MRS. SWAN AND THE THAI LANGUAGE CLASSES

I've been saying for some time that I needed to write up something about Thai Language classes, but then the heat of summer really kicked in and I kind of feel like a languid Southern belle that can't do more than swing on a front porch with a mint julep. So, bare with me here. This may ramble a bit. It's been a long time since I've done a Mrs. Swan story. Since changing up the blog to be more positive, I really couldn't do an entry about the mother-in-law. If you can't say something nice......blah, blah, blah. But recently things have shifted a bit. I think it's because I'm going to Thai language classes. Earlier in the summer, the grand-kids (our niece and nephew) started class at the Thai temple. I said that I wanted to go too, but at the time they were only taking little kids. I guess there was enough interest though because they got a teacher for adults. So, every Sunday from 1:00-3:00 PM, I go to the temple where I sit with another guy and our teacher, learning the Thai words for fruits and veggies. I don't know really how much I'm learning because I'm not very diligent on studying. But I can say "mango" in Thai. I can also say "good afternoon", "good morning", and "thank you". Some of that has got to be useful. And it puts me in the good graces of Mrs. Swan. Since I've shown an interest in her language she has been nicer to me, cooking meals for us for no reason, and even helping every now and then with pronunciation. We just yell ma muang (mango) back and forth until she decides that I've gotten the tone and inflection right.

She still gets on my nerves, like bringing that heavy God-awful kitchen table back into the new kitchen (I should have set the thing on fire when I had the chance). But most of the time she makes me laugh. Like when I came home Monday and found her mowing the yard. She was wearing this plaid flannel long-sleeved shirt and one of those pointed Asian-styled straw hats. It looked like we had hired some immigrant to do our yard work. Also, she pulled out a box of our books that we had set aside for donation and then put them all up on her bookshelf. After the kitchen remodel, she put everything back into the kitchen and suddenly had this spare bookcase. Instead of getting rid of it, she filled it. I'm almost tempted to tell her that she can only keep the books if she reads them. She calls the books "her books" now and gets frantic when she notices that one is missing. I see an episode of Hoarders in our future.

Sawatdee ka.