(a Hiroki, but not my Hiroki)

Years ago, I had a little boy in my class by the name of Hiroki Tanaka.
I loved that little boy.
He was odd in a very lovable way.
Often he would come out with pearls of wisdom out of left field.
Like he was some old guy squished into a childs' body.
He had the way of speaking of a child who speaks another language at home..a very slight Japanese accent, and a way of phrasing his sentences so that you knew that English was not his first language, even though he was born in Canada.
Hiroki wore his pants hiked high around his waist and he was always pulling them up, showing three or four inches of socks while he did it.
A little Spock haircut and ready smile.

I loved that little kid.

Hiroki was a bit of a practical joker and I’ll always remember the times that he would hide only to jump out and scare me, and then he'd giggle and giggle.
He was successful (more than once) of scaring the shit out of me as he jumped out from behind a bookcase, or from under a table, or from his cubbie.

He was my Kato, I was his Inspector Clouseau.

One time I did him the same by hiding behind a door and then jumping out as he was coming in.
I surprised him.
Did he cry?
No.
He said,( in that cute little accent of his) “Mrs. M., you scared me….ALMOST TO DEATH!!!”
And promptly fell into a fit of giggles.
In the one panoramic photo the school took, he searched the crowd to find me and when he did, he hugged me with force and love.
The photographer snapped the photo at that moment.
I have that photo somewhere….

I think about Hiroki every so often.
He must be about 16 now.
Please still be extraordinary wherever you are.

The Freaks Come Out at Night



There are people walking amongst us who are not like you and me.
I don't mean in the "I'm special and unique" kind of way.
I mean in the "I'm the reincarnation of Napoleon, and John Lennon gives me instructions via the TV" kind of not like you and me.
I'm not making light of mental illness, because if you've got someone you care about suffering with it, it isn't all that funny...well, sometimes it can be...but you know what I mean.

It goes without saying that many homeless people suffer with mental illness, and if you live in a large city you've no doubt encountered someone in your daily travels who has either engaged you in amusing conversation, or hurled obscenities at you for no discernable reason.

This brings us to my story:
One summer evening, a long time ago, me and The Mister were waiting to see a movie at the Uptown Theatre on Yonge Street (pre-sudden cave in) and we decided to kill some time at the KFC a few doors south of the theatre.
While we were sitting together and talking , we noticed a disheveled, crazed looking guy staring at us from the street.
He came into the restaurant, walked directly to our table and stood staring at The Mister like he was looking at his long time nemesis.
Now, The Mister is not one to beat around the bush, and asked scruffy if he had a problem.
His reply was to lunge at The Mister and grab him by the throat sending everything on the table flying, including The Misters gold chain.
The next thing I know, The Mister and The Lunatic are fighting in the middle of the restaurant.
I scrounged around searching for The Misters' chain, and came up looking around only to find every single patron in the restaurant squeezed up against the counter, and the staff behind the counter with their backs pressed against the refrigerators.
I yelled for someone to call the police, but no one moved.
The Mister had The Lunatic against the front window, but The Lunatic had what looked like a death grip on The Misters throat.
Me, being someone who just can't stand around while someone I love is in what looked like peril...I moved in with a bunch of trays and started banging The Lunatic on the head with them.
Well, apparently I was in the way because The Mister yelled, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?...GET AWAY FROM HERE!!!"

A few moments later, some men came in off of the street and helped The Mister eject The Lunatic from the restaurant.
The Mister and I thanked the guys who helped and we sat down in a booth to collect ourselves.
It was then that the other patrons came over to ask if he was ok, and how they had "seen the whole thing", and how "the guy attacked for no reason", etc.
But, while it was happening, they were all cowering at the back of the restaurant like a bunch of cockroaches when the kitchen light is turned on.

On the way out, The Mister gave me a lecture on not ever jumping in if that ever happened again...suddenly, we heard a commotion.
We turned to see the same lunatic engaged in another scuffle about a block south.

I wondered if he survived the night or if he continued attacking people at random until someone beat him to death.

Language is a Living Thing

A while ago, I posted my favourite Serbian Phrases as well as my favourite Guyanese/West Indian Phrases and lots of you shared your favourites from other cultures. Oswyn (who is Trinidadian) from hey, I'm blogging here sent me a bunch of great Trini sayings...enjoy them like I did.

~"Cockroach doh have no business in fowl party"
(Stay out of matters that don’t concern you)

~"Every stale bread have he stale cheese"
(there’s someone for everybody)

~"He/she doh eat nice"
(to say a person is arrogant or formidable)

~"Basket doh hold water"
(all threats are idle)

~"You can't play sailor and 'fraid powder"
(In Trinidadian Carnival, people who dress up in sailor costumes carry around bottles of talcum powder and squeeze the contents into the air. The powder irritates some of course so this saying was appropriated for any circumstance in which you must face the consequences of your actions.
It's the Trini version of "If you don't like the heat, stay out of the kitchen"

~"Playing dead to catch Corbeau alive"
A Corbeau is a vulture. Some animals are known to play dead in order to catch one of these that comes too feed upon them. This therefore means to act stealthily to achieve something)

~"Moon does run until daylight catch up with him"
(People who do wrong will eventually meet justice)

~"Monkey know what tree to climb"
(People who are up to no good know who to interfere with)

~"All skin teeth eh laugh"
(In Trinidad, to “skin your teeth” means to laugh. So this means do not be deceived by friendly appearances. “eh” means not or isn’t)

Thanks Oswyn for all of them. I particularly like:
"Moon does run until daylight catch up with him"

Pevaj Ujko, Pevaj Rode
(warning: Sentimental post)

The above title is a Serbian wedding song.
Whenever I hear it, I think of my Ujko (Uncle, in the endearing vernacular).
I think about how important to me it was for my Uja to be at my wedding.
Since not only was I marrying out of my culture, I was marrying out of my race, yes it was very important to me.
Last year, one of the things I said I wanted to do was to tell my Uja how I felt about him before something happened to one of us.
However, I am afraid that I would never be able to do this without dissolving into a puddle of tears in his presence.
I know that my cousin occasionally shows him this blog, so perhaps he’ll read this privately. I know that in our family, emotions run so deep that discussion of feelings is a difficult thing. When I was younger, I used to criticize my elders for their lack of dealing with emotions…but now that I’m older, and actually have accumulated experiences and understand things a bit better; I understand.
In the end, I am just like them it seems.
Here goes:

Dear Uja,

Sometimes when I’m driving in my car alone, I think about how we’re all getting older, and how if anything ever happened to you I don’t know how I would manage and I cry.
I drive and cry.
Even as I write this, the mere thought brings tears streaming down my face.
In my younger days when you were an angry young man full of opinion, advice, demands and criticisms, I thought that you were behind the times.
Turns out you were right about almost everything.
When I didn’t want to hear, and I stopped coming to see you for a while so I wouldn’t have to, I always thought about you.
When Mama got sick, you held me up.
In the hospital when I was crying and they were pushing me around trying to get me to take her home while she laid on a gurney for two days in the emergency…you lost your temper and shouted at them to take care of her when I was too weak with fear and grief to do it.
And they listened.
And who wouldn’t?
When you get mad, there isn’t enough air in the room.
When we stood in the hospital parking lot and I told you that I didn’t know what I would have done without you, you told me that I wasn’t alone.
That I was your first child, and not to worry. That in this strangers land we only had each other and that as long as you were alive mama and I wouldn’t be alone.
You took the day shift, bribing the nurses with chocolates, fruit and flowers, and I took the night shift staying with mama into the late evening.
I am forever grateful.
Grateful for all the things that you have done for us.
For me.
Grateful for your acceptance.
When you asked me to work in the store on Saturdays, I jumped at the opportunity because you’ve never asked me for anything.
That year of Saturdays let me get to know you as a man, me as an adult.
Through our talks on those quiet afternoons we got closer than I ever thought we could be because you let me.
You let me cook for you.
You let me give back just a little tiny bit, not even close to what you deserve…but what can I give someone like you?
There isn’t enough for all you’ve done for me all of my life.
I was not your responsibility.
But you did.
And for that, I’m forever grateful.

Volim te moj Ujko, I love you,
Tvoja Radmila

Lenten Ponderings

When asked why he didn't fast during lent in the Orthodox tradition, Uja replied:

Translated from Serbian:
"Sin does not go into the mouth, it comes out of it".

How to Drive Me Crazy in 3 Easy Steps

Image via diyjoe.com

1.
If you hear an emergency vehicle's siren and every human comes to a stand still in an intersection except you...make sure you slow down and stop directly in front of the EMU and stare for a brief moment at the Paramedic before GETTING OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY.

2.
If you're looking for a parking spot, in a completely deserted parking lot, make sure that you have your bass turned up so that it shakes my car, and I can't hear my own radio over your music....and then PARK RIGHT NEXT TO ME, CLOSE ENOUGH SO THAT I HAVE TO SQUEEZE OUT OF THE DRIVERS SIDE TO GET OUT OF MY CAR.
Don't make eye contact.
Don't get out of your own car until you've:

a)checked your metrosexual eyebrows in your rearview, and run your baby
finger over both of them.
b) Checked your hair, and run your fingers through it a few times
c) Made sure that I'm far enough away

3.
If your child is screaming his head off in the bank.
Make sure that you:

a) Stand directly behind me
b) Pick him up so that he's directly at ear level
with me so that I can get the full effect of his blood curdling shrieking.

That's all for now.

Black Women Love Us

From time to time when The Mister and I are out and about, I lock eyes with a black woman who hates me just for being with him.
It's always disconcerting for me, since I'm never thinking:
"Hey, I'm married to a black guy!! I'm really stickin' it to those black women"
So it always bewilders me when I lock eyes with a woman of colour who looks at me with visible venom and hate.

This evening, The Mister and I were out for a Valentines dinner, when I happened to glance over at a black woman who was staring at me from across the room.
Her fixed eyes were filled with malice and disgust.
Then, she quickly looked away.
Which of course made me look at her regularly.
Everytime I turned to look at her.
She would lock eyes with me for a moment, with that same look of hatred, and then look away.
I mentioned it to The Mister, who usually smiles and waves at the person.
He didn't tonight though.
I think she scared him.
She was quite mean looking.

It's times like this when I wonder why it matters to anyone.
I know that to some, this is a naive question.
But really.
I don't care what white men do, and you won't catch me staring down some black woman out with her white husband.
I just don't have that kind of contempt or hate for other people.

I forget that there are issues and angers that people have with interracial relationsips.
Both black and white...

But it still surprises me when it happens.
We're not nearly as evolved as we think.

Are You Your Mothers' Favourite?



I marvel at the differences between siblings and the assumption that all of the children in a family are loved equally.

Some children kill themselves to please their parents, only to have all the attention and praise go to the wayward child in the family.

Some children work at being “the black sheep”, to make sure that they are nothing like any of the others in the house.

Some children are selfish and uncaring to their family, yet are kowtowed to by their parents in hopes that their behaviour gets better.

When I hear a parent say:
“I love all my children the same”,
I don't believe them.

I believe that people love their children differently, not necessarily equally.

Let’s face it….
Some people are just harder to love.

"...The Capilphanos' granddaughter living without her mother, Mr. Zipkin losing his job, and Mrs. Hennessy getting robbed. I sat there on the porch, with a cigarette and another glass of wine, listening to the crickets and the occasional car. It occurred to me that the quiet of the suburbs had nothing to do with peace".
Melissa Bank - The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing

Our neighbours are nice people.
Pardeep and Cala are a nice couple.
They are friendly and easy.
I leave cards in their mailbox wishing them a happy and healthy Diwali, and they bestow me with delicious Indian sweets in mine.
Our talks are corralled to the driveway and I've only been inside once, when Cala generously lent me a sari for a school unit on India one year.
I told her how beautiful, wonderful and graceful looking saris were, and how I longed to wear one.
She encouraged me, and offered one from her closet for me to keep.
I declined only because I know how expensive they can be and didn't want to take advantage of a gift that I would not have been able to pull off with the grace that women who grew up wearing them could give expression to.

It was with sadness and compassion that I came to know that Cala and their eldest son were bi-polar.
The eldest boy had his first episode after he was beaten at school by a gang of bullies in 11th grade.
Sometimes, I would stand on the landing and watch this boy in the winter shovelling snow by himself by moonlight late at night.
Pardeep said that he likes to be alone...and out in the night, in the snow, he always looked just like that - alone.

I felt for him.
A young man disconnected.

Pardeep told The Mister and I not to be alarmed if we saw the police at their home on occasion, and shared some of the life and things that he dealt with on a daily basis.

One morning Pardeep announced that he had had an aneurism and that he was now blind in his left eye.
"My headlight is out!" he exclaimed laughing.
Yet, every spring he marvels at The Misters garden and proclaims "the beauty and miracle of God, and nature".

And the police come.

And Pardeep takes care of his family.
And every dusk, I see Pardeep and Cala out for their evening stroll together, sometimes with their eldest.
Side by side.

And I watch for a moment from my step, and think to myself:

"This is a man worth his salt."

Are you an organ donor?

I had this conversation today.
Some people are not comfortable with it.

There are things that are worse than death.
Don't you think?

Some people envisage doctors waiting in the triage twisting their mustaches intent on not doing all they can to save you in order to take your organs in order to give them to someone else.

Some people aren't because of their religious beliefs.

Some are not, just because.

I'm curious to know,

Are you?

Imagine that you are 26 years old.
You are beautiful.
You have a decent job, and a sideline as a Jazz/Hip Hop dancer (you’ve been in videos and everything).
You have your whole life ahead of you.

Then, your mother is diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease.
You stop your life.
You move to a small armpit town in Northern Ontario, and take care of her, along with your stepfather who is suffering with prostate cancer.

This is The Mister’s cousin.

We saw both Cousin and Auntie for the first time in a long time last night.
Auntie has declined significantly.
We see less of the Auntie we remember every time we see her.
Yet with the melancholy there is also the comedy.

When Auntie first came in, after my hello hug, she said:
“Yuh better watch me, yuh hear? I’s steal bad, bad. It’s the Alzheimer’s.”

True to her word, she was found to have 4 packs of cigarettes and 2 lighters by this morning. Thinking that every pack that was the same brand as hers, was in fact hers.
The repetition, the same questions over and over, and the obsession with certain items (like the whereabouts of her purse), become fatiguing.
…and how sad it is that Auntie also knows this to be so, and is constantly apologizing for it.
To see a daughters infinite patience, and love for her mother.
It’s a maddening, devastating thing to watch.
To know that a person you love is slipping away from you every day, a little bit more, to be replaced by a stranger.
To think, and wonder if the same thing might happen to you.

What a puzzling and infuriating disease this is.
To not remember where you are, or who you’re with, or even if you’ve eaten.
Yet, your memories from 20 and 30 years ago are crystal clear.

I overheard Cousin talking with someone last night, and that person said to her:
“What a wonderful daughter you are to make the choice to care for your mother when she needs you.”
Cousin replied, “I had no choice. She’s my mother”

Yes, she did have a choice.

The difference?
She made the grown up one.

Stupid Parent Quote of the Day:

Parent of a 10 year old student complaining to me:

Stupid parent: My daughter doesn't need to practice reading. She already knows how to read.

Me: (speechless for a moment)

To quote my Mother in Law:

"Apple tree don't get oranges".

Vehicles I Would Only Drive if They Gave Them to Me.

The Pon.tiac Az.tek.
Now, I don't know if this vehicle is good on gas, reliable or what. What I do know is that it is ugly. I'll tell you that whenever I see one on the road, in my head I say: "THAT, is an ugly vehicle". Especially when it's in a fucked up colour like canary yellow.
Nice idea to make it a conservative colour on the company website. I've never seen this colour on the road.

Hon.da Ele.ment
This looks like a giant kleenex box on wheels.
It's ugly.
For 30Kcd, without the bells and whistles, I expect more.

The Hum.mer
I'm sorry, but this is a ridiculous vehicle to be parking in front of a Star.bucks.
Yuppies don't need military vehicles to get to their Bay Street offices. There is no tough terrain in the city. The only city people who should be driving this ugly vehicle are "gangstas"...because they actually shoot at each other.

These are my top 3 fuggly vehicles.
Notice how they are all SUV's?

How about you?
What vehicle do you think is the ugliest?

P.S.: Is this English?. See?
This is the end result of taking phonics out of schools.

(Part Two) My Favourite Serbian Phrases

“Kad mi pukne film”
Literal translation: When my film breaks
Meaning: When I lose my temper

“Nas je, makar i usran”
Literal translation: He’s ours, even if he’s covered in shit
Meaning: regardless of what, you love your family

“Njena kosa izgleda kao da su macke sisale”
Literal translation: Her hair looks like cats have been sucking on it
Meaning: She needs to do something about her appearance

“Ubio bi te za zuto dugme”
Literal translation: They’d kill you for a yellow button
Meaning: They’d rob you for anything that even looks like it might be worth something (yellow button representing gold)

“Skoce onda kazi ‘hop’”
Literal translation: Jump and then yell “hop”
Meaning: Doing something and then thinking about it afterwards/acting in haste

“Ko kopa za drugi, sam sebi kopa”
Literal translation: Who digs a grave for someone, falls in themselves
Meaning: Those who plot against others, will reap what they plan for others.

“Kad Mama nije besna, kuca nije tesna”
Literal translation: When Mama isn’t mad, the house isn’t tense
Meaning: Keep Mama happy.

And last but not least: When my Mama was in an argument with my father, and he was shouting about something, she would always calmly say:
“Jaaaaooooo, Kao u bioskop”
Meaning: WOW, just like in the movies.

Language is a beautiful thing.
Share yours with me.

(Part One) My Favourite West Indian/Guyanese phrases:

I really love language.
I love the way other cultures use language.
West Indians have a rich way of expressing themselves.
Here are some favourites I can remember:

"Mouth open, story drop out"
(Can’t keep a secret)

"Apple tree don’t get oranges"
(Like father, like son)

"Bush get ears"
(Watch what you’re saying, someone might be listening)

"Every rope gat two ends"
(Every story has two sides.)

"It dee same six an four"
(it will have the same outcome)

"She had me in a gear"
(She had me upset)

"It nah good to shove yuh foot in every stocking"
(You don’t have to be involved in everything)

"I nah say he stewpid, I say he simple"
(self-expanitory)

"Nah all who guh a church guh fuh pray"
(Some people just do things to put up a front)

“Dey gon leave he widout a pot to piss in”
(self-explanitory)

I love this culture.
I love the humour, the easy and light spirit West Indians have, the way that sentences are structured in patois, the visuals the words bring.

Next:(Part Two) My Favourite Serbian phrases.

When The Mister and I announced that we were getting married, one of the things that was important to me was that my uncle approved.
That he and his family would be at our wedding.

Interracial weddings go over like a whore at a church picnic in the Serbian community.
Well, ok…let’s not be rash…no one ever says anything to your face.
They just talk shit about you, and they don’t spend precious yak time on facts.
I was concerned about the kind of effect my personal life choices would have on him, and his family where the community was concerned…but more than anything, I wanted him to accept my future husband, and his two children.

My Uja met The Mister about two weeks before the wedding.
He found out about and met The Misters children at the reception.
"Outrageous", you say to yourself.
Yeah.
When something means so much to you, sometimes you’re paralyzed when faced with dealing with it.

I used to tease my Uja because his wife loves to dance, and Uja says that he has bricks for feet. Through my youth, Uja always promised me that if there was going to be any time that he would dance, he would dance at my wedding.

He did.
The first time I ever saw my Uja dance as with The Misters sister.
Perfect.
The Misters sister is one of the most beautiful and personable people you will ever meet.

When he was introduced to The Misters children, I could see the look of surprise on his face, and I was immediately sorry I hadn’t prepared him.
My oldest stepson, who had heard so many wonderful stories and things about my Uja, upon hearing who he was, spontaneously said, "Uja!!" and threw his arms around Uja’s waist and hugged him with sincerity.
A look of surprise, mixed with a genuine love for children, Uja returned the embrace.
It still moves me with emotion, recalling the scene.
I don’t think my eldest stepson could ever understand, with the innocent gesture of a child, what kind of bridge he had built at that moment, on that day.

From the mouths of babes, indeed.

Dear Diary....



I’ve been a diary/journal keeper since I was eleven, or so.
Believe me people..... with a mother like mine, keeping a private journal was no easy feat, let me tell you.
Wherever my little mind thought was a clever place to hide said diary, was a piece of cake for KGB Agent Milinkov to find.
Hide it between books?
Behind the toilet?
Under the bed?
Under a floorboard?
Behind a loosened brick in the backyard?
In a shallow hole under a bush close to the house?

Yeah, sure.

Mama was a compulsive “thower-outer”, and she decided whether I needed something or not.
Saving those Teen Beat magazines because they have posters of Michael Jackson and David Cassidy? (Shut. Up.)
I was not allowed to put them up on the wall "bekaz da tep rooin da paint".

They would disappear in a military style shake down of my room.
With a “vy yu keepink det garbitch?” in passing, from Mama.

To approach her in this decades' teen style of:
“How dare you go into my room!!! I have a right to my privacy!!!!”
Would have resulted in a shpaff across the head, and a reminder of who I was talking to.

Mind you, what was so private in the diary of an eleven or twelve year old?
Page after page of “Richard(names interchangeable) said ‘hi’ to me in the hall today outside of Mr. Murrins’ room...he's sooooooo cute”?
Or
“Lisa said that Keshra is a snotty bitch, and then Keshra told me that she’s not Lisa’s friend anymore, and then….”?
Or…
Endless laments and bitches about my mother?

Bingo!

One time, after a particularly percolated tongue lashing from her for Ican'trememberwhat…. I wrote all about how much I hated her, and what a bitch she was, and how unfair my life was, and how much my life sucked, and then promptly hid my journal between my mattresses

Genius!

My eleven year old mind thought.

Until I got home from school the next day.

Even when I think about it now, my ass smarts.

When I was a little girl, the Serbian community was tiny.
We pretty well knew each other, or of each other.
Since the bombings, the Serbian community has exploded here.

Many of the “refugees” or immigrants don’t want to be here.
This is a bitter wave, and people of my generation often have the attitude of "shut up, and go back if you don't like it here, but stop yer bitchin' and get on with life..."
But, this wave is fundimentally different because, they are here out of necessity, sending money back home to those family members who are helping to rebuild.
They want to be back home.
But, home is so destroyed that many young people don’t feel that they have a future.
Pensioners are committing suicide because of the conditions they are forced to live in with no money, in a country that went without paying it’s workforce while it was rebuilding itself.

Why do I mention this today?

Because I was watching a CTV documentary called Teaching Peace in a Time of War and it brought tears to my eyes.
For so many reasons…. so many reasons, many which are hard to articulate.
To see and realize that there are children of my heritage who are not familiar with peace.
To know that as that time was passing, now over a decade, that for some reason I was out of touch with the reality of time passing.
That the children and future generation of the people of my nationality do not know what living without fear is.

That this country, that I have such fond and loving memories of has been bombed into a third world country.

To the average Canadian watching this documentary, about a Canadian Teachers’ mission to teach conflict resolution strategies to Serbian Elementary and High School Teachers, is a feel good experience.
When I was a young girl, I used to pine for my culture to be depicted somewhere in film, now I cringe…because I know that it will be a biased and insulting characterization.
This documentary made me sad, because it depicted an educated and civilized culture as backwards, and obtuse.

To me, it’s a painful, sad and bittersweet commentary on a country and culture I love pointlessly destroyed protecting its own land, and rebuilding itself again.

Again.

And So The Holiday Season Begins.

For me, the holiday season starts with Sveti Nikola, and ends with Orthodox Christmas on January 7th. The Misters family functions are sprinkled in between.
One of my stepsons is totally with the program now.
He knows to kiss everyone three times (for the Holy Trinity).
He knows to cross himself, and take a spoonful of zito as soon as he walks in the door.
He knows to keep his cognac glass full if he doesn't want to drink it anymore.
He drinks turkish coffee (he doesn't drink coffee otherwise)
He knows a few words in Serbian.
I figure, in a couple of Slavas, he'll be a Serb.



Today there was eating.
There was laughing.
There was drinking.
There was Turkish Coffee Fortune Telling.

This Slava, wasn't much different from the Slava I described here.

I did get Mama to confess something though...

When I was a young girl, there used to be an old building next to what is now the Queen Street Mental Health Centre.
Back then, Mama told me that it was a reform school...a jail for bad kids.
Whenever we drove, or walked past that old building, my mother used to tell me that if I didn't behave, she'd put me in there.

Today, as we were passing 1001 Queen Street (formerly 999 for those that are older than 20 here in Toronto) I reminded Mama of what she used to say to me.
She laughed.
I asked her if the old building was really a reform school.

Her reply:
"Ok. Yu ketch me. I lie...I don no vat da buldink vos..."

You have to love her.
Well, at least I do.

Mama Answers:

MissKikiRiki asked:

I have da perfect questions for Mama.My slava is coming up (st. Nikola), I'm only having baklava for dessert (because I don't know how to make anything else..and I can't buy anything because it's a lenten slava)..My question: Is the baklava enough variety ? Should I have another type of dessert? How should I respond to my grandmother when she will undoubtedly critisize for only serving baklava? Thank you.

Sretna Slava. Tis iz our slava too!!! I don follo too mach da rules. Bat eef yu gatta, den da froot iz alveys goot. Da froot an da deep, or froot salata.
-----------------------------
Crabby asked:

Will we enjoy a white Christmas this year Mama?

Eh, hoo nos? Mebee, Mebee. Tis Kountry hev da stoopit vedder. Van dai nice, nex dai no so nice. Even saamyime da...vat's hees name? Da gai on the CFRB, Haarol samtink...even he's rong saamtyme...an he's da meteormen.
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Jacqueline asked:

I have a question...What the heck is misskikiriki talking about? What is lenten slava? Is this the eastern advent?

Read about fasting for Christmas (January 7) here.
Read about the Serbian Slava here.
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Benjamin asked:

What should I get for my new sister-in-law? She just got a whole bunch of wedding gifts and is well-off so she has just about everything. I'm stumped.

Sen her to da spa. Aal da ladies, dey like da spa. Dat's vat da peopl mit da maney like, no?
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Sonja asked:

The whole family is invited to my younger sister's for Christmas dinner and my older sister's brother-in-law will be there, too. Nobody likes this guy and he is RUDE and OBNOXIOUS - give me some advice so that I won't be arrested for grievous bodily harm.....
oh sorry mama I got so excited it's my older sister's husband who is the rude and obnoxious one - already I'm getting all riled up just thinking about him .....

Ven he staart takkink, yu no lissen. You tink abaout odder tings. Jas geev heem da durty looks eef he talks too stoopit. Hahahah.
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Darek asked:

Mama, could you go Christmas shpping for me? I am sooooo behind!

No.
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Ice Queen asked:

Every other mom seems to be getting their kid's teacher a present. In my day, we didn't give persents to our teachers. It was unfair to kids who couldn't afford presents so it was against school policy.I don't want to get her present. But everyone else seems to be and I'll feel like a heel if I don't. I was thinking of something homemade. What do YOU think, Mama? She IS a nice lady. But still!

Hev yu keeds mek da piktur of her and pud eet in a frame. Tis is cheep, bat nice.
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Cicada asked:

Mama, My mother-in-law is a nice woman, but she expects me to wait on her hand and foot when she visits. She came for Thanksgiving and it was like having the Queen living at our house. Her son and I have been married for ten years, so it's not like we've only done this a couple of times. I hate making and serving coffee all day.How can I make my mother-in-law feel welcome and stop waiting on her without starting a holiday fight?

Lissen, she's yu madda too. She kam to yu houz, yu eat et for da van dai. Don mekka da problemas mit yu husban becas of hur...tis iz hees madde...Mebee she van to mek da problem, an complain det yu no like her. Don let dis to heppen. Yu pud app mit it fo da van day.
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Jacqueline asked:

Third slave here. Actually it's not the usual mil (stepmom), but rather the out of town bio-mom.She'll just watch me bust my ass and all the time yak at me about her latest boyfriend.I have another question for Mama though. My sister (older) is having big financial troubles. I would like to give her a gift certificate for the grocery store. Do you think this would embarass her though? Maybe I should give it to her on the side.

Geev her da maney. Kesh. Everybady like da kesh. An yu sai samtink like..."I deedn't no vat to buy dis year..." or samtink like det so she no gonna feel bed for hevink da maney trouble.
Peopl still gadda de pride. Yu don vanna her to go to big depression...den mebee yu gadda bigge problema to hendl.

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Dantallion asked:

Mama: What does one bring to a pot-luck, multi-denominational Christmas dinner, where you don't know anyone going?

Kek. Everybady likka da kek.
Or froot. Tis is alveys saf too. Don forget to bringa da flowers...it mek every houz heppy to hev sambady to bring da flowers.