For Christmas, I gave Mom several presents, including a set of artisan felted wool coasters. The set consisted of two yellow coasters and two blue coasters, with an artsy silkscreened design on the top of each coaster.
After a few months, I noticed that Mom consistently used the blue coasters on the correct side and the yellow coasters turned over to wrong side.
"You don’t like the yellow coasters?" I asked her one day.
"Then why do you turn it over to this side?"
"What’s the difference?"
I flipped the coaster over. "This side is the design side."
"Either one. No difference."
"There’s a difference: This is the design side . . . this is not the design side."
"It’s you who buys it, not me."
"That’s true, but I intended for you to use the design side.""And I intend to use the non-design side as the design side," she said.
I'm going to start posting random photos from my collection of Japanese home decor magazines, since I love the combination of Japanese kanji/hirigana/katakana with impeccable styling/photography/layout.
This one is from a magazine called Kawaii [Something], Volume 2. I have no idea what the second word is.
At the top of the cover, there are some characters that read "putesuito na interia to [something] hon." Something interior and something book. aahhh I don't know.
On Sunday (Mom’s only day off), I tried to cajole Mom into organizing the guest bedroom closet, which houses her collection of cheapo pastel cotton clothing that she enjoys buying from one of Dad's medical patients out of their home store/garage. You can’t walk into the closet without getting irritated by the plastic bags housing giant, billowy comforters that take up most of the floor and tangle with your feet like leeches.
Mom grumbled about not wanting to clean, but followed me into the guest room anyway.
In addition to the usual jumble, there were several other bags crowding the floor. Mom brings five bags to and from work, and tosses them around randomly when she gets home.
I watched as she rummaged through everything, unearthing Tupperware, smashed newspaper clippings, various-SPF tinted moisturizer tubes, Sudoku fun time, crumb-filled magazines, piles of scratch paper cut into random sizes, bobby pins, medical billing papers, crunchy Japanese broad beans, hairbrushes, and library books featuring knitting tutorials, British writers and Taiwanese schoolteachers.
She paused when she reached a mysterious plastic bag.
“What’s this? Oh!”
It was salami and a jolly trio of Trader Joe's cheeses.
“How long has this been here?” I asked.
She couldn’t remember. “Four days?” she mused. She opened the salami and commenced a smörgåsbord.