy my own socks and kitchen stuff, navigate the food on my plate, visit places not endorsed ahead of time by my parents, don't drink coffee, etc.

I know you're here for amusing dialogue, not self-analysis, but I have to bring this home: I think what saved me is that my mother overreached. She didn't (doesn't) coddle me just enough so that I was happily coddled-- she tries to control most things I do, based on the belief that she knows what's best for me more than I ever could, in terms of food, socks, vacation spots, job, etc. That's not sustainable. I've talked about how I realized fast that it would be impossible to do everything the way my mother wanted me to, and that I'd be set for life if everything she wanted was everything that I wanted, but that wasn't the case, so I had to learn to fend for myself. I'm just saying, I know I don't have everything figured out and I only recently learned to change my tires (car and bike both) and there's a lot I don't know how to do, but looking back, there are moments when I'm glad that I can tie my own shoes. I guess what it comes down to is that they mean well.

New Zealand

We wanted to helicopter up to Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers but it was too cloudy and the trip was cancelled, so we only saw them from the ground, which was still really cool. In spite of bad weather for helicopters and certain views, the trip in off season was worthwhile for the non-crowds and the freedom to adjust one’s itinerary without being tied to reservations. It was easy enough to show up and find rooms, including on the boats on Milford and Doubtful Sounds.

Doubtful Sound is neither doubtful nor a sound. Captain James Cook called it Doubtful Harbour, and didn’t sail in, because he was doubtful he’d be able to return to sea if he did. Its last name was changed to match the other sounds in the region. Like Milford Sound, it’s actually a fiord. You may be wondering what that means.

It was uncomfortably cold on the ferry to Doubtful Sound and, much of the time, on the boat in Doubtful Sound, but it was so beautiful that I just couldn’t bring myself to go back inside. Not a second of the trip to or through DS was plain. We were also blessed with two of DS’s on average 50 sunny days a year; an average 200 see a lot of rain and another 100 or so clouds. Taking the cruise through the Sound, which included kayaking in DS and watching the sun set and then rise over the Tasman Sea, epitomized the MasterCard definition of “priceless,” (albeit paid for with a visa that offered a much lower international transaction charge, and even discounted for off season, causing sticker shock).

Milford Sound was equally worth it, although different. Even the longer car ride from civilization (DS would be a longer boat ride) was worth it for the views along the way, which included The Chasm, a gorgeous, 22 meter-deep waterfall where you can see beautiful, smooth rocks and the crystal-clear water that cut them. The Chasm is over the Cleddau River, which flows into Milford Sound and is named after a river in Wales.

Another view, just before the Homer Tunnel, took some hiking to, and as we were coming down, I noticed people looking at our rental car. Having lived in DC, I instinctively thought someone had broken into it and then realized where I was. Nonetheless, I was concerned and hurried down. It turned out they were staring at a kea, dubbed the nature guide on the DS cruise as “nature’s juvenile delinquent.” Vandalism is their hobby, and this particular kea had taken in interest in chewing the weather stripping on the car. The Milford Sound nature guide told us it’s not instinctive—the parents teach their offspring to destroy property.

From Milford Sound you see Mitre Peak and over fifty waterfalls, including the one I photographed most, Stirling Falls, which is twice the height of Niagara. We were also very lucky to see dolphins, which enjoyed surfing off the bow of our boat for quite a while. It was very cool to see them swim and play.

At night the stars came in beautifully, although the indent star of the Southern Cross was harder to see. That one apparently likes to hide.

After the fiords we went up to Mt. Cook, also a beautiful drive, especially by Lake Pukaki, which gets its turquoise color from glacier silt. There’s a more complicated, impressive geological explanation but I don’t remember it. There’s a similar explanation for why the top of Tasman Glacier is ugly—something about its collecting debris. Anyway, it was beautiful, but we only saw Mt. Cook in evening light. By the time we hiked past the glacier lake and to Lake Hudson, the mountains were covered by clouds. I’d really wanted to go glacier kayaking but it was too late in the season. Lake Tekapo was similarly beautiful but similarly cloudy, so we returned to Christchurch early. It’s actually a fun city when things are open (i.e. not on ANZAC Day, which was marked by the city’s surprisingly significant Goth population ambling through its streets).

I’d definitely like to go back, see the North Island and more of the South Island, but this was a great starter trip.

Mom and friends

Shortly after arriving, I asked my dad whether he’d met my roommate.

“Has Kevin been in? Have you met Kevin?”

“We saw her—she is quite the hippopotamus!”

“Kevin is my roommate; the cat’s name is Gracie.”

“Oh, yeah, he came down and introduced himself.”

***
“The cat’s asking for food.”

“I realize that.”

“Why don’t you feed her?”

“She’s on a diet.”

“I’m sure she knows how much she needs to eat.”

“LOOK AT HER! DOES SHE LOOK LIKE SHE KNOWS HOW MUCH SHE NEEDS TO EAT?”

I mean, several times a day, from both parents, I get, “wow, she’s fat.” “she’s really fat.” “why is she so fat?” Which is fine. All good observations/questions. The above conversation—not good observations/questions.

***

I could have handled the cheese incident better; by trying to convince my mother to buy or not by something based on my perception of her needs, I become my mother. We were at Trader Joe’s; she wanted to buy some blue cheese, and I tried to talk her out of it because I had cheese in the house and didn’t need more. She offered to take it home with her afterward but I thought she would forget it so I didn’t cave. Instead, I said, “look, I’m not going to argue with you,” which wasn’t fair, I mean, I should have let her get her cheese, but she had a fit and refused to talk to me, so when I tried to get the cheese she wanted, she wouldn’t tell me which one it was, so I didn’t get any: if you’re not going to even talk to me, I can’t help you. Not talking doesn’t work.

The night before my parents left, my mother tried to stick me with more stuff she’d brought, including two items that I’d tried on last time I was at her house and to which I’d said, “no, thank you.” Those were a pair of pleated wool pants and a pair of padded biking shorts. She’d bought two pairs of the latter and I took one to appease her, but deliberately left the second. She’d asked me about both items over the phone and I told her I didn’t like pleated pants and that one pair of biking shorts was plenty. She said “what if those get dirty? What if you lose them?” and I said, “mom, I don’t need nor have room for two pairs of biking shorts.” Nonetheless, she brought them and didn’t take my first refusal, which was polite, at all, and didn’t take my subsequent less polite refusals graciously. “I won’t buy you anything at all anymore, even if it’s amazing!” This is similar to the threat I get when I ask her not to spam me—she says, “fine! I won’t send you anything at all!” to which I usually reply “thank you!” Mind you, 99% of the e-mail she sends me is trash, whereas she often does pick out some very nice clothing. Nonetheless, I reserve the right to say no, and I’d rather get nothing at all then clothing that will only clutter my closet. Similarly, I appreciate it when someone offers me food, but reserve the right to refuse it when eating anything more would make me at most sick and at best very uncomfortable. Sharing is not an all-or-nothing experience. I am not a human garbage disposal (although one friend had at one point dubbed me the garbage disposal of the masses for my ability to shrug and say ‘fine I’ll take it if you’re going to throw it away.’ That’s just what I’m trying to move away from.

The socks saga, the insistence that I take the bicycle shorts, her argument that I don’t need more suits—all indicators that she deep-down believes that she understands my needs better than I do and that even at my age, she feels the need to dictate what I keep in my house and what I wear.

This took a particularly ridiculous turn with the bicycle shorts.

“They’re so comfortable!”
“Mom, you don’t cycle!”
“So? I tried them on and they were really comfortable.”
[Dad is trying to suppress a smile].
“How do you know that they’ll be comfortable on a bike? To be honest, I have a pretty comfortable bike seat, I don’t need two pairs of padded shorts.”
“Maybe you will—you never know. Besides, what am I going to do with them?”
“I don’t know—why did you buy two pairs??”
“Because I thought you would take them.”
“No, thank you.”

The irony, for lack of a better word, is that my mother is equally insistent when she believes I don’t need something. She couldn’t understand why I needed a new bike (other than the old, rusty, squeaky one-speed I’d ridden since I was a child). I heard many iterations of “I don’t understand what’s wrong with your old bike” and “I really don’t see why you need a new bike.” For some reason or other, the fact that I’m the one riding the bike (or wearing the shorts), and therefore have a better appreciation of my needs, doesn’t register.

***
When my mother narrates my plate and asks me to justify what I’m not eating, I ask her to kindly back off. I didn’t ask E., the friend of my mom’s with whom I stayed in Sydney, to back off, but toward the end it was a challenge. Staying with her, being (force-)fed by her, indicated that my mom’s behavior was somewhat culture-based, but that doesn’t make it less frustrating.

E., like my father, survived the blockade of Leningrad. Food is not something anyone from St. Petersburg takes lightly, a fact reflected in my upbringing. I’ve certainly been raised to finish my plate, but I manage that by not putting more than I can eat on my plate. For a long time I felt obligated to eat even if I was full, and I’ve only recently gotten over that and come to believe that eating when you shouldn’t is, effectively, throwing away food, only worse. I appreciate that food is more than food, and appreciate the sharing of food, which is why I was intrigued when a friend of mine who had returned from a trip to India in which, on the last day, he and his wife had visited several of her relatives, described those relatives as “downright rude” for not taking no for an answer when they said “no, thank you” to food (having eaten at the houses of the previously visited relatives). They were grateful to her mom’s best friend for not making them eat.

I am grateful to E. for putting me up, as well as the friend of mine who came along, although she’d never met him before, and for taking the time to show us around the city, etc. I am grateful for all the time she spent preparing food and for making sure ahead of time that it would be food that I liked. Nonetheless, I know fully understand what my friend had meant, because guilt-tripping someone into eating is just not fair.

In addition to the sheer quantity of food that she tried to make us eat, meals were accompanied with plate narration, mine and J.’s.

“Why is he not eating? It’s just breaking my heart that he’s not eating. Tell me what he’ll eat.”
“He is eating.” [He was, literally, as she was going on about his not eating, putting food in his mouth with a fork.]
“No he’s not, he’s not eating!”

“You’re mom said you loved olives, but you’re not having any olives!”
She’d said this as she was coming back from the kitchen. By the time she’d emerged back into the dining room, she could see that I had already put olives on my plate.

Anything left untouched was subject to “oh, you don’t like that?” Which I honestly think is JUST RUDE. You’re basically putting someone in the position of eating something they don’t like or having to admit that they don’t like it.

She had thoroughly interrogated my mom on my food likes and dislikes, and my mom told her, among other things, that I liked fried eggs but that I’d better fry them myself. This was a relief, if only because no eggs were fried, on top of the other mounds of food offered, without my cooperation (read: no eggs were fried). At one point E.’s husband had offered to make fried eggs.

E.: No! She likes to fry them herself.
Husband: Do you like tomatoes in your fried eggs?
E. No! I already asked her that.
Husband: Have you ever tried tomatoes in your fried eggs?
A.: Yes.
Husband: And you don’t like them?
A. No.
Husband: Perhaps the way I make that dish, you’ll like it?
E.: No! Don’t be so insistent! She said she didn’t like tomatoes in her eggs!

They reminded me of the couple in “The Princess Bride.” “Have fun storming the castle!” Apart from or despite the force-feeding and attempted coddling, I actually had a really good time.

As with my mom, the need for repetition was there. I told E. that I’d be traveling with a friend, but she hadn’t told her husband so he was perplexed (not in a bad way) to pick up an additional person from the airport (which is another story, see below). The first thing he said was, “is he a vegetarian, too???” I said no. He turned to J. and said, “vegetarian?”

I won’t go on about the other things that didn’t need to be repeated half as often as they were. “Three days just isn’t enough” was one refrain (yes, we know, that’s the way it turned out this time, we understand).

On Friday, our last full day in Sydney, J. went to the zoo and I went beach hopping. E. was going to stay home and cook but I talked her out of it and asked her to join her husband and me at the beaches. E. tried to convince me to only swim in the pool (a paved, set-apart section of the beach) because she thought the waves were too high (they weren’t). When I got out of the water, slathered myself with sunblock and lay down to dry off, she told her husband to time me so that they’d tell me to flip over after fifteen minutes, so as not to get burned. He said, “what is she, a pancake?” She said, “exactly—like a pancake—she can’t spend more than fifteen minutes on each side.” (I did).

On the way to one beach or another, E. decided to ask me whom I’d vote for. I wanted to avoid political talk of any sort so tried the same tactic I used on my parents: pausing until one of them answered for me and they’d continue to talk to each other. It worked but then sort of misfired.

“She doesn’t care. Why should she care?”
“Of course she cares!”
“She doesn’t care. Do you care whom you vote for?”
“No, but that’s different. Whom I vote for doesn’t change anything. Who will you vote for? [proceeds to list the candidates she’s heard of, at which point I said I hadn’t decided yet, which is true]”
“See, she doesn’t care.”
“I do care. I haven’t decided yet.”

The morning of J.’s trip to the zoo, they kept offering him sandwiches (he’d accepted the offer of granola bars) and he kept saying “no, thank you.” E. turned to me and said, “but, but, he’s going to be walking around all day! He’s bound to get hungry!” and I could say was, “he’s a grown up—that’s his problem.”

***
Before I arrived back in Australia, Emma had told my mother to tell me to wait in the meet and greet area of the airport, not to go outside under any circumstances. Then she called my mother again to tell her that.

I’ve cleared customs twice now at Sydney airport and it was anything but fast both on a Sunday morning and Wednesday night. E. has traveled abroad quite a few times. She has to know that clearing customs at Sydney airport does not tend to be fast.

Nonetheless, she’d arrived at the airport at about 7:20pm (our flight was scheduled to get in at 7:25 but arrived at 7:03) and freaked out because she was afraid she might have missed us.

Have you EVER gotten off a plane and gotten your baggage, much less gotten off a plane, gotten your baggage, and cleared immigration and customs in seventeen minutes?

By the time we emerged from customs (not all that late, considering), she was marching up the “do not enter” ramp into customs because she was panicking that she’d missed us. Thankfully we were exiting just in time, so no one got arrested.
This is the kind of behavior that in Russian invites the description of one’s having nails up one’s ass.

It reminds me of the time I was meeting my parents in Italy. It was the year I was studying in Geneva, and they took a week in the Italian Alps, after which I’d meet them in Verona. I asked that they take some of my stuff home with them, so I was carrying quite a bit. We had agreed that they would meet me on the platform of the train station. As I was getting my stuff and making my way toward the train door, I saw my mom flap her arms and storm off in frustration.

WTF??

I dragged my bags to the center of town where I happened to run into them. She said she didn’t see me so she left. I said, “could you have at least WAITED for everyone to get off the train?” My dad had even said to her, “you know, she’s carrying a few bags, she’s not going to be the first person off the train.” I mean, honestly—would it have been all that much more difficult to just wait until the train had left the tracks? Would she have lost anything by waiting?

***

When I got back I told my parents that E. was wonderful, which was true, but I also said she tried to make me swim in a pool by the sea and time me like a pancake. They laughed and appreciated the absurdity.

that high tech body wash apparatus

Mom: That high-tech body wash apparatus is wasteful-- most of the product ends up on the walls.
A.: Huh?
Mom: It's very inefficient.
A.: YOU DIDN'T PUSH THAT BUTTON WHILE YOU WERE IN THE SHOWER???
Mom: Of course I did.
A.: That's not body wash-- that's an automatic shower cleaner. Are you okay?
Mom: No allergic reaction yet.
A.: Why didn't you ask first?
Mom: You know me, I was curious.
A.: Good thing it didn't get into your eyes!
A.: Wait, were you not alarmed at the twenty seconds of beeping before it sprayed?
Mom: No.
Mom: Does it work?
A.: Yeah.
Mom: How much did it cost?
A.: Why does it matter?
Mom: Because I think it's a waste of money.
A.: My shower is clean. That's all I have to say.
***

Earlier, I was upstairs continuing to unpack when I hear, "A.!" "A.!" "A.!"
I came downstairs and said, "WHAT???"

"Where is your shampoo?"
"In the shower?"
"Where?"
"On the shelf."
"You have too many bottles! Which one is shampoo?"
"Stop yelling, please. This is shampoo."

Various products had been strewn along the shower floor in my mom's attempts to get to the shampoo. Now I wonder if the shower cleaner had gotten in her eyes, but she said it hadn't.

***

I'd gone to bed quite late... it was hard to fall asleep before 2:30am and I had a lot of stuff to sort through. It wasn't entirely my mom's fault that she woke me up before 8am, but it was still annoying, as was the way she did it. What was really annoying was her being confused about why I was tired the next day and what I was doing until 2:30.

7:50am:

"A.! Where's Kevin?"
[groggy]"I have no idea."
"There's a kid here to see him."
"Probably one of the kids he coaches."
"Well, he wants to see Kevin."
"Well, he can wait until Kevin comes downstairs."
"He said Kevin told him to come at 8:00."
"What time is it?"
"I don't know, but it's far past 8:00."

I look at my watch.

"It's 7:50. Tell him to go downstairs and wait for Kevin."

I try to go back to sleep but can't. I hear my mom offer the basketball player tea, which is sweet.

Later:

"You look tired."

"Does that surprise you? I didn't get to sleep until late last night and you woke me up at 8am, although that wasn't your fault."

"What were you doing up so late?"

"Sorting through stuff, unpacking."

"What stuff did you have to sort through?"

"All the stuff I brought back from the trip, as well as the stuff you'd left around the house."

Dad pipes in: "Yeah, I noticed this morning the kitchen was clean and all our stuff was in neat piles."

Mom asked why I didn't just leave it. I told her I didn't live alone, I couldn't just leave crap all over the house, but that was only part of it. Especially when I'm scattered-- temporally, chronologically, seasonally, decade-ly and with my own stuff all over the place, more stuff all over the place just stresses me out.

I'm not criticizing my mom for leaving various baggage and stuff all over the house. Whatever. I'm happy to clean it up, organize it. I'm perplexed that she's perplexed that I would be tired after cleaning and organizing it, after a very long trip.

***

Kevin: You know, your parents are a lot cuter than you give them credit.
A.: I don't dispute that they're cute.

I smiled. They're wonderful people. It's just that they say a lot of things that are blog-worthy, so I blog about them.

You buy socks???

Upon returning to Australia (from New Zealand), I stayed with a friend of my mom's. She was wonderful to host me and a friend of mine, and I enjoyed staying with her, although it was a little much at times, and she'll merit her own friend-of-mom blog shortly, but what's notable about her for now is that she had me call my mother every day (well, each of the four days I was at her house). The third day saw the following conversation:

E: Oh, let's call your mom.
A: I talked to her yesterday, and the day before?
E: So?
A: So, I don't need to call her today.
E: Last week, whenever I called her, I asked where you were and she always said, "I don't know,"
A: That's okay.

She called my mom non-stop to interrogate her (my mom's word) about my food preferences. She also called her twice to make absolutely sure that I didn't leave the greeting area at Sydney airport. More on that later.

Anyway, I called my mom. One day she asked whether she should bring ankle weights to DC (no thanks I have some/but you used ours when you were here/yes, because mine were at my house-- I have some at my house). Another, she asked whether to bring tights. I said absolutely not-- I barely wear them/have enough/but yes if you have any dark grey but absolutely no for any other color. I hear arguments: "well, I'll just bring them anyway..." "NO! I don't have room for extraneous crap."

Well, you guessed it, tonight (well, technically last night) she handed me a dozen or so pairs.

"I TOLD you not to bring them!"
"Well, you never know when you might need them."
"I DO know I won't need them."
"Just keep them anyway."
"I DON'T WANT THEM. I DON'T HAVE ROOM FOR THEM. Except for the grey ones"
"What about the others?"
"No."
"That color will come back in style..."
"Tan will NEVER come "back" in style and if it does we have bigger problems..."
"You never know."
"I am NOT taking them... I don't want the clutter."
"Here, I also brought you some socks."
"I don't NEED socks."
"You can never have too many socks."
"I have plenty of socks."
"How? Where'd you get 'plenty of socks'? What, did you buy socks? Why would you buy socks?"

I was speechless for a few seconds. Then I just said what was in my head:

"I just spent over twenty-four hours mostly on airplanes and otherwise in airports. WHY are you making me defend my right to buy socks and not take the ones you brought?"

That seemed to buy me a temporary out of that conversation. More later, and more on Australia and New Zealand later.

It's great to be in my own bed, even though I'll most likely wake up without and wonder where I am. My sense of place isn't the only thing that's out of whack-- my body has no idea what time it is; I understand, in my mind, how the international date line works, but it's hard for me to grasp that I've somehow had two of the same day. I also spent weeks listening to people refer to the arriving winter, talk about how it's getting cold, etc... and all of the sudden it's getting warmer and lighter. Temporal, locational and seasonal dissonance, all at once.

All sorts of animal sightings

"This is how stereotypes are born," David said, as we walked a few blocks from his house and came upon a mob of wild kangaroos in a field. "You won't see this in any other city." This is largely because Canberra (if you're reading out loud, just pretend that "e" isn't there) has a lot of green spaces-- islands, central reservations, traffic circles-- where kangaroos can graze.

They were cute. Two of them were wrestling-- it looked very elegant, as if they were fencing.

Two days later, I'd get even closer to kangaroos, even pet them, although those would be in a nature park rather than in the wild. There, I'd see a joey climb back into its mom's pouch graze directly from it. I'd also see wombats, wallabies, a tasmanian devil, dingos and koalas. But it was still very cool to see kangaroos in the wild.

David also said people wouldn't be as gratuitously friendly in the cities, but I haven't found that to be true, yet.

***

On Friday morning upon finishing up work, two colleagues and I headed to the Australian War Memorial/museum, which is renowned (up there with Imperial War Museum) and IMHO lives up to that renown. From there, I met up with David, whom I'd met many, many years ago when we were both traveling in Europe, and we miraculously kept in touch, which is amazing because now I just wouldn't bother and I imagine he wouldn't either. Anyway, the sociability of the younger me paid off for the jaded, aloof me, and I had a friend in Canberra. We went to the botanic garden, looked out at the city from the telephone tower, walked around his neighborhood (where we saw kangaroos), and met up with his girlfriend for dinner. The next day, we toured the old and new Parliament Houses, which were amazingly accessible to the public. Outside New Plmt house was a wirish-looking representation of Australia's coat of arms, the kangaroo and the emu. "We're probably the only country that eats our coat of arms," David said.

Australia's a haphazard melee of natural and planned, and Canberra was planned as a city. The government was planned picking and choosing elements of both the U.S. and U.K. systems. Australia's great political scandal (on the level of Watergate) happened in 1975 when the Governor General-- the Queen's representative, a ceremonial, figurehead post-- dismissed the elected government. Australia survived the "Dismissal," as it came to be called, and moved on.

Saturday afternoon I arrived in Melbourne, where it was pouring. Locals were thrilled for the rain, as most of the country is undergoing a years-old draught. I was happy for them but it sucked for me.

Melbourne is not user-friendly. This was foreshadowed to me by two locals getting on an elevator at the train station. Before they even saw me, they said, "it must be awful being a tourist!" then saw me looking at them ironically and said, "oh, are you a tourist? isn't it impossible to find your way around?" And it was. The public transit system isn't designed for people who don't already understand it. Where was that helpful busybody type when I needed him? Even today, I had a hard time finding my way and two different train system employees gave me conflicting directions (I ended up walking). I'll now quit boring you with such things, lest you think I've completely lost my travel note mojo, which I fear I have anyway, but let me not make that too clear too soon.

I really like Melbourne. It has an old world feel although it's the newest world city I've ever visited. Busy, lively, chic, cosmopolitan... it's just a fun place to walk. Even people on the bus from the airport were carrying surfboards, as were people just walking down the street in the city, particularly in St. Kilda.

I walked a few hours in the rain and had had enough, so I decided to do something with myself the next day, and booked a tour to Phillip Island to see the penguins come up to land. Land is where they come to be social and mate, and they do it in the evening when they're less visible to predators. These fairy penguins-- the smallest in the world-- are blue on the back rather than black. When in the sea, they look like the water to a predatory bird, and like the sky to a seal or shark, but when on land they're exposed so they come out at night. So that morning, after walking out to St. Kilda beach and back, I boarded a tour minivan to Phillip Island, with stops at a winery and then a nature preserve/petting zoo.

The penguins were tiny-- they're sooooo cute. Their little bellies almost glow in the dark, no wonder they hurry onto shore. They come in rafts for safety in numbers, apart from a few bold ones that make the trip on their own.

True to myself, I wanted to beat the crap out of the screaming children (and their parents), who were disobeying the ranger's request to keep still and quiet so as not to scare the penguins. For better or for worse, I exercised restraint.

Kangaroo spotting

Australian kids are cute. At first I just thought I was seeing a skewed sample, but they just are. When I boarded the flight to Sydney and saw a one-year-old and three-year-old in the row next to me, I thought, "Oh, SHIT!" but they were angelic-- rather, their parents had activities for them and comforted them when they started crying. Why that's too earth-shattering for many parents is beyond me. Anyway, remarkably, after less than a week of being in Australia, I no longer hate kids.

***

Due to logistical issues, we got yesterday afternoon off. Our hosts took us to the Australian museum and then we followed them as they drove around the countryside for kangaroo-spotting. In the van, Steve said, "I see them! I see kangaroos!" This followed:

"Where, where?"

"Over there!"

"Those are bushes, Steve."

"No, they moved! There were eight of them or so!"

"Are those bushes moving, too?"
"Are you tripping?"
"Could I have some of what you're on?"

"They were kangaroos!"

Finally, the car in front of us pulled up and we all got out. We had to eat crow because they were actually kangaroos! They were pretty far away but someone had binoculars. They'd all stopped to stare at us. It was really cool.

What are you reading?

My mom is not a native English speaker; her comprehension is better reading than listening (whose isn't?), and there's frustration whenever anything in English has to be conveyed over the phone. She just doesn't hear the words. In some situations it's worth spelling them (addresses, etc.); in others it's just as well to let it go, and I know that by now but she doesn't.

I called on my last day in Hawaii since I wasn't sure whether my phone would work in Australia. Side note: in theory it does but I haven't gotten a signal. I borrowed someone else's phone to let her know I got in safely, told her "I can't talk now, this is someone else's phone, here's my hotel number but I'm leaving right now, we'll catch up later." As usual, the concept of "now is not a good time to talk" did not register, and she ended up trying to cram in some very not urgent information, such as the kind of food she'll be bringing when she visits in a few weeks since I won't have any food in the house. To which I said, "MOM, THIS IS SOMEONE ELSE'S CELL PHONE. I CAN'T TALK NOW." We still haven't talked, although apparently she's called the hotel very often (there are about two hours that coincide between my not being at work and her not being asleep and the other way around). She gave my number to one of her friends that lives in Sydney, who called me just as I was going to bed (which was fine) to touch base, ask me when I'd be in Sydney, etc. She had apparently called the hotel every hour for the previous four hours asking for me before she reached me. Anyway, I gave her my itinerary, we agreed to talk later, and I was about to fall asleep, when the phone rang again. She called to argue with my itinerary. Okay fair enough, she lives here, I don't, but I'm not on vacation yet. I had to work the next day, it was late, and I wasn't up for a discussion about where I was going. I just said "okay" and went to sleep.

Anyway, back to Hawaii. I called to touch base, not in a hurry but also not with enough time to dilly dally. I wanted to talk to my parents, but didn't have a whole lot of time.

Mom: Where are you now?
A.: Just got out of work, heading to the beach in half an hour.
Mom: When's your flight?
A.: Just after midnight.
Mom: What's the time difference again? Are you ahead or behind?

We have this conversation EVERY TIME we talk when I'm in HI... my parents cannot seem to commit to memory that Hawaii is six hours behind EST.

Mom: What are you reading?
A.: I don't really have time to talk about it.
Mom: Gasp! You are bringing a book, aren't you?
A.: I'm bringing several books. I don't want to talk about them right now [nor spell out their titles].
Mom: I just don't think you should board such a long flight without a book. Anyway, call me as soon as you get in.
A.: Mom, I won't have a phone as soon as I get in. I'll have to get to Canberra before I call you.
Mom: Are you driving?
A.: No, a coworker of mine is driving.
Mom: On the left?
A.: I should hope so.
Mom: Is he on your flight?
A.: No, he's meeting me there.
Mom: Why isn't he on your flight?
Dad: Tatyana!
Mom: I'm just curious. That just seems weird.
A.: Because I'm going from Hawaii and he's going from DC.
Mom: [I don't recall exactly, but some question along the level of ridiculousness of,] Is his flight direct?
A.: WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?
Mom: Okay, well, have fun at the beach. Oh, do you want me to bring that pewter tea set when we visit.
A.: ??
Mom: You said you liked it.
A.: Um, if you have room, please do, but don't worry about it.

We said goodbye and talked again for that minute in Canberra.

Not much to report since most of what I've seen in Australia is insides of buildings. Hopefully more interesting stuff later.

People

In my travels, I've seen luggage conveyor belts jam, but never flat-out break, until yesterday. I watched some very resourceful airport luggage employees climb into the area under the belt and throw bags out one by one. Few passengers were annoyed; most were so happy to be off the plane that they weren't bothered about waiting longer to leave the airport.

It was the least painful flight to HI I've ever experienced, perhaps because I had an aisle seat on an exit row. The woman in the window seat tried to switch with me, and I would have been willing to work with her had she been any less annoying. Yes, I did specifically request an aisle seat because I wanted an aisle seat, but whatever. It was her passive-aggressiveness-- she'd asked me several times if I wanted the window seat, whether I was sure I didn't want the window seat, even after I told her that I did not but that if she really wanted the aisle she could have it. Then she said what she really wanted was to sit next to her husband, but that was irrelevant because the guy sitting next to him wouldn't switch. The last straw was when she yelled back, "amazing how something like this would happen on our anniversary!" perhaps in a final, passive-aggressive bid for sympathy, but it just hardened my resolve. Besides, I have to be functional the next day; she just has to sit on a beach. That and I'd brought "Stolen Lives" by Malika Oukfir, her memoir of twenty years in dessert jails in Morocco, specifically so that I wouldn't dare to feel sorry for myself for having to sit on a plane for the better part of a day. I couldn't help but project that mentality onto her; while I felt slightly bad about not changing seats, I really didn't see why I should just because she asked (just because she felt right asking doesn't mean she had a right to it). What didn't help was the "whah, whah, whah, I can't sit next to my husband on a long flight." Had she said, "could you switch seats? I was just locked up in solitary confinement with rodents and cockroaches," I would have found it in my heart to accomodate her, even in spite of the annoying child the aisle behind us to whom I wasn't about to get any closer. It's more offensive when the children are older because the parents really could manage the volume of their voices but just don't choose to. Incidentally, there was a baby on the previous flight (just three hours) who behaved like a saint.

I'll have worse internet access after this week but will hopefully also have better stories.

According to mom, I am twenty-nine going on six

Mom calls this morning, less than twenty-four hours before I depart on a month-long trip.

Mom: Are you packed?
A.: Not yet.
Mom: What time is your flight tomorrow?
A.: Something like 8am.
Mom: You need to pack.
A.: I know.
Mom: What are you going to wear?
A.: Mostly suits.
Mom: What about when you're not at work?
A.: Other clothes.
Mom: Well, it's about time you thought about what you're going to wear.
A.: I'll come up with something.
Mom: It's really about time you came up with something.
A.: Don't worry, mom. I'm on it.

Why not to work at Google...

The downside of a pets at work policy.

I spoke too soon

"You know, Google is looking for space to open offices in Boston. They haven't found it yet but they're looking."

Mom cedes a tiny bit of ground on Google

I don't take my cell phone into work, and my mother does not have my work number. If she did, she might call me every time she needed to know how to spell something. My mother had my work number a couple of years ago, but the benefit of having moved and therefore changed numbers several times since is that I have moved to a phone number she does not have. She called me once at the old number. The conversation went something like this:

Mom: I sent you an e-mail about a good airfare sale.
A.: I'll check it later, mom-- I have to go, now is really not a good time.
Mom: Well, check your e-mail.
A.: I will but I can't talk now.
Mom: Oh, one more thing...
A.: No! I have to go.
Mom: Okay, but let me just tell you about something I saw on TV...
A.: I HAVE TO GO. I'll call you from home.

Anyway, I got home and checked my messages, and there was one from my mother, going something like:

"Why are you always unable to come to the phone? We want to come visit you for your birthday... well, mainly your father does... anyway, give us a call ASAP."

I had mixed feelings about this, since, last year on my birthday, my mother told me that I was socially overbearing, that therefore my friends didn't like me for me, were just my friends out of politeness, and that she was telling me this because she wanted me to have friends. Nonetheless, I won't have other plans that weekend, and I'll be fairly delirious and jet-lagged, so I'll be better at ignoring things like that.

Anyway, I called her back, told her to go ahead and by the tickets, she said she was leaving to go to a concert, and I went and reserved them for her and sent her the link so she could buy them if she liked the times.

Now, it would be unfair to criticize my mother and/or get annoyed with her if what followed were an issue of technical literacy, but it's more an issue of paying attention, so I feel no shame over my annoyance. I had to log in at the same time and guide her through what she had to click on to find the ticket and get the itinerary. She had to log into my frequent flier account to actually get the ticket (it was the only way I could hold the itinerary), so I have to give her my password. Her reaction was the same as other times I had to give her my password: Why do you have such a complicated password?? Then, this:

"There's more than one itinerary saved here."
"Choose the one with your name on it."
"Okay, now what do I do?"
"Click 'View Itinerary.'"

If I had the time and energy I would convey the interaction in painful detail; instead I'll relay another conversation with my mother, which took place a few days ago:

Mom: When are you leaving on your business trip again?
A.: In about two weeks. Also, I may go for longer than expected... this is still very tentative, but I may also be going to Australia afterward for more work. In that case I'll stay and travel for a couple of weeks. In that case I'd get back the weekend right before my birthday.
Mom: Australia?
A.: It's still very tentative.
Mom: I still think you should work for Google, but I'll admit, that's pretty good.

I smiled, knowingly

This is actually a mom blog about someone else's mom.

I volunteer sometimes; not as much as I would like to. Recently I've been volunteering in the kitchen of a women's shelter that shall remain unnamed and undescribed for security reasons. That volunteer opportunity is organized through local Jewish listserv, for lack of a better term. More on how I got on that listserv later.

Anyway, I was in the kitchen of the shelter, peeling potatoes, when one of the other volunteers answered his phone, which I found annoying. He initially left the kitchen, then came back in half a minute or so later, still on the phone. This is what I heard:

"Mom, I can't talk now."
"Mom, this is not a good time."
"Mom, I'll call you later!"

I smiled, knowingly.

***

The story of how I got on that listserv is a little embarrassing, but telling it is less painful than studying for my final.

My friend M. and I had previously talked about trying ten-minute dating, just for fun. Back in August, I'd found out about some Jewish speed-dating in celebration of the Jewish version of Valentine's Day, Tu B'Av. It is worth noting that few of the practicing Jews I know have even heard of it. Anyway, it would be a warm summer night on the roof of the Hilton in Dupont Circle; there would be a pool and tango lessons. I thought, "how bad could it be?" One lesson learned: if that thought comes to mind, it can be pretty $%^&ing bad.

I convinced M., who, incidentally, is Catholic, to join me. We thought it would be fun. We thought we'd learn to tango. To our credit, we had the lowest possible expectations in terms of the dating potential part of the evening. Amazingly, the dating potential fell below our expectations.

The event was poorly planned; to make a long story short, the lines to sign up for the tango-speed dating were long as people continued to trickle in, and blocked the dance floor, so prior to the dancing, there was a lot of nervous mingling and dilly dallying. During which a series of guys stopped at the table M. and I had staked out for ourselves, all of which were much older and/or... how should I say this... annoying beyond what you would attribute to someone who's just nervous about talking to a woman. Eventually, the dancing began. I lasted about five minutes, between a crazy woman in a spiky heel who stepped on my foot (and on several others, I'd learned later) and the guy next to me who was taking up too much space. I took M.'s purse so she could dance more freely and sat by the pool to wait for her. It was a beautiful night, so I did enjoy sitting there, but everything about my body language said, "I want to sit here and look at the moon and the city;" nothing about my body language said, "I'd really like someone to talk to/flirt with me, especially someone twice my age." Yet, somehow... well, you get the idea. Anyway, I looked up wearily as someone approached me... he sensed my wariness and said he just wanted to know if I wanted to be on a listserv for Jewish events on the area; I said sure, why not, and now I have a recurring volunteer opportunity, so the evening wasn't a complete waste... but you can be sure I'll stay away from Jewish speed-dating in the future.

It snows in DC

First, the pleasantly surprising news: I received a message from my mother that was absent of the phrase, "it's 9pm on a Friday night-- where on earth could you be?"

When I returned home I called back. The weather came up, she asked whether we were inundated, I said, 'no, we had rain this morning but the afternoon was very sunny and warm.' She asked about whether there was still snow on the ground from Sunday's snowfall. My dad said, "oh, any snow they had couldn't have lasted more than a day." I said, "It lasted about five days."

It would annoy me less if he were just doing it to annoy me. As it were, it annoys me more because he's completely oblivious of why it annoys me.

I am more sick of my Dad's comments about DC weather than I am of ANS coverage, and believe me, I could hardly be more sick of ANS coverage.