To the LIMIT!

In the kitchen, she noted: "I was going to buy more eggs at the store today! I used them for the cakes. We're down to none."

The Queen of Substitutions

My mother has long held the title of "The Queen of Substitutions." She will substitute one thing for another with out regard to scientific property or relevance. Sometimes the results are fine, like when she 'extends' sour cream by adding plain yogurt to it. Other times they've ended in disaster. But I've learned some good lessons, like: Never substitute Red Miso for White Miso in a misoae no matter how much it might seem like a good idea at the time. Or: Just because things look alike, doesn't mean they are alike. This lesson I learned the time she used powdered laundry detergent instead of dish detergent in our dish-washer in LA ("They looked the same!" she said) and I came downstairs to find suds interminably pouring out of the sides of the machine, all over the floor. It was straight out of "I Love Lucy."

Anyway, I was just reminded of this because she's making a cake to serve at the reception of her concert on Sunday. This is a time where it counts, where if the cake comes out badly, it will get served anyway. So, of course, she starts making additions and substitutions left and right. I saw on the counter: a tupperware of frozen cooked apples from last fall, a bottle of Kahlua and one of Absolut, a tub of lard, some recipe clippings that looked like they were from 1940.

Your guess is as good as mine. She turned to me with this worried look and said, "I hope it comes out okay..." I'll be sure to tell you how it tastes this weekend.

insanity in action!

When my mom hits some technological wall, like the error message on her fax machine this morning, if there's nothing I can do to help because I can't decipher the squiggly lines the Japanese call writing (yes, I'm almost totally illiterate. Don't laugh!), it's interesting as an exercise to just observe, like a scientist, and see what she will do next.

Today's observation revealed that the subject's first step toward problem-solving is to try the failed action several times in a row. As each action yields the same (unfavorable) results, the subject will make frustrated noises and raise her palms upward in the gestural version of "What the hell?" and utter the discontented expression "Nandenanoyo!" which translates in the most insufficient way into "Why!"

Albert Einstein is quoted as saying, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Obviously my mother qualifies under Einstein's postulation, but I don't know how I think I'm exempt when I've always flicked the light switch up and down rapidly and repeatedly once the bulb has clearly burned out. I suppose I've said it before, but I'll say it again: the apple does not fall far from the tree.

She's lackadaisical, I'm single

Monday was girls' day in Japan and traditionally you put out hina dolls until the day of the celebration. I was talking to one of my students the day after girls' day and she told me that there is a superstition/tradition in Japan that if you don't put the dolls away by night-fall of the actual day, the girls in your house will never be brides. Of course, here it is now days after girls' day and our dolls are still out.

"Well," said my mom, "it doesn't matter. I don't really plan on getting married again, so..."
"And what about me?" I asked.
Her response was to laugh in my face. Well, I guess it doesn't really count if I'm laughing, too.

Technology 7, or, Laptop Viagra

My mom's old student/IT man came over last night to finish setting up her new computer, transferring data and things. This morning, encountering a problem, we clicked 'restart' and waited. "It's taking so long to shut down," my mom commented, so a few seconds later I asked if it was still trying to shut down.

She replied, "It shut down and now it's trying to get it up."

I started laughing immediately, and she said, "It's not funny..."
"It is," I insisted, tears welling up in my eyes. "Do you even know what that phrase is usually used for?!"
"Yes."

A side story about her student (whom I call "The Professor" since he knows random facts about just about anything) is that last night my mom was telling him about my blog and he asked me what the URL was. As I said it, he typed it in to the computer. A moment later I got a blank stare from him and he said that it pulled up an error screen. What?! I thought, but as soon as I saw the address bar, it all made sense. Here is what it said: www.myclazytokyomother.blogspot.com. So close, and yet, so far...

Beauty, tradition and the art of letting go

This morning I was telling my mom about the folding method for the little rag used in the tea ceremony for wiping the inside of the tea bowl. It is complex but extremely important because one wrong turn and you'll end up somewhere weird at the end (with the fold in the wrong direction and you can't do the next part of the process). Anyway, so I was showing her with a kleenex as an example, and placed the little folded tissue so she could see it.
"Well, that's all fine and dandy*, but..."
"But, what?!"
"If you can make a good bowl of tea, what does it matter if you can fold the little cloth right?"

I then gave a lecture in slightly incredulous tones about the beauty of ritual and how tradition connects you to history - how when I fold the cloth like that, engage in this ritual, I'm connected to all the people who have ever performed the tea ceremony all the way back to Rikyu himself! The fact is, she understands my feeling and is laughing just as I am laughing through this entire exchange because I also know she knows. I don't think you can be a classical musician and not have some clue about connecting to the past.

Anyway, this episode ended like this: Laughing so hard, my mom began to cough a little, then grabbed the delicately folded tissue I'd made as an example and hocked a loogie into it.

My first footnote:
*'fine and dandy' is only an approximation of what she said in Japanese. She doesn't actually talk like that, though recently she really did say "Gee Whiz"

subtle is her middle name

They were showing this really ornate kimono on TV just now, with amazing gold thread embroidery in patterns reflecting the spring, like cherry-blossoms. "It's something that would be worn by a hight-class..." my mom pauses, looking for the right word.
"Courtesan," I offer.
Evidently she didn't hear me, because she's still searching her brain, looking up toward the ceiling, eyes a little squintier than normal.

"A high-class..." As her gaze falls back toward earth, I try again. "Courtesan?"
"...whore."

This is my mother.