Angela Tung Oversharing on the internet since 2005.

Reading about Hurricane Irene and how people are getting ready (or making fun of people getting ready) makes me feel like I should be doing something. Like rushing to the grocery store and buying all the buttermilk and quinoa, or canceling plans (not that we have any), or preparing to hunker down all weekend with movies and a good book (which I may do anyway).

The only hurricane I remember experiencing was Hurricane Gloria, back in 1985. I was in the eighth grade, and got into an argument with my dad who insisted school for me wasn’t canceled the next day although my brother’s was and, more importantly, it was officially announced on the news. My father thought only the younger kids didn’t have to go to school, and that I as an old junior higher-er still did, although I kept pointing at the TV and yelling, “There! It says Clifton T. Barkalow school canceled! THERE! THERE!”

Unlike with my mother, I could argue with my father without apocalyptic repercussions, and when he was finally convinced I did not have to weather the “storm of the century” to go to school the next day, he apologized.

Yesterday I checked in with my mom. “The grocery store was soooo crowded!” she said. People were going nuts, acting like it was the end of the world. Her friend was supposed to have a mah-jongg party on Sunday, and the friend’s daughter insisted she cancel. “You can’t go outside at all!” she told her mother, who apparently wants the party to go.

“You guys grew up in Taiwan,” I said. “A hurricane’s no big deal.”

“Yeah,” my mother said. “We know typhoon.”

On the other hand, my mother hadn’t heard a thing about the earthquake earlier in the week. “Did you guys feel the earthquake?” I asked that day.

“What? Cupcake?”

Needless to say, they didn’t feel it nor even know about it till I told them.

One natural disaster at a time.

A logical plan has now finally been forged regarding my grandmother’s burial and funeral, after many illogical turns.

First off, the funeral is in L.A. and the burial in Palo Alto.  Palo Alto makes sense.  My grandparents lived in Berkeley for years, and so Palo Alto is where my grandfather is buried.  Why have the funeral in L.A.?  Sigh.  Who knows?

That’s one thing.  Next my mother told me, “We’re all driving back to Palo Alto from L.A.”  Ooookay.  When I told MB this, it made him think we were taking the casket back ourselves.  I was pretty sure this wasn’t the case, but still wasn’t really sure why we were driving six plus hours, instead of taking a one-hour flight.

Very carefully I broached this with my mother.  “So we’re driving instead of flying becaaaauuuussssse. . . .????”  In my mother’s head, it was easier to drive because we’d have to rent a car anyway to get out to LAX and once we got to the Bay Area.  Then she got all put out.

“What’s wrong? You don’t want to be in the car? MB doesn’t want to be in the car? How are all these people supposed to get to the airport?”

I immediately dropped the subject and told her I thought it was a wonderful idea.

My brother wasn’t pleased either.  “Why are we driving?” he kept asking during his visit this past weekend.  I held up my hands.  I was certainly not going to get into another argument with my mother though he was welcome to.

The whole time MB kept insisting, “We’re missing some info here. There’s some thought process we’re not aware of.”

He was thinking of my cousin’s wedding back in June when my aunt got it in her head that MB should lay down the aisle runner because 1) she thought it had to be rolled out and taped down before the ceremony, and 2) although my brother was an usher, he was already dressed up and she didn’t want him to get dirty.

Then after many simultaneous Chinese voices shouting at us, we figured out that the runner had to be rolled out right before the bride walked out, and yet my aunt and uncle still thought MB should do it.  I wanted to ask why my brother couldn’t do it, since he was in the party, but didn’t want to argue with my elders.  Thank God my mother – for once – saw through the insanity, and MB was off the illogical hook.

Anyway, so the original plan was:

• MB and I fly down to L.A. Wednesday night
• Funeral Thursday morning
• Drive back up to the Bay Area after the funeral (at which point who knew when MB and I would get home?  Nine, ten?)
• Burial Friday afternoon

Then last night my mother called.

“So would you prefer to fly?”

Sigh.  SIGH!!!

She had just found out my uncle and his family are flying, and that my younger aunt thinks it’s a good idea.  Plus my brother said renting a mini van for five days would cost over $500.

At first, my mom thought flying into San Jose instead of SFO was the thing to do.  Not sure why, but luckily one-way tickets from LAX to San Jose were more than double the cost to fly into San Francisco.

You know what I think happened?  My mother heard that the funeral parlor was driving my grandmother’s casket to Palo Alto, and got it in her head that we should therefore be driving too.

For Pete’s sake.

On top of everything, I have to give a eulogy, along with a few other cousins.  Butterflies.  No: bats.

Mom: So things are. . .good?

Me: Yes, very good.  I just saw my friend.  Did Dad tell you last week we chatted for five hours?

Mom: Why did you talk so long?

Me: Because we get along well.

Mom: . . .

Me: And I went to that writing club thing on Sunday.  It was a lot of fun.

Mom: How many people were there?

Me: About seven or eight.

Mom: That’s it?  I thought it would be more like twenty.

Me: Well, it wasn’t.  But it was still fun.

Mom: Oh sure.

. . .

Me: And I picked up a small writing gig.  It’s just $15 an article, but at least I’ll have some publications.

Mom: Just $15? That’s so little.

Me: Well it’s better than zero!

Leave it to my mother to turn every single thing I said into something negative.  *Sigh.*