It’s common to reference David Bowie’s song, “Changes,” during moments of well, change (OMG, how fitting!). And though I’ve shied away from jumping on the ubiquitous ditty bandwagon, I can’t think of another song that adequately expresses transition and stutters at the same time. Art imitating life yet maintaining sensitivity towards speech impediments? Check and check!
And there is so much movement and upheaval right that I’m running on fumes. This has been my first week on the new job so along with the frenzy of getting into the new-job-groove, my off-hours have been dedicated to tending to my mother’s obsessive need to drive to every Dress Barn within a 50-mile radius because who knows, maybe the Dress Barn in Olympia might have last season’s capri pants!
Also, I’m certain she makes her yearly pilgrimage to Seattle just so she can ask the QFC seafood counter for their remaining pounds of salmon necks. Necks! Did you read that? I have to drive my mother to the grocery store so she can ask them to clean out the part of the fish that no one wants. No one except for a 64-year-old Chamorro woman who calls methamphetamine meta-feminine and who talks about the Golden Girls as if they’re real people (“Mona, you know what Blanche said today?”).
On Monday, my brother, his wife and their two-year-old son arrive here from Hawaii and will stay with us for four days until their new place is ready on the 6th. So if you’ve been keeping count, next week Chez Mona will host seven people (!!) not to mention, my mother’s tendency to point out how much she disagrees with my clothing choices and that needs a whole floor unto itself. For example, I can barely fit this shining snippet into the upstairs master bedroom: “Untuck your shirt or else you’ll look like a man.” That’s actually a pretty good tip because by untucking my shirt, I’ll be able to hide my huge penis. Who knew?