"it's just a number, y'know :-)"
monday, december 31, 2001
"to advance, or not to advance,
i hear you laughing
even still you're calling me
"not tonight, not tonight,
not tonight, josephine"
"
-- josephine, tori amos
i thought i would get into the spirit of a new years' eve by e-mailing others and hope for their enthusiasm to spread. except, apparently everyone is feeling as bland about it as i am. the best response i could get was from dylan, who said: "It's just a number, y'know :-)"
so. happy, happy to all and whatever. i've spent most of the day reading at sir ian mckellen's website. funny man. but tradition beckons - i have to go buy a calling card so i can properly phone home by 6 p.m., which will be midnight back in sweden. spirit or not, i can't miss a year of not catching my parents on new year's eve. so. more as i return. cin cin! �� 5:15 p.m.
...
well, apparently poo on my efforts. i made the long, cold trek (this is where my father would bust out laughing, as they are three feet deep in snow and currently enjoying minus 14 degrees celsius, and it's about plus 5 degrees celsius, no snow, here..) to the gas station and bought a calling card.
the middle easterny store managers were sympathetic to my plead for help in picking out the best calling card suited for calling sweden to wish a happy new year, and one of them mentioned: "well, europe has six hours on us, so remember to call within ten minutes to wish them happy new year.." ..as if i wasn't terribly aware of this already. but i just smiled and went to wait by the outdoors payphones.
at a minute to midnight i tried calling my mother. beeep. beeep. beeep. nothing. not even the answering machine picked up. poo. so i quickly called my dad. i was greeted by my own voice playing from his answering machine.. so much for my energetic efforts. oh well.
i bought some food and trekked back to the office. found a message from angela. apparently my dad had called there, several times. oops. i tried his number, and voila.. there he was. it turned out he was outdoors when i called him, watching the fire works. i should have remembered.
sniff, sniff. there are no fireworks around here. (insert childish pout)
my dad was decidedly tired and in his usual uber-protective parent mode where he held his little speech (which i am treated to about four times a year) to me again...:
"if you were broke, you would tell me, wouldn't you? because if you are EVER hungry, ever need money, all you have to do is call me and i will get you money, even if i'm broke, i'll borrow money, i don't care, but you never have to worry, okay? i don't want to think of you ever being hungry! i know what it feels like to be alone in a strange country, so know that you always have my support. you are the only thing i care about in my heart, and i will always make sure you are okay until i die, okay?"
i don't mean to sound like i'm not thrilled that he tells me this--it really feels remarkably reassuring to know i have immense parental support (my mom is the fuzzy warm parent, my dad puts in his share through financial support). it never stops amazing me. despite all our malfunctions and weird confrontational past, i really love the way my parents still are comfortable giving me complete support, no matter what.
i do wish he would stop talking about death, though. i think it might be due to the fact that he turns 60 years old in exactly a week. he does have fairly poor health, and so it scares me when he speaks as if he's only got a year or two left.
my father is a bit over-weight, not enough to be a serious problem if it weren't for his atrocious eating habits (he's bosnian. he considers a plate of salty meat and a piece of bread a complete meal), his chain smoking (serious, unfiltered habit going on), his previous record of heart attacks (at least 2 that i know about - he doesn't like to tell me because he doesn't want me to worry, but i suspect there may have been more, minor ones), his high blood pressure (HELLO diet), and an ill back.
he hurt his back being a hero. heh. it's true. he had a superman moment. my father escaped (then called) yugoslavia during the late 50s to get away from the communist regime. after hopping from country to country, such as italy and france (my dad slept under bridges in france. surreal.), he had the opportunity to go to sweden and work in the steel mill industry, which desperately needed workers.
during his 30 or so years at the steel mill before they closed the factory down in the early 90s (he likes to point out that he was the last left of the old employees, and he got to be the very last to punch out of the factory as well), my dad worked heavy labor in there. (he had his first heart attack in there during the 80s. i remember my brother, who was temping there, coming home and waking us up to tell of it.)
one day (i think early 70s?) he was working when an enormous vat containing an insanely large amount of melted steel was somehow knocked out of balance and began to spill while nearly tipping over onto some workers. my dad ran there and managed to hold the vat in place while the men ran to safety, melted steel dripping onto his back. he never told me about the incident; i found out when i found an old newspaper clipping about it, just casually put in a drawer. it showed a picture of my father receiving some sort of medal or whatnot as a result of what he did.
now all that tells the tale of the steel mill is his bad back, a few tiny dimples across his back, and diminished hearing in his left ear. shrug. i don't know why i'm talking about this. i suppose it makes for a better story than telling of the 17 years he was an abusive tyrant to my mom and brother. i can't tell much about it, because i've had very little acquaintance with that man. he's just a ghost that star in stories my family will tell me of, and then i'll have to try and fit that ghost inside my father. shrug.
anyway. bla bla and bla. i called angela, and apparently mom called there to wish me happy new year (since i wasn't there, she wished it to angela). i tried calling her at home, but she's not there so i am asuming she is celebrating it elsewhere. still, feels good that she called. :) poor angela, having to take call after call from my parents looking for me in broken english.
i haven't had the heart to tell them i'm living at the office this week. it would worry them needlessly. instead, i'm pretending to just be working a whole lot.. heh. our family need our little lies, i suppose, dad pretending his health is just fine when i express concern, mom telling me grandma isn't completely out of it when i can tell differently from speaking to her on the phone, and me pretending i'm not office squatting. :)
well well. this just turned weird. i'll stop for now and simply wish you all a happy new year. it's GOT to be better than 2001 turned out to be, right? .. right. cin cin, for real! �� 8:59 p.m.
