My mom leaves me a message that she has, in contrast to my suggestion, not packed tennis shoes. "Between my tapered jeans and the big white shoes, I look like a smurf."
(1) TAPERED JEANS?!?!?! Dear God, this is what happens when I'm not there to take my mother shopping, or at least veto her purchases. Will have to work on this.
(2) I think the market on ginormous, white shoes is pretty much cornered by Indian emigres.
My little brother (LB1) calls me to say that he is trying to get in touch with our parents and that he has left a message on their cellphone. I remind him that there is no way in hell that they know how to check voicemail. (This is underlined by the fact that their message is "You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for [static]", i.e. someone tried to change the option and just didn't record anything.) LB1 agrees with me. When my parents arrive, I tell them that LB1 left them a voicemail and my dad says, "You know, I don't know how to check the voicemail." Mmmmyeah.
On the ride back from the San Jose airport, I am given a running commentary on how the area has changed in the last 30 years.