She smiles. Strategically lifting her coffee cup to her lips at the very moment that her lips curl to reveal her pleasure. She guards the once beautiful smile that she is now so conscious of. Her hands; soft, but now weathered by time, grasp at the paper cup - still gracefully; just as she was taught so many years before. She speaks; with strength, wisdom, love and laughter. Always.
You ask her then about her youngest daughter. She smiles. Pausing first, she speaks softly, lovingly, telling you that her little girl is one of the most beautiful, independent and brilliant women she knows. Distracted by some commotion at the serving counter she looks away for a moment, a concerned frown appearing on her face, only to refocus on the conversation minutes later. She thinks. Looking to you as a confidante, she, with a sad smile, tells you that her daughter is also the most incredible soon-to-be spinster she knows. Her smile fades but only momentarily as she catches herself revealing too much. Her eyes reflecting a glint of all of the hopes and dreams she still holds for her daughter. Speaking then only of how she lay awake nights, worrying that her last born would grow old; alone; by choice. What a waste. Then she sighs. Her dark eyes drifting to a place between here and there.
That is my mother. That is how my mother sees me. Her baby, even after 36 years. Regardless of what anyone else might think, my mother is still my biggest fan. One might think that having raised a strong, independent western woman, that my mother's daughter would be aghast (disgusted, even) at my mother's point of view. Not so. My mother; a woman who met and married a man she had come face-to-face with but once; gave birth to, raised and cared for a family of six; a woman who sees marriage as an institution of commitment and service and "falling in love" as something that to this day, I'm not sure she fully understands...
My mother comes from a different time, a vastly different culture and somewhere, between then and now, what flows in my mother's blood, flows through my own. I am an East meets West fusion. A cluttered mess of cultures, beliefs and ideals. I am, in essence, a chicken ball. (You all know that chicken balls aren't really Chinese food, right?) A single, unmarried, chicken ball, if you were to ask her.
I've never had any issues dating. My mother however, has always had issues with my dating practices. "Dating? What the hell is that? Pick one and marry him." More than that, my mother has had near 1,200 heart attacks (at least) after finding out who I was dating at any given time. In all seriousness, we simply cannot agree. From being with a man she loathed with everything she had in her, for ten long years, to being with a man for four that she adored, we've never really seen eye-to-eye on what constitutes a good man. It's always left me wondering. Until yesterday.
Mom has recently discovered technology. She's 70. That's right. Mom is a 70 year old, Facebooking, Farmville-playing, Cafe World-loving senior. Her days are spent planning out menus, cooking times, crop considerations and purchasing super stoves. Late some nights, after miscalculating cooking times, mom can be found nodding away on the sofa trying desperately to stay awake to serve her dishes as not to let them spoil.
In need of some Cafe World buddies in order to expand her now booming online cafe, mom joined a CafeWorld group on Facebook. Dear god.
What she soon came to find was that the people she had added, although, she knew nothing of them was that they were incredibly generous. Mom was receiving hundreds of helpings of free dishes in multiple servings to serve to her customers. These people were awesome!
Then somehow, much to my own dismay, my mother did something that I've never really approved of. She had a thought... involving me.
Gregory was one of the first to send her a friend request. He was by all accounts, young, successful, attractive. "Damn, that boy can run a cafe. You should see all the customers milling about his cafe." All the things that a mother would want in a potential mate for her daughter. Well, at least according to his profile he was all of these things. Judging by his avatar, he was quite a stud too. (Although, those white chef's jackets can make any man look good).
That's right. My mother wants to hook me up with Gregory. The Cafe World playing, free gift giving, random douche that has no more than a Cafe World avatar to show on his Facebook page. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Gregory is as kind and giving of his time and efforts in his real life as he is serving up 2 second, 4 Mbs of delicious Moo Shu Pork but, mom... Seriously.
Again, one might think I should be offended. Nope. Not really. I think my mother is a ridiculously insane spaz of a woman who truly wants what is best for me and holds hope that I will one day get over my declaration of self-sufficiency and that my apparent non-interest in "being in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship" will pass. Still, she wants to find me a husband, she wants to find me happiness. Someone who will care for me as my father has her. Someone to grow old with. Preferably, one that will send her some French Onion soup on a daily basis. My mommy loves me in her "I'm going to find you a random husband on CafeWorld" kind of way. I can't help but love her crazy ass.
What has become painfully obvious is that we will never agree. We're okay with that. For the time being, we live, we learn, we love...we look to have her committed. One day, she'll realize that she can't just give me away to the first man who offers her a free stove for my hand, rather, I kind of like my men rugged, handy and outdoorsy. Like this guy:
"My mother tried to kill me when I was a baby. She denied it. She said she thought the plastic bag would keep me fresh."
