All Families are Psychotic
I finished my last exam on December 15th and barely had time to pee before I was shoved into a plane heading straight for Vancouver. It was a lovely plane ride with lots of chatty people, a one-eyed cat named Tallulah, and those yummy sesame snacks you can only get on Air Canada. I tried looking out the windows for Carebears, but didn’t see any. I’m starting to think my older sister’s been lying to me for all these years. She did tell me that the sound of the engine scares them away, so maybe that was it.
Either way, I arrived in Vancouver safe and sound and was instantly whisked off to all-you-can-eat sushi with Gabe’s family. Lovely family, but full of the endearing eccentricities which make everyone’s families unique. As soon as we sat down, Gabe’s brother flagged down a waitress and was like “Ten orders of salmon sashimi please.” The waitress went wide-eyed and was like “Ten?! Are you sure you want TEN?!” Gabe’s brother sat back and thought for a bit, “make that twenty”. He continued, “ ... and a salad, a miso soup, teriyaki beef, tuna, sushi, blah blah blah (other various yummy Japanese tidbits).” Then he sat back and the waitress was about to leave with our order and then Gabe’s brother goes “So what do you guys want?”
That was the kickstart of my week. Gabe’s mother demanded to see my ring and Gabe’s dad told me lovely stories and strange tales of the rich and famous in Richmond. Every restaurant that we went to, he was able to tell me the monthly income and various tidbits like “The owner of this store never had a successful business till he changed his last name to that of his wife’s!!!” And then he’d look all mysterious and wise about it. “So what did changing his last name to his wife’s have to do with anything?” asked Gabe. His father just shook his head wisely and gave him a look as if to say “You poor fool. Isn’t it obvious?” and then went on to tell me the story behind the owner of a different store.
The rest of the week was spent doing various Christmas activities, which for most Asian families means eating. After the sushi, the next day it was Chinese food, then there was Thai, then takeout, then Vietnamese food (twice), then lovely red-bean icecream slushes, dim sum, homemade dumplings (I made the stuffing! But Gabe’s family thought that Gabe had made it and accused him of trying to poison them with pepper), bubble tea, chocolate, gingerbread, cookies, Chinese pastries and goodness knows what else.
"Ah wosh mahself witha rrrrag ona stiick"
Gabriel’s mother bustled about juggling cooking, managing a company, cleaning, groceries, Christmas shopping, and living with three men as only a mother can. Dinners were always interesting as Gabriel’s mother would often throw in random hints about grandchildren across the table, at which point both Gabe and I would choke on our food. Things like, “Oh Gabe. You won’t understand until you have children of your own one day.” with a lovely significant glance thrown in my direction or “Well, one day you can pass that on to your children and their children.” And other such lovely stuff. I fought the instinct to run for the hills and instead, concentrated on the cookies.
Gabriel did not escape his family’s eccentricities and it came upon me whilst he was busy chiseling away the stained glass windows for our gingerbread house that I am going to marry some strange male version of Martha Stewart. He managed to convince me to make a gingerbread house with him and then proceeded to create the most elaborate and detailed gingerbread house of all time. He melted jolly ranchers to make the most lovely stained glass windows ever to grace a gingerbread house. Then, out of no where, he made little aliens out of sour patch kids and a UFO out of tin foil and gumballs and placed them on the roof. Then he demanded that I construct him a little gingerbread outhouse, complete with swinging doors and gingerbread toilet bowl, so the orange sour patch kid could go pee.
Sometimes, I think we are just a bit too comfortable with each other.
After a lovely week there, I returned home to Calgary last night and was greeted by my older sister Karen. She insisted she couldn’t lift my suitcases as she needed to pee and accidents might happen should she lift heavy things or laugh too hard. Then she drove me off to the mall so she could finish off her shopping and proceeded to walk through Zellers singing bastardized versions of Christmas carols as suited her mood at the time. Her rendition of Silver Bells whilst she was shopping for beach towels went something like this. “City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, I can’t find the towels in this daaaaamned place. Here are towels, lovely towels, must buy lots of nice towels . . . “ and so on and so forth. I walked twenty paces behind and refused to make eye contact.
Hard to believe she’s a doctor.
I arrived back at my house only to find myself in some weird dream-home complete with swimming pool and new kick-ass kitchen. Karen gave me a 20 minute guided tour complete with theme music and lighting effects. I was thoroughly impressed. “I think I’m going to quit vet school and just live with mom and dad till I’m 40.” Karen looked at me from the other beach chair beside the pool and was like “Tsch! What do you think I’m doing?”
We lounged in the chairs, put up our feet and chilled. Our reverie was shot when I lazily poked at the plant beside me and was shocked to discover that it was real. “Don’t touch that one! It’s got centipedes.” “WHAT?!” “Centipedes.” “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Well, you get the idea. After much screaming and flapping my arms and jumping about, Karen managed to calm me down and convince me she was only joking and that she was just bugging me cus she knew that I couldn’t stand centipedes.
Sisters. Lovely creatures.
My parents came home and gave me more of a tour. They offered me food (chicken feet and beef tripe) and we all sat down to a midnight snack. I opted out of the vet anatomy lab-like food and contented myself with a kiwi. We sat there catching up and chatting about strange things. My dad made a pot of tea and offered some to my mom to which she responded, “What? You can’t drink tea this late! You’ll never fall asleep!”
My dad shrugged and drank his tea, “I don’t need sleep. I’m going to sit up and count fish.”
“What? Count fish?!”
“Yes, fish.”
“Um, dad, I think you mean sheep right? Count sheep?”
“No, I count fish.” And with that, he took his tea and retired to his koi pond to count the night away.
This morning at breakfast, I sat down in the lovely breakfast room with my parents and prepared myself for a civilized normal family meal. My dad, however, seemed lost in reverie staring out the window and my mother was busy debating the merits of traditional Chinese medicine with Karen. They turned to me and Karen was like “Stick out your tongue.” “My what? No! why?”
My mom and my sister stared at me in anticipation, “just stick it out!”
“Um, OK.”
I stuck out my tongue and Karen nodded wisely. “Hmmmmm, red tip, red at the sides with little red taste buds all over it. Just as I thought! You have too much YANG! And no enough YIN!”
“Um, OK. Thanks Karen.”
Meanwhile, my dad had begun to stir from his staring out the window thing. “Look [my mom’s name]! There they are!” He pointed excitedly out the window and there in the backyard was . . . a bunch of squirrels.
“See? In the tree there! There are THREE!”
“That’s nice [my dad’s name]. Back to the yin and yang. Vivian, you really ought to eat more oranges and more yin fruits.”
“No wait! FOUR! There’re usually only two!”
“Maybe the squirrels’ daughters came home for Christmas.”
"I forgot about that. I think you’re right.”
“Um, [my dad’s name], don’t you think it’s time to go water your plants.”
“Yeah, I’m still not sure what to do about that one plant by the pool though.”
I looked up. “Which plant?”
“The one with the centipedes.”
While I repeated my screaming scene from the night before, Karen giggled convulsively on the floor. I guess she'd been lying to me about there being no centipedes in the plant to calm me down, bless her heart.
After comforting myself with yogurt, I sat there quietly, basking in the loving but strange glow of being home with my family. My dad had become a squirrel spotter and my mother and sister were on the verge of sending the toaster to acupuncture as perhaps it would help its yang.
It was good to be home. I smiled a little contented smile to myself and took a sip of my coffee.
“Mom!” shouted Karen, “Don’t let Vivian drink coffee!”
My mother and I looked at her in surprise and I gave her a questioning eyebrow raise.
“Whyever not?”
“Well…” said Karen, “. . . she gets really weird.”
I laughed.
"Here's to family," I said and took a long swig.
I finished my last exam on December 15th and barely had time to pee before I was shoved into a plane heading straight for Vancouver. It was a lovely plane ride with lots of chatty people, a one-eyed cat named Tallulah, and those yummy sesame snacks you can only get on Air Canada. I tried looking out the windows for Carebears, but didn’t see any. I’m starting to think my older sister’s been lying to me for all these years. She did tell me that the sound of the engine scares them away, so maybe that was it.
Either way, I arrived in Vancouver safe and sound and was instantly whisked off to all-you-can-eat sushi with Gabe’s family. Lovely family, but full of the endearing eccentricities which make everyone’s families unique. As soon as we sat down, Gabe’s brother flagged down a waitress and was like “Ten orders of salmon sashimi please.” The waitress went wide-eyed and was like “Ten?! Are you sure you want TEN?!” Gabe’s brother sat back and thought for a bit, “make that twenty”. He continued, “ ... and a salad, a miso soup, teriyaki beef, tuna, sushi, blah blah blah (other various yummy Japanese tidbits).” Then he sat back and the waitress was about to leave with our order and then Gabe’s brother goes “So what do you guys want?”
That was the kickstart of my week. Gabe’s mother demanded to see my ring and Gabe’s dad told me lovely stories and strange tales of the rich and famous in Richmond. Every restaurant that we went to, he was able to tell me the monthly income and various tidbits like “The owner of this store never had a successful business till he changed his last name to that of his wife’s!!!” And then he’d look all mysterious and wise about it. “So what did changing his last name to his wife’s have to do with anything?” asked Gabe. His father just shook his head wisely and gave him a look as if to say “You poor fool. Isn’t it obvious?” and then went on to tell me the story behind the owner of a different store.
The rest of the week was spent doing various Christmas activities, which for most Asian families means eating. After the sushi, the next day it was Chinese food, then there was Thai, then takeout, then Vietnamese food (twice), then lovely red-bean icecream slushes, dim sum, homemade dumplings (I made the stuffing! But Gabe’s family thought that Gabe had made it and accused him of trying to poison them with pepper), bubble tea, chocolate, gingerbread, cookies, Chinese pastries and goodness knows what else.
"Ah wosh mahself witha rrrrag ona stiick"
Gabriel’s mother bustled about juggling cooking, managing a company, cleaning, groceries, Christmas shopping, and living with three men as only a mother can. Dinners were always interesting as Gabriel’s mother would often throw in random hints about grandchildren across the table, at which point both Gabe and I would choke on our food. Things like, “Oh Gabe. You won’t understand until you have children of your own one day.” with a lovely significant glance thrown in my direction or “Well, one day you can pass that on to your children and their children.” And other such lovely stuff. I fought the instinct to run for the hills and instead, concentrated on the cookies.
Gabriel did not escape his family’s eccentricities and it came upon me whilst he was busy chiseling away the stained glass windows for our gingerbread house that I am going to marry some strange male version of Martha Stewart. He managed to convince me to make a gingerbread house with him and then proceeded to create the most elaborate and detailed gingerbread house of all time. He melted jolly ranchers to make the most lovely stained glass windows ever to grace a gingerbread house. Then, out of no where, he made little aliens out of sour patch kids and a UFO out of tin foil and gumballs and placed them on the roof. Then he demanded that I construct him a little gingerbread outhouse, complete with swinging doors and gingerbread toilet bowl, so the orange sour patch kid could go pee.
Sometimes, I think we are just a bit too comfortable with each other.
After a lovely week there, I returned home to Calgary last night and was greeted by my older sister Karen. She insisted she couldn’t lift my suitcases as she needed to pee and accidents might happen should she lift heavy things or laugh too hard. Then she drove me off to the mall so she could finish off her shopping and proceeded to walk through Zellers singing bastardized versions of Christmas carols as suited her mood at the time. Her rendition of Silver Bells whilst she was shopping for beach towels went something like this. “City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, I can’t find the towels in this daaaaamned place. Here are towels, lovely towels, must buy lots of nice towels . . . “ and so on and so forth. I walked twenty paces behind and refused to make eye contact.
Hard to believe she’s a doctor.
I arrived back at my house only to find myself in some weird dream-home complete with swimming pool and new kick-ass kitchen. Karen gave me a 20 minute guided tour complete with theme music and lighting effects. I was thoroughly impressed. “I think I’m going to quit vet school and just live with mom and dad till I’m 40.” Karen looked at me from the other beach chair beside the pool and was like “Tsch! What do you think I’m doing?”
We lounged in the chairs, put up our feet and chilled. Our reverie was shot when I lazily poked at the plant beside me and was shocked to discover that it was real. “Don’t touch that one! It’s got centipedes.” “WHAT?!” “Centipedes.” “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Well, you get the idea. After much screaming and flapping my arms and jumping about, Karen managed to calm me down and convince me she was only joking and that she was just bugging me cus she knew that I couldn’t stand centipedes.
Sisters. Lovely creatures.
My parents came home and gave me more of a tour. They offered me food (chicken feet and beef tripe) and we all sat down to a midnight snack. I opted out of the vet anatomy lab-like food and contented myself with a kiwi. We sat there catching up and chatting about strange things. My dad made a pot of tea and offered some to my mom to which she responded, “What? You can’t drink tea this late! You’ll never fall asleep!”
My dad shrugged and drank his tea, “I don’t need sleep. I’m going to sit up and count fish.”
“What? Count fish?!”
“Yes, fish.”
“Um, dad, I think you mean sheep right? Count sheep?”
“No, I count fish.” And with that, he took his tea and retired to his koi pond to count the night away.
This morning at breakfast, I sat down in the lovely breakfast room with my parents and prepared myself for a civilized normal family meal. My dad, however, seemed lost in reverie staring out the window and my mother was busy debating the merits of traditional Chinese medicine with Karen. They turned to me and Karen was like “Stick out your tongue.” “My what? No! why?”
My mom and my sister stared at me in anticipation, “just stick it out!”
“Um, OK.”
I stuck out my tongue and Karen nodded wisely. “Hmmmmm, red tip, red at the sides with little red taste buds all over it. Just as I thought! You have too much YANG! And no enough YIN!”
“Um, OK. Thanks Karen.”
Meanwhile, my dad had begun to stir from his staring out the window thing. “Look [my mom’s name]! There they are!” He pointed excitedly out the window and there in the backyard was . . . a bunch of squirrels.
“See? In the tree there! There are THREE!”
“That’s nice [my dad’s name]. Back to the yin and yang. Vivian, you really ought to eat more oranges and more yin fruits.”
“No wait! FOUR! There’re usually only two!”
“Maybe the squirrels’ daughters came home for Christmas.”
"I forgot about that. I think you’re right.”
“Um, [my dad’s name], don’t you think it’s time to go water your plants.”
“Yeah, I’m still not sure what to do about that one plant by the pool though.”
I looked up. “Which plant?”
“The one with the centipedes.”
While I repeated my screaming scene from the night before, Karen giggled convulsively on the floor. I guess she'd been lying to me about there being no centipedes in the plant to calm me down, bless her heart.
After comforting myself with yogurt, I sat there quietly, basking in the loving but strange glow of being home with my family. My dad had become a squirrel spotter and my mother and sister were on the verge of sending the toaster to acupuncture as perhaps it would help its yang.
It was good to be home. I smiled a little contented smile to myself and took a sip of my coffee.
“Mom!” shouted Karen, “Don’t let Vivian drink coffee!”
My mother and I looked at her in surprise and I gave her a questioning eyebrow raise.
“Whyever not?”
“Well…” said Karen, “. . . she gets really weird.”
I laughed.
"Here's to family," I said and took a long swig.
posted by Viv at 5:51 p.m.
3 Comments:
Embrace the centipedes, they are your friends. Honestly any centipede in Calgary will be a common house centipede and will do nothing to you. The hobo spider on the other hand is a problem. Do not touch any spider with a thatched chevron strip longitudinally along the midline of the abdomen. Pleasent dreams.
I forgot to add a note about my semester. I got another 4.0 semester in, with half A and half A+. Thanks.
Yay! You spelt "Weird" correctly! *does a little dance*
~Grammar Avenger
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