时间：2022-10-06 03:17:45
原以为隔着半个地球的距离，我和母亲的关系只能越来越疏远，却没想到老妈玩上了推特。于是，一切就此改变……
When my mom started following me on Twitter, I felt a bit like a teenager who couldn’t get any privacy. After I tweeted a friend to say that his brother was unusually handsome, she chimed in1), writing, “Ooooo, he *is* cute.”
I deleted the tweet and kept it strictly professional after that.
But the change she made recently to her profile was even more jarring2). She added one word, putting it right at the beginning of her self-description:
Artist.
I knew that my mom had gone to art school when she was young. I also knew that she’d dropped out. Eventually, she became a graphic designer. A single watercolor3) was all that remained of her life as a painter. It showed a woman with long, flowing hair standing in the rain, trying, unsuccessfully, to hold petals in the cupped palms of her hands. The picture hung in our study in a plain, silver frame.
I’d always admired the piece. But I’d viewed it as the youthful work of a dilettante4), of someone who liked going to galleries and museums but who wasn’t a true artist.
She’d been on Twitter for over a year when she made the change to her profile. My first response to my mother’s update was guilt. What else had I missed about my mother?
I studied her tweets. Looking for a new camera, she said.
Was she into photography now, too?
And then another surprise:
I do love Savannah5).
My whole childhood in Gainesville6), Fla., I listened to her wax7) poetic about “the city”―her native New York. “I should have never left the city,” she said, as we puttered8) along in our battered9), blue Ford Pinto10). A Jew, she felt oppressed by the evangelical11) Christianity she sometimes encountered in the Deep South12)―people who urged her to convert, who told us we were going to hell because we hadn’t accepted Jesus Christ as our personal lord and savior.
“Look at this place,” Mom would say. “There’s a church on every corner.”
She’d made me wear a chai pendant13). The Hebrew word for life, my classmates had pointed at the necklace and teased me. It was strange; it was foreign. I wanted out but a scholarship to the local university kept me in the South and my college sweetheart anchored14) me. When our relationship failed in my late 20s, I went as far away as I could.
Sitting at my computer in Israel, I wondered when Mom had made her peace with everything, when she’d embraced the South enough to publicly express her adoration for Savannah―a place as Southern as collard greens15).
I considered the emotional distance between us and wondered if we’d be closer if I didn’t live half way around the world.
I tried to remember the last time we’d asked each other questions that went beyond the superficial16) details of our lives.
There’d been hints that we didn’t know each other very well anymore. When Mom came to visit me in Israel in 2008, she brought me a pink sweater―a throwback to the days when I was a little ballerina17) who hung her pink toe shoes on the handle of the door that led to her pink bedroom.
Today, I am a woman who categorically18) rejects pink. I do not wear it. Under any circumstances.
This summer, when I visited the States, I made a guilty confession to my mom: Yes, I go out for a jog once in a while, but I don’t enjoy it. My parents are avid19) runners and my father is a track and cross-country coach. Mother-daughter runs were the core of our relationship during my teenage years. She didn’t take the news well―she continued to protest, “But you told me once you wished you hadn’t quit the team …” she said, on Skype20).
So I emailed my mom, asking her about the update to her Twitter profile and if she was doing photography. I worried that this admission of how little I knew about her life would hurt her feelings. But I asked myself what would trouble her more―that I didn’t know? Or that I didn’t ask?
I hit “send.”
Mom is usually a little slow to respond. But, this time, I got a reply the same day:
I’ve been feeling very frustrated creatively for quite some time, since I no longer do design for a living … I’ve been searching for a creative outlet21) for a few years. And I’ve been quite interested in rug hooking22). It is a little expensive to start up. But, finally, I have all the major supplies I need.
So I started rug hooking. My own design.
I attend a class once a week. It’s mostly older women. I enjoy just sitting there hooking while listening to them chit-chat23).
This didn’t jibe24) with the image I had of my mom. She’d been a New Yorker―impatient, walk fast, talk fast. And she’d always turned her nose up at25) crafts. Who was this woman who sat, quietly, hooking rugs, listening to the ladies around her? I struggled to picture it.
As for the photography, she continued, I’ve been missing that as well …
It turns out that she’d always taken black and white stills. How can it be that I hadn’t noticed?
She went on, explaining that her new hobby had led her to some realizations of her own. Mom had had a strained relationship with her stepmother, who passed away recently. When she’d gone to New York to console my grandfather, guess what Mom noticed on their shelves? Books on rug hooking. They’d had more in common than they’d known.
You know, Mom added, when I was young, I kept these little notebooks. I wrote everything down. I wanted to be a writer, too. Like you.
Our pictures of each other need updating. But, I realize, we know each other’s core, some essence that stands still, unmoved by time. Yes, theme can’t stand pink. But I always wanted to be a writer. And that never changed.
I tapped out a quick email asking Mom, “What’s all this about loving Savannah? What about New York? Do you still want to move back to the city someday?”
She sent me a short answer: I do.
当妈妈开始在推特上“关注”我时，我感觉自己变得有点儿像十几岁的孩子，一点隐私都没有了。有一次，我给一个朋友发了一条推文，说他的哥哥真是帅呆了，之后妈妈便“插话”进来，写道：“哇，他‘真的’很可爱。”
于是我删掉了自己这条推文，从此在推特上只谈正事、不聊八卦。
但最近妈妈对自己的个人信息做了更改，这么一改，我更感到惊讶了。就在自我描述的开头，她加了一个词：
艺术家。
我知道妈妈年轻的时候上过艺术学校。我还知道她没毕业就辍学了。她最终成了一名平面设计师。绘画生涯所留给她的所有念想，就只有一幅水彩画。画上，一位长发飘飘的女子站在雨中，徒劳地试图用掬起的双手接住片片花瓣。画就挂在我家的书房里，镶了一个朴素的银色画框。
我一直很欣赏这幅画。但我也一直认为这只是业余艺术爱好者的早期作品罢了。这些人喜欢逛美术馆、博物馆，但并不是真正的艺术家。
更改个人信息时，妈妈上推特已经一年多了。看到她的更新，我的第一反应是内疚。关于妈妈的生活，我还错过了别的什么吗？
我仔细浏览了她的推文。想要一架新的照相机，其中一条是这样写的。
难道她现在也迷上了摄影？
然后，又一条推文让我很是惊讶：
我真的很爱萨凡纳。
我的童年是在佛罗里达州的盖恩斯维尔度过的。整个童年岁月里我都在听她满怀诗意地描述“那个城市”――她的家乡纽约。“我压根就不该离开那个城市。”每次当我们坐在家里那辆破旧的蓝色福特平托车里去闲逛时，她总会这么说。妈妈是犹太人。生活在美国的南方腹地，她有时会碰到福音派的基督教徒，这让她觉得很压抑――因为他们会力劝她改信基督教，说我们死后会下地狱，因为我们没有接受耶稣基督作为我们的主人和救世主。
“看看这个地方，”妈妈会说，“这里的每一个角落都有教堂。”
那时候，她让我戴了一条挂有“chai”字形吊坠的项链。这个词在希伯来语中的意思是“生命”。同学们总是对我的项链指指点点，取笑我。这里让我感觉陌生，觉得自己是个异类。我想要逃离这里。但当地的一所大学为我提供了一份奖学金，这让我继续留在了南部。后来把我拴在这里的是大学里交往的恋人。到了奔“三”的年龄，我们的恋爱关系告吹，我决然离开了南方，能走多远走多远。
如今，身在以色列的我，坐在电脑前，很好奇妈妈从什么时候开始变得这么随遇而安，从什么时候开始从心底接受了南方的生活，甚至愿意公开表达她对萨凡纳的喜爱――这座城市和羽衣甘蓝一样，要多“南方”有多“南方”。
我细想了一下我们之间感情上的疏远，想知道如果我们不是像现在这样隔着半个地球，彼此是不是会更亲近一些。
我努力回忆，除了谈论无关紧要的琐事，我们上一次询问彼此“有深度”的问题是什么时候的事了？
其实，以前一直都有迹象表明我们母女俩对彼此不十分了解。2008年，妈妈来以色列看我，她给我带了一件粉红色的毛衣。这件衣服让时间仿佛倒退到了我还是个小芭蕾舞演员的时候。那时，我总把一双粉红色的芭蕾舞鞋挂在我粉红色卧室的门把手上。
现在，我已成年，粉红色是我断然拒绝的颜色。我不穿粉红色的衣服。任何情况下都不穿。
今年夏天，我回了一趟美国。期间，我向妈妈坦白了一件我觉得内疚的事：没错，我是偶尔出去慢跑，但我并不喜欢这项运动。我的父母都是跑步运动的狂热爱好者，我的爸爸还是一名田径越野教练。在我十几岁的时候，母女一起跑步是维系我们关系的核心纽带。听说我不喜欢跑步，妈妈有点难以接受。她在Skype上继续向我抗议：“但你曾经跟我说过，你真希望自己当时没有退出……”
于是我给妈妈写了封电邮，问她推特上个人信息更新的事情，还问她现在是不是在玩摄影。我有点担心，像这样承认我对她的生活知之甚少，会不会伤害她的感情。但我又扪心自问，究竟哪一样会让她更烦恼：是我对她的生活一无所知？还是连问都不问？
我点了“发送”。
妈妈的回复通常都有一点滞后。不过这一次，我当天就收到了她的回信：
自从不再做设计工作以来，我一直都很沮丧，觉得自己不再有创造力……这几年，我一直在寻找一个可以发挥自己创意的途径。最近，我喜欢上了手工地毯钩编。做这项手工活儿花费有点大。不过，我最终还是备齐了所需的一切主要材料。
于是我开始钩地毯了。我自己设计的。
我上了一个手工地毯钩编班，一周一次课。班里大部分是年纪较大的女性。我很喜欢坐在那儿，一边钩地毯，一边听她们闲唠家常。
这完全不是我心目中妈妈的样子。她之前一直是个典型的纽约人――没什么耐心，走路风风火火，说话语速很快。而且，她一贯对那些工艺品嗤之以鼻。现在，这个安静地坐在那里一边钩地毯，一边听身边的妇人们闲聊的女人是谁？我努力在脑海中勾勒那幅画面。
至于摄影，她接着说，也一直都没在玩儿了……
事实证明，她以前总是拍一些黑白的静物照。我怎么就没注意到呢？
她继续向我解释说，她的这个新爱好也让她对自己有了一些新的认识。妈妈以前和她的继母关系比较紧张。她继母最近去世了，妈妈去了趟纽约，去安慰我的外祖父。猜猜妈妈在他们家的书架上看到了什么？关于地毯钩编的书。其实，她俩之间有很多共同点，只是她们自己不知道而已。
知道吗，妈妈又说，年轻的时候，我有好多小笔记本。我把什么都记在本子上。我那时也想成为一名作家。和你一样。
是的，我们对彼此的了解需要不断更新。但我也意识到，我们了解彼此的本质――某种岿然伫立于心中的最根本的东西，它不会因时间的流逝而动摇。是的，长大后的我不能忍受粉红色。但是，我一直想成为一名作家。这一点从未改变。
我立刻敲了一封电邮给妈妈，问她：“你说爱萨凡纳是怎么回事？那纽约呢？你还希望有一天能搬回纽约吗？”
她的回复很简短：是的。
1. chime in：插话；插话表示赞成；插话说道
2. jarring [ˈdʒːrɪŋ] adj. 令人惊讶的，令人感到震惊的
3. watercolor [ˈwɔːtə(r)ˌkʌlə(r)] n. 水彩画
4. dilettante [ˌdɪləˈtænti] n. (艺术、科学等方面的)业余爱好者，浅薄的涉猎者
5. Savannah：萨凡纳，美国佐治亚州东部港市(佐治亚州位于美国东南部)
6. Gainesville：盖恩斯维尔，美国佛罗里达州中北部城市(佛罗里达州位于美国东南部)
7. wax [wæks] vi. (渐渐)变成，转为
8. putter [ˈpʌtə(r)] vi. 闲荡，闲逛
9. battered [ˈbætə(r)d] adj. 破旧的
10. Ford Pinto：福特平托，是福特汽车在北美市场所推出的次紧凑型车，1971年开始生产，1980年停产。
11. evangelical [ˌiːvænˈdʒelɪk(ə)l] adj. 福音(书)的。福音派是基督新教的一个派别。总体来说，福音派恪守传统教义，重视《圣经》权威和学术研究。在接纳不同观点方面，福音派常与不同的基督教教派合作。
12. Deep South：美国的南方腹地，指美国最具有南方特点、最保守的一片地区，尤指南卡罗来纳、佐治亚、亚拉巴马、密西西比、佛罗里达等州。
13. pendant [ˈpendənt] n. (项链、耳环等)垂饰；有垂饰的项链
14. anchor [ˈæŋkə(r)] vt. 把……系住；使固定
15. collard greens：羽衣甘蓝，一种蔬菜，也可植入花坛作装饰。美国的南方人比较喜欢这种蔬菜。
16. superficial [ˌsuːpə(r)ˈfɪʃ(ə)l] adj. 表面的；肤浅的
17. ballerina [ˌbæləˈriːnə] n. 芭蕾演员
18. categorically
[ˌkætəˈɒrɪkli] adv. 绝对地；无条件地
19. avid [ˈævɪd] adj. 渴望的；劲头十足的
20. Skype：网络电话(一种网络语音沟通工具)
21. outlet [ˈaʊtˌlet] n. 出口，出路
22. rug hooking：地毯钩编，一项手工活，也是一门艺术，用一种钩子把毛线穿织在网形粗布上制成地毯。
23. chit-chat：闲谈，聊天
24. jibe [dʒaɪb] vi. 与……一致，符合
25. turn one’s nose up at：对……嗤之以鼻；瞧不上眼