Textin'

My mother has the texting “skillz” of a teenager. A new millennial.

Just today, I received the following messages:

Ggle mad again.need new pass.loftperson.
Xaktly

From this I understand she’s locked herself out of her Gmail account. Again.

After receiving frantic texts and calls the last few times this happened, I ended up setting myself up as her recovery email address – it’s just easier.

Mum has the impression that her emails extolling the virtues on certain products, and her chastisements of other products are the hot commodity on the net. As a silver surfer, she changes her password at a rate most system administrators would find amazing. Sometimes I think she does it hourly.

The only thing wrong with this plan is that she sometimes (read often) forgets what her last secure password update was. Hence the teenage texts.

Anyway, all taken care of. Which resulted in:

Tku u2. love u mum

Gone swimming!

I ran across this picture from my mother that she mailed me. Not sure what it says about my Mum when I'm not surprised to see her in a bathing suit on her car port roof in the local paper.



The local city council had used ariel photographs to assess who in the neighborhood had pools, and sent bills out accordingly. The only problem with the technology is that Mum had a car port, but no pool. The first time she just went down to the council and informed them of the mistake, the second time she called the paper.

Bliss.

The Velveteen Shirt - A Christmas Story

Several years ago now, I used to routinely receive clothing as gifts from my parents. Any gift is a really nice thought, and you shouldn’t really complain.

That being said - my brother and I used to have to keep our faces from falling when we’d unwrap a sweater that was on the stern side of conservative; jeans that were an inch too short, or a couple of years out of fashion. Christmas clothing was about the worst thing you could receive – other than one of those cards that read a donation was made in your name to “insert charity here”.

Finally the parental units just stopped the clothing purchasing at Chrissy which was a blessing. Well, most of the parental units.

Somewhere in her late 40’s our mother developed a great fondness for any type of silk shirt – especially if the shirt appears that it could have been worn by a waiter unlucky enough to find themselves working at a very seedy Vietnamese restaurant in the early 80’s. These types of garments are the ones she regularly “rescues” from various Thrift/Op Shops for the (bargain) price of $1. You can hear her say, and I quote, “Silk is so cool to wear. It’s so easy to wash, it’s comes up wonderfully.”

This past Christmas I was presented with a package from my mother that she’d had my brother smuggle past customs. J mentioned that he hadn’t wanted to bring it, but he’d promised.



To be fair to Mum, the shirt itself is something that I would have worn when I was 19 and sneaking into 21 and up clubs with my friend Mark down in San Diego.

However, I’m no longer 19, I don't live in San Diego, it’s no longer 1994 and I’m not usually one to wear crushed velvety vaguely snake like material. I was almost longing for one of the oft mocked (on my part) silk shirts.

Mum has asked if I’m wearing it out - my only valid excuse for not wearing it more often is my Thai Fortune Teller has told me not to wear red. You can’t go against that can you?

Spic and Span

My brother and I used to clean our Mum’s house when we were there over weekends; we’d clear away clutter, file paper, and throw away rubbish. By the end of our weekend stay, the place was always spotless, sparking, and the very look of a model home.

Mum always took this with good grace, and was genuinely pleased with our little boy efforts in the housekeeping arena.

I never realized what an annoying habit this can be until this New Years. I had a guest with me that’s a compulsive cleaner. All week long papers were stacked into neat piles and placed in strategic places around my apartment. Cards and pens would magically gather in new meeting places out of sight making the place look spotless.

In other words, I can no longer find anything as it’s no longer where I left it. I’ll never offer to clean for another soul again.

Gimme a “Y”

I love the fact that my Mum text messages. She’s in her 60’s, and likes to email, surf the net (at her local library) and now she’s gotten into the whole cell phone SMS revolution.

The thing that I don’t love is reading her texts. As my brother puts it, she texts like she is charged by the letter, with an extra surcharge for vowels.

The most recent example:
“early lunch @ choc fish. driving honda jazz 4 test. rtcle free weather ok. xs”

Ok – breaking that down.
Early lunch @ choc fish – this is fine, she had an early lunch at the Chocolate Fish (a restaurant in Wellington)
Driving honda jazz 4 test – got it, a test drive of the Honda Jazz.
xs – kisses, got it

The thing that has me stumped is “rtcle free weather ok”

Is that “article free weather ok”? – well, that makes no sense...

Perhaps “reticule free weather ok” – I guess that could make sense; she has no small fabric purse from the 18th century, so she’s “reticule free”, and “the weather is ok”. Still, that doesn’t seem like something you’d text someone. “I have no 200 year old article on me right now.” It’s not even something I’d say to someone face to face. “No reticules on me today.”

I guess it’s just a mystery that I shall leave unsolved. A cold case to crack at a later date.

When wrong is right

Mother turns 10 minute drive into 30 minute tikitour of Wellington beaches.

Ms. G. Philips, mother of 4 sons, took a wrong turn on the way to 'The Chocolate Fish' in Scorching Bay, Wellington New Zealand on September 19, 2007.

While making a u-turn at a dead end on a hill in Wellington, Ms. Philips (after asking for directions) remarked "This is the right way to go" prior to making the next 4 lefts to get out of the hills and back down to the coast.

Mum shot

Whenever my Mum travels, I get what I’ve labeled the obligatory “Mum shot”.



This is a picture, taken by her, of herself, shot at a *very* close angle - normally at her final location or on the way to her final location. When I was younger I’d roll my eyes upon receipt of such a shot in the mail – "Dear oh dear, a picture of Mum, in a hotel room, up real close." Not too much in the background, as her face normally filled the screen. Or, it would be a shot of her with her bags.



Now, years later I kinda treasure these pictures from her. Mum, on her way to a new adventure – Mum against the world. Well, rather Mum AND the world. She’s never been against it, rather she has reveled in her travels; new places, new people, new foods, new cultures – the newness of traveling.

So, when I arrived in Thailand at 1:30am and found my hotel had forgotten to ask their staff to meet me at 2am I found myself wondering “What would Mum do?” - this is ky much like, “what would Jesus do”, but more practical.

Well, as it was very hot – I knew my Mum would want a travel wash, and I was by the river. This would mean she'd strip down, lower something to the waters below and cool off with the newly sodden material. Then, she'd change into something summery and either have a quick explore round or read a book or knock out a few letters. But, as I’m me, and not my Mum I decided not to have a naked wash on a Bangkok river deck - BUT I wanted to at least get out of my close toed shoes and socks – exchanging them for my sandals purchased in New Zealand the previous year. I thought I’ll have a proper wash in the morning, well, later in the morning when the staff arrives. I did however have a quick explore down the street, greeted the local cats, wrote in my travel diary & read a few chapters on my book.

This was followed by the thoughts, this is Bangkok, I’m opposite the Temple of Dawn, Wat Arun – what better way to greet my first day break in Bangkok than by watching the sun rise by the Temple of Dawn.

This is how I also found myself wanting to take a “Mum shot”. Me, at my hotel, by myself, bags in tow. Somehow I wasn't able to get my face to fill the screen, but I'm young, I've got years to learn what my mother has perfected on her travels.

wht r u doing?

I’m not sure my mother gets what text messaging is all about. My brothers back in New Zealand got her a cell phone for her birthday. It’s finally been activated, and Mum really wanted to try out this "text messaging" she’s heard so much about.

As my number is the only cell number she knows, she began texting me. I responded to her (many) messages. (I hoped that she had added international texting to her plan or these quick text bursts could be really expensive.)

Anyway, a few days later I got a call from my mother asking if I’d received her texts. She was just calling to make sure they’d gotten through ok – I guess my replying to her wasn’t enough verification; she needed to hear as well as see the response.

Technology - making all our lives easier.

Except my mothers.