Retro Post – Wrapping Up in South Korea

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Seoul, S. Korea: Days 5 & 6 & 7

Day 5: “Sun so hot I froze to death. Susanna, don’t you cry.” Yep. We forgot it was a Saturday, left the alarm clock set for 5:30 a.m. Bummer.

So we woke up at 5:30 a.m. but didn’t manage to get down to breakfast until 10:20 where we were promptly notified that the buffet would disappear before our very eyes at 10:30 so we better move it. This isn’t verbatim. I had to translate from Korean.

So, we’re stuffing our faces when this gentleman who is obviously from the U.S. starts small talking Russell. We learn his name is Mr. P (we know his full name but I forgot to ask him if I could put his name on the web, hence, Mr. P) and that he’s from Texas and comes to Seoul often for business. In fact, this was his 9th trip this year. He said he hadn’t been to bed before 3:00 a.m. once this week because the deals are all made during the night, under the influence. In Korea, the true business hours start after everyone has sung at least one round of Karaoke. Oh, and no women. Women don’t do the business here. Only men.

We spent about an hour talking to Mr. P and were the only ones left in the restaurant. The staff cleaned up around us. The more we talked about him the more he opened up to us and told us about growing up in New York and how his childhood was spent playing stick ball and going to Coney Island. It was a huge surprise when he told us where he went to high school. Russell just about fell out of his chair. It was the same school that Russell’s dad went to. Well… that meant we had to chit chat about anyone and everyone that Mr. P thought Dad might know. All in all, though, it was a very enjoyable conversation. He really tried to clue us in on what business in Korea is like and tried to make sure that I understood I wouldn’t be involved in it. (Fine by me.) He wished us good luck and I felt that he truly meant it. I’m very glad that we met him. Nice people make the world go round.

After our it’s-a-small-world breakfast we headed to a neighborhood market called Insadong. It was amazing. Arts and crafts and antiques. We had such a good time strolling through the shops and bargaining with the vendors. I got pushed into the street a number of times. I haven’t learned the bow-your-head-and-charge-through-the-crowd technique yet, much to Russell’s annoyance. He always has to yank me back to the sidewalk. We found some good deals and were starting to get ornery because we couldn’t find any bibimbob (bee-bim-bob). Russell was going to eat bibimbob for dinner or die trying. Bibimbob is a Korean dish of rice and vegatables and beef. Of course, Russell skips the beef part –anyway, he loves the stuff and had his heart set on it. We sat down to rest – our search for Korean food seemingly fruitless – when two young girls with a small boombox came up to us.

They wanted to interview us. Imagine how long it took me to figure that one out with our gesturing and guessing at English words. But, we got straightened out and learned that they were 11 years old and taking English classes. One of their assignments was to find Americans and interview them in English and tape the whole episode. It was a blast. They would get so embarrassed when we didn’t understand something and giggle like any American 11-year-old would do. For some reason that surprised me. The four of us had a good time and after the interview those precious girls went scouring the streets in search of a restaurant where Russell could enjoy his bibimbop.

Day 6: No music. No Susanna, no Alabama, no banjo on his knee. Our alarm clock refuses to work. We’re basically willing our bodies to wake up at the right hour now. And I woke up with an earache. Not good. It was bothering me off and on for a few days but this was the first day that it hurt. But, smart chic that I am, I decide to ignore it.

Back to It’aewon. I vowed I wouldn’t bring Russell here. I knew he would spend money. [Sorry for the interruption. 2012 Kristine here. I have no memory of Russell ever being eager to spend money. I do know, however, that I was just as fond of wine in 1999 as I am now, so all I can figure is that I must have been drinking when I wrote that.] And he did. But we had a blast. We also went to the Seoul Tower where we couldn’t see a damn thing because the smog was so thick. We knew there was this cool city view out there amongst the gray haze and we couldn’t see it!

Oh, and I figured out I have an ear infection. Ugh. But, Russell and the Ritz Carlton came to the rescue. I’ve got the medicine I need and this should not delay our trip home.

Day 7: Back to It’aewon again, so Russell can have a fitting for the custom made suit he ordered from Jeong of ALL SEASONS TAILORING. Starving, but running out of money, we stumbled upon a bar that had happy hour but no food. I played pool against a very nice Korean girl. Lost. But only barely!

I’m pining for home, Pixel, and Oh Susanna.

From Manslaughter to Homicide…

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So, a few weeks ago I accidentally crushed an innocent snail and caused irreparable damage to my children. That was nothing. Last night I killed a centipede. A 5-inch centipede that I found in my tub. I had no choice. It was threatening my children (both physically and verbally)!

I feel awful. I try to avoid killing things at almost any cost. But centipedes are tough. They are scary and their bite is fierce. I’ve seen a grown man cry after getting bitten by a centipede at a campfire. He was in so much pain that he couldn’t eat his toasted marshmallow. (It turned out okay… that was s’more for me!)

Here’s how it went down. Got home from work. Children driving me crazy. I went into the bathroom to pee (and for some peace and quiet). A dark blob in the tub caught my eye as I walked by. A 10-inch centipede was curled up underneath the bathmat in the shape of an “S.”. I could see him because our bathmat is semi-clear. It used to be perfectly clear, but the plastic is old and mildewed and it’s discolored over the years. (Don’t judge me!)

Anyway, I called out to the kids, “Hey, kids! Come see what I found!” They came running and peeked into the tub.  Zaffron, who is seven, decided that the insanity that was sure to follow was definitely not in her best interest and retreated to the living room to read some Junie B. Jones.

Mgazi, who is five, was intrigued. She smelled money.

“Hey, Gaz. Wanna earn a dollar?”

“Yes, I do,” she said.

I needed time to think. So I grabbed a tupperware container. This is my go-to tool when I have a creature to capture, be it cockroach, spider or gecko, tupperware buys you time.

I poked at the bathmat and the centipede didn’t move so I figured he was dead. Imagine my surprise (you won’t have to, I’m gonna tell you all about it) when Mgazi peeled away the bathmat and the centipede darted — no sprinted — no SHOT across the tub. I shrieked. Mgazi shrieked. And I dropped the tupperware, which bounced off the side of the tub, hit Mgazi in the forehead, ricocheted off the faucet and landed squarely on top of the centipede, effectively trapping him like I had originally intended.

All was going as planned.

Which meant I could pee. As I sat on the toilet, deep in thought, carefully crafting my next move, Mgazi interrupted. “So,” she said, looming over me with a hand on her hip. “What are you going to do about this?”

“I don’t know yet, Gaz. I don’t want to kill him.”

“Just use your super powers.”

“Honey, I don’t have super pow–”

“WHAT? YOU HAVE BEEN LYING TO ME? YOU SAID THAT YOU HAVE –”

“OH! Those super powers! Yeah, yeah, those super powers don’t work unless I’ve had a healthy breakfast and you know we were running late this morning and…” I trailed off. “I think we need to call Daddy.”

Russell was no help at all.

“Honey! Can you come home? There is a 14-inch centipede in our tub!”

“Kill it,” he said.

“I can’t kill it! I want to capture it and release it into the wild.”

“Our backyard is not ‘the wild.’ You need to kill it. Grab one of my boots and just get it over with.”

“Honey, I really don’t want to –”

“Kill it.”

“But, I –”

“Kill it.”

“Okay then… super fun chat. See you when you get home!”

I turned to find Mgazi gazing up at me. In one hand, she held a single, somewhat mangled and definitely damp kleenex tissue. Her other hand was upturned, fully expecting cash payment.  ”Look,” she said. “I’ll take care of this, but you gotta give me five paper monies or I’m not doing it.”

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s so sweet of you offer. But Daddy told me I’m not allowed to put you in charge this time. Can we think of another way for you to earn money later?”

I realized I had to kill the centipede which by now had toured his 17-inch body all over of my tupperware… tupperware which I could never use again because of the ick factor.

Mgazi and I agreed she would be my back-up for 50 cents (to be paid in four dimes and five pennies – SCORE!). She held a wad of paper towels in one hand (for what, I don’t know) and a paper bag in the other (for me to hyperventilate in, should the need arise) and stood behind me at the ready.

I lifted the corner of the bathmat until about half was in the air and half was still connected to the tub. I carefully slid the tupperware imprisoning all 20-inches of the centipede to the middle of the tub, just under the center of the upturned mat. On the count of 23, one count for every inch of centipede, I lifted the tupperware container and dropped the mat.

Then I scrambled into the tub and stomped on the mat like a madwoman yelling the name of a different man that had wronged me each time my 3-inch heel hit the rubber. It was the most disgusting, heartbreaking thing I’ve done all week.

After I caught my breath, and shed a tear or two, I looked at what I had done. Thirty inches of centipede was smeared across my tub under my yellowed bathmat… which would never be used again.

Mgazi patted me on the shoulder in a consoling way. “Look,” she said. “If you want me to clean that up, you need give me a lot more money.”

Glass of white wineRecommended wine: Did I have a glass of wine after that episode? You bet your butt I did! Manage a Trois – a California Red. Has nothing to do with the subject of my post. Just what I had in the cupboard.

P.S. I lied to you just now. I didn’t have a glass of wine after killing the 4-foot long centipede. I had two.

 

100 Things You Probably Don’t Know About Me

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I read somewhere that on your 100th blog post you should write 100 things about yourself. So, in honor of my 100th post, I present to you…

100 Things that You Probably Don’t Know About Me

  1. I am embroiled in an unhealthy and one-sided love affair with cheap wine.
  2. A colleague and I were once driving in South Africa when we were pulled over by men carrying big guns. When I tell the story now, I say we were pulled over “at gunpoint.” The guns were pointing somewhere… just not at us.

  3. When I was a kid, I wanted to name my future daughter Phronsie Brett, after a character in The Five Little Peppers.
  4. The first time I cried from joy was when my parents told my sister and I that they were going to have a baby. I was ten years old. It was Christmas morning, 1980.
  5. I resent getting old.
  6. The happiest hour of my life was the hour after my husband proposed to me.
  7. I can flip a quarter off my elbow and catch it in my palm.
  8. I learned to drive on a stick shift.
  9. The only time I ever heard my father swear was when he was teaching me to drive.
  10. During the summer between fifth and sixth grade I read 52 books. I thought I was a shoe-in for the Summer Reading Contest. Turns out I was wrong. Another girl won. She read 53 books. Her name was Sally Sokolowski.
  11. Some of my favorite family memories consist of holding séances with my cousins at my grandparents’ house.
  12. The last time I cried from happiness was when I received a 21-seond personal video message from Sean Stephenson.


  13. I once broke up with a boyfriend the day before my birthday. That night a girlfriend took me out to get drunk. Then we decided to dye my hair. It didn’t turn out well.
  14. The hardest I’ve ever laughed was the afternoon that my sister, Angela, and I decided to wax our underarms. I lost my nerve and couldn’t pull off the wax. We spent over two hours trying to melt it off my right armpit using matches.
  15. I am an expert in absolutely nothing.
  16. When my sister, Cori, was a baby, I used to take toys away from her before she was done playing with them. I then handed her something else that I thought was more interesting. When I was in college I was an intern for a PhD student doing a research study on this exact behavior. Turns out mothers who do not allow their children to naturally choose which toys to play with do serious damage to their kids. Sorry, Cor.
  17. I was once slapped by an old woman in the streets of Nepal.
  18. When I was a teenager I would regularly fantasize about going to a pep rally before the “big game.” In my fantasy I would be overcome by the heat of the bonfire and faint into the arms of a cute boy who would instantly fall in love with me.
  19. I’m judgmental and petty. Not all the time. But more often that I like.
  20. I have epilepsy. Several times I’ve lost consciousness and was caught by a cute boy. It sucks.
  21. I am terrified of screwing up my children.
  22. I broke my nose in high school when I was playing right field in a softball game. Pop fly. I lowered my glove for some reason, which allowed my face to catch the ball. When I tell the story, I played shortstop and the batter hit a line drive.
  23. The six weeks I spent in Africa were simultaneously the best and worst six weeks of my life.
  24. I’ve walked barefoot over hot coals three times, walked barefoot over broken glass twice, and broken an arrow with my throat.


  25. I got caught shoplifting from Wegmans grocery store when I was in middle school. Turns out that eating from the bulk food bins with no intent of paying for what you’ve eaten is considered stealing.
  26. I make killer ice cream.
  27. Parenting doesn’t come naturally to me. What? You didn’t know?
  28. I fish for compliments.
  29. The most emotional years of my life were in 1984, 1992, 1994, 2005, 2009, and 2012.
  30. I accidentally flooded my class toilet in Kindergarten because the bathroom was out of toilet paper. I used paper towels instead. The teacher was pissed. She made all the students in class put their heads down on their desks in silence. The intent was that we stay that way until the culprit confessed. I never did.
  31. I care terribly what you think. (It doesn’t even matter if I like or respect you.)
  32. I became engaged to be married at 5 years old. My marriage proposal came from a boy of the same age. He sent it by mail. It was written in white chalk on black construction paper.
  33. My first concert ever was Captain and Tenille.
  34. When Zaffron was born I was terrified of her. Russell took care of her almost exclusively for the first three days.
  35. When I was a kid I had a huge thing for men with mustaches. HUGE.
  36. I had a very happy childhood.
  37. I idolize Harry Chapin.

  38. I won “Most Original Costume” in my elementary school’s costume contest. I was a McDonald’s French Fry Guy. When the local newspaper lined up the various winners on stage to take a photo, my ping pong ball eyeball fell off and bounced off the stage.
  39. I’ve travelled to thirteen countries: Canada, Mexico, Japan, Thailand, Nepal, Swaziland, South Africa, Cote d’Ivoire, Burkina Faso, Australia, Belize, France, and South Korea.
  40. I’ve fallen in love exactly three times. I’ve never fallen out.
  41. When I was a kid the worst punishment I could receive was being grounded from the family typewriter.
  42. I was a horrible mother to Mgazi for the first 6 months.
  43. I do a mean imitation of a horse.
  44. Last August, I climbed the Waimea Bay rock with the intent of jumping off into the ocean. I lost my nerve. I’ve been marinating in self-imposed humiliation ever since.
  45. I once told a joke to a captivated crowd of family friends that lasted over twenty minutes. The joke was about a giant pink gorilla. I killed it. (The joke, not the gorilla.)
  46. Sometimes I think that Post-Paris Kristine is just a figment of my imagination.
  47. When I was in high school I had a pin on my denim jacket that read, “Once I thought I was wrong, but I was mistaken.” I thought it was original.

  48. My sixth grade class had an ornament-making contest. I made a balsa wood Christmas tree hanging in a balsa wood oval frame. I got disqualified because the teachers thought I didn’t do the work myself. The winner was Sally Sokolowski. She made a God’s eye. Have you ever seen a God’s eye? I could have made a stupid God’s eye in my sleep.
  49. In high school I had a pen name. Myrtle T. Clearwater.
  50. My favorite vacation with my husband was on a Disney Cruise. Don’t ask me. I’m baffled too.
  51. I cried during the last chapter of the last book of Harry Potter.
  52. I have a horrible memory. I don’t know how old I was when I lost my first tooth or got my period.
  53. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a kid.
  54. I was 26 years old before I realized that things don’t always turn out “okay.”
  55. I sucked my thumb until I was in sixth grade. The only reason I stopped was because I picked up a fan (while it was plugged in and turned on) and sliced all the skin off my thumb.
  56. I’m not one of those people who have no regrets.
  57. I have seen the Monkees in concert six times. No, this is not one of my regrets.
  58. I’m sometimes embarrassed to say I’m a blogger.

  59. My mom worked for NutraSweet when I was a teenager. Several types of candy used it as an ingredient at the time and they used to send her logoware. I used to walk around wearing a t-shirt that had “WHOPPERS — The Original Malted Milk Balls” printed across the chest.
  60. I think my first memory is of falling down the basement stairs.
  61. A 911 operator once hung up on me during an actual emergency. (Well, it was my friend, Sam, that they hung up on. But the story flows better if I substitute myself for my friend.)
  62. In sixth grade I auditioned for the lead in the Christmas play. When I sang “O Holy Night” for my teacher, she stopped me short and remarked, “Boy, you sure do sing with your mouth wide open, don’t you?” I didn’t get the part. Guess who did? Sally Sokolowski.
  63. I once had a “run-in” with Owen Wilson in a bar in Waikiki.
  64. My favorite joke of all time is The Pig with the Wooden Leg.
  65. If I knew any famous people, I would definitely name drop.
  66. I think I’m funnier than I actually am.
  67. I have a horrible memory. I have no idea how old I was when I experienced my first kiss or what I said in my wedding vows.
  68. In sixth grade I had the best friend in the world. Sally Sokolowski.

  69. My dad taught me that you never boo at a hockey game. And you always clap for a player who makes a good play. It doesn’t matter which team that player is on.
  70. In high school biology class I dissected a grasshopper and wore his leg on my yellow sweater the rest of the day — like a gruesome corsage.
  71. My favorite and boldest Halloween costume was a short dress accompanied by a a bow with a simple gift tag tied around my neck that read, “To: Men. From: God.”
  72. I adore hyperbole.
  73. My favorite books of all time are: A Prayer for Owen Meany, Life with Father, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Straight Man.
  74. I value honesty more than almost any trait. Honesty made more attractive by decorative details is even better.
  75. When I was a kid, I memorized the Announcer’s Test. My dad taught it to me and my sister during long drives. If we made a mistake, he’d stop and we’d have to wait until the next long drive to try again. My dad memorized it by listening to Jerry Lewis say it, just one time, on the radio. I can still repeat it to this day.
    • One hen.
    • One hen. Two ducks.
    • One hen. Two ducks. Three squawking geese.
    • One hen. Two ducks. Three squawking geese. Four Limerick oysters.
    • One hen. Two ducks. Three squawking geese. Four Limerick oysters. Five corpulent porpoises.

    And on and one until number 10…

    • One hen. Two ducks. Three squawking geese. Four Limerick oysters. Five corpulent porpoises. Six pairs of Don Alverzo’s tweezers. Seven thousand Macedonians in full battle array. Eight brass monkeys from the ancient, sacred crypts of Egypt. Nine apathetic, sympathetic, diabetic old men on roller skates with a marked propensity towards procrastination and sloth. Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who haul stall around the corner of the quo of the quay of the quivery, all at the same time.


  76. When Russell and I were dating, I accidentally backed my car into his ex-girlfriend’s car in a parking lot. It was a total accident. I swear.
  77. I have an intense dislike for the aloha shirt.
  78. I scored in the 97th percentile on the verbal portion of my GMAT. Don’t ask me. I’m baffled too.
  79. I once had a fist-fight with a neighbor boy on my front lawn. I was protecting my sister’s honor. In my version of the story, I won.
  80. During my sophomore year of college I owned and operated a singing telegram company.
  81. I was baptized when I was thirteen years old. It was a full-on dunking.
  82. The first time I got drunk was in eighth grade. Gin.
  83. My mother used to say I was never happy unless I was complaining. Thirty-five years later, I think I finally agree with her.

  84. In sixth grade my friends and I put a girl on trial for stealing my Rubik’s Cube. We appointed her a lawyer and rigged the jury. The verdict came back guilty. We also planted the Rubik’s Cube in her locker. I’ve always wanted to apologize but I can’t remember who we did it to.
  85. My first job was at Kentucky Fried Chicken.
  86. I breast-fed Zaffy until she was 22 months old. By that time she could ask for it by name. (It got a little freaky.)
  87. I believed in Santa Claus until I was in sixth grade. When my parents finally told me the truth I locked myself in the bathroom and alternately sobbed and shouted “YOU LIED TO ME” through the door.
  88. I fervently defend my right to tell my children that there is indeed a Santa Claus.
  89. In seventh grade I started drinking Diet Coke. I hated the taste but kept drinking it because I thought it was cool. Now I crave it.
  90. At the age of forty-two I started drinking coffee. I hated the taste but kept drinking it because I thought it was cool. Now I crave it.

  91. As a kid, I loved to play the 1980 Atari 2600 version of Space Invaders. I even remember flipping the game. (When you reach 10,000 and the score flips back to zero.)
  92. Once I was trick-or-treating at a neighbor’s house and I stood on the wrong side (the hinge side) of the screen door. I could barely see out of my costume and when the lady in the house opened her screen door I didn’t move out of the way. The door knocked me off the porch and into the bushes. My arms were pinned to my sides and I couldn’t move so there I stayed, wedged between the house and her bushes until my sister grabbed my dad from the bottom of the driveway, and he came and pulled me out. The lady was mortified so I got extra candy. Such is the life of a french fry guy.
  93. I’ve gone to a nude beach. I even took off my clothes.
  94. Until recently, I believed that pride was a sin.
  95.  I have never had a cavity.
  96. The best I ever felt about my body was when I was pregnant with Zaffron.
  97. I’m a piss-poor long-distance friend.
  98. Growing up in Buffalo, New York, I had a very sheltered childhood. Everybody I knew was white. There were a couple of black kids in school and one Chinese boy in church. (Where’d you disappear to, Peter Ho?) Except for the congregation at my church, everyone I knew was Catholic. 90% of the kids at my high school were Polish. Imagine my surprise when I got to college and discovered that the Italian boy I had been dating for three weeks was actually from India.
  99. Five days ago I dyed my hair blue.
  100. I love myself.

Retro Post – Stinkers Trying to Steal Things

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Here is part two from the Retro Post series about our first visit to South Korea. Bad writing kept intact for posterity! *smile*

Seoul, S. Korea: Days 3 & 4

Anyong-haseyo!

Day 3: A man stopped me on the street and started shaking my hand. (This is the stinker I mentioned in Day 2.) He was squeezing so hard it made my joints ache and my ring cut into my fingers. I asked him four times to let go of my hand. He could speak English. He knew exactly what I wanted. Finally, he slowly released my hand, the whole while keeping the pressure on. He never stopped talking the whole time. The jerk was trying to take my ring. (Don’t worry, Mom, I was surrounded by people. I wasn’t in any real danger!) 

Day 4: “The day I left it rained all night, the weather it was dry…” (Had no idea that this song was going to be so prophetic!) Went to the Korean Folk Village with some women I was fortunate enough to meet. The Korean Folk Village is Korea’s version of Williamsburg, PA. At least that is what the guy at the gate told me. It seems that people live in this reproduction of a 19th century Korean village. They tend to the crops and catch fish and do everything Koreans did back then. Except, of course, this time do it with an audience of gawking tourists.

I did have an interesting encounter with one of the villagers. Our group had scattered a bit and only Gina and I were left in a courtyard surrounded by Korean dwellings. On a deck sat a very elderly Korean villager. He glanced my way and I waved. He nodded and waved me over. Well kinda. He made oh, about nine different gestures, and none of them actually waved me over, but what he wanted was for me to come over. (You see, you don’t wave someone over here the way you do in the United States. If you wave someone over it’s considered an insult, like you are calling your dog.) When I finally figured out that he was waving me over without actually waving me over, the poor man must have been out of breath from all the arm swinging and head nodding I put him through. I had to cross a roped off area that visitors are not supposed to cross over, and I felt kinda funny about it but he kept not waving me over, so I kept going over. I get up to him and he shoots me a grin like he’s the happiest man on earth. He pats the wood next to him, beckoning me to sit down. (You can beckon here, just not wave over.) So far, not a word has been said. I sit next to the man and ask him if he knows English. “Yea,” he smiles. I notice that he only has one tooth. I ask him if we are sitting next to his house. “Yea,” he’s still smiling. I ask him if he likes living in the village. “Yea.”

All right, so I’m a little slow. It takes me this long to figure out that the guy has no idea what I’m saying. I smile at him and he gently pats me on the shoulder – still single-toothin’ it – like he’s still the happiest guy on the planet. I really didn’t know what to make of the situation or what to do, so I just settled in and turned towards the courtyard. What I saw must be what that man has seen every day for many years: people who don’t speak his language, oohhing and aahhing, staring, touching, laughing. In a way I felt sad because I don’t think that I would like to live this way. But I was also happy and honored that this man wanted me to share a moment with him. Even if it was only to sit quietly for a few minutes with his hand on my shoulder.

When I left, he followed me into the courtyard. The woman with me took a picture of us both. Yep, I crossed those ropes and became Miss Tourist again. I probably shouldn’t have taken the picture, but I don’t think the man minded. Because as soon as he saw the camera he put his arm around me and did that single-tooth grin.

That night Russell and I went to dinner with a Josh and Gina. Josh is with O1, the company that brought Russell out here. It only took us twenty minutes to find the restaurant even though we were only 200 yards away. It’s really hard to get along sometimes when you don’t know the language. I think we probably got directions from six or seven people along the way. But, the wild goose chase was worth it. 1 price = all the Korean barbecue you can eat and all the beer and liquor you can drink. Extremely good value, I think. After dinner we went to Hard Rock café. The band played American music as well as Korean. The people there went wild over Wonderful Tonight. Then it poured on us on the way home.

“The day I left it rained all night, the weather it was dry…”

Mom, You’re a B.M.

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In the car. This is what I heard:

Zaffron: Mom, you’re a B.M.

Before I reacted I took a deep breath. Seemed like this was a lot to take so early in the morning.

Me: I’m sorry, Zaff. Did you say that I’m a B.M.?

Zaffron: No, I said that you are THE B.M.

Me: Zaffy, what does that mean?

Zaffron: It stands for Best Mother.

Me: Oh, thank you, sweetie.

Zaffron: Of course, you’re also my O.M.

Me: Your Only Mother?

Zaffron: Yep.

Me: I’ll take it.

It’s Mummy Juice… Literally!

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It’s Mummy Juice!

Each year I struggle with finding a semi-healthy snack or treat to send with the kids to school at Halloween time. This year, I found an idea that included wrapping juice boxes in tape with googly eyes… Mummy Juice! Brilliant and clever, right?. Right. Just as long as I realize that I am not the one who is brilliant and clever.

Zaffron: Mom! This is such a cool idea.

Mgazi: It is, Mom.

Me: I know, right?

Zaffron: I know you didn’t come up with it on your own. Was it Daddy?

Me: Wait, why would you think I couldn’t come up with something like this on my own?

Zaffron: Don’t take this the wrong way, Mom. It’s just that this is such a creative idea.

Me: Hey! I’m creative all the —

Zaffron: It was Daddy, was it?

Me: No, it wasn’t Daddy.

Mgazi: It was probably Daddy.

Me: It wasn’t your father.

Zaffron: Hmmm. I wonder who is was… Can you pass me a googly eye?

In the end, I didn’t admit to anything — too insulted to think my children would consider my husband more creative than me. He doesn’t have a crafty bone in his body (unless duct tape is involved).

The little stinkers did call it though. Of course it wasn’t my idea. I don’t have time to be coming up with original crafts! I have a family to feed, cats to ignore, mystery goo to scrape off the floor!

I don’t have time for this crap! That’s what Pinterest is for!

 

 

Retro Post – Oh, Susanna, Don’t You Cry for Me (in Korea)

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Another retro post – this one is a three-part series about our first trip to Korea.. back in August 1999!!!!

Seoul, S. Korea: Days 1 & 2

Aloha! Or should I say, Anyong-haseyo!We made it! We’re in Seoul, S. Korea. I can’t believe it myself. For those of you who don’t know, the trip was on-again, off-again. Nearly drove me mad! Once it was even canceled the night before departure! But we’re here now and I’m told that some of you are anxious to hear about what’s been going on, so let’s not delay any longer…

Day 1: We arrived at the hotel (the Ritz-Carlton!!) around 5:00pm on Wednesday (Tuesday to all of you!). We were so tired and jet lagged – we slept through an incredibly expensive dinner. Bed.

Day 2: The alarm clock woke us up: “Oh Susanna, now don’t you cry for me. I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.” No kidding. The shrill whistle of this tune at 5:30 in the morning is enough to wake even the weariest travel. And we were weary! And baffled. The alarm clock tune — we just can’t figure that one out.

People here in Seoul are nice. All except one guy I met on the street, but we get to that stinker on Day 3. The locals try very hard to be patient with Russell and I and our horrid communication skills. We say thank you a lot. “Kamsa hamnida.”

“Kamsa hamnida for not taking more money than I’m supposed to pay.”

“Kamsa hamnida for understanding that I need a bathroom, and I need it immediately!”

“Kamsa hamnida I know I sound like an idiot but Kamsa hamnida, Kamsa hamnida.”

I get laughed at a lot when I try to speak Korean. Nonetheless, I think the Koreans appreciate the effort (or is it the entertainment?).

Went to the I’taewom Market – luggage and leather. It’s so cheap and the quality is excellent. I wish I had need for a leather jacket in Hawaii! Got some chopsticks for my collection. Cheap. I had fun bargaining each vendor down. I’m getting good at it.

Vendor: “Price is 14,000 won.”

Me: ”14,0000 won! Kamsa hamnida but no way am I paying 14,000 won.”

Vendor: “Okay, for you I give special price. Special price for first customer of day. 12,000 won!”

Me: Silence. I pretend to mull over the offer. I cleverly wrinkle my brow.

Vendor: Looking concerned: “12,000 won is very cheap. Very cheap. I cheapest vendor on street.”

Me: ”Will you take 10,000 won?”

Vendor: He’s disgusted. He starts muttering in Korean. “11,000 won. No less!”, he barks.

Me: ”Okay. Deal. Kamsa hamnida”

Vendor: He bows. “You’re very welcome, Sir.”

You’re very welcome, Sir.

I’ve never been called “Sir” so many times before. In fact, I’ve never been called “Sir” even once before! Many of the people here who speak English don’t realize that “Sir” refers to a male. A couple of times I’ve been called “Sir” only to have the person speaking to me get flustered and apologize, quickly saying “Ma’am” a number of times in a row. Most of the time, though, I’m simply, “Sir.”

I’taewon was my first trip outside the hotel and I was a little nervous. But everything went great. I was very hot though, it was 92 degrees. I ended up inside a Burger King and ordered a Coca Cola Light to cool me off.

Later that evening, Russell and I walked around the streets near the hotel. This city is just hopping. There are people all over sidewalks. Problem is, there are also motorcycles all over the sidewalks. I don’t know if it is legal here or not, but nobody seems to mind. Except Russell and me, that is. And these motorcycles are not the little moped type. These are the big loud legitimate kind. It’s scary to be walking peacefully down the sidewalk only to have a motorcycle come roaring past you from behind. I caught air a number of times, I was so startled.

When you get used to the motorcycles you don’t seem to mind the cars as much. Oh, did I not mention? Cars drive on the side walk too.

All in all, day 2 was a success. I hope that this weekend Russell and I will be able to get out of Seoul and see some other parts of the country. If we do, you’ll be the first to know!

 

Retro Post – Later Than Night…

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This is a post from my old site, castagnaro.com. A website that Russell and I started when we moved away from Atlanta. Just a way to keep family and friends up to date on what we were up to. What’s interesting is that this was in 1997. Before blogging was popular. Before the term “blogging” was even invented! I posted this on October 1, 1997. Fifteen years ago.

Later That Night…

Before we begin, have you read my story about getting trapped in the airplane bathroom? If not, you really should. You see, that little adventure took place a mere 3 1/2 hours before the bizarre episode I’m about to describe to you. Put together, these stories make for one crazy night!

Ice Cream SundaeSo, as you know, I was trapped in the airplane bathroom for what seemed like hours but was only 8 minutes. As soon as I was rescued, I ran for my seat and started pounding out the experience on my laptop while enjoying a chocolate sundae. All was well for about an hour until I realized that I had to go to the bathroom again! While my mind told me this couldn’t be. My body told me otherwise. There was NO WAY I was going to go into the restroom again, so I hunkered down and decided to wait until the flight was over. (Two and one half hours later.)

We arrived in Los Angeles at 12:10 a.m. I was one of the first people off the plane and I literally ran down the hallway toward the public restroom. As it was such an odd time of day for travel, this part of the airport was nearly deserted except for a group of men milling outside the Men’s bathroom door. They didn’t interest me and I was about to turn my head away when I noticed a man coming out of the doorway. His face was covered in makeup. A clown was coming out of the bathroom and being met by an entourage of men.

Whatever, I thought. My mind was on the Women’s room; I had business of my own to take care of. As I was turning the corner to enter the Ladies room, a shout came from across the hall.

“HEY GIIIIIRRRLL!”

I froze. I immediately thought of the man with the done up face. I just knew it was the clown and I just knew it was me that he was yelling at. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. I had to pee.

“HEY GIIIIIRRRLL!”

Did he sound friendlier this time? Did I hear chuckling? Slowly, I turned around. The man in the makeup was hunched over laughing. His friends, the milling men I had noticed earlier, were all looking at me with smiles on their faces. A few were snickering, hiding their smiles behind their hands. I was very confused. My gaze returned to the laughing man. He straightened up and looked at me.

It wasn’t a clown.
It was Little Richard.
I kid you not.
My jaw dropped open as he turned away laughing, heading toward the gate I had just left. His entourage, his band, I guess, followed. One strong looking gentleman, strolling next to Little Richard, turned around and smiled at me…

“Is that…?” I could only point. The words “Little Richard” refused to leave my mouth. He laughed and said, “Yep.”

Little Richard heard this exchange and turned around to face me again.

“How’re you doin, GIIIIIRRRLLL???” He shouted, louder this time. He was enjoying himself immensely. Laughing, practically crying at his own antics.

Because I am not particularly talented at handling surprise situations, I couldn’t think of anything clever to say. I just stood numbly in the entrance to the Women’s room and gave a little wave. “Well, hey,” I almost whimpered. Feeling out of sorts and quite baffled, I turned and walked into the bathroom. I could still hear him laughing down the hall.

I stared at myself in the row of mirrors. “Now, what was it I came in here to do anyway?”

You Gotta Respect the Whiners

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This is my mom. Posing with Russell (on the left) and my brother-in-law, Leo. She raised a complainer (and two other daughters). I’m raising whiners.

My mother used to say that I was never happy unless I was complaining.  As a kid, I never understood what she was talking about. How could anyone think that my astute commentary on the current state of affairs, delivered with just the right dramatic effect for optimal communication, was complaining?

Flash forward 35 years later. With two daughters of my own, ages five and seven, I get it.

Here’s what’s getting to me lately: Whining.

Dramatic whining. Whining that covers multiple octaves and decibels. It’s maddening. It makes me want to pull my hair out. And it has my utmost respect.

These are my whiners. Mgazi and Zaffron. Of course, they are not whining at this particular moment, but just give it a minute.

Before I had children of my own, I used to watch my friends crumble under the pressure brought on by their own whining children. Normally intelligent, sophisticated people, crushed under the weight of another day of the repeated moans and groans of their children, were reduced to whining themselves in a pitiful attempt at discipline.  I’ll never forget the high-pitched, drawn-out cry of my girlfriend, Elizabeth, as she tried in vain to scold her daughter, Sienna, after a prolonged bout of whining. “Sienna, would you pleeee-eeee-eeee-se, just SHUT UP?”

Elizabeth was whining. And I tsk tsked at her weakness.

But, seven years later, I find myself shamefully doing the same damn thing.  In top whining form, my girls can have me shakily reaching for a bottle of merlot by 8:30 a.m. on any given Saturday. Whining leads to wining.

Which is why whining has my respect. It’s a powerful tool, Wielded correctly, it can bring an otherwise strong, self-assured adult to their knees. Pit a small scrawny four-year old against a six-foot tall, confident dad… no competition is most areas of conflict. Dad can and should win every time. But if that four-year old has a strong desire for what he or she wants, and an iota of sense, he or she will start whining. Game over.  If dad has had a long day, or maybe is lacking sleep, so sad — poor dad. He never stood a chance.

I think it’s called the Mother’s Curse. When your mother wishes upon you a child that is exactly like you, so that you may suffer as she did. Well, I’ve been cursed. I’m guessing many of us have. But I will never admit that to my mother. I won’t give her the satisfaction.