I'm "collecting" again.
The latest installment is a family story contributed by James, a delightful incident from about age four or five, related while he installed new RAM in my laptop between phone calls and bites of "lunch", represented by a heated rice bowl with a steamed- over cover and a foot long Sonic sub sandwich, half of which reappeared later reconstituted as "supper".
This is a "language joke" in the form of a very clever comeback to a mother's standard nagging question.
Play the voice of a Taiwanese lady, checking periodically on her naughty boy, who would not finish his meal. In English, what she said means "Have you cleaned your plate?", but a literal translation would be "Have you eaten until you are full?" (A MUCH more sensible goal than pressuring kids to join the clean plate club, which is why I got fat -- Children in Africa are starving, so don't waste food... We've all heard it.)
Young James, after the third or fourth time she checked up on him, replied with the English equivalent of, "I AM full, but my plate is not empty." Literally translated, he said, "But I can't get full."
I *love* collecting family stories! It doesn't even have to be from MY family! James also touched on the live journal "story starter" for today. Since he doesn't even know livejournal exists, that is pretty prescient of him.
What traditions do you carry on during your day, consciously or otherwise?
James, while courting his flame haired significant other, was astonished when she observed that he always ate only half of whatever was on his plate, taking the rest home in a "doggie bag", as he'd never been anywhere with decent cooking places available, so it was a way to survive. I went from that conversation to a meal at the Olive Garden, where I found myself telling the server that if I got salad, appetizer, and main meal, I'd need a few "doggie bags". She was fine with it, so I brought home half or a bit more of everything, yet was completely full, eating until full again on Saturday, and on Sunday. (My kitchen is perfectly adequate -- I'm just lazy.)
I got in "full bore" collect it mode with my visit to my mother in Mississippi. Intending to be antisocial and bury my face in my book, instead, I found myself chatting with seat mates, stewardesses, people across the aisle and several seats back, those seated near me or just passing by as I waited in Memphis for my flights, the people checking us through the metal detectors, pilots walking along on the ramp pulling their luggage like a reluctant dog behind -- no personage seems too great or too small.
The entries that tend to make it into this journal, or my mom's motheremily are family stories. The most recent deals with a very risque subject for my mother: SEX. A true story.
And now my uncle clydeham has joined the fray with his autobiographical account, which I will be posting bit by bit, in between editing my first novel The Saga of Travel's Far Woman, Vol. 1, Summercircles, which I started in 2001, in August, but YOU can read it in logical order by accessing the calendar feature starting in January. Somewhere in March is as far as the current bout of editing has solidified. Like most authors, feedback is essential and gratefully accepted.