Sharp as a tack

 People frequently say that my elderly aunt is as sharp as a tack.  I can only think that they must have very dull tacks, because with her, some things stick, but so many others don't.  On the other hand, this is a woman who used to do the Sunday NY Times crossword so fast that, if you were looking at her, you'd have thought that she was writing a letter.  Sometimes, she didn't have to bother doing the down clues.  

Hierarchy of nuisance, Japanese style (thank you, O-baachan)

Missing my maternal grandmother today, and a random, tiny memory reared its head up.

There’s a word for bothersome/burdensome: mendou (面倒).  You can bundle it with the word for smelly (kusai, 臭い) to increase its oomph, as in mendokusai. This is common.

My maternal grandmother, an immigrant to California from Kyushu, upped the ante with what for her was its superlative, shichimendokusai, seven stinky nuisances.  (七面倒臭い)

But in order for you to get a fuller sense of the way she used to say it, you need to envision a slim, 4’8” woman with snow-white, permed hair (hairnet, of course), wearing a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a skirt, bobby socks, and slippers.  Her once-light skin has permanently darkened from years of working on California and Arizona farms in her youth.  The woman speaks a regional dialect, Kumamoto-ben, which can be incomprehensible to speakers of standard Japanese.  Also, she has dentures, so there are occasional clacks in her speech.

It comes out “shichimendoksha,” and between the last two syllables, a sound not unlike two mahjong tiles meeting.  It is probably her least polite vocabulary word.

Is she not adorable?  Also a great cook, survived the Depression and internment with her wicked sense of humor intact, and is generally good at everything she does.  Not stuck-up, either.

May I continue to learn from you, O-baachan!  Please look down on us with favor, and keep cousin Jeanne, Richard, Auntie Yo, Auntie Toshi, and my mom company.💕

Just get the hearing aids already

So, last year my aunt and I were staying at cousin J's, and while none of us are particularly young, Auntie was, at the time, 96, but that wasn't the main problem.  The problem was her hearing.  She was getting increasingly hard of hearing and simultaneously, increasingly reluctant to spend any money, because she needed to save for "emergencies."  Don't ask.

Anyway, Auntie comes out of her room one morning and says good morning to us.  J says "Good morning," and so do I.  About a minute later, I hear Auntie mutter "I guess no one thinks it's necessary to say good morning to anyone."

The older, the pricklier, and the deafer one's elderly relative gets, the more you want to pick your battles.  And the less you want to take anything they say too personally.  But I tend to push back when she incorrectly thinks that she's being dissed and dismissed.  So I rev up my engine and belt out "WE SAID GOOD MORNING; AUNTIE I THINK YOU NEED HEARING AIDS."

She says, miffed, "You don't need to yell."

I mutter "The hell I don't," which she doesn't hear, so I have the satisfaction of getting that off my chest without pissing her off further.

One day, she will get hearing aids, at which point I hope I remember to stop muttering under my breath.

That's all she wrote (for now)

I wonder if they're going to fix this sign. It was so neat that I put it in even if it had a piece or two out. It is, of course, in front of a pool hall. Pool halls are very different affairs from what they used to be years ago. They're family-friendly. No cigar-chewing toughs here. Although there is a positive aspect to the fact that certain venues are less scary than they used to be, I feel disoriented when they become politically correct.

Thank you, White Plains!

It's been a long time since I was on Mamaroneck Avenue in White Plains for anything, but it is one happening place at night. I couldn't get a parking spot on the avenue, so I had to go to a little lot on Martine. It was a beautiful Indian summer night, and the young men and women were out strolling. And yes, there were bars, with their doors open and the music playing . . . .

Is this neon?

I don't actually know if this sign is neon or not. Also, it looks like the "r" is out. Dang.

Mas Cerveza

We're still in Port Chester. Wait, this is a German beer. Noch ein bier, then.