Oct. 2, 2008 "Granny talk"
It’s Thursday, October 2nd
, and as I am sitting, waiting to go to the fair—again
—I thought I would write about eating some of the fried, fair food.
Before I make my point, I feel I should share some of my family history with you. I am half Japanese (mom) and the other half (dad) is a mix of English, Irish, and Welsh; my Japanese grandmother would not be P.C. and call me a “mutt.” My grandmother, God rest her soul, was a little woman---with a TOWERING personality. She stood 4’10”, and weighed around 75 pounds. Her name was Fumi Yabe (named after Mt. Fuji---thus the big attitude.) My granny was definitely the matriarch of the family and EVERYONE knew she ruled the roost. No one would ever speak out of turn, or make her mad—because if you did—you were BUSTED! My grandmother always said what was on her mind, (there was no filter) and sometimes she would even say it in Japanese; this is when we knew we were really in trouble—for something.
I would constantly hear my granny say, “Baka tare!” Or, “Dame, dame, dame!” First, let me give you a pronunciation. “Baka tare” is pronounced bakka Ta-day. “Dame” is pronounced Da-may. And now for the translation: “Baka tara” means “stupid head,” and “Dame” means, “no good.” When I was younger I thought she said these words when she lost at Solitaire or when she messed up a recipe. I later realized that most of the time—it was directed at MOI! (Insert sarcasm. This is how I developed a thick skin while growing up! Hahahahaha!) If I did something that my granny thought was dumb, I would hear, “Chera baka tara!” Or “Chera dame, dame, dame!” Most of the time she had every right to say those things; for instance when I put my hand on a hot stove, or when I was practicing my ice skating jumps in the house around sharp objects and fell and split my lip open—blood spewing everywhere, or the times I would ruin dinner because I couldn’t follow her directions. So, you see she was usually right about me being a “stupid head.”
Let me digress for a sentence or two, or three—since we are still kinda on the subject of cooking. I can’t cook—at all! (Again, there is a point to my granny and family history.) This is why my husband cooks for me or I eat, at least this week, fried, fair food! My body is conflicted by these “delicacies.” My taste buds, for the most part, like the crap I have been shoveling in, but my stomach—not so much. (This is where my grandmother comes in.) I can hear, clear as day, her saying in broken English, “Chera! What is wrong with you? You stupid head! Dame, dame, dame!” She would then continue, “Baka tara! You are not Japanese. How can you eat that stuff?” (No beating around the bush with my granny. She gets right to the point!)
Wow! That just took four paragraphs to get that point. Sorry. Nonetheless, It is Thursday and I have just now started hearing my grandmother’s voice in my head regarding fair food. This is what she is saying while looking down on me shaking her head in disgust, “Chera! Dame! You are going to be so sorry on Saturday. Baka tara!” Then she continues with “This will be your fault if you get sick or don’t finish your run!” (Good times, huh? Oh, my granny, she had a wicked sense of humor! Gotta love the honesty!) J
So here I sit at my desk, silently speaking to my granny. I say, “Gra’ma, because I don’t want you to be upset, I want to tell you that I have not eaten anything crappy today—and I will not eat anything crappy, fried or fattening tomorrow, either. I promise.” I want to finish this run with the Fleet Feet gang and the Hawt AsSphalts, and I want to finish it strong—and we all will. If that means channeling my granny to get through it, then so be it! J
We all have a little “granny” in us—or at least know someone like my grandmother who can keep us in line, right? So let’s get out there and kick some Hawt AsSphalt on Saturday!!! 18 miles is NOTHIN’! J
P.S. Clay said he would bring Krispy Kremes! J