another one

Didn't get to make a phone call, didn't really expect to. Did, however, have a very nice, very long IM conversation that kept me up far past my new bedtime. I love being kept up past my bedtime. Thank you.

kind of hard to believe

(Sorry for the poor quality, It kept trying to make it too small.)

Blogspot, meet Twitter. Twitter, meet Blogspot.

now twittering



Because I needed to split my internet excursions into even MORE individual sites.

And because I wanted to follow Fenna.

My Summer Vacation in Berkeley, part V

Illustrations:



I used to love these things when I was a kid. Probably not because I actually liked the taste any better than any other sugary option, but because I only got them on rare occasions. This one you see here may actually be the only one I've ever eaten while in the United States. That made them exotic, and therefore special, and therefore desirable and delicious. I got this package (along with 9 others) for 30 cents in Chinatown in Oakland. They taste pretty awful.






This is my Uncle Kurt. Just so you know, his eyes were in focus, but his glasses make them soft. I was careful.






Mike. I may have mentioned him before.

All three photos were taken in my aunt & uncle's kitchen, which is beautiful, and sunny, and a great place to make pie for breakfast. I love pie for breakfast any time, but I especially love it in this kitchen.



I have photos of other important figures, and may dole them out later to break up more strings of text. It's good to have a few backups for the next time I start talking too much.

and again

They all look the same, don't they?

again

.

I hear rumors: my mother is unwell.

She's lost most, if not all, of her hair, and many, if not most, of her teeth. Supposedly she has no medical condition besides for extreme mental and emotional distress, but I don't know what kind of medical treatment she has had. It may be that she is only seeing non-western practitioners, and using crystals to substitute for blood tests. I don't know. We don't talk.

It has been suggested to me that I should consider her health as a motivating factor for renewing our relationship. It has been suggested that she may not live long. I don't know what they mean, by not long, but I suspect they don't really know either.

This is hard to talk about. Not for the usual reasons; not because it is painful, although I admit it is unpleasant. I fear how this makes me look. I fear judgment. And so my telling is always filled with self-righteousness: a defensive tactic. Because otherwise I think all you will see is a girl who refuses to talk to her sick mother. Which is true. I am that girl.

(And, immediately, I want to follow that statement with justification to prove that I am being reasonable, rational. I am not cruel, I am not even unkind. I have suffered. I am right. This is the way the story always goes.)

I'm not going to tell you what my reasons are. I don't know if they matter. If it would make her happy to give her everything she wants, does it matter if her demands are unreasonable?

But can I give her everything she wants from me? And would it make her happy? And does it matter that the likely answer to both questions is no?