My mother is recovering from surgery.
It’s important that she consumes no alcohol, so at 5pm one evening I made her a drink with Pellegrino, fresh squeezed Meyer lemon from her tree, sugar, and mint sprigs. What the French probably call citron pressé avec gaz, and the Vietnamese restaurants in San Francisco sell as fresh lemon soda.
I used one of her old silver iced tea spoons to stir, and also as the straw she needed for drinking, The stem is hollow, it works like all straws do.
There’s been some brouhaha recently about privilege. A young woman ostensibly wrote an article complaining that people hated her because she has money. Her voice was not terribly likeable. You can read the original post, and then a response, both in Thought Catalog. The responder sounds like a much nicer person.
This all may have been manufactured for noise – fake writers, fake stories, and so on. But the issue of privilege persists.
In some cultures discussing one’s good fortune is well accepted. In America, I think it’s better tempered by humility and discretion. However, I began this blog as a way to tell the story of Mom’s iced tea spoons and their place in my memory. Vivid from childhood just as others remember peach pies baking, the lure of lakes in public parks, spice grinders, loam.
We’re all human beings, a species of animal, after all. It’s very complex, figuring out right and wrong, correct and incorrect, at least I have always found it so. So I try not to be a jerk. That much is pretty simple. We get born and if we’re lucky we get old. I’d save hate for those few times it’s really warranted.
Mom is napping. Have a wonderful weekend everyone.