A Patient People

It isn't spring unless someone in the D-ef imagined community is moving to a new apartment! Yes, just as we packed up all of E's stuff and moved it to Towson last year, this year we're packing it all up again.  But this move, friends, is the second best one of all: we're putting a bunch of her stuff into storage so she can move to the 'Twa for AY 2012-13! I can't even put into words how amazing this is and how much Montoya and I are thankful for it.  Because her college is the height of civilization, they offer sabbaticals before a person goes up for tenure - thus ensuring that a tenure file can be built up! GENIUS.  Bubble-wrapping that strange, giant, upright glass vase that her father brought us from Mexico for the third or fourth or umpteenth time is a small, small price to pay for one full year of non-commuting!!!  I am *so* excited about it!!!  I actually cannot put into words how much this means to me.

I know, I've been a terrible blogger lately.  I'm sorry.  The End of Semester was like a pile-driver.  I hit the wall/mat at midnight, the last Tuesday of classes, and haven't been the same since.  I flirted with putting, "Keep calm and carry on.  Best wishes, D," as my work email autoreply the second the semester ended but didn't.  It would have been plagiarism.  But I prefer to think of it as an homage.

Things I've done since my last update:

Went to E's college's grad ceremony! Very fun.  Why?

To begin the ceremony, full regalia-ed professors line the main thoroughfare to cheer on the graduates as they make their way into the giant graduation tent - kind of like the beginning of a basketball game!  10 points awarded for spotting E in her UofI finery:

The speaker was Baltimore-native Ira Glass!

He's the blurry one at center.  His speech was pretty good as far as these things go.  His advice was a good-humored and well-delivered version of this:
1) You've been in school your whole lives - in a place where you are constantly given praise and feedback, told you are doing well, given a syllabus, given a path, given grades, given answers, told you are special.  This is not the real world.  Welcome, now, to the real world! No one has the answers, no one will be able to tell you if you're doing a good job, if you're doing the job you're supposed to be doing, and what you should do next.  You have to generate that all on your own and it's hard work, it's a full time job.  Enjoy.
2) Your parents don't think of you as adults.  They have not caught up to you, yet.  They will continue to give you advice as if you are a child, as if they don't quite understand and appreciate what you are capable of or the choices you are making for your life.  Be patient.  It will take them about a decade or more to catch up to you being an adult and until they do, don't be a dick (that was a quote).

This second point is one that hit home with blunt force.  You see, friends, from May 1st to May 13th, I went on a road trip with my mother from Ottawa to Binghamton NY (mfree time always delivers!), Ithaca NY (gorges), New Columbia PA (caves), Lancaster PA (outlet malls), Intercourse PA (Amish), Paradise PA (more Amish), Strasburg PA (oh those charming Amish, also a train museum!), Towson MD (had to see E and Montoya), and four days in Washington DC.  It was a marathon and came at a time in the year when I was least equipped to deal with it (ie/ end of semester, hadn't seen E for about a month, was eh-stressed).

The pamphlet for the above Dreibelbis Bridge says:
Picture yourself in a driving snowstorm, your ice-cold hands gripping the reins of a one-horse sleigh.  Imagine turning your rig onto the Bridge, the runners grinding onto the dry wood, ripping the reins from your fingers as the sleigh suddenly lurches forward.  So goes the story of a Virginville-area man who collided with an unfortunate fate on this very bridge late in the 19th century.  As he tumbled from the sleigh, the loose reins found his neck and snapped tight -- snapping his head clean from his shoulders.  Later, the sleigh, the horse, and the man's body were found, but his head was never recovered.  Some believe you can still see his spirit wandering the bridge seeking his lost head...


We saw nothing but a covered bridge.  But it was pretty.

 Turns out that I love railroad museums! Anytime, anywhere, people.  I *heart* them.

 Hex barn! We did a driving tour and saw about 20+ of these bad boys.

I told a few colleagues about the trip before it began.  Most of them are about a decade or so older than me and their parents have either passed away or are in their late 70s and 80s and so much more firmly in the "twilight years."  So they almost uniformly expressed enthusiasm for the trip and waxed poetic about what a glorious opportunity this was to bond with my mother.  One colleague told me about a trip she took through central Europe with her mother about a decade ago and how special it was to her and how she knew her mother, "really enjoyed catching a glimpse of the world through her historian daughter's eyes."  And I tried to remember all of these things, I really did, and I tried to remember all of my friends whose mothers have passed away already and who would dearly love this opportunity and I tried to be appreciative and grateful and in the moment and all of that.  I really did.

But what. the. hell.  It goes without saying, perhaps, but my mother doesn't care about "catching a glimpse of the world through her historian daughter's eyes" and I'm pretty sure that bonding and having heart-to-hearts about anything wasn't on her agenda.  Indeed, her agenda was this: 1) go to outlet mall to buy golfing outfits, 2) buy Amish quilt for bedroom downstairs, 3) get your father that hat he wants, 4) take picture of Amish person (regardless of their feelings about it), 5) take a picture of the White House, 6) update Facebook as much as possible with pictures of Mother-Daughter Fun so FB friends can eat their hearts out because their children would never take them on this kind of trip, especially Gwen's.  We literally spent 2 full days trying to take a picture of the White House from a tour bus and I still for the life of me don't know WHY.  It's going to take me a lot more time to process exactly what went on during the trip (am I blocking stuff out?) but basically I drove my mother around rural Pennsylvania, took pictures of the things she pointed at, and uploaded them to FB.

Maybe I was the one who was supposed to be more interrogative and try "catching a glimpse of the world through my mother's eyes" but there were no questions needed because she's a talker and she kept saying things like, "The Amish are such a patient people" or , "They must be such a disciplined people," or, "Why isn't it okay to take pictures of them, again?"  I won't go into her new thoughts on Islam, how men think versus how women think, or who really is the good singer on Idol.

I know - learning to appreciate your parents for who they are and not resenting them for how they don't measure up to how you wish they were is what it's all about.  I'm trying but I'm not there yet.  I really, really tried NOT to be a dick on the trip and I think I succeeded 75% of the time but I seriously don't know how to engage with the things she says without professoring out - the biggest faux pas evah in my family.  We got that picture of the White House, btw.

My favorite souvenir of the trip is this:  

It's an Amish quilted iPod case!!!  Awesome, right?

Diefenbunker

Oh, Christ on a cracker. What will become of us?

Got my latest installment of vegetables. It included the above (giant paperclip included for scale). My first thought when I took them out of the container was:

mystery veg Batman sound clips

I guess I could look up what the hell these are but seriously, who gives a shit. I'll cut into one and if there are seeds inside like a pumpkin, I'll roast it. If it's more like a zucchini then I'll fry the crap out of it, which is really my preferred method of all food preparation save cereal. I suppose I could try and carve a Tom Selleck into one, but should I be aiming so high, so soon? What I need is a pumpkin carving coach.

[Update: Michel knew what the mystery vegetables were, *of course*. Delicata Squash, a winter variety known for its sweet-potato-like ways. So I'll roast them.]

Visit from my parental was pretty fun! Mostly we were caught up in the made-for-TV special that is my sister's life. As my mother flew into the 'twa, Sis (back from her 2 month ashram&ablution sojourn in Rishikesh, India) was enroute to Campbell River, British Columbia, driving her truck through blizzarding mountain passes and trying to decide about Her Future. Door #1: break up with longterm boyfriend James and take a job in India that has been offered to her; Door #2: propose to James, move to Campbell River. Those of you who want her to negotiate a Door #3 which allows her to keep the boy and the job are out of luck: Pandiji (the job offerer -- I don't know his real name, that's want people call him) will only agree to her working in India if she is married or single, no in-betweens, and James steadfastly refuses to go to India. The Shirley quote that had my jaw hitting the floor? "I would rather see her in India than married to James." Did not see that one coming. So both my mother and I are wanting her to choose India, albeit for different reasons. Why do my parents hate James so much? What will she choose? Will I get to visit her in India? All these questions remain unanswered because she is stalling for time by visiting other friends in BC as she gradually makes her way to the River of Campbell. Stay tuned.

In between phone calls from sister, we toured the locale, sampled some Serious Cheese, some lobster poutine, bought some items at Roots (yes, I know they have Roots stores in Calgary, but that's what she wanted to do) and went to the BEST MUSEUM EVAH.

I give you: DIEFENBUNKER!!! It is an early 1960s era four-storey government collosus, built underground in the middle of nowhere Ontario (Carp) to ensure that 535 members of the Canadian government would survive a Cold War nuclear attack -- for 30 days. There's a bank vault to house all of Canada's gold (very important to hoard precious metal in the event of a nuclear holocaust because it is so effing useful), a Situation Room where the leaders of my country could shit themselves in terror and confinement discuss The Situation, a CBC area so the national radio service could broadcast bullshit calming messages of reassurance to the exposed crispy Canadian plebs, and female quarters to ensure that the Canadian race would be perpetuated by the handful of women-secretaries allowed into the building. Okay, that part about the Canadian race wasn't in the brochure - but there are female's quarters. The bunker-museum is named after the Prime Minister who commissioned it, John G. Diefenbaker and it cost an unknown amount of CDN $ but estimates range from between 22 to 50 million. It's the creepiest place I've ever been, I totally loved it. Sadly, no pictures allowed so none posted here.

Wanna come to Ottawa now?!