In the spirit of the just past Mental Health Awareness Week and Mother's Day - an opportunity for a double-whammy few words from our sponsor - since I thought perhaps you were all wondering how my mom handled my global travel. I started this in India, so I'll finish it now. That would be my anxiety-ridden, self-medicating with alcohol to numb the effects of auditory hallucinations mother, in case you were confused about who I meant. I was. Confused, I mean. And I've known her my whole life.
Mamma: I know you in Toronto now. They see you at Sherway Garden Mall.
Eufemia: Who saw?
Mamma: They!
Eufemia: I hate they. You mean the voices. Do we have to go over this again, because I'd rather hang up. It's really hot here.
Mamma: Your voice is so clear, I can hear you like you're next door.
Eufemia: Well, I'm not. I'm 10 hours ahead of you, like I've been telling you since December.
Mamma: Where?
Eufemia: IN INDIA.
Mamma: Oh, ya, India. What's the weather like?
Eufemia: IT'S REALLY HOT.
Mamma: What's the time now?
Eufemia: Ten hours ahead. It's 5:30 p.m. [PLEASE NOTE: For 19 years my mother has been asking me, with a degree of regularity that makes me homicidal, what time it is in Vancouver. As if the Teutonic plates shifted again and Vancouver was suddenly in the same time zone as Japan]
Mamma: Did you eat dinner already? What you eat there?
Eufemia: Pasta.
Mamma: No, come on you.
Eufemia: Rice.
Mamma: Ya, I think they eat rice. Did you get my letters? I sent you some money for Christmas and your birthday.
Eufemia: I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I'M IN INDIA AND YOU SENT THEM TO VANCOUVER.
Mamma: You sure the girl* no steal what I mail you? I send you money. I send presents for Christmas and the birthday.
*By the girl, my mother means my God-sent roommate, who even called my mother to reassure her I was fine while I was away at the ashram without regular access to a phone. My mother's concerned Caroline would steal the 100% polyester blouse that looks like a sequin factory exploded and all these shiny, ugly bits and bobbles got stuck on this red fabric and some dear slave-wage seamstress decided to make the best of it.
Eufemia: She wouldn't steal anything. I'll be able to tell to you when I get home, stop asking me to tell you now.
Mamma: Are you coming home to Toronto?
[ANOTHER NOTE PLEASE: Toronto has not been home for 19 years. There was a house there, for a long time. It's been sold. But it was a house, not a home.]
Eufemia: No
Mamma: Why no?
Eufemia: I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I'M IN INDIA AND YOU SENT THEM TO VANCOUVER.
Mamma: You sure the girl* no steal what I mail you? I send you money. I send presents for Christmas and the birthday.
*By the girl, my mother means my God-sent roommate, who even called my mother to reassure her I was fine while I was away at the ashram without regular access to a phone. My mother's concerned Caroline would steal the 100% polyester blouse that looks like a sequin factory exploded and all these shiny, ugly bits and bobbles got stuck on this red fabric and some dear slave-wage seamstress decided to make the best of it.
Eufemia: She wouldn't steal anything. I'll be able to tell to you when I get home, stop asking me to tell you now.
Mamma: Are you coming home to Toronto?
[ANOTHER NOTE PLEASE: Toronto has not been home for 19 years. There was a house there, for a long time. It's been sold. But it was a house, not a home.]
Eufemia: No
Mamma: Why no?
Eufemia: Because you live there.
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