Dawn, etc

My mom called me yesterday. She has been in the hospital since the night of Tuesday, August 14^th, and will realistically remain in fulltime care until just before Canadian Thanksgiving (mid-October). She is incredibly strong and upbeat despite her situation – or perhaps, in part, because of her situation. The accident has truly opened my mother’s eyes in a way that is difficult to convey. She now can now witness herself as a vital member of several communities; she is an old friend to many, a fellow business owner, a resident of Muskoka, a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a daughter-in-law. She is a role model for so many of the women that she encounters, and I believe she is beginning to see the deep and meaningful affect she has had in other’s lives. The outpouring of love, support, and aid that my parents continue to receive is overwhelming. Gratitude. Gratitude. Gratitude.

David and I were very fortunate to have a mother who stayed home with us until we left for college. But I believe that it was difficult for my mother to find new routes of meaning and fulfilment once her two children had left the house. So it filled me with a deep joy to hear her on the phone last night talking about writing in a journal for the first time, networking with others in the area, and fighting hard to get well. She has always been our family’s fortitude, and she is now (finally) turning this endurance towards her own needs. My father’s unwavering presence and boundless energy certainly help her to maintain such positivity and progress.

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In other, completely unrelated news, I ate a “thousand year old egg” today. Evidently in Taiwan (where Ari stopped on his way to India), they bury eggs underground for an extended period of time, only to unearth them and then eat them as some sort of treat or savoury dessert. In the burying/unearthing process, the eggs turn black, the whites harden into what resembles a cheap plastic, and the yolks turn the colour of a smoker’s lungs. Ari brought some of these delicacies into our home and left them on top of our rather dilapidated refrigerator, where they have sat since mid-August. Tonight he half-jokingly suggested that we finally try one. My motto for this year is to try to be open to every experience, even dirty, centuries-old egg experiences, and so I agreed. It was exactly as I expected. Awful. The worst part was that as I put it in my mouth, I could not help but fixate exactly on what I was eating: a black, chewy egg that had been allowed to rot, ferment, and otherwise metamorphosize under the ground.

I’m going to continue to try not to fantasize about Wasabi Bistro in Seattle, WA.