remember reading a post onDesign
conquering your food dislikes, and I also found this on theNPRsite.
From the NPR article:
says these studies demonstrate that DNA does shape our opinion of cilantro, but
probably not enough that we can't overcome it.
“It isn't like your height,
that you're stuck with. People can change it," he says.
So is there hope for extreme cilantrophobes? Maybe.
McGee offers a strategy for building up an appreciation for the herb: Try a
cilantro pesto. Crushing the leaves, he says, releases enzymes that convert the
soapy, stinky compounds into more mild aromas.
Here are two entries from June 11. Thanks for reading, y'all.
June 11, 2014
I prayed with my mom tonight before she went to bed. She
said, “All these years, and I can’t believe now one of my daughters wants to
pray with me.”
We read some prayers in Italian that I only half understood,
and a few others, including some from my childhood that I still have memorized,
like The Lord’s Prayer. Slammed that one out of the park.
I let it break earlier that I get tension in my chest when I
come down to visit them. I was trying to get her to hear me. To convince her to
leave tomorrow like we had planned instead of the next day.
I can’t stop now that I see the
truth: two very lonely people that I love are stuck in limbo, wanting someone
to draw them out of it. They have lost the words you use to ask for help.
I’m going to try to make that someone me. But what I
realized today is that I need to do it slowly, or, you know, chest pain. Hence
the trip to HEB to get Half Baked ice cream and the most expensive bottle of
Italian red wine available. I kind of wish I had a Harry Potter movie on DVD
with me. Comfort is underrated.
June 11, 2014 (At night)
So my mom’s bathroom is hotter than the rest of the house.
Verging on sauna hot. And after being here for twenty-four hours, I finally asked
my dad about it.
(This is not the first time we’ve gotten a “hot” room. My
dad likes to close off vents to certain rooms in the house to make it colder in
the main rooms. This cooling theory has yet to be proven as something that
actually works in any way whatsoever.)
And he goes from zero to five thousand in two seconds. He
immediately gets huffy and denies ever going in that room. Ever. Going. In.
That. Room. How should he know?
How should he know?He’s the only former electrician/handyman
living in this house. How could he not know?
The fight escalates. It’s having him, but it’s not having
me. Well, maybe just a little bit. But what I do know is that I felt like truth
was on my side. Who acts cagey to a question like, “Why is the bathroom so
He says it’s always been that way.
“It has not. I used to live here, remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“You want to have a fight?!”
“Do I want to have a fight? This fight is so much bigger
than what we are talking about right now. And you know it. Do you want to have
“I’m just annoyed. Everyone is always asking me about why
the bathroom is so damn hot, and I don’t know. One hundred people have asked me
about that hot bathroom.”
“So you’re mad at all the other people in your life that
have annoyed you right now? Because I just asked you a simple question. It did
not require an argument. All you had to do was answer. Right now, I was asking
you a question. One question. From one person. Not a hundred people asking you
a question at once. I don’t deserve for you to be mad at me.”
He’s always stuck in the past somewhere too. I wonder if he
ever sees any younger versions of my mom there. Probably not. Just different
unhappy versions of himself.
One of the last times I came to visit my
parents, Chris, my mom, and I were going to the mall to furniture shop. I had
just turned my car into the parking lot, and my mom kept going on and on about
negative things—about my dad, about her regrets, about unforgiveness. I kept
telling her to stop, and she refused. It was as if she couldn’t hear me, or
anything else, outside herself.
I almost fainted while I was driving.
Thankfully, I was only going about five miles an hour since we were looking for
a place to park. I’m a pro fainter at this point in my life and can tell, in
the moments leading up to a big blackout, that all things must halt or I’m going
to look like a major dolt.
I immediately pulled over when I realized what
We decided to abandon our shopping and head
Later, when I was resting in the back room, my
mom came in, convinced that I was pregnant. “I’m not pregnant,” I said. “That
was something else.”
Part of a continuing series, y'all. Part One. Part Two. Part Three.
June 11, 2014
Yay! The cataract surgery is over. I’m relieved and filled with
I tried to focus on my breathing when I got nervous in the
waiting room.I was reading Cooked by Michael Pollan (which is great
so far), but my attention kept wandering.
The nurses were all very nice. I got a strong energy from
the eye doctor.
I got called back to see my mom after they got her ready.
When I first walked through the blue curtain, I felt a wave of fear. (Is there
a better way to say that?) She was hooked up to an IV and had a surgical cap
on. It was all so medical and technical.
But then I looked into my mom’s eyes—she’s so beautiful—and I felt my calm return.
Mom (June 2013)
The surgery was quick. The nurse called my name, and I
followed her back to my mom, who looked overjoyed, drinking her coffee in a
cushioned chair with some animal crackers in a cup on her lap. Finally. All she
wanted all morning was her coffee, and now that moment was here.
She started bragging about me to the nurses—all my trophies
and scholarships. Me: “Mom, you’re embarrassing me.” And then all the nurses
laughed, that communal daughters-of-the-world laugh.
We’re home now and I’m working in the dining room. We called
my sister Sabrina earlier to let her know everything was okay.
Just before my mom got off the phone with Sabrina, she said,
“If you have faith, everything will be fine.”