Ah. Moms.

Mothers.

My mother has an interesting perspective of me not living in Hawai’i. To her, this means I instantly have lost my cultural identity and connections. Somehow, I am instantly absorbed into the homogenized American way of doing things (I think) and no longer can do or eat things that are my cultural base.

It’s a very interesting thing to encounter. I’ve basically become Cole.

Apparently I can’t cook and am totally dependent on packaged foods. I also eat a lot of beef. Roast beef or hamburger. I’m not sure which. She’d been surprised I discuss fish.

It’s taken her a few decades but it’s sunk in to her that no, I’m still mostly a hapa-mixed poi dog person who just happens to live someplace that is more comfortable to me… mentally. And well, with roads long enough for me to drive for hours if I want to.

This seems to perplex her sometimes. Ever once in a while it resurfaces and I get all… what the hell are you talking about? Come on, woman! We have a discussion about the types of Spam! Get with it. Sighs. Mom. Really?

Although I do have a kick ass sure fire way to do an oven roast.

Given to me by my mother.

Oh the irony. *grins*

4 thoughts on “Ah. Moms.

  1. Treasure

    My Mom lives on the “civilized” East Coast. I live in the desert high country. She’s pretty sure we aren’t circling the wagons for protection every night…

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