Happy Mother's Day, Funny Lady

Went to the homeland to see the grand mamoo for Mother's Day.

Watched her talk to other people on the phone.

Then made some shrimp pasta, because if there's anything moms like, it's shrimps.

Then a certain person known as mom got sleepy while we were watching baseball at full blast (the bronchitis is still affecting her hearing).

I watered the garden a bit for her, which was a good break from los gigantes at the highest volume (50, if you're wondering).

Between innings I said "Wanna look at family pictures now?"

She said "Don't you want to go home?"

And so I did. Sometimes while we're talking on the phone, she'll just say in a cheerful tone "Goodbye!"

It was like that, but in person.

So Happy Mother's Day, grand mamoo, you nut.

I love you.

Norway Day

Biggie warts and I tried to go to Norway day yesterday. We don't have the best of luck with this.

The last time we tried to go, I got to her house, we got in my car and found that my battery had died.

This time I got to her house, looked at my phone, and found a message from my sister saying that my mom was really really sick.

Foiled again. But I was already in my car and up and attem, so I just kept heading south.

Mom and sis had come back from a trip to Italy arriving at three in the morning. Mom now had acute bronchitis.

Five hours in the emergency room later, we came home, got Mom settled in, and got her meds going. Poor sweet Mamoo.

Good thing there was an industrial spill at the forklift factory on Friday because the factory closed that day, there was no work, and I rested.

Grand Mamoo is now doing a little better.

See you next year, Norway day.

Or will we?

Special Sauce

Today we went to our sweet Auntie's memorial service.

It's not often that you get to go to a service where the officiant, a minister, also calls the person you're mourning "Auntie", but so was the case today. We'd never met him. He is a cousin on Auntie's husband's side.

He said the sweetest thing about her -- that she brought the special sauce. He said it apropos of a microscope that had been given to him as a present. Auntie brought him cool slides to go with it. But she brought the special sauce on so many levels. She was quiet and low-key, but by speaking low and softly she knew she had your attention. She was quick-witted til the end, and her family lived for her stories.

When we were together I asked her for confirmation on the Shypoo story. As readers of mrsguy may recall, mrguy's grandparents owned a pharmacy. When they made a little too much of an ointment it went into this crock that they called the Shypoo pot. When someone's treatment for whatever it was wasn't working, they'd mix up a little Shypoo and a bit of yellow tint and send them off with it. Completely and utterly illegal in our day and time, but in the 1940s and 50s they could get away with it.

This completely rocked our cousin's world. In their nuclear family the term "Shypoo pot" has come to mean the bowl you put out at a family dinner if you're eating artichokes or ribs or something that has parts that need to be discarded. Cousin (and her brother, and his ex-wife, it turns out) had never known the origin of the Shypoo pot.

For two generations of that side of the family the name has taken on this other meaning. As a tribute to mrguy's gene pool, I will now pass this term on in our extended Guy Family.

I can't wait until artichoke season to put out a Shypoo pot, which will serve as a *somewhat* unusual memorial to Auntie and her brother, The Big Guy.

The Kiwi Has Landed

metaphorically. Kiwis are flightless, so that isn't technically possible, which is a long-winded way of saying that we had a delightful visit with our Kiwi friend last night.

It was a bit of a pop quiz -- an early email announcing his arrival that happened to find us at home on a weekend with a clear schedule. Whew. He manages a pop band that is having a fair amount of success, and they were playing at the large venue. Seems like a fun ride, but a little tiring for someone who has a young family waiting 18 hours away from here.

Occasionally you have a friend who you can just pick up with after long stretches of time, and he's one of those friends. He was part of a flock of Kiwis who were sent by our original Kiwi, the Marxist. The Marxist started sending his other musician friends over to stay with us, and last night's Kiwi and his then-girlfriend were two of them. For about two years, there, we had hot and cold running New Zealand visitors. It was so much fun. We paid them all a visit one glorious month in 1993, and had many adventures. We have mostly kept up with last night's Kiwi. I have a better blog name for him, but it would reveal his real name :(

Occasionally he'll come through town with a band. The last time, we showed up around sound check time and the bartender tried to shoo us away, telling us in a really patronizing tone what a sound check is. Dude. I had my first sound check when you were tickling Elmo, o.k.? And I'm still gigging.

Anyway, this time we popped over after sound check and had perhaps our most civilized dinner to date -- at a nice restaurant in the city. Our Kiwi friend had the Coq au Vin and proclaimed it delicious...

If you can sublimate your senses until you get to a restaurant, the city is a nice place. Especially on a warm April night like last night. After dinner we deposited him at the door of the large venue, and hope to hear of the further adventures of the band on the rise.