Two weeks of fun and games

Dad's here for the next two weeks. He accuses his children of forcing him to go on death marches every time he visits. (Hey, he saw the bus route on the map and suggested we walk instead of just waiting for one. It's not my fault we walked all the way from the Ferry Building to the Caltrain station--and really, is 3 miles a true 'death march'?)

In a thoughtful effort to give him something to complain about, we met at the Palo Alto station tonight. See, Dad is very independent and capable. He knows every public transport method of getting from the airport to our house. He caught an express train from San Jose knowing it would stop in Palo Alto and not Menlo Park (the station 1 block from our house). So, I took the train one stop beyond Menlo in order to meet him. (Jrex was in a meeting with his advisor and a collaborator, so wasn't available to pick us up.)

Now, had I any intelligence in my head at all, I'd have suggested we find a nice comfy bench and wait for the next local train to take us 3 minutes up the track. I've biked the route many times and it only takes 8 minutes, so I figured it would be a 20 minute walk. When we finally dragged his heavy suitcase up the steps to the apartment, a mere 45 minutes had passed.

. . . oops.

And of course, then we had to take Muttolah out for her evening restitutional.

Dad wants to complain about being 73 and being tortured by his children. Oh, the pain! Oh, my aching feet! Why do you do this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this? Don't believe the hype: on Saturday, he was up in Seattle with my brother and went for a 10 mile sea kayaking adventure. He's in great shape.

Let's see what other fun I can arrange for him.

More fun than I expected.

"I love it! This so fun!!"

My mother-in-law turns to me, her face glistening with water, shirt and pants drenched and clinging to her. We're climbing stone stairs next to a waterfall in Yosemite. The 'mist trail' is turning out to be more of a 'rain-storm'. Each time the wind blows, we're soaked with another wave of freezing cold water. We're climbing steep walls of the river carved canyon on man-made stairs of boulders and rocks, all drenched with water.

Mom K keeps laughing. She's using one of the trekking poles we brought for her and Dad; she's mostly steady on her feet. She's 69, barely five feet tall and has the slightly bowed legs from being carried on other's backs until she was 8 (a maid carried her to school each day). I walk up behind her with my hands out, 'spotting' her in case she slips on the wet rocks. She only needs me once.

We finally get beyond the heavy spray and stake out a place in a patch of sun. I've been glancing back trying to spot Jrex and his Dad, but haven't seen them for a long time. While we wait for them, we try to dry off. She's still giggling, I'm laughing both with and at her. Her carefully blow-dried hair drips and curls around her sun visor as she wipes the water from her glasses. Neither of us have a dry item of clothing left, so we're just smearing big droplets into smaller ones. After a couple of minutes, she's ready to go on. I'm concerned about Jrex, worried something might have happened to Dad on the wet stones, so I insist we wait for them, "In case." She nods, "Of course. In case."

After ten minutes or so, Jrex strolls up with his Dad panting beside him. Dad sits down. His face is pasty beneath his sun-bronzed skin. He's been a heavy smoker all his life, and it's finally catching up with him. After drinks of water and photos of the waterfall, we trudge up more steps. At the next break (20 steps later), Dad K wants to turn around and go back down. We can almost see the top, but he's done. Mom K, contrary to any cultural norm that I'm aware of, wants to keep going up. We start to divide up the food so Mom and I can eat something at the top. Jrex insists on going back down with Dad, "in case". As we're digging through the backpack and discussing what I can fit in my pockets and small camera bag, Dad K interjects with disgust, "OK. I go up."

Fifteen minutes later, we make it. After eating, photographing, napping, taking a potty break (great thing about Yosemite--public toilets everywhere! No digging holes or going in the woods), and smoking a couple cigarettes for the road, we head back down. On the way down, when we reach the wet steps, Mom K starts hopping down them like a rabbit. I laughed and told her she was crazy and she agreed!

All told, a three-mile hike took us 'only' five hours...

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As soon as I get the photos off of Jrex's computer, I'll post a select few. I went a little crazy with pictures. Dad and I didn't do competitive pics (though if I took one in a certain spot, he was quick to do the same). He didn't like how I off-centered people and took candid photos and he certainly didn't understand why I kept taking close-ups of rocks or tree bark. Actually, Jrex is the master of the super-macro mode and took some really beautiful bark pictures. He's got a great eye, he'd just rather BE where he is than document it.

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We're back 'home' though it doesn't feel like home. Not just cause the in-laws are still here, but Jrex and I are realizing more and more that we just aren't desert rats. The dry, brown, or artificial green of California isn't our scene. It just didn't feel like we were coming back to our place. Even the apartment just feels like a collection of our stuff, but not really our home. We have two more years here, which we'll enjoy, but it's not where we want to settle (despite all of Mom K's hints that it would be a good place for us).

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Still to come: I bonded a little too well with Jrex's niece.

Randomness

Home

I loved the feeling of being 'home' that I had in New England. People there live life at maximum intensity; everything matters. What text will be on the mural in the center of town, what store to shop at, trash collection: all subject to public and intense debate. I often feel like I have to tone myself down so I don't blow people away. Not that I need to take up all the space in the room, but I like to ask 'real' questions, dig deep and be honest. That doesn't always work in social situations. Yet, in New England, my friends all asked me 'personal' questions and I loved it. I wasn't the only one!
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I'm over it

After my second trip in a month (the other just involving staying on-site in San Francisco for two nights), I think I'm over the travel for work bug. No matter how many people I visited with, the empty hotel room at the end of the night felt cold and very lonely. I can see why people fall into affairs if they travel a great deal. At least with the time difference between Boston and California, I could call Jrex at the end of the night and rehash the day, but it wasn't the same. No matter how luxurious, or how nice the view, the robe or the free shampoo, it's an empty box. When Jrex is out of town, the apartment feels lonely, but with the dog, our books, our music, our movies, it's a welcoming loneliness.
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It's very hard to get back into the rhythm of work. I just don't care right now. Plus, most of my current projects are post-conference wrap up. Organizing files and making covers for presentations are just not the sort of project that gets my juices going. Knowing that I'll be on vacation next week is adding to my lack of motivation...
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Don't you like mine better?

Vacation with the in-laws next week! Oddly, I'm looking forward to it. We'll have a few days with the whole family all together in a little house in Venice. I'm picturing our poor niece being pulled from one set of arms to the next...as in, if she runs to Jrex to be held or read to, his Dad will get competitive and try to pick her up, too.

The other interaction that should be 'fun' will be photos in Yosemite. Jrex and his Mom both hate being in photographs and try to avoid it. His Dad and I both enjoy taking photos. The last visit we had with them, we checked out the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden State Park. All the way through, Dad K would exclaim, "Sun Ae (the Korean name they gave me), take a picture of that!" I would. Then he would. Then we'd compare. And I would say, "Wow, Dad, your picture looks so good. I love it!" Due to an intense, traumatic life, there are sides of him that are a seven-year old boy who is starving for affirmation. It doesn't hurt me to give it to him, though I don't know how I'll feel after four days of comparative photography...
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Muttola Rules the World

I love having a dog that other people also enjoy. We keep accumulating dog-sitters for her. When I pick up Jrex from lab on weekends, I let her run around while we wait for him. A week ago, she ran up to a woman who was loading her car and looked ready to go home with her. (Muttola is such a scavenger that mostly, she's looking for food, but I don't let on) The woman later told Jrex that she would love to dog sit if we ever need it. That makes three different homes she can stay in, no charge, with people who are grateful to have a dog-fix. I'm all about helping people, so, hey, if having our dog at your house for a few days will be good for you, I'm right there for you! Self-sacrificing, humble, quiet, that's me.

Back and Slammed already

Thursday through Saturday was my uncle's funeral. I'm so glad I went. I love my family. I usually feel like a fairly unique individual, but then I get in a room full of my 7 aunts and many female cousins and find out I'm one of a tribe. We're all gregarious, opinionated, intense, randomly thoughtful and randomly oblivious, loyal and full of laughter--despite life's hardships. I was reminded that our roots are in farms and ranches as we cleared my aunt's property of broken tree branches. There was an ice storm in December and her huge yard looked like there'd been a tree massacre. One of my uncles, Uncle Strong Silent, wielded a chainsaw like an extension of his arm. My cousins and other uncle split wood with an ax like they'd done that for years. Aunt Ruby tore around the yard on her John Deere rider mower with little kids in her lap. I felt like SUCH a city girl as I tottered around behind a wheelbarrow full of branches. I must admit, it was easy to choose to take my assignment as a documentary photographer MUCH more seriously than I really needed to!

On Sunday we hosted our supper club. That meant mad cleaning all afternoon. Then work hit me between the eyes. It's 8:50 pm and I'm about to head home. Yikes! I keep thinking it will all slow down, but so far, not so much.

It's weird here at work, but much more pleasant without Stressed Eeyore sitting next to me. We all keep commenting how we feel guilty for feeling so relieved, but life feels more simple now. I can take breaks and chill out with my team. Chat when I want to (probably why I'm still at work!)

Anyway, I have more profound thoughts rambling around about the redemption of a man and the reminder that true change IS possible, but no brain power to put words on that. Just wanted to let you all know I'm still alive.

Some good news for poor Jrex

He gave lab meeting today. Based on the preliminary results of this experiment, it looks like he might have something worth publishing. Finally!! The light at the end of the tunnel isn't big enough to run through yet, but at least it's visible.

Of course, Jrex has had a virus for the past week. Miserable. I chatted with my MIL on Saturday. Anything I tell her she prays about. I told her that Jrex was sick and was worried about his mice. Since he was running an experiment on mice genetically modified to not have immune systems, he was worried they might catch his virus. (I think I mentioned this recently...) Anyway, she started laughing really hard. Through her giggles she said, "I have never prayed for mice before! I pray for mice now?" More laughter. I told that story to Aunt Bird on Sunday. She laughed as well, "Hmm..." she said, "Since mice are some of my least favorite critters, I'll just pray for his experiments to go well."

Looks like the prayers have worked. Thanks!

Follow-up

Dad left Saturday morning. He was here for a week and, as usual, we did lots of adventuring:

DeYoung museum in SF for a Louise Nevelson retrospective (fantastic!), lunch with Baltimore friends and a grotto in the middle of SF called the Stern Grove. From the street you see a long block of Eucalyptus trees. We wandered in assuming it was a little city park. Instead the ground dropped away and we wandered down, down, down into redwood trees and a concert pavilion with gardens.
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Friday night, he picked me up from work and we crossed over to the East Bay to check out an Indian movie theater. Buried in an old strip mall, surrounded by sari shops and Pakistani take-out, there's a theater with eight screens, all showing movies from India with English subtitles. I felt like I was able to drive around the world in just 25 minutes. We saw a FABULOUS movie. The English name is "Everyone is Special". The story of a dyslexic boy: the first half is a glimpse of how amazing and how hard his life is, the second half is his relationship with an art teacher (who also produced and directed the film). It's long, but well worth the time.

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The Big Drama. I saw my neighbor's car in her spot on Thursday, so I knocked on her door. The bullet-point summary:

• After leaving our place, Ex called her and left a slurred message about how he'd tried to get in. Turns out, he'd been evicted that day from his apartment and was sleeping in his car down the street.
• She's received a 60-day notice from the landlord due to Ex's various disturbances. 
• I clarified that I hadn't called the landlord. In my mind, Ex is his own problem, not my neighbor's fault. Which means that one of the other neighbors (who certainly weren't helping the situation...) 'told' on her.
• She was planning to leave anyway--needs to move where Ex doesn't know she is.
• Ex had been sober for years. After they broke up, he started drinking again.
• He checked himself into rehab this weekend.

The thing that makes me really sad, is that, for three months before Ex moved out, I had a pounding hammer in my head of thoughts like, "If you just divorce Jrex, your life will be better. If you weren't together, everything would be simpler. He's no fun, go find someone fun." I prayed a lot for our marriage, focused on being grateful for what was good in our relationship, prayed some more; what I never thought to do was check if there was someone else I should pray for. I've had this in the past, if I'm near someone who has intense stuff happening to them emotionally or spiritually, it affects my emotions. God uses that quite often to help me pray for other people. 

Three months of a mental hammer full of emotions that weren't 'normal' for me to have. And I never thought beyond myself. I know I'm not responsible, I don't feel guilty. It's just that there was a tipping point, and I'm thinking we/I were supposed to be part of it, and I missed it completely. It makes me sad for all the stuff that's happened since. I keep thinking of the Yeats quote, "The world's more full of weeping than we can understand." I still don't understand why God chooses to work through us, since we're such frail, faulty vessels for the love he wants to express. 

Misconceptions

On Saturday we took Mom and Dad K up to San Francisco. We wandered Golden Gate park (Japanese tea garden, coffee at the De Young museum and then the Conservatory of Flowers). Then Mom wanted to see San Francisco, so we drove downtown and swung over to Chinatown. Being from New York city, they were underwhelmed by San Fran. It's a cool town, but it doesn't really have a big city feel. Compared to New York or Chicago, San Francisco is squat and fairly small. The per capita eclectic ratio is probably higher than in the other cities, but I didn't want to try to explain the Folsom street fest through the language barrier (it's a celebration of leather/S&M culture).

For dinner we went back to Jrex's cousin's restaurant at 19th and Balboa. Once again there was a tour bus parked in front. Last time, Jrex told me his cousin had been a bus driver when he first arrived in the USA. In my mind, that conjured an image of a city bus. I felt bad for the long, hard climb his cousin must have had. During dinner Saturday, I asked about the tour bus.

"Do you get tours often?"

"Every night." I assumed I'd misunderstood him, then he continued, "In the summer, we have 600 a week."

"What?! How do you do it?"

"Same menu every time. They tour, they don't want to take long, so in out 30 minutes. Four lunch and six night on busy day."

I was incredulous, "Do other Korean restaurants have tour buses?"

He shook his head, "Only me. I guide tours fourteen years. How you say? Many 'brothers' at tour companies now?"

The image of the poor, toiling, bus-driving immigrant was blown away.

Big Day

Today's post is in honor of the day someone amazing arrived in my world. At the time she arrived, I didn't know it was amazing, all I knew was that Mom and Dad had left me and my brother wasn't with me. I was four and a half.

I do remember Dad coming to the house where I was staying and asking if I wanted to stay there for the night or go home with him. We lived in a vertical duplex and 'going home' just meant going downstairs, so I decided to go home. We sat on the sofa in the living room while he held me in his lap and told me I had a little sister. I was very impressed by her name since she had TWO middle names, not just one. Of course, being my sweet, absent-minded Dad, he mixed up the order of the middle names, but at least he had the right ones. Her name meant 'filled with grace and beauty'. (Mom was really into the meanings of names, mine means "Christ's Joy", my brother's means "Beloved Watchman".)

I didn't appreciate the amazing gift of my sister for a while. First because even as a toddler, she liked to keep things in order. Nothing gives you a bad name like a younger sister who's favorite toy is a broom. Second, she was ADORABLE. I was an awkward skinny girl with stringy 'dishwater' blonde hair, a big forehead and buck teeth. She had hair like white gold in a halo of curls. She tanned instead of sunburning and was wonderful with the old ladies at church. Third, with the age gap between us, it mostly felt like she was stealing my stuff all the time. Clothes, earrings, stuffed animals. I kept threatening to remove anything of mine that she was wearing, even if we were in public, but I never followed through. Most of my memories of my sister when we were younger involve all three of us. She and my bro often went off adventuring together, or all three of us played (and fought and roamed the neighborhood) together, but it was rare that she and I did stuff alone together as kids. Fourth, when I was a junior in high school and she was a sixth grader, people kept thinking we were twins. She was tall for her age and both of us were skinny. Obviously, she LOVED those questions, but I hated them. At her sixth grade graduation someone congratulated me for how well I'd done on stage. That's how alike we seemed then. I was 17. But, I'm not bitter!

In our family she was seen as the 'quiet one'. She'd often fade away and go upstairs to read (often while OTRbro and I were doing chores). We had a family therapy session where the counselor asked, "And, OTRsis, what do you think?" All four of us swung around to look at the eight year old in the corner. She has opinions?! It was a revelation for our oblivious family.

Once she left for college we began to develop our own relationship. We'd often chat about family dynamics, who she was becoming, and this great guy she'd met (he's still around). Our Mom died her senior year of college. OTRsis and I spent a month and a half at home together. The first two weeks we worked together to take care of Mom as she died and then we spent a month 'organizing the house'. That often looked like laying around in bed reading books and being depressed. We did have days where we had enough energy to clean, sort and organize. In many ways, I would say that our adult relationship began then.

Over the years it's been fun to see my sister come out of her quiet zone and become the opinionated, creative, powerful woman that she is. She was freaked out to have to go first into the realm of mommy-hood, especially since we don't have a Mom we can call with our questions, but she's been amazing. She's raising fun, confident kids who share her intelligence and fun sense of humor.

Happy Birthday, OTRsis! You're fantastic.

PS. I have a box of stuff ready to send. Hopefully you'll get your birthday gifts before Christmas...

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly: In-Law Edition

They're heeere!

The Good:

-Three of my women friends joined me on Sunday and we prepared 20 meals to freeze for each of our families. It's been great to just throw dinner in the oven and look like the good DIL. (Fake it til you make it.)

-I'm very busy at work, so we three aren't getting as much 'quality' time hanging out waiting for Jrex to finish his work and come home. Now we both arrive back at 7:30 pm. Mmmmm....dinner at 9 pm (sadly it's the usual in our house). His poor father usually eats at 5:30 and goes to sleep by 9.

-After 10 years, we're all relatively comfortable together, so their visits are (almost) relaxing.

-Since they can walk to 'downtown' and the train station, they can hang out here, relax, but still get out and do something, all while we're at work.

-My MIL is a very considerate, thoughtful, amazing woman.

-We get a Korean TV station for free via our 'rabbit ears' on the set.

The Bad:

-Me. I'm hiding in the back bedroom instead of being a good DIL. See earlier point.

The Ugly:

-We get a Korean TV station for free via our 'rabbit ears' on the set. It's turned on at 5 a.m. by my FIL who is losing his hearing. It stays on CONSTANTLY. Grrrr....I hate that stupid noisemaker.

-FIL also hacks and gargles in the bathroom. On the other side of our bedroom wall. At 5 a.m.

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All in all, they're good folk and I love them. But four adults in a 2 bedroom apartment is just a bit crowded after three days.

Was it hard to marry cross-culturally?

Yes. Though my Dad has always pointed out that every marriage is cross-cultural.

It wasn't as hard for me as for my husband. My parents didn't care about race. His parents wanted their son to marry a Korean. Every time he went home to visit they set him up on a blind date, "You'll like her, she's studying medicine at Yale." They hadn't met me at that point so I didn't take it personally.

I dragged him home within four months of us starting to date. My parents were two of my best friends, so if they didn't like him, I knew it wasn't going to work. Of course they loved him (everyone who gets to know him loves him). During that visit my 92 year old grandfather was also visiting. I completely horrified Jrex as I verbally sparred with Grandpa. In Korean culture you treat the elderly with complete deference and here I was treating him as a peer. Of course, Grandpa loved it. I had that kind of relationship with both my grandfather, my Dad and now with my husband. Ironically, how I treated Jrex totally threatened my Dad at first. See, Dad married an amazing woman who did NOT understand sarcasm. At. all. So, despite the fact that I quipped right back at Dad, he couldn't handle me quipping at my husband. A wife doesn't DO that! He's since adjusted.

One of the many tragic aspects of my mom dying 6 months into our wedding was that she LOVED Jrex. She was his biggest fan. She never let me complain about him. Sure she could whine about my Dad to me, but if I even tried to do the same she'd jump all over me in Jrex's defense. The building is burning, who do you save? I think she would have grabbed him first! ;-)

We dated two years before I finally met his parents. His parents came up to Rochester for a weekend. We met them at the hotel. The whole drive there I nervously practiced "On yong ha sey yo" over and over. At dinner his mother gave me some lovely porcelin vases. I gave them nothing. Because. No. One. Told. Me. About. Koreans. and. Gifts. No one apologized profusely as he drove me home. He'd forgotten about gift giving! I learned then that I'd study Korean culture on my own since I couldn't assume I had a cultural guide at my side...

As much as we both communicate well and analyze everything, there were aspects of how he was that I thought were just him. It wasn't until we attended a 2nd generation Korean church in Baltimore that I realized how many things were elements of Korean culture. I receive love most effectively through verbal affirmation (thus the addiction to comments on the blog...). He never thought to compliment me. I found out, that's just Korean. In fact, if he were being culturally correct, he would insult me whenever someone else complimented me. Maybe that's just a parent's job, not a spouse's, but all my Korean friends have examples of how their parents "kept them humble".

For the most part, our core values are very similar. We value family and quality time. We believe in saving money but also buying good tools ("tools" being a tent, or a cool new waterproof messenger bag made of recycled bike tires). As Jrex told his parents before they met me, "You're idealizing a Korean woman and have horrible assumptions about American women. She's more Korean than most of the second generation Korean women I know."

The biggest asset we've had, aside from our friendship and mutual respect, has been two sets of parents who (in the end) were willing to bend toward each other's culture and try to understand and accomodate the other side.

Mi Familia

I'm the oldest of three kids: me, then a brother and sister. OTRsis, seen frequently in the comments is, in fact, my fabulous, gorgeous younger sis. Wave to the crowd, carisima! She is another graphic designer (she got into it before I did, lest you think she followed me). She has two young kids and a wonderful husband who is a high school teacher.

My brother is a professional disc golfer by day and bartender by night. He doesn't sit still long enough to read a blog...

Our parents chose to be downwardly mobile and raise us in Cincinnati's #1 poverty community. Mom chose not to work and stay home with us while Dad operated a VERY non-profit housing firm. We survived 6 months on food stamps and years of donated clothing and cars.

Mom died 10 years ago. She'd been the director of drama, and first female professor at a conservative midwestern college before marrying my Dad. She fulfilled her drama urge through numerous performances for our church and for retreats. I grew up being on stage, in gospel choirs, marching in protests, eating carob chip cookies and bean sprouts--all because of my Mom. She was also someone who worried all the time, carried lots of bitterness and was usually frustrated by our family dynamic (lest you think she was a saint. I mean, she is one now, depending on your theology, but she was a very human, complex woman when I knew her).

Dad is still in Cincinnati. Dad is 72 and has been writing plays for years. He's recently decided to try for a second income in a theater related job. His goal is to become a stage manager so he's now training as an assistant production manager for a theater company. Our house in the inner-city has become a communal space which he currently shares with a married couple. He's had various ex-cons and assorted misfits in the house; I never know who is going to answer the phone. My father is "anonymous" in the comments. Not because he is afraid of being noticed, no it's cause he's the classic absent-minded professor type and can't recall his log in info. Take a bow, impressario.

Those who know me would recognize me as an oldest. The scary thing is to think, I could have been even MORE bossy than I already am. Mom was the oldest of 10 kids so she knew the pain of being the little extra parent. She didn't let me take on that role. Anytime I started to boss my brother and sister she would say, "OTRgirl, stop. That's my job, not yours." I was always hurt by that since I was 'just trying to help'--but now I am grateful for her wisdom. She also never made me babysit them. Instead, when I was old enough to know how to handle an emergency, they would leave us with these instructions, "We're going out for three hours. When we return, if the house is in order and you have nothing to tell us, we'll split the babysitting money between the three of you." As a result, OTRbro and I would get into two-round knock-down, drag him over the back of the couch in a headlock, split my lip fights. Then clean the house together. Talk about training in conflict resolution!

What truly makes us weird: we grew up without a television. My father maintained that he was an addict and couldn't have it in the house. The main impact of this has been that I can't participate in conversations that are about a television show. Which has maybe impacted 2-5 percent of my conversation time. On the positive side, it meant our parents had to be very creative with how to occupy three hyperactive children. We built indoor forts, created puppet shows (and some puppets), played dress-up for hours, fought (see above), read books, played cards, went to church events, talked, drove each other crazy, giggled, explored the neighborhood and spent every summer day at the public pool down the street.

We weren't, and aren't, a perfect family, but we can talk about anything that's bugging us and usually find something to laugh about in the midst of our pain.

See, it's the stuff you probably know already if you've read here or known me long. I love telling the stories, but it's almost rote with new people. Of course, if I did this as a card, it would be more visual and far less wordy...

Some things are worth not wearing makeup

I have a very carefully calibrated morning routine that allows me to wake up at 8 a.m. and catch an 8:45 a.m. train.

8:20 a.m. The Phone Rings. The caller ID on my phone shows my sister's house. I assume it's my Dad with travel plans since he's due to arrive this evening. He's spent a week in Seattle and now will join us for the next eight days.

"Imo?" It's my sister's voice. Why is she calling me Imo? I mean, I know it's what my niece calls me, but why is my sister addressing me as such?

"It's me." I venture. I'm a bit slow in the mornings.

"Blonde Niece has something she wants to tell you." This is indeed momentous, as the last few times we've tried 'chatting' on the phone it's been a random monologue with occasional laughter in response.

I hear fumbling noises, "Hey, girl! What's up?" I speak into the void.

"You come my hou ah ma nap?" I hear her breathy question and rapidly try to interpret.

"You want me to come to your house after your nap?"

"Yea!" She exclaims.

"Oh, sweetie, I wish I could but I live too far away. I won't be able to come today."

"Oh. You pla ma to?"

Silence. My sister rescues me, "I think she wants you to play with her toys."

Then more fumbling noises. In the background I hear laughter and then OTRsis gets back on, "She took the phone and carried it over to her toys."

8:27 a.m. My hair is still wet.

"Well, I should run. Can I call you back later?"

"Sure. Blonde Niece, do you want to say good bye to Imo?"

More fumbling and a breathy 'bye-bye'.

Quick hair dry. A dog walk and speedy bike ride and I make the train.

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How could you not be cheery and grinning the rest of the day after that beginning?

It was evening and it was morning. The first day.

I forget if I mentioned this was going to be happening, but I’m in Seattle right now. My sister’s husband had to go out of town for a week and we figured that would be a great time for me to come up and meet my new nephew. The theory is that I’m up here helping out. Thus far I’m feeling much more like a pampered guest with play privileges.

For this visit, it’s just the three of us Body Part kids. No spouses, no dog. I told OTRsis that I feel like I’m at a slumber party with dolls. Sure, the bigger doll keeps asking me to read her stories and play games that circle around to ‘There’s Daddy!’, but it just feels like fun.

The Evening: A Different World

My sister’s friends came over to watch the kids so we could go out. We’d already decided that part of what we want to do this weekend is remember Mom in honor of the 10th anniversary of her death. She died at the end of September, but we won’t be together then.

For dinner my brother and sister took me to a fantastic Morroccan restaurant. From the outside it looks a bit sketchy, but inside? Wow.


The whole meal involved communal plates and fingers as utensils.


Before the meal each of us were given a gleaming white towel. Then our host brought over a metal container to catch the water he poured over our hands. A guy seated next to us was eating alone. I wondered what he thought as we toasted Mom with our water glasses and reviewed what our parents had done, both wrong and right. Mostly right and often quirky, but each of us are grateful for our parents and for each other.

Emo* Again

I couldn't believe this got me through to a human being:

"411"
"City and State, what listing?"
"University Hospital."
"One moment, please...."
"University Hospital, may I help you?"

"I need the maternity ward?"

"Hold and I'll connect you."
"9-West, how can I help you?"

"Is OTRsis there?"

"Please hold..."

"Hello, OTRgirl!!"

It's not supposed to be that easy. I tracked her down while walking to work Friday. I'm the pround aunt of Soltice Baby, aka Minor Prophet. I haven't seen him yet so I can't give him a descriptive name like Blond Niece. Let's just say that the name he was given offended my Dad. As a sporadically loyal Harvard Man, any reference to that OTHER school (starts with a Y and is four letters long) is offensive. His new grandson shares the name that Those People are called. Mind you, I'd never heard of it until he told me, so if you don't know, you're in good company.

My brother called me on Saturday, quite proud of the fact that he's foregone his Reds/Mariners tickets in order to be there when Minor Prophet came home from the hospital. OTRsis is doing well and the baby sounds perfect, of course.

OTRsis commented that it was much harder to have her in-laws there than me. Only because I gave her credit for her stoicism while they took it for granted. Me: "You never even screamed at me! I didn't know you were in labor!! All you did was get quiet. Maybe a few hurried requests for more ice chips toward the end of the labor, but that was it!" Them: "Oh, you have contractions? Let's go for a walk, we'll stop each time you need to."

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*Emo or 'Imo' as I like to spell it, is the Korean word for aunt. I've never liked the nasal midwestern pronunciation of "ant" and certainly never liked the slightly pretentious "Aunt" so I figured Blonde Niece could appropriate at will. So far she calls us "Imo" and "Jrex" (she uses his Korean name). She calls my brother "Uh-oh Dee", a completely apt title for the man who tries to instigate her to dump displays in the grocery store.

I hear paw patters of impending doom

With the in-laws here, Muttolah gave me a look of total anxiety and sadness this morning. She's been a bit on the 'loose' side digestively speaking and I doubt Dad K is very patient with her when he walks her. In fact, I'll be shocked if we get through this visit without her biting him. He likes to play with her, but he goes too far. He grabs her head and shakes it. He pinches her ear. He shoves a toy into her face and insists she play. This morning he patted her head as he walked by and she snapped the air after he passed.

Most days she sleeps under our bed. Yesterday they shut the bedroom door. A whole day trapped in accessible areas of the apartment! This dog was a 'rescue' from the Baltimore SPCA. She started out very timid with a ton of separation anxiety. She's calmed down ALOT and I'm going to be furious if she ends up reverting because Dad K is too rough.

Only two more days...

(In fairness though, for all of us adults the visit is going very well.)

La Photographs

Since they don't directly correspond to the narrative of the previous post, here are some gratuitous photos:

La Bridge. Mom K and I trotted out with the dog so she could stand on the bridge. We didn't make it to stand over the water, but it was still impressive. As was the fact that La Mutt was relatively well-behaved. Who knew she could heel?

La Mutt. Of course we brought her along! She stayed in the car for the winery and for dinner, but mostly had a great day.

In the morning as Jrex and I packed the car, Mom K left the apartment door open. As I steped onto the stair to get another load, a collarless Muttolah ran down the stairs toward me. Instead of turning right to make her escape, she bolted to the left and jumped into the car. Normally she sits in the back seat so that's where she jumped. Since we had two passengers, I'd put her bed in the Outback's rear. I went to lift her out to put her in back and she lept into the front seat. As I went toward the front door, she scrambled into the back seat. What was Jrex doing this whole time? Laughing.

I've never seen such a look of doggie relief as when I finally grabbed her and put her in the back instead of banishing her.

La Photographer. When we arrived at the top of Mt. Tam, a European biker was trying to photograph a butterfly. Dad K instantly began a competition, snapping pictures then turning to check if the Euro biker noticed him snapping pictures... I don't think either of them succeeded and I swear that butterfly was teasing them both.

La View. A Mom and her boy. A man and his dog. A wife with a good view.

Because I'm sick, that's why...

…I’m in the bedroom blogging while my in-laws are here. No really, I have a cold and have been napping most of the afternoon.

I have some Kansas photos I’ve meant to post all week, but haven’t had time (plus they’re on my work computer…). We’ve had something every night and then the in-laws arrived Friday night.

Yesterday we took them to Sonoma for Mom K’s “birthday day”. We didn’t buy her a gift, so we gave her a day instead. We crossed Golden Gate (something she’s always wanted to do), climbed Mt. Tam to get a view of the bay, then drove to Sonoma for wine tastings and dinner.

One of my MIL’s most endearing characteristics is that she’s a lush. She never drinks on her own, but if there’s alcohol to be had, she never says no. We went to the Chateau St. Jean north of town and checked out their reserve tasting (special wines, higher tasting fee). On the way out I said,

“Well, do you want to try their ordinary wines as well?”

No polite Korean protest, no ‘whatever you want’, instead she chirped, “OK! Why not?”

Dad K and I left it up to Jrex and Mom to continue the drinking as we’d had enough. After sampling five reserve wines, Mom tried all ten ordinary wines as well. She’s only five feet tall and was weaving just slightly on the way to the car. Did that stop us from getting a bottle of wine for dinner? Did you read the previous paragraph?

Impressions

“So, ‘more blood’, huh?” Uncle Doctor gave me a hug and a wry grin.

“Tell me more about Ireland!” Aunt Bird exclaimed.

“Let me see that ring!”

This weekend was a reminder of why I enjoy having a blog, and how disconcerting it is to be quoted back to myself. Many of my aunts and their husbands read my blog, and even the ones who don’t, offer opinions on what names they want me to give them.

“I think I’d like to be Uncle Deerslayer”, Aunt Country Singer’s husband declared in his slow West Virginian drawl. Coming from a man who made sure his wedding date didn’t interfere with deer season, who am I to argue?

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Uncle Boy Scout Leader (aka Uncle BS Leader) is a wonderful storyteller and has helped shape the boys of Fowler, IN into fine upstanding men. “I’ve never had a scout quit on a hike. In fact, we were getting near the end of a 12-mile hike when one of the scouts started panting and lagging behind. I went back to give him a pep talk. ‘Listen, we can’t stop. We only have one and a half miles to go and you can do it. You just put your hand on your brother’s shoulder and he’ll pull you along. He’ll put his on the scout leader’s shoulder and pull him along. In the end, you’ll all make it. If you decide to quit, I’ll have to cut your throat and leave you here cause I’m not leaving a live scout on the trail.’ The kid made it. And he never forgot that hike!” Uncle BS Leader laughed.

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In many ways Grandma’s funeral was a celebration of her life. All her surviving children came, except her son (who has an iron-clad excuse). Most of her grandchildren and a few of the great-grand kids were there as well. Of my 27 first cousins, 21 of us made it to the funeral. We were all a bit freaked out to recognize the kids we played with lurking behind the faces of adults we’d never met. Yet, as always, the family is warm and welcoming. Almost every conversation jumps off the deep end.

One of the remarkable features of my Mom’s whole family is that, for bad or for good, everybody’s in and no one gets kicked out. No one cares if my husband isn’t white. No one does a cold shoulder if the couple isn’t married. Even if you’ve never met before, the greeting is a hug. And if the family is swimming in the hotel pool and you didn’t bring a suit? No worries. One of the aunts is sure to bring extras. Come on in, the water’s fine!

We're off to see the wizard!

Oh no, wait. Dorothy and Toto went the other way: from Kansas to California (via the soundstage...)

We found a dog-sitter. We invested stock-options in Southwest. We leave tomorrow! I'm actually really excited to see all my peeps. Truly. Most of my blood relations will all be there. Pray for no tornados... though that would be a cheaper method for getting back out here to Oz.

The other thing I haven't had time to write about is my new job. I'm loving it! In the last two days I've had to photograph a sword, 'distress the h__' out of a heart for an I [heart] L*ra shirt, and come up with a world of paraphanalia for an upcoming game. MUCH more fun than my previous job.

See ya on the far side of the prairie.