The Manta Ray That Could Make Me Rich

Several weeks ago, I attended my son Kiet's wrestling banquet where I happened to sit at the same table with a parent I met for the first time whose son was a friend of Kiet's and a varsity wrestler on the team.  During the long and tedious awards ceremony, we'd struck up an intimate conversation to escape boredom.  She was very easy to talk to and we discussed everything under the sun, including the economy, her relationship with her son, whom I shall call Lee, and the situation with her ex – Lee’s dad – whom I’m not acquainted with but catch a glimpse of sometimes as we both arrive at school to pick up the boys from wrestling practice.

On the subject of the economy, I discovered it hadn't been exactly kind on Lee's mom.  She confided in me that she had lost roughly $3 million in the last few years – some due to bad investments and a bigger part dissipated in business ventures that had seemed promising at the time, but eventually took the same steep downward slide of the general economy.  By now she has liquidated all her businesses except for a nail shop and a yogurt store.  While married, this woman was the successful owner of a sewing factory and a tanning salon, as well as the generous benefactor of many friends and relatives who had depended on her to provide start-up loans for their own businesses.  In fact, even after they were divorced, she had lent her ex a big sum of money in his time of need with the stipulation that he played safe with what's left of their son's once robust inheritance.  Predictably, her ex couldn't do better and was only able to repay her roughly $20K.  She seemed pretty understanding, recounting to me in an even tone that she mostly believed he was truthful about his financial disarray, except for a few uncomfortable moments when she'd wondered if he had in fact spent part of the money on courting and wedding his second wife, a beauty queen from Vietnam who purportedly dropped him after she had achieved her desired immigration status and he was no longer wealthy.  This scenario seems to be a recurrent theme with many of the divorced Vietnamese men I know.  In fact, I'd ceased to be surprised by the commonness of this cliché.

Anyhow, it had struck me as total madness to contemplate losing $3 million. I've experienced my own humbling financial circumstances, but really couldn't fathom such a nerve-racking downfall.  Firstly, I never had $3 million to begin with, but even if I did, I imagine I would hang on to it for dear life as I'm so leery of investments in general that I tend to stay away from them so I could sleep at night.  The truth is I'm so averse to risk taking that there was no way I could have built up that kind of fortune anyway.

There's a French song saucily done by Petula Clark in the sixties whose lyrics included the following verse:  "Tout le monde veut aller au ciel, oui, mais personne ne veut mourir!" (Everybody wants to go to Heaven, but no one wants to die.)  Seems to me everyone wants to win the lottery, and most wouldn't actually balk at having to first buy tickets, except me.  Notwithstanding my spendthrift ways, I tend to view lottery tickets as a terrible waste of money.  Additionally, I secretly feel I don't deserve to win!  All things considered, I see myself as being pretty fortunate in life, so I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of coveting more, as if I could will a better balance of cosmic fairness by refusing to allow myself the distant possibility of becoming the next jackpot winner.  My ex, however, was disdainful of lottery tickets for an entirely different reason.  He would sometimes buy them, but never bother to check lottery results if he heard someone else had already won the big prize.  To him it just wasn't worth the trouble to win anything less.  That would defeat the whole purpose of winning the lottery as he saw it, if he still had to get up every morning and go to work! 

You might wonder why I'd been going on about the lottery after my tangent discourse on the sad state of the economy.  The entire previous paragraph became somewhat relevant to this blog only because my mom has been exhorting me to purchase lottery tickets lately, a request I'd repeatedly ignored... because she thought it might be my time to win big!  I don't remember mentioning this in any of my writings, but my mom is quite superstitious.  Furthermore, she believes in the premonitory power of dreams, which was why she got more than a little excited when I shared with her about my recent dream involving water... lots of it!  In my mom's book, water (in a dream) equates with money.  I've no idea how she came about that assertion as I'm not well-versed on the interpretation of dreams, but supposedly my mom had once guided someone in the family to win a small purse in a game of chance after that person dreamed about water.  My dream, however, seemed to approach a nightmare and hardly propitious, at least in the beginning!  I saw myself arriving at a seaside vacation home with my entire extended family, where everybody was happily cavorting on the beach except me, who for some reason stupidly went inside to check out the bathroom where there was a storm drain next to the sink.  Don't ask me why a storm drain would be located beside a bathroom sink, as most dreams tend to be rather peculiar in their own unique ways.  Anyhow, in my dream I never once wondered about the purpose of the storm drain, but was curious enough about it that I'd lifted the metal lid that covered its opening.  I saw, or thought I spied, a huge snake inside with its pointy head peeking out at me ominously.

So I screamed and ran outside for help.  My brother Louie came in carrying a wood branch, with my sister Peni following gingerly at a distance, admonishing him to be careful.  When Louie lifted the storm drain cover and poked at the creature, it slid out in one tremendous whoosh and flattened itself into a humongous fish... a giant Manta ray that had the bad luck to get caught in the storm drain that rendered it the shape of a widely-hated reptile.

The Manta ray wriggled wildly on the tiled bathroom floor and found its way back to the ocean as our family ooh'ed and ahh'ed over its majestic appearance.  My dream had this corny ending not unlike the Japanese monster movies of my youth, in which a certain helpful and victorious beast would conveniently wade out to sea, never to be seen again once it had vanquished Godzilla to save Tokyo and its people from further destruction.

The point of my persistent rambling was that my mom somehow had become totally convinced my dream could forecast a financial windfall for me, despite the fact that I've been working a regular job, with absolutely no chance of making it big on my own because I would never dare to take a stab at any business opportunity that presented itself.  To her, the idea that a snake (in her mind an extremely vile and unredeemable animal) would transform itself into benign sea life, and my having "rescued" the trapped creature by causing it to be released to sea, signified something wholly auspicious! And let's not forget about all that water in the ocean. Water means money, remember?

I heard someone had already won the California lottery jackpot on March 25th, so I'll definitely wait for the purse to get big again before literally following my dream of riches.

My mom the fortune-teller and my Sis, Midol

Andrea going away to college

Andrea's first college acceptance letter came through in the mail today (3/26/11)... it was from UC Berkeley. I made a show of giving it to her, only to have her tell me she knew two days ago. What the heck!

Unlike most traditional Vietnamese families, for whom the college application process constitutes decisions gravely discussed and carefully considered between parents and student, Andrea glided through it unobtrusively on her own, with me stranded on the sideline feeling left out.  I would have to nosily inquire if I was to be privy to any bits of information, and even then she would divulge very little.  All I knew... intuited, really... was that she wanted to spread her wings and escape from the confines of home.  Being the typical provincial mom, I'd secretly hoped Andrea could be happy somewhere within the UC system to make things easier for everyone concerned.  True to her thrifty nature, she had chosen to apply to only a handful of colleges in a considerate effort to contain costs, even after I'd repeatedly encouraged her to spread her bets liberally.  What I couldn't understand was how University of Chicago ended up being among her few application picks.  Even though UChicago enjoyed "a reputation of devotion to academic scholarship and intellectualism and is affiliated with scores of Rhodes Scholars and Nobel Prize laureates," according to Wikipedia, I found it hard to picture Andrea there.  First of all, U of C is a private college.  That goes directly against the cardinal rule of containing higher education costs, as our family had already learned from dear experience by allowing our eldest daughter, Audrey, to attend the college of her choice, FIDM (Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising).  Secondly, it's located in, where else, Chicago... in my book a notorious city not exactly known for being hospitable!  Again, I'd secretly hoped Andrea's application would be rejected, thereby saving me a debate on the merits of that option altogether.  Problem is, the only other school on her short list that would allow Andrea to live away from home was UC Berkeley.  I'm fine with Berkeley otherwise, but what if she came back a rabid liberal?

The other thing is, I shall miss her dearly wherever she ends up.  Who would balance me once Andrea went away?  She happens to be the only male influence in this household, with Kiet currently an unabashed momma's boy not ashamed of it.  Despite our physical resemblance, Andrea and I are diametrically opposite in temperaments.  She's placid; I'm excitable.  She's typically laconic; I tend to explain myself, sometimes unnecessarily.  She weighs her choices with quiet consideration; I can't wait to implement whatever it is that pops into my mind and makes enough of an impression.  She spends the dollar carefully; I'm at best a reformed spendthrift.  She constantly shutters herself behind the door of her bat cave; I'm a lark who needs to allow plenty of light and interaction into my surroundings.  She expends her energy in short bursts of efficacy and lazes around the rest of the day; I labor over my efforts without relaxation.  Besides, if Andrea goes away to college, who's going to remind me the rules of the road when I drive?

I'd made her apply to UCI even though she didn't like the school.  She never told me why.  Now that Berkeley has accepted her, I'd probably be resigned to sending my second daughter care packages comes fall.

It seemed like yesterday when I was feeling dead tired every waking moment, sleepwalking through my mommy duties while harboring uncharitable thoughts about how I couldn't get rid of my chidlren fast enough... then all of a sudden two of them became almost full-blown adults who couldn't wait to fly from home!

 

What I've learned is that even though the minutes in a bad day might crawl along at a snail's pace, the years of our lives would seemingly go by in a flash.

"Baby" and me

A Bit of Exercise Won't Hurt

In response to an innocuous remark I made about getting complacent after having settled in my new home, my mom took the opportunity to point out it seemed I’ve gained a little weight… only to follow up with a gentle correction that actually, it was a little more than a little weight!

I could have argued that working from home shortly after my firstborn’s quitting daycare before turning one had robbed me of ambition/discipline and contributed to my flab, except that I knew well enough I had none to start with (ambition and discipline, that is.) My mom’s comments certainly rang true in that I’ve myself noticed that lately, the only positive comments I received about my appearance came solely from the loyally blind – my four children.

So in keeping with my belated New Year resolution to improve myself inside and out, I humbly and undefensively called Mom to ask if she would join me in daily walks around her neighborhood so I could lose weight while getting some mother-daughter bonding time. Mom graciously accepted my invitation. Was it my paranoia that discerned a note of relief mixed with eagerness in her voice??

I gingerly drove to my parents’ senior apartment complex… noting to myself how ironic it was that I had to embark on a 15-minute drive for a 15-minute walk. I definitely could’ve gotten more of a workout getting there on foot, except while I was in the mood for self-improvement, it’s never been my style to be a masochist about it… which was exactly why more than a little weight had crept up on me and refused to leave. I’m at that age in a woman’s life where every pound shows, and the bulges tend to collect in places that form the most negative impact. Could somebody tell me why my breasts remained flat no matter which way my weight fluctuated?

Amazingly, the first thing Mom asked when she saw me was whether I had anything to eat that morning. In face of my weight gain pointed out by her – no less – she was still showing her customary Vietnamese mother’s concern the wrong way! I, however, held steadfast and suggested we take an immediate walk to head off my hunger pangs.

The stroll I’d imagined exhilarating, relaxing, nature-communing… turned out rather disappointing and guilt-inducing. Even in my sorry physical state, I was still a bit nimbler and a whole lot faster than my 70+ year-old mom and had to wait up for her every time we rounded a bend in her tiny neighborhood. In fact, my mom was such a slowpoke that I became convinced we’d be positively gaining instead of losing calories at her pace. By the time we completed our first circling of the community, I was already feeling pretty awful for leaving my mom behind so often and agreed to end our walk earlier than I would have liked.

So we got back to my parents’ apartment and my mom buzzed about her kitchen like she did every day, preparing my favorite dishes. I swear the food was calling out my name. By the time we finished eating, I was about two pounds heavier than when I left my house this morning… at which point I’d felt cheated enough to exclaim that I should give up on “exercising” with Mom. My dad rightly pointed out I’m behaving like the lady who sued McDonald’s for her scalding coffee, and my mom good-naturedly protested that at least her food was far healthier than the usual fares I served at my place. Touché on both counts!

Bún bò Huế (this is a web-obtained image but no one makes it as good as my mom, IMHO)



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B%C3%BAn_b%C3%B2_Hu%E1%BA%BF

In searching for bún bò Huế photos on the web, I stumbled upon this Vietnamese cooking tutorial featuring a friend whose web presence I was unaware of until now (she's the woman with the "sexy smile" as described in one viewer's comment).  Her gastroenterologist husband was the guy in the yellow apron serving their guests at the end of the video clip.  LOL!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0puyxpEmY4&feature=rec-LGOUT-real_rn-1r-2-HM