Why my mom called me at work and other Chamorro mysteries

 There were three separate calls my mom made to me at work yesterday. My mom doesn’t talk on the phone like a normal person, at least not with me. It’s always: LISTEN TO THIS URGENT THING! then I listen, then there’s an “okay” then click. No goodbye! Like normal people do when they communicate. 

And yesterday, my mom made three separate phone calls, of no real urgency but still of utmost urgency.  
Two of the reasons below:

1. I did not buy the right apples. Did you know that there are the good apples and then the ones I dared to bring into the house? I did not assess them one by one, hold each apple into the light, ask if this came from an orchard belonging to a good Catholic family and if they watched the Pope today. Instead, I carelessly bought a pre-selected bag of apples and who knows what kind of apples were in there? Bad apples! That snuck in, that look like they did not receive all sacraments and instead only go to mass if it’s wedding, funeral, or a fiesta with a big roasted pig offered to celebrants. Get it together, Mona.

2. My mom and the Pope both have sciatica. Every medical word and condition my mom learns becomes the condition everyone must know about. My mom has shared with my coworkers, neighbors, and anyone who unknowingly opens the pandora’s medical co-pay box when they say, “Are you finding everything okay?” without thinking this woman is going to share that she has sciatica. And then the Pope explained he limps because of his sciatica which is all my mom needed to hear before she called me to proclaim the way they announced the new Pope or that Duchess of Cambridge had a baby boy or to please bring all your purchases to the front of the store because KMART is closing.  

Thanks apples. Thanks Pope Francis.

 

 

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