She Never Said, "I Gave You Life and I Can Take it Away"
It's Mother's Day here in the s l o w l y warming thumbtack puncture of 79° W and 43° N. My thoughts turn to those creatures who for the better part of a year gave up all the lovely things they liked to do and for the rest of their lives gave up freedom as they'd known it before. Well, for most both equations are true. In some cases it's only true in part.
I was being debriefed on a distinguished looking gentleman sitting at the bar last Monday at my one night a week engagement at the Cheer's Equivalent. He'd owned a handful of unrelated businesses, quite successfully. He and his wife were want for much of nothing, though he really wanted to have children. It was his wife who couldn't wrap her head around giving up the drinking and the smoking for 9 months+.
Ladies and gentlemen... it is time to enlist the Compromise.
[one lone sitar player strums his first chord which slowly rises in tempo and fervor]
simultaneously
[a shaky jetliner departs, shooting twin streams of white exhaust]
... Destination Kazakhstan
A close up of 2 hands lovingly caressing an English/ Cyrillic dictionary, the secret decoder ring. A lighter pocketbook, a fair exchange for a brand new bundle of joy, cradled in a new father's arms.
"Welcome to your new home, Baby Botagos (Camel’s eyes) Berger," the New Dadda whispers into the blue bundle as he tearfully and tenderly leans over to kiss his wife who has now ordered a double scotch and is tapping an unlit cigarette on her fold-down tray; seat in the upright position, waiting for the damned plane to land again.
This is an ode and preface to the fact that I love my mother. She who can't drink 2 sips of wine without looking like she might pass out. She who could never understand my smoking habit even though she tried... several times. She who still tells me to wear something warm at night because the temperature changes so much. It is out of love for me that she drives me insane 1 out of 10 times that I see or talk to her.
Trying to get a reservation on Mother's Day in any restaurant is like going to church on Christmas Eve or Easter. Standing room only. Extremely low blood sugar. Bitchy boys and bitchier girls wait. And wait. And wait. Something that Fatty knows, and I'm quite pleased that he does, is I would rather spend one on one time with others. There's too much unfocused attention spread out when there are too many people invited to an event. Mother's Day is no exception. You'd think that because of the day, honouring the person who gave you life, the onus would be on that person.
Hey Ma! Remember when the placenta broke? Yeah... that was good times.
Well, that doesn't happen in my family. What happens is everyone vies for individual oneupmanship while only listening for any indication of someone else having more than they. My plan was to bypass that entire scenario, taking the old girl out on my own, prior to the day. Thursday!
Unfortunately we had the worst pho soup in the city: Pho Hung, N. of Dundas, W. side of Spadina. In a word... ah, I can't do it in a word. They brought the wrong item(s). And the broth was as cold as the chilly tea they slammed on the table. And all the wait staff feigned English not even as a third language when mildly interrogated.
Off to the wrong start.
Crap.
My mother and I mostly speak Chinglish, a mix of Chinese and English.
Many times I will ask my mother whether she understands what I've just said. I've learned to distinguish when she's merely humouring me.
Mom: [exasperated] Agh! It's like a chicken talking to a duck.
When a chicken speaks to a duck, words sound familiar, but there is something lost in the translation. My quacks sound more like bocks. Balks.
Q: Why would they give wings to a creature who can't fly?
My mother speaks a phrase in Chinese and asks for the English equivalent.
The Comrade: When someone is looked down on for his/her actions.
Mom: Don't you think that happens when a woman has too many husbands and boyfriends in her lifetime?
I put up with her rough timetable of These Are the Things You Should Have By Now:
A House
Tonnes of money
Only one name change since birth
When I told Fatty he said, "She'd rather you be unhappy and still married to your first husband for appearance sake?"
Affirmative.
Nearly every conversation we have there is at one point a sad realisation that her family isn't as tightly knit as she would like. She rolls it over her mind like a master baker trying to make something edible out of pre-Cambrian rock.
What reason do we have?
I told her that I find it difficult, at best, to accept the condemnation and the interminable judgment received by bodies who provided no measure of help nor guidance beyond that of providing basic provisions until adolescent weening had occurred. I told her she and the others had no right, really. I tell her this calmly... rationally. I hope she understood.
It doesn't change how I feel about her, though. Because of the childlike tittering she does, because of the sense of adventure I know she has, because she knows the transit system better than most who work for the company, because she loves me to the best of her ability, and because she taught me that even though someone drives you crazy, it's still possible to love them. I wouldn't trade her for any other mother in the world.
I was being debriefed on a distinguished looking gentleman sitting at the bar last Monday at my one night a week engagement at the Cheer's Equivalent. He'd owned a handful of unrelated businesses, quite successfully. He and his wife were want for much of nothing, though he really wanted to have children. It was his wife who couldn't wrap her head around giving up the drinking and the smoking for 9 months+.
Ladies and gentlemen... it is time to enlist the Compromise.
[one lone sitar player strums his first chord which slowly rises in tempo and fervor]
simultaneously
[a shaky jetliner departs, shooting twin streams of white exhaust]
... Destination Kazakhstan
A close up of 2 hands lovingly caressing an English/ Cyrillic dictionary, the secret decoder ring. A lighter pocketbook, a fair exchange for a brand new bundle of joy, cradled in a new father's arms.
"Welcome to your new home, Baby Botagos (Camel’s eyes) Berger," the New Dadda whispers into the blue bundle as he tearfully and tenderly leans over to kiss his wife who has now ordered a double scotch and is tapping an unlit cigarette on her fold-down tray; seat in the upright position, waiting for the damned plane to land again.
This is an ode and preface to the fact that I love my mother. She who can't drink 2 sips of wine without looking like she might pass out. She who could never understand my smoking habit even though she tried... several times. She who still tells me to wear something warm at night because the temperature changes so much. It is out of love for me that she drives me insane 1 out of 10 times that I see or talk to her.
Trying to get a reservation on Mother's Day in any restaurant is like going to church on Christmas Eve or Easter. Standing room only. Extremely low blood sugar. Bitchy boys and bitchier girls wait. And wait. And wait. Something that Fatty knows, and I'm quite pleased that he does, is I would rather spend one on one time with others. There's too much unfocused attention spread out when there are too many people invited to an event. Mother's Day is no exception. You'd think that because of the day, honouring the person who gave you life, the onus would be on that person.
Hey Ma! Remember when the placenta broke? Yeah... that was good times.
Well, that doesn't happen in my family. What happens is everyone vies for individual oneupmanship while only listening for any indication of someone else having more than they. My plan was to bypass that entire scenario, taking the old girl out on my own, prior to the day. Thursday!
Unfortunately we had the worst pho soup in the city: Pho Hung, N. of Dundas, W. side of Spadina. In a word... ah, I can't do it in a word. They brought the wrong item(s). And the broth was as cold as the chilly tea they slammed on the table. And all the wait staff feigned English not even as a third language when mildly interrogated.
Off to the wrong start.
Crap.
My mother and I mostly speak Chinglish, a mix of Chinese and English.
Many times I will ask my mother whether she understands what I've just said. I've learned to distinguish when she's merely humouring me.
Mom: [exasperated] Agh! It's like a chicken talking to a duck.
When a chicken speaks to a duck, words sound familiar, but there is something lost in the translation. My quacks sound more like bocks. Balks.
Q: Why would they give wings to a creature who can't fly?
My mother speaks a phrase in Chinese and asks for the English equivalent.
The Comrade: When someone is looked down on for his/her actions.
Mom: Don't you think that happens when a woman has too many husbands and boyfriends in her lifetime?
I put up with her rough timetable of These Are the Things You Should Have By Now:
A House
Tonnes of money
Only one name change since birth
When I told Fatty he said, "She'd rather you be unhappy and still married to your first husband for appearance sake?"
Affirmative.
Nearly every conversation we have there is at one point a sad realisation that her family isn't as tightly knit as she would like. She rolls it over her mind like a master baker trying to make something edible out of pre-Cambrian rock.
What reason do we have?
I told her that I find it difficult, at best, to accept the condemnation and the interminable judgment received by bodies who provided no measure of help nor guidance beyond that of providing basic provisions until adolescent weening had occurred. I told her she and the others had no right, really. I tell her this calmly... rationally. I hope she understood.
It doesn't change how I feel about her, though. Because of the childlike tittering she does, because of the sense of adventure I know she has, because she knows the transit system better than most who work for the company, because she loves me to the best of her ability, and because she taught me that even though someone drives you crazy, it's still possible to love them. I wouldn't trade her for any other mother in the world.
posted by Comrade Chicken at
1:14 p.m.
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