A couple of weeks ago, my parents and Mr. B’s mom came to celebrate my mom’s birthday by biking 30 miles on the Mt. Vernon Trail, because nothing says “it’s a day of celebration” to my mom and mother-in-law like not being able to walk for a week. It’s like jointly turning 25 really sent them over the edge.
The first part went really well. Everyone was pumped and cycling under cloudless blue skies through charming downtown Alexandria, by the Potomac River and generally being happy and alive and all that bullshit.
Fortunately, about halfway through the trek just as my muscles were about to ask for refugee status from my body, the parents became distracted like cats on ADD because MUSHROOMS.
If you have ever met a Russian immigrant in North America, mushrooms are Big Deal. In fact, in a recent survey of things they miss about living in Russia, immigrants place hunting for mushrooms just above free socialized healthcare. Because the temperatures never get cool enough in the American Northeast, there are never any really good mushrooms to hunt. So the rare mushroom provides as much excitement as a Bieber sighting.
Fortunately, after they were done evaluating the mushrooms, we were able to continue and finish the ride.
I could say a bunch of stuff about how exciting it is to be able to do really physical stuff with my parents at a time when both they and I do it willingly and appreciate it, or how awesome my mother-in-law is, or how much I love spending time with my family, but for now I think I’ll just post this picture of Mr. B and my mom’s laser mushroom-honing eyes.
{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
LOL@ the mushrooms.
My dad was an agricultural engineer. He once found an unlabeled pot of powder, and he drizzled it in our garden to see what it did. It turned out it was mushrooms.
Dude, your dad must have had so many more awesome stories. Was he also an ag. engineer in Saudi Arabia?
I live near Tahoe so my parental units regularly get their shroom fix…that sounds wrong, but true nevertheless.
You guys have shrooms? It gets cold enough there?
Send them to Oregon. We have LOTS and LOTS of mushrooms. We even have festivals.
Sounds like, between you and Yuliya, I need to send my parents out West.
That’s probably what I miss most about living in Russia — berry & mushroom-picking. While the former can be fixed by u-pick farms, the latter is alas but a cherished memory anymore. So much so that when we stumbled on some “syroezhki” during a hike last fall, I took photos!!!
What’s interesting is that you guys in Chicago don’t have any, but Lake Tahoe ,which is ostensibly further south, does. Ah the vagaries of the mushrooms. My mom even e-mailed some professor to ask where they went mushroom picking, but to no avail.
Ah, yes. The mushroom picking. I can totally relate!
Don’t tell me you guys have them in Cleveland, too?
ADD cats comparison hilarious. That was my husband on our honeymoon. One minute we’re strolling through the Vermont forest thinking romantic thoughts, the next minute he’s gone. GONE. I’m thinking I’m about to become fodder for a Lifetime movie of the week or Nancy Grace episode (“Vanished in Vermont: Honeymoon Tragedy”) but then he returns 30 minutes later with a pile of griby in his shirt.
And that’s when you knew that you would need to start a blog about him.