My dear mother is visiting me this week. Except for today, I have been or will be working everyday that she's here, which is unfortunate. Thursday morning, while working the day job, my phone rings and I answer it when I see it's Mommy calling. (Typically, the ringer is off on my phone while I'm working but because she's visiting and she may have--will have--various geographical or household questions, I left it on.) Anyhoo. The phone rings. It's Mommy.
"Hello?"
"Hi. I was just wondering if you have any raisins?"
Pause.
Considering a reply.
Pause.
"Are you seriously asking me this question?"
Pause.
"Oh, yeah, that's right. I guess you wouldn't have any. I just wanted some raisins to go in my hot cereal."
"Uh-huh. Well, I still don't like 'em so I'm not going to have them around, but if you want I can stop at the store and buy some for you."
"No, that's alright."
This was all done with good natured chuckling though I really was taken aback that she actually thought I would have those disgusting, shriveled little bug parts in my home when I have never liked them and studioulsy picked them out of many an oatmeal cookie and steaming bowls of cream of wheat, oatmeal and malt-o-meal. Blech.
I love my mother. And I love her even more because she called to ask such an innocent question. Really.
Do I have any raisins. Sheesh.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Cocoa and Boingo
Ahem.
Still here; I know it's hard to believe. Still navigating the post-graduation is this really where I'm headed and is it alright that I'm not bothered by it windy road. (Also, enjoying one of my favorite fall/winter dinners lacking much nutritional value... hot cocoa and buttered toast. Oat bran gazillion grain toast, at least.) But that's boring. Not the toast. That's delicious, dunked in the not too sweet cocoa--a pinch of salt really is a must to bring out the fullness of the chocolate. Boring is the I've gotten that higher higher education and am essentially where I was before, career-wise topic. Therefore, at least for the time being, I'll leave that off the discussion board. Yawn.
Instead, let's talk about how funny it is to be sitting at your favorite coffee shop, drinking an Americano, reading a New Yorker and a record you used to listen to all of the time and haven't heard in, quite possibly, 15 years or more is put on and it's as though you never took it out of rotation. Everything about it is so familiar and ingrained in your brain that you know exactly what song comes next, all of the words and even when side 1 ends and side 2 begins. I don't even own a copy, in any format, of this album anymore, though I might need to remedy that. (Oingo Boingo, Deadman's Party, by the way.)
On the rare occasions that I hear something of Boingo's, I always think about the time my friends and I went to see them at, of all places, the Maricopa County Fair (was that what it was called?). A mosh pit had formed and I was trying to get out of the fray but managed to get knocked down anyway, and as one of my friends was attempting to help me up he was thrown out by a security guard who mistakenly assumed that he was the one who shoved me. No protestations from either him or me could convince the guard otherwise and Dave (what was his last name?) had to miss the bulk of the show. I suppose we were seeing Boingo at the end of their career but we were still so excited. The band was as relevant to me--us--then as they had been when I was given a copy of Good for Your Soul while at the U. of Utah's Theatre School For Youth in 1985.
Nostalgia can be sweet.
Still here; I know it's hard to believe. Still navigating the post-graduation is this really where I'm headed and is it alright that I'm not bothered by it windy road. (Also, enjoying one of my favorite fall/winter dinners lacking much nutritional value... hot cocoa and buttered toast. Oat bran gazillion grain toast, at least.) But that's boring. Not the toast. That's delicious, dunked in the not too sweet cocoa--a pinch of salt really is a must to bring out the fullness of the chocolate. Boring is the I've gotten that higher higher education and am essentially where I was before, career-wise topic. Therefore, at least for the time being, I'll leave that off the discussion board. Yawn.
Instead, let's talk about how funny it is to be sitting at your favorite coffee shop, drinking an Americano, reading a New Yorker and a record you used to listen to all of the time and haven't heard in, quite possibly, 15 years or more is put on and it's as though you never took it out of rotation. Everything about it is so familiar and ingrained in your brain that you know exactly what song comes next, all of the words and even when side 1 ends and side 2 begins. I don't even own a copy, in any format, of this album anymore, though I might need to remedy that. (Oingo Boingo, Deadman's Party, by the way.)
On the rare occasions that I hear something of Boingo's, I always think about the time my friends and I went to see them at, of all places, the Maricopa County Fair (was that what it was called?). A mosh pit had formed and I was trying to get out of the fray but managed to get knocked down anyway, and as one of my friends was attempting to help me up he was thrown out by a security guard who mistakenly assumed that he was the one who shoved me. No protestations from either him or me could convince the guard otherwise and Dave (what was his last name?) had to miss the bulk of the show. I suppose we were seeing Boingo at the end of their career but we were still so excited. The band was as relevant to me--us--then as they had been when I was given a copy of Good for Your Soul while at the U. of Utah's Theatre School For Youth in 1985.
Nostalgia can be sweet.
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