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Beaufort Day 5

Thursday 31 December 2020

The Boy finally found his shark teeth. We went back to the beach famed for its shark teeth and within seconds, he'd found his first. It wasn't his last.

"Once I found one, I was in my prime!" he declared shortly before asking, "Daddy, what does it mean to be 'in my prime'?"

"I love when you use words you don't really know!" I laughed.

"What?! It was on Cupcake and Dino. I'm just not sure what it means."

I explained. It pleased him that he'd used it correctly.

Beaufort Day 4: A Day-Trip to Savannah

Wednesday 30 December 2020

Our last full day in the area was not in the area. We went to Savannah because, well, it's Savannah. You can't come within 40 miles of Savannah and not spend at least some time there.

Of course, with a bunch of Poles in the group, we had to go to Pulaski monument in Monterey Square as we headed to Forsyth Park and its famous fountain.

Afterward, we headed to the water front where we visited a saltwater taffy shop, watched ships come up the river into the harbor, and wandered in and out of shops.

And of course the Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Baptist.

We finished off the day -- and, in essence, the trip -- at Tybee Island.

Today we headed back to Hunting Island State Park. It was in part because of something K wanted to do: there is a long trail through a coastal forest by a lagoon that leads to a bridge to a small island, and K, always the hiker, wanted to make the journey there and back. It wasn't that long -- about two and a half miles one way, but it's enough to get some folks fussing if they don't really want to participate. However, the potential fussers were sold on the simple idea that it would lead to more beach time.

It also led to something that someone had asked about before we set out on the hike ("Is that the way to the boneyard?" Boneyard? What are you talking about?) but we'd never heard of. A virtual forest of driftwood -- whole trees half-sunken in the sand, bleached by the sun, surrounded by rippled, hard-packed sand.

It was the perfect place for a series of portraits.

Beaufort Day 2

Monday 28 December 2020

"Daddy, I have one dream for this trip," the Boy has been saying since we arrived. "I want to go shark tooth hunting." We watched a couple of videos on how to do it, and it seemed entirely possible that the Boy could find a number of them during an hour or so of searching.

After a little hunting, we asked someone who seemed to know what he's doing. "You just have to look for black triangles," he explained, shaking out of a small bottle the small black fossilized teeth he'd found during the morning. "Like that one," he continued, reaching down and plucking up a small tooth that he'd just discovered.

If it was that easy to find, we all thought it would be a simple enough matter for the Boy to discover one.

"It's my dream to find a shark tooth," E reiterated. Multiple times.

Soon enough, L found one. Then K found one. Then L found another. But E found nothing.

"Maybe we can come back later today and look again," E suggested. It was, after all, not quite low tide yet.

We headed off to the historic district of Beaufort for a little lunch and exploring. We found a charming church with an old cemetery that had a few graves from Revolutionary War soldiers. E was impressed with the age of the graves, impressed with the size of the church, but still thinking about that shark tooth he still hadn't found.

We finished up our time in Beaufort with a walk along the waterfront where marveled at the homes of the rich, large mansions that spoke of fortunes beyond our own considerations and imagination. (We got echoes of that in the evening when we watched Pride and Prejudice.)

Finally, we found a good spot for a few portraits.

Then we headed back to the beach where we'd started the morning searching for shark teeth.

The tide had risen, and the search was all the more difficult for it. Everyone searched for teeth; everyone found shark teeth. Everyone except the Boy.

It crushed him.

The whole way back to the car, he was on the verge of tears. "Everyone found a tooth! Everyone! Even L found a tooth, and she was not even interested in it until this morning!"

When we got back to the place we're renting through AirBnB, he threw himself into the corner of the couch and fought back the tears. "It was my dream to find a shark tooth!" he whimpered. "My dream!"

Earlier in the day, in a gift shop, we'd bought a small bag of shark teeth. He bought them because they were cool; I encouraged him because I knew after that morning that finding a tooth is not a guaranteed adventure. I used this to try to reason with him: "Look, you wanted to look for shark teeth. You wanted to find a shark tooth. And you wanted to go back home with a shark tooth. You're accomplishing two of your three desires."

I knew it was a long shot, and he saw right through it. "But I wanted to find a tooth!" If he'd managed that one simple feat, the other two would have automatically been fulfilled. My cleverness might have soothed a younger boy, but not an eight-year-old E.

These are the silly things that happen in the course of parenting that seem both highly significant and completely trivial. His pain and frustration were highly significant: I recall wanting something so badly at that age, how I used to get my heart so set on it that if it didn't come to fruition, I might as well have died, so bleak seemed my prospects afterward. Yet it was at the same time so trivial: he's going home with thirty to forty shark teeth in his bag. In a few weeks or a few months at most, this will be an almost-disappeared memory. It will be a foggy memory he recalls as his own son deals with similar frustration.

Beaufort Day 1

Sunday 27 December 2020

The card reader I brought is broken. How to get the photos downloaded? Connect the camera to the phone, download the images to the phone, and edit them on the phone.

Arrival

Saturday 26 December 2020

Games after dinner. A post from my phone. The streak continues...

Christmas Day 2020

Friday 25 December 2020

Wigilia 2020

Thursday 24 December 2020

My first wigilia was in 1996. I'd been in Poland for only five months at that point, and I celebrated it with the family in Radom with whom I stayed when we Peace Corps volunteers first arrived in Poland. The fact that I first went to Poland in the Peace Corps says a lot about how much the country has changed. We were there to teach English and help NGOs catch their balance, and we spent twelve weeks in Radom beginning to learn Polish and starting to get an understanding of Polish culture. A few months later, my host family invited me back to Radom to spend Christmas with them. That it was the last time I ever saw them is evidence of how close we were. I don't remember much about that first wigilia other than the fact that I was always a little uncomfortable. My host-brother and I never quite got along (I believe he questioned my intelligence, for he often behaved that way), so that first wigilia would certainly not be the standard by which to judge the tradition.

My second wigilia celebration was with the family that lived across the river from me in Lipnica, the family that became so much like family that I found myself thinking, "So this would have been what it was like to have a relationship with my host family like others had with theirs." It was everything wigilia should have been the year before. Afterward, we all walked down to babcia's house had continued the celebration with the extended family.

My third wigilia, in 1999, I was in Berlin with a friend. We didn't have much of a wigilia.

Wigilias four and five really didn't happen. I was back in America and not really close to anyone who celebrated it. Besides, it's a time for family: one doesn't invite mere close friends.

Since 2001, though, I've been involved in wigilia celebrations yearly. I spent 2001 with the family from wigilia two. I was at that time renting a room from them, and it just seemed logical. And there was no one else I would or could have celebrated it with.

It was much like wigilia two: warm and friendly, like with family.

It was with my fourth real wigilia, in 2002, that wigilia became a true wigilia. K and I were by then dating. Our future seemed to be coming into focus as a future together. L and E weren't even thoughts in our minds but we were starting to feel like a family.

Wigilia 2003 was much the same as 2002 but with one difference: K and I were engaged. L and E were thoughts in our minds, inevitable joys that we had not yet named or met but were certainties in some sense.

Since then, wigilia has been the same wigilia that everyone else has celebrated: a time with family. Our last wigilia in Poland, in 2004, was our first as a married couple. K's brother came with his wife and son -- now eighteen -- and we celebrated as all Polish families celebrate.

Moving to America, we celebrated every wigilia with one constant: Nana and Papa. Other friends joined from time to time. Some friends in the passing of years become more than just friends. Then we added L. Then E. And things went along like that for several years, until we lost Nana. So while there's always been a certain continuity from wigilia to wigilia, from year to year, we have made adjustments along the way.

K has made adjustments in how she makes the zakwas for the barszcz. This year, instead of the ceramic container with a slice of bread on top, she left the beets and garlic in water and garlic alone, only much longer than the normal four days. It was a recipe she found online, I believe. The result: zakwas so good that she said she could drink it by itself. It was good, I thought, but not so good that I'd consume it as a refreshing beverage.

We've made adjustments in the gifts we arrange for Santa to give the kids. This year, we made sure Santa brought mainly art supplies for the Boy and money for the Girl.