Another favorite pastime of Mom and Dad’s and other residents of Harbor View, it seems, is watching the weather on the news – not to see the forecast of South Florida. Oh no, they want to see what awful weather they are missing back home. Chilly and mid-30’s back home? My parents are happy. A blustery cold with chance of snow flurries? Mom and Dad are beaming. A few inches of snow back in Pennsylvania? My parents are absolutely giddy. And the more and more footage they show on the news of the blowing wind, the snow falling down, tires spinning in the snow, people shoveling their driveways, and the lines inside the supermarkets, the happier they are.
And it doesn’t matter that I live in the DC area where the weather is currently sunny and dry, if it’s snowing “Up North” it must be snowing near where I live. We’ll walk over to my parents’ friends’ home, and Mom’s friend will comment, “You must be glad you came down here this week – you’re missing all that snow.”
“Um, I don’t think it snowed in DC this week. It’s up in the New York and Pennsyvlania area.”
“Well, I heard it’s going to be all over “up north” in the next few days. It’s best if you stay down here.”
“Umm sure,” I reply. Yet, when I look at the forecast later, it clearly says mid-40s for the whole week in DC.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Chapter 12; Part 7 - Visitors
One pastime Dad and Mom love to do with me when I visit them in Florida is to point out everyone’s age. Dad especially enjoys this. He boasts about it like it’s some kind of accomplishment.
“See that man over there?” he says to me one day at the pool, “He’s 85. Doesn’t he look no more than 70?”
“Well, it’s hard for me to tell, Dad,” I say.
“And you know my friend Harold? He’s 77. He still plays tennis every day – sometimes twice a day,” Dad brags.
“That’s impressive,” I reply.
“And there’s an absolutely adorable couple who live next door to Flo and Irv. He’s 84 and she’s 81. They go out almost every night to dinner, and he’s still driving,” Mom chimes in.
“They sound adorable,” I say, although I cannot picture an old couple that I would describe as ‘adorable.’
“And that nice man who lives downstairs from us,” Mom continues, “He’s got himself a girlfriend.”
“Wouldn’t that be ladyfriend, Mom? I bet she’s at least 75,” I ask.
“Actually, she’s 88. And he calls her his girlfriend,” Mom answers.
“See that man over there?” he says to me one day at the pool, “He’s 85. Doesn’t he look no more than 70?”
“Well, it’s hard for me to tell, Dad,” I say.
“And you know my friend Harold? He’s 77. He still plays tennis every day – sometimes twice a day,” Dad brags.
“That’s impressive,” I reply.
“And there’s an absolutely adorable couple who live next door to Flo and Irv. He’s 84 and she’s 81. They go out almost every night to dinner, and he’s still driving,” Mom chimes in.
“They sound adorable,” I say, although I cannot picture an old couple that I would describe as ‘adorable.’
“And that nice man who lives downstairs from us,” Mom continues, “He’s got himself a girlfriend.”
“Wouldn’t that be ladyfriend, Mom? I bet she’s at least 75,” I ask.
“Actually, she’s 88. And he calls her his girlfriend,” Mom answers.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Chapter 12; Part 6 - Visitors
The funny thing about bringing a baby to Florida is everyone wants to stop and talk to you about the baby – not just residents of Harbor View, but people at the supermarket, the shopping mall, and the gas station. Now, I know that babies are cute, and I’m not saying that people don’t stop me up North every so often; they do.
However, back home, the person usually would say, “Cute baby.”
I’d say, “Thanks.”
They’d say, “How old is she?”
I’d say, “Eight months.”
They’d say, “Well, enjoy her. It goes by fast.” And that would be the end of the encounter.
In Florida I went shopping in the supermarket one day, when an old woman struck up a conversation with me. It went something like this:
Old woman: What a cute baby you have. Is it a boy or a girl?
Me: It’s a little girl. (I wanted to say, “She has pink clothes on, a ribbon in her hair, and earrings in her ears, what do you think?”)
Old woman: How old is she?
Me: Eight months.
Old woman: Ohhh, I have a grandson who is eight months old. But he lives so far away. I’ve only seen him once. He’s very cute. He looks very much like your daughter.
Me: Thanks. That’s nice. Well, I’d better continue with my shopping.
Old woman: Little Jacob just started crawling. He’s named after my late husband, you know. Is your baby crawling?
Me: Yes, she is.
Old woman: Well, Jacob is very smart just like his father – my son. He loves to have the phone up to his ear and listen to grandma talk to him.
Me: Yeah, our daughter likes that, too.
Old woman: Do you mind if I just tickle her cute little toes? (Of course she asked this after she had already started playing with my baby’s toes.)
Me: Well, the doctor said I should try not to have too many people touching her so she doesn’t get sick. She hasn’t had all of her vaccines yet.
Old woman: Aah, doctors today are too overly protective. In my day, babies lived with their grandparents and were handled by everyone in the village. You know, Jacob, my late husband, not my grandson, and I both come from the same village in Russia?
Me: Well, that’s nice but I really must go. The baby gets really fussy at naptime and she’s way past due.
Old woman: Oh, my Jacob never gets fussy. They say he’s such a good baby. Awww, I wish I could see him more.
Tears started to well up in the old woman’s eyes. I did feel bad, but at the rate she was talking, I was going to spend my whole Florida vacation in the supermarket rather than at the pool.
Me: That’s too bad. Well, nice meeting you. I really must go.
I dashed off to the next aisle before the old woman could say another word.
“Phew!” I breathed a sigh of relief just as an old man tapped me on the shoulder.
Old man: What a sweet baby you have. I have a granddaughter just about her age. She lives in New Jersey, though. She’s a looker she is…
However, back home, the person usually would say, “Cute baby.”
I’d say, “Thanks.”
They’d say, “How old is she?”
I’d say, “Eight months.”
They’d say, “Well, enjoy her. It goes by fast.” And that would be the end of the encounter.
In Florida I went shopping in the supermarket one day, when an old woman struck up a conversation with me. It went something like this:
Old woman: What a cute baby you have. Is it a boy or a girl?
Me: It’s a little girl. (I wanted to say, “She has pink clothes on, a ribbon in her hair, and earrings in her ears, what do you think?”)
Old woman: How old is she?
Me: Eight months.
Old woman: Ohhh, I have a grandson who is eight months old. But he lives so far away. I’ve only seen him once. He’s very cute. He looks very much like your daughter.
Me: Thanks. That’s nice. Well, I’d better continue with my shopping.
Old woman: Little Jacob just started crawling. He’s named after my late husband, you know. Is your baby crawling?
Me: Yes, she is.
Old woman: Well, Jacob is very smart just like his father – my son. He loves to have the phone up to his ear and listen to grandma talk to him.
Me: Yeah, our daughter likes that, too.
Old woman: Do you mind if I just tickle her cute little toes? (Of course she asked this after she had already started playing with my baby’s toes.)
Me: Well, the doctor said I should try not to have too many people touching her so she doesn’t get sick. She hasn’t had all of her vaccines yet.
Old woman: Aah, doctors today are too overly protective. In my day, babies lived with their grandparents and were handled by everyone in the village. You know, Jacob, my late husband, not my grandson, and I both come from the same village in Russia?
Me: Well, that’s nice but I really must go. The baby gets really fussy at naptime and she’s way past due.
Old woman: Oh, my Jacob never gets fussy. They say he’s such a good baby. Awww, I wish I could see him more.
Tears started to well up in the old woman’s eyes. I did feel bad, but at the rate she was talking, I was going to spend my whole Florida vacation in the supermarket rather than at the pool.
Me: That’s too bad. Well, nice meeting you. I really must go.
I dashed off to the next aisle before the old woman could say another word.
“Phew!” I breathed a sigh of relief just as an old man tapped me on the shoulder.
Old man: What a sweet baby you have. I have a granddaughter just about her age. She lives in New Jersey, though. She’s a looker she is…
Friday, November 12, 2010
Chapter 12; Part 5 - Visitors
I have since gotten married and have a baby of my own. Thankfully, I am no longer ‘the single daughter.’ As I have mentioned, I live in the DC suburbs, while Mom and Dad and all of the rest of my family live in the Philadelphia area, where I grew up. So now when I visit Florida, Mom introduces me as “my daughter who moved far away from me, as opposed to my other daughter who chose to stay near her mother.”
In spite of this introduction, I still visit Mom and Dad at Harbor View once a year, except now those visits include my husband and our daughter. Unfortunately, now all of us cannot sleep on the pull-out sofa in the living room of Mom and Dad’s condo. We have to stay at a nearby hotel instead.
I knew that Mom would be thrilled when I told her that we wouldn’t be staying at her condo anymore because I thought it was too small and cramped, and that their sofa bed was very uncomfortable. I knew she would be happy that we wouldn’t be there to mess up her morning routine or clutter the apartment. She actually had a song in her voice when she replied, “That’s too bad; we’ll miss you staying with us.” My husband, on the other hand, was less than thrilled.
“Sweetheart, if we stay in a hotel when we visit your folks,” he said to me, “it’s going to cost quite a bit of money. After all, it is high season in Florida that time of year.”
“Well, what can we do? I’m not staying in their small condo,” I replied.
“How about if we just go to an island this year? It’ll cost the same amount of money.”
“But that’s not the point, honey. We’re not just going for vacation, we’re also going to see my parents,” I said.
“Name one good reason I would have for choosing Florida with your folks for vacation over a beautiful, sunny, tropical island?” he questioned me.
“Mom and Dad will babysit so we can go out,” I answered him.
“Start packing, we’re going to Florida,” he replied.
In spite of this introduction, I still visit Mom and Dad at Harbor View once a year, except now those visits include my husband and our daughter. Unfortunately, now all of us cannot sleep on the pull-out sofa in the living room of Mom and Dad’s condo. We have to stay at a nearby hotel instead.
I knew that Mom would be thrilled when I told her that we wouldn’t be staying at her condo anymore because I thought it was too small and cramped, and that their sofa bed was very uncomfortable. I knew she would be happy that we wouldn’t be there to mess up her morning routine or clutter the apartment. She actually had a song in her voice when she replied, “That’s too bad; we’ll miss you staying with us.” My husband, on the other hand, was less than thrilled.
“Sweetheart, if we stay in a hotel when we visit your folks,” he said to me, “it’s going to cost quite a bit of money. After all, it is high season in Florida that time of year.”
“Well, what can we do? I’m not staying in their small condo,” I replied.
“How about if we just go to an island this year? It’ll cost the same amount of money.”
“But that’s not the point, honey. We’re not just going for vacation, we’re also going to see my parents,” I said.
“Name one good reason I would have for choosing Florida with your folks for vacation over a beautiful, sunny, tropical island?” he questioned me.
“Mom and Dad will babysit so we can go out,” I answered him.
“Start packing, we’re going to Florida,” he replied.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Chapter 12; Part 4 - Visitors
Of course, going to Florida with the label of ‘single’ comes with added bonus conversations with Mom’s friends and neighbors.
This is a conversation that took place about four years ago between me and one of Mom’s friends:
“Oh, so you’re single?” Mom’s friend asked me, “Where do you live?”
“Outside of Washington, DC,” I answered.
“Well, I have a perfect man for you to meet. My son lives just north of Baltimore.”
“Well, I actually live on the Virginia side of DC, not the Maryland side. Baltimore is a good one and a half hours away.”
“Aaah, what’s one and a half hours at your age? You shouldn’t be too picky,” she answered.
“I’m only 27,” I replied.
“At 27, I was married with two kids. Anyway, that’s perfect; my son is 41.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks,” I said. “I like to date men who live close to me and who are nearer my age.”
“Okay, honey, but I’m telling you, you’re passing up on a winner. He’s a blank canvas; he’s never had a girlfriend before.”
This is a conversation that took place about four years ago between me and one of Mom’s friends:
“Oh, so you’re single?” Mom’s friend asked me, “Where do you live?”
“Outside of Washington, DC,” I answered.
“Well, I have a perfect man for you to meet. My son lives just north of Baltimore.”
“Well, I actually live on the Virginia side of DC, not the Maryland side. Baltimore is a good one and a half hours away.”
“Aaah, what’s one and a half hours at your age? You shouldn’t be too picky,” she answered.
“I’m only 27,” I replied.
“At 27, I was married with two kids. Anyway, that’s perfect; my son is 41.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks,” I said. “I like to date men who live close to me and who are nearer my age.”
“Okay, honey, but I’m telling you, you’re passing up on a winner. He’s a blank canvas; he’s never had a girlfriend before.”
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Chapter 12; Part 3 - Visitors
When I first started visiting Mom and Dad several years ago, I was single. This is how Mom used to introduce me.
“Neighbor, this is my single daughter. She’s visiting from Washington, DC for a week,” Mom would say.
“Nice to meet you, single daughter,” Neighbor would reply. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Mom,” I would say later, “it’s insulting the way you introduce me as your single daughter.”
“Well, everyone knows that in addition to my son, I have two daughters – one single and one married to a wonderful man with three adorable children. So that’s how I always refer to you. They wouldn’t know which daughter I was talking about if I just said your name,” Mom answered.
“Well, I don’t like it. Please try to introduce me with a name next time.”
The next time we met one of her friends, this is how the conversation went:
Mom: Friend, I want to introduce you to my daughter, Amy.
Friend: Nice meeting you, Amy. Are you the single daughter or the married one with the wonderful husband and three beautiful children?
“Neighbor, this is my single daughter. She’s visiting from Washington, DC for a week,” Mom would say.
“Nice to meet you, single daughter,” Neighbor would reply. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Mom,” I would say later, “it’s insulting the way you introduce me as your single daughter.”
“Well, everyone knows that in addition to my son, I have two daughters – one single and one married to a wonderful man with three adorable children. So that’s how I always refer to you. They wouldn’t know which daughter I was talking about if I just said your name,” Mom answered.
“Well, I don’t like it. Please try to introduce me with a name next time.”
The next time we met one of her friends, this is how the conversation went:
Mom: Friend, I want to introduce you to my daughter, Amy.
Friend: Nice meeting you, Amy. Are you the single daughter or the married one with the wonderful husband and three beautiful children?
Friday, August 6, 2010
Chapter 12; Part 2 - Visitors
The first thing Dad asks every year when I arrive is, “What was the weather when you left?”
“I don’t know, Dad. It was cold,” I say.
“How cold?”
“I don’t know. Very cold.”
“Was there snow on the ground?” Dad asks.
“No, no snow.”
“How about ice?”
“No, no ice either,” I reply.
“You know it’s in the seventies here.”
“Yes, Dad, I can feel that.”
“I don’t know, Dad. It was cold,” I say.
“How cold?”
“I don’t know. Very cold.”
“Was there snow on the ground?” Dad asks.
“No, no snow.”
“How about ice?”
“No, no ice either,” I reply.
“You know it’s in the seventies here.”
“Yes, Dad, I can feel that.”
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