On msn with my father today, out of nowhere, he said “Do not forget how much I love you”. Now, this is very sweet, but why? Is he planning to disappear before dinner, when I will see him next? Because that’s totally the interpretation I got, which I assume he intended in order to screw with my mind.
I have such a great father.
subtitle: we clearly do not share any genes
wolfa says: so should i have chocolate cake for breakfast?
sister says: thats disgusting………
wolfa says: what?
wolfa says: disgusting?
sister says: ew
wolfa says: it is so not
wolfa says: it is delicious
wolfa says: what is wrong with you? i can’t believe you’re my sister
When I phoned my mother and my sister answered the phone, I did *not* ask her why she was not at work on this, her second day of employment. (It is possible that the answer is that the weather prevents her working, though it’s mostly the same as yesterday, but I could never have asked that question without a hint of “You didn’t get fired/quit after ONE DAY did you?” in my voice.)
While we were doing the yearly Polishing of the Silver for Passover, I decided to bring over the silver locket and bracelet I got for my bat mitzvah (from, I think, my great aunts and uncles, maybe). They were a dull ugly grey, I guess I hadn’t polished them in a long time. Nor, actually, had I worn them in a long time, maybe 10 years, maybe more. Now they are very shiny. (And next time I will try the baking soda aluminum foil trick.)
But yesterday I decided to wear the locket (I don’t often wear bracelets).
“Look at how shiny the locket is!”
“What pictures are in the locket?” my father asked.
“No pictures. There’s only room for one picture anyhow.”
“Are you sure there’s only room for one?”
[discussion ensues about whether or not I *could* put another picture in, though there’s really only one frame]
“But why don’t you have a picture in there? That’s really weird. What’s the point of a locket without a picture?”
“I am wearing it to symbolise my loveless upbringing and distant family.”
You know, as much as I dislike Passover food[1], I really love the seder, and it’s probably my favourite holiday (with Yom Kippur second — yes, I like holidays that focus on a bunch of people eating a big meal together). I was incredibly lucky in the seating arrangement this year, getting to sit near people I like to talk with. It was altogether wonderful fun. In some things I am so very lucky.
[1] You can tell who was raised Jewish: anyone who claims to really like matza was not.
My parents and sister went to Whistler to ski this week. (My uncle lives there.) They left this morning, got on a standby to Vancouver instead of via Toronto. I hope they have a wonderful time.
But as this impacts me: it’s good, because it might mean I don’t end up heading over there every single night. (My other sister, who makes nasty remarks every time she sees me over, is still there.) It’s bad, because if I don’t end up going there, am I likely to do anything else instead? And because I haven’t gone grocery shopping in, um, a long time. My mother brought me strawberries, bananas and apples yesterday; she also gave me her leftover sauted onions and mushrooms, a bit of vegepate and some oatmeal squares. (Right now the thought of food is . . . unappealing.) I also have a couple of eggs and some milk, as well as chipotle peppers, more vegepate, coffee ice cream and those weird frozen fruit pulp things.
I don’t usually stop eating when I am depressed, so this is a strange new thing for me. It’s not that I’m not hungry (though I’m not hungry for *long*), it’s just that I can’t be bothered. Which makes it easier at my parents’ house: they have a meal *already made*. And also, I am trying to act okay-er, because then maybe I will be okay.
This is my grandfather, about 40 years ago (we can’t date it precisely.) Brought to you by my grandparents[1], who are pleased with their new, easy to use all-in-one printer (including scanner).
[1] In spirit, anyhow: obviously I have never pointed them to this blog.
My mother’s father’s mother. I never met her, though I have one piece of ceramic that she painted (a beer stein — there are other lovely ones around, though my grandfather has kept almost all of them).
I was sharing with everyone the wondrous wonders of the online passport application, because I was *so amazed* at how quickly I got through the line. Hours! I remember waiting for hours, those times I was too lazy tired to get there when it opened.
My father needs a new passport, though, so unfortunately, this mostly means that I get to fill in his passport application for him.
The surgery went fine. My sister is now doped up on morphine, which is really quite cute.