"¿Cómo se dice?" and the Secret to Gay Sex, Part II

"Soh, Neeee-c, how be yoh moshunrife?" Miranda asked with a sly little grin.

I had no idea what she was asking me.  "Um, come again, my dear?"

"How be yoh moshunrife?"

"Um, my what?"

"Yoh mo-shun-rife!" she exclaimed.  "You know, rike yoh ruvrife?"

It clicked.  "Oh! My love--my emotional life?"

"Yeah, yore moshunrife!"

I reminded my dear young friend that, as pianists, she should know how much extra time there is for a love life, and thus, I had not many minutes to spare for a moshunrife.

Then, with a shy giggle laced with more cuteness than an Anime heroine, Miranda whispered, "Oh, Neeeeee-c!  I habbuh see-creh foh yoo.  Yoo move ow Utah, gae sex!"

I laughed.  Oh, how I laughed.  "You mean to tell me the secret to my losing my V-card is moving out of the state?!?"

"Oh, yes, yes.  Yoo move ow Utah, no prahb-rem foh yoo."  Miranda explained, "At my dohm, we habbuh no cuh-tain on ween-doh.  Across my room is an-uddah dohm room of berry sexy man.  He walk rown aur time no shirt on.  Sum time, he walk rown naek-ed"  Then Miranda blushed and covered her mouth with her hand.  "And sum time, he habbuh-nuddah naek-ed man in room."

"I go to crass wit naek-ed man.  Sum time, he walk into crass berry rate and profess-ah, he grumpy and he say 'Why yoo rate foh crass?" and he say, "I don't hab time puh pants on!'  So, see Neee-c?  Yoo move ow Utah, gae sex!"

"¿Cómo se dice?" and the Secret to Gay Sex, Part I

As I've described before on this blog, I spend at least five days a week, if not more, with a small and delightful group of Asian people.  They are each wonderfully gifted, driven musicians, and I am so pleased to call them my friends.  One of my dear little friends is a girl from China named Miranda.  She spent her first year of college taking an intensive collection of English-as-a-Second-Language (ESL) courses.  She writes beautifully, but her conversational language skills suffer from a very thick Chinese accent.  While her practice of the English language has sometimes been a stumbling block to her communication skills, she is the first to tease about the language "barrier" which has elicited some very funny moments in our friendship.

A fairly recent episode follows.  Just a few details to remember, dear Reader:  1) Miranda is currently attending graduate school in Ohio as a master's piano student with Italian wonder-pianist, Antonio Pompa-Baldi.  2) Miranda loves Mozart (so her compliment really meant very much to me).  3) Miranda was visiting Utah (her self-proclaimed adopted home) on break from school when this happened.

I was practicing a Mozart sonata (K. 333, for anyone who might be interested) for an upcoming performance when the practice room door opened.

"Neeeeeeeeeee-c!  Yoo prae Moh-tsah vihdy soh-gooh!  He can be yo hooss-banh!" Miranda wailed in her cheery way.  "Bach? He be my fee-oh-say, but you ken meh-dee Moh-tsah.  He be soh-gooh foh yoo."

"Oh, Miranda!" I replied,  "I don't know if I want to marry Mozart, but I'll keep playing him.  How are you?!  How is graduate school?"

"Eez soh-gooh!  Eez so hard.  Too much pieces to prae aur time."

"I'm so glad to hear that it's good.  I imagine it's difficult, but worth it.  How are you studies with Pompa-Baldi going?"

"He eez soh gooh.  Make mos bee-yoo-ti-fur pianissimos.  His Engrish berry bad, though.  Too much Itarian accent."

"So, between your Chinese accent and his Italian accent, how do you communicate in lessons?"

Miranda giggled, "Wear, he rissen to me prae, and he smire oh he frahn and he prae foh me, den I prae again."

"Wow," I said. "I guess if that works..."

"Eez soh gooh."

Miranda and I caught up a little bit.  She giggled and blushed a bit when I commented on her fabulous clothes and her uber-trendy haircut.  I asked her about her boyfriend (who stayed in UT) and if she'd seen him yet.  And, as we were discussing boys, she asked a question I couldn't quite decipher on the first--or even second or third--hearing.

Rachmaninov: The Dream, Op. 38, No. 5

Love You Forever

because you read Black Beauty, Little Women, Where the Red Fern Grows, Summer of the Monkeys, Little Britches, Stories to Tell, Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites, The Secret Garden, The Jungle Book, Tales of King Arthur and His Knights, Winnie the Pooh, The Wind in the Willows and so many others to us to us on languid summer afternoons when we were very young

because you took us to the Hyrum City Library every summer week when we were old enough to choose from the shelves ourselves

because you made waffles in the morning while we studied our scriptures and read that men like Nephi and Alma were heroes

because you helped us see Nephi's and Alma's in our everyday lives and made our father and our grandfathers and our uncles heroes of an even better value

because you gave us each a garden patch

because you let me sing to The Phantom of the Opera and Rigoletto and Reba McEntire's Greatest Hits

because you taught me how to play the piano

because you let me play Cinderella even though it worried you

because you both never were afraid to say "I Love You"

because you are good

because you microwave my food longer than your own because you know I like my food much hotter than yours

because you rubbed Vick's Vap-o-rub and alcohol packs and mustard packs on my weak chest and because you took me to doctors and specialists and because you and dad held me up to the cold air from the freezer and the warm moist air in the shower late at night when I couldn't breathe

because you never left the examination rooms when I had to rest on my stomach when the nurses pricked my back and the pricks swelled up and itched and you just tickled me so I wouldn't scratch at the reactions

because you came to every performance, and now come to every performance you can

because you encouraged my brothers and I to love each other

because I inherited your laugh

because you make me feel safe to be my best self

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
My mommy you'll be.


Happy Mother's Day, Mom.