baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mom, Dad, and Strange Magical Recipes My parents are sick-which really shouldn't surprise me considering they're both in their mid-70s. But, still, even in my 30s, I still see the parental units through the rose-coloured glasses of childhood-pillars of permanency-always there-a phone call away-ready to help me with whatever I need helping with. It's odd that, in the strictest sense of the word, I haven't really *needed* their help in a long time. I go to work, pay my bills, fix my car, make doctor appointments and change my underwear all by my lonesome. About the only thing I can't do without a call to Mom is cook my favorite Filipino dish-this strangely wonderful and intoxicating red concoction of chicken, potatoes and bell peppers. This, I need help with. *First you brown the chicken, but not too much because it's going to boil for a while,* Mom would say. *How do I know if it's brown enough?,* I ask. *You just know,* Mom would say in that exasperated tone of voice I'm so familiar with-as if Filipino cooking involved some sort of inner-consciousness-an innate magic that can only be harnessed if one was born in the Philippine Islands, and had the weird luck of looking Asian while having a Spanish sounding name. But, cooking Filipino dishes aside, I do need their help. Specifically, I need them around. I need to know that they're a mere 20-minute drive away. I need that sense of comfort that comes from knowing Mom and Dad are there-wether it be for cooking tips or for the occasional *We're going to Vegas this weekend, please come feed Macy* conversations we often have. And I'm scared. Because, it's increasingly obvious to me that they aren't pillars of permanency-that they won't always be there-that their aging bodies are betraying them slowly and surely-that soon, they'll both give in to death like all perfect parents do. And the hole their memory will leave behind will be wide, infinite and full of regrets over silly arguments and words said and words never said. 3:17 p.m. - 2001-06-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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