Family Phrases

In our family, as in most every family, there are certain stories or phrases that stick around. They get retold even years after the event and even spawn their own meaning. I thought I’d share a few of our families phrases, antidotes, and private meanings. I'm sure I'll write more when I can.



"Chasing the Goat"
My Mom, Brother and I were visiting my grandparent’s house in California shortly after my Grandmother had died. My Grandfather still owned the house, but had recently moved to a retirement home. In the area of California that the house is, the hillsides are trimmed by herds of goats. The goats don’t live there all year, they are hired and herded onto the hills for this specific purpose. It’s a yearly event that our family always looks forward to. We enjoy animals, and the sight of our hill covered in goats is one that reminds us of Spain and pastoral things.

We had our visit, the goats had come and just gone and we were getting ready to fly home. It was the day of our flight, we were packed (except for Mom, who packs last minute like it’s a competitive sport). My brother and I were in the living room when we heard a goat on the hillside. But it couldn’t be, they had all left. With nothing else to do, we went to see where the sound was coming from. After some searching there was one goat left behind. It was a pretty white goat and she was very pregnant. We decided we should catch her and put her in our backyard so we could take care of her.

Well, that was our plan, but she didn’t agree with us. Not wanting to scare her, Nick and I slowly tried to corner her between us to herd her up the hill. All that happened was she lead us DOWN the hill. Down and down and down all the way to the bottom of the hill. There is a school at the bottom of the hill with a track and field that we ended up in. We started chasing the goat in earnest, and though she was pregnant two teenagers couldn’t catch her. I finally cornered her under some bleachers and grabbed her horn, but she started bucking so much I let her go for fear she would break her own neck trying to get away. After I had gotten that close, she took off around the track and up the other hill so fast we had no hope of catching up, so we went home.

We had only been in the living room and then the porch, and then the drive way, and then on the hill so gradually we didn’t think to tell anyone what we were doing, so they were looking for us when we got back. We were sweaty and dusty and luckily still had time to clean up before the flight left. But now anytime someone in our family does something before a flight that might make you miss it. We say, well we were chasing the goat (to run an errand, to pack, to clean) and almost missed our flight.



"What Bread?"
Most of these stories happen on vacation and with my brother, but that’s probably only because we had time and opportunity then. And my brother is just, well, himself.

We were visiting California one year for spring break, we went there a lot to see our beloved grandparents and family, and the weather. We had a lot of people in the car and we were looking for the perfect picnic spot. Mom was driving and she can be a little picky about picnic spots, so we were driving for a while. We had just come from the store and had all our food in the back and my brother was holding the bread so it wouldn’t get squished.

The bread in the Bay Area, if you haven’t had it, is amazing. Partly because there is a bakery here that is family run and all that jazz, and partly because everything tastes better on vacation. But never-the-less, the bread Nick was holding was special bread.

My brother also has the unfortunate problem of getting cranky when he’s hungry, he doesn’t think- he just looks for something to eat. Many a time he has wandered off looking for food and not told anyone, leaving us angry and worried while he turns up having eaten and not the least bit sheepish.

Well, I guess it was too long past lunch time when Mom finally found the ideal spot to stop. We started piling out of the car and setting up, unloading the food, etc and Mom asks Nick, “Do you still have that bread?” to which Nick replies “What bread?” through a muffled mouthful of the last bite of bread. He had eaten the WHOLE thing in the back of the car when no one was noticing. So now, when someone asks for something (usually food, and usually the last of a certain food) and someone else has eaten it (usually unknowingly) the response is always the same, “What bread?”.



"The Moruza Tour"
To start with, the name ‘Moruza’, is my mother’s maiden name. It’s also the name of all my cousins (since my Mom had two brothers) but the Moruzas we are talking about here are the old school Moruzas. Ito, Ita, Scott, Mom and Paul. Growing up, my Mom and her family traveled and lived abroad and saw many, many wonderful historical and cultural sights throughout Europe and in America. My grandfather, Ito as we call him, somehow got int habit of car tours, it was that era. And my Mother carries on the habit of playing tour guide and often, out of town guests are shown the whole town between arriving at the airport and finally arriving at the house.

To be fair, these car tours are the most in-depth and detailed tours one could hope for. You not only get historical facts and see the sights, you also get random factoids and see sights not available on any other tour. And these tours take you right to the door steps in expert chauffeur style. Sometimes you don’t even have to get out of the car at all!

Some famous family examples are: Ito dropping everyone off to see the Louvre in Paris for half an hour while he idled the car outside. Driving right to the edge of a Spanish sea cliff to show off the best view. Mom taking guests to see the Spanish Missions in San Antonio, ALL OF THEM (“not the missions!”). There are so many I can’t even start to name them all. If you watched a Moruza tour in fast forward it would consist of someone driving a big van full of people too close to historical and geological sights, everyone jumping out of the car for a few moments to take pictures, then getting back in to drive to the next sight. It’s the fastest way to see everything if you’re on a tight schedule, but it lacks the experience of being in a place. Though you do get familiar with the car.

So anytime we start out in the car someone will ask “is this going to be a Moruza tour?” and with good reason.



"Home James"
This is a short one, but a sweet one. My grandfather’s sister, great aunt Isabel, was married to great uncle Jim (we just called them Aunt Izzy and Uncle Jim). Uncle Jim was a joker and a funny, silly guy. So I guess one day he thought it would be funny to act like a chauffeur, and he told Aunt Izzy to give him commands, like “James, take me to the store” or “James, drive me to see Margaret and Tito”. Uncle Jim’s full name being James and James sounded more like a chauffeur’s name than Jim to him. The inevitable “Take me home James” turned into simply “Home, James” and it stuck.

Even after they stopped pretending, everyone in their family still jokingly said “Home James” when the were on their way home, even if Uncle Jim wasn’t driving. So my mother brought the phrase to our family and as children my brother and I would chirp “Home James!” not really understanding anything, but that we were headed home. And my mother would (and still does) respond to our “home james” with “home james”, almost like a question and a response.

My aunt Isabel is also the only person I’ve ever known who would make us say “You scream, I scream, we all scream for Ice cream” when she brought ice cream to us in the summer by her pool.



"Neon? How did you get in there?"
As a child I had (have) a huge number of stuffed animals, as I called them. I believe the proper term is “plush toys” but nobody calls them that. Besides having a great deal of toys, I also named them all and remembered their names, when I got them and who gave them to me. My family traveled a lot when my brother and I were younger (we still travel a lot, but now I don’t have to pack toys) and packing was hard for me. I wanted to bring everything with me, more to the point I wanted to bring everyONE with me. I felt all my toys had feelings and would be hurt if I didn’t take them along with me.

Well this particular trip we were going to Spain for a month to spend time with my grandparents. I had a duffel bag as big as I was (seven years old I believe) and I also had a keen fashion sense (read, it was the early 90’s) so my bag was full in no time. BUT I still wanted to bring a few more friends, my Mom said No and I was put to bed before the following long day. I went to bed, but after my Mom left the room I quietly got out of bed and managed to squish a few more stuffed animals in my bag, then I got back in bed and fell asleep.

Considering that my parents were traveling with a seven year old, and a nine year old, internationally, we had a pretty smooth day of traveling. My brother was really the one to get the short end of the stick, he had to help me carry my bag when I started to lag behind in the airport (we had a number of plane changes). Nick is and has always been a light packer and while my bag was bulging at the zipper, Nick's bag was probably only half full, so Mom made him switch bags with me.

He was a pretty good sport but probably dropped my bag too hard once or something and I, thinking of my little stuffed animal friends, told him to be more careful of my companions in the bag. He then asked me how many stuffed animals I had brought, I confided in him that I had brought a few more than was allowed. Then Nick got serious, “you mean you smuggled animals in?” he asked. I said, no I just packed a few more after Mom had left the room. Nick, with a straight face, points out a sign in the airport on the wall behind us; it read “No Smuggling Animals”. At this point in my life, I believed nearly everything my older brother told me, so I got serious too. What should I do? I asked. He told me to take my bag back and walk very carefully with it and to be very quiet. I was scared until we got on the plane. And Nick got away with the best trick ever.

It was hours later when we finally got to my Grandparents Farmhouse in Spain and my Mom was helping me unpack that I remembered my stowaways. She unzipped the bag and it practically exploded stuffed animals all over the room. I innocently picked up the first one I saw and addressing it said “Neon! how did you get in here? And Raspberry bear too?”. Thankfully my Mother has a sense of humor and just laughed. And all the animals came in handy, on the way home, my mom bought a bunch of ceramic Spanish plates, the stuffed animals provided adorable packing material between the plates. So whenever someone packs something, or brings something home from the store that they were told to leave behind, you simply act surprised and say “Neon, how did you get in here?”. (for the record, Neon was a neon yellow, pink and green colored mouse. And Raspberry bear was a raspberry colored bear. I said I named them all, not that they were original names).


More to come...