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Back to Normal

Monday 19 February 2024

Babcia made it back to Polska without too much stress or adventure. There’s always a little with Babcia, though.

And so everything returns to normal. Even here. At least tonight.

Hearts

Sunday 11 February 2024

Returning Slowly

Sunday 21 January 2024

Things are returning to normal. The Girl’s GI issues seem to be slowly diminishing, and the Boy seems in better spirits.

Babcia is, as always, Babcia: always (almost) happy and smiling (until she gets to talking about Polish politics — don’t get her talking about politics).

After a good breakfast, L and I headed to Rock Hill for the second day of the weekend’s tournament. The Girl helped out with warmups and was the biggest cheerleader on the bench.

Their team made it to the final in the gold bracket — meaning in essence, the final for the whole tournament for their age bracket — and it was against another team from the same volleyball club. Since it, too, has a strong religious foundation (like last year’s team, but this club seems to be less interested in meddling in the private lives of the coaches like last year’s team, which fired the Girl’s team’s coaches — in the middle of the season — because they were living together out of wedlock — the shame!), the two teams circled up and prayed before the game.

This team has beaten the Girl’s team badly once this year, but they were confident. Still, they’re kind of a family, I think: instead of simply giving each other low fives under the net, they popped onto the same side as our girls and there were hugs all around.

Our girls jumped out to an early lead in the first set and won it 25-21. The second set was a different story. They trailed by two for most of the set, but suddenly, it was 13-17. Then 13-18. And then 13-19. In the end, the lost 16-25.

The third and deciding set (which is only to 15) they were neck and neck until it was 8-8. Then three quick mistakes and they were down 8-11. Then 8-12. I was pretty sure it was over, the they rallied and evened the score at 13. They were up 14-13 when one of the other team’s hitters blasted a shot that was initially called out. Our girls celebrated; the parents were screaming. And then the call was reversed: there had been a touch on the block. 14-14. And how did it end? The girls rallied again and won 16-14:

And afterward — a group picture with both teams.

K, the Boy, and Babcia, meanwhile, were having a fine day as well.

After church, they went to a relatively new cafe: Old Europe Cafe. The consensus among the Polish community: a nice cafe with a real Krakow-cafe feel.

Afterward, a walk in our lovely Falls Park.

In the evening, the Boy and I played cars a while — again. Just like old times.

Exploring

Monday 15 January 2024

Life is about the moment, making the most of the now. Nothing new there.

But we tend to forget it in health emergencies (who can live in the now then?!),

shopping (it is a little meditative at times, but really, we could do without),

holidays (wonderful, but don’t you get tired of them after a while and need a year’s rest?),

and the like.

51

Saturday 13 January 2024

Growing up, birthdays were never of any importance to me. Our sect taught that the celebration of birthdays was a sinful vanity and that those truly trying to “be like Christ” would have no interest in shallow self-adulation. So I never once had a birthday party growing up, and I don’t really recall much acknowledgment of my birthday than “Hey, you’re nine today. Really growing up fast!”

One outcome of this is my apathy toward my own birthday. I’ve managed to adapt from my upbringing and realize that it is important for other people to have their birthdays recognized and celebrated, but I just don’t really care that much about my own. I might use it as an occasion to splurge and buy a cigar that’s a little pricier than what I normally have (time this evening for a beloved Partagas Black Label — a beast of a cigar), but that’s about it.

Saying all of that, though, makes me feel I’m somehow condemning Nana and Papa. But they were only following orders: the church taught; they followed. They thought they were doing the best for me. And really, how is it different from anyone else in any other religion? The religion has strictures; either its adherents follow them or they don’t. “It’s Friday. I really shouldn’t eat meat,” Babcia said just yesterday, illustrating that point perfectly. So I don’t blame my parents in any sense of the word. But I am glad that I’m not raising them in such a strictly religious environment.

Is there a substantial difference between “Nobody’s like me” and “Nobody likes me?” Is there anything more valuable than a friend, a real friend you can trust, and who can make your day brighter? Can there be anything more difficult to a young sixth grader than losing the only friend he’s made in his new school (where either his elementary school friends don’t go or they are on a different team)? No, the Boy’s friend didn’t die, but he’s moving, and the Boy can’t take it.

He’s having such a hard time making friends because, in part, despite what I said above, we are raising our kids differently than most people around here. Football? I never watch it; E knows next to nothing about it. Video games? We never bought a console for either child. Restaurants? We rarely eat out. All the little things that kids can connect on, our kids don’t have. L has made up for it. In high school, she’s found her spot, and she even goes to Friday night football games. “I have no idea what’s going on,” she cheerily admits, “but I’m not going there for the game.”

So the Boy has been having a hard time with his social life, a hard time with one boy in particular who seems to be using him, a hard time with so many things. And the Girl has been having some ridiculously painful (but thankfully, not long-term serious) medical issues that make it difficult to sleep at night. And last night, they both exploded, leaving all four of his sleep-deprived and exhausted — physically, emotionally, and mentally.

That’s why for most of the day, we stayed home, doing as little as possible. L’s pain finally calmed down and she was able to sleep; K did some grocery shopping and then spent the rest of the day relaxing as the Girl slept, Babcia watched Polish TV on the computer, and the Boy and I played with his cars (first time in a long time we’ve done that).

In the evening, K wanted to head back to the store to get some kind of cake for me. The Girl, feeling better than she’s felt in probably a week, decided to go with her. And so they lit some candles and sang “Sto Lat” for me.

And then the Boy gave me his gift: a bespoke card with a twenty dollar bill in it. I looked at K, thinking maybe she’d given it to him to tuck in there, but as little surprise as I, she shook her head. He was giving me his own money.

I just about lost it right there…

Hilton Head Day 2

Sunday 31 December 2023

We’ve had that model plane for — I don’t even know how long. Over a year. Maybe more.

“At some point, we’ll put it together,” I assured E, and myself.

And so as we were packing for this end-of-the-year trip, we had the idea that we could take the model and put it together here, in Hilton Head. Most of it, though, the Boy did himself. I wanted to be involved, but I also wanted him to have the experience of assembling it alone. I helped when he requested it.

This morning, he finished it.

In the afternoon, a stop at Piggly Wiggly — they still exist!

And in the evening, a walk on the beach,

some time in the hot tub,

and games in the condo.

Hilton Head Day 1

Saturday 30 December 2023

We started the day with a long sleep — not a single alarm clock set in the entire condominium. None. Not a FitBit set to gently jingle one awake; not a phone set to start chirping, screaming, or whatever alarms various family members use to drag themselves out of bed. Nothing.

First up, a walk on the beach just beside our complex. It’s technically not on the ocean but rather on the sound that separates Hilton Head from St. Helena Island and Parris Island just to the northeast of us.

The plan was to have an afternoon walk on Hilton Head’s main beach in the afternoon after exploring the downtown area, but K so fell in love with the marshy beach that she wanted to return after a short walk on the main tourist beach.

But we’ll get to that later.

One of the things Hilton Head is famous for is its wealth, and there’s no lack of that around us. The house just to the south of our complex is a 10,000 square foot beast that is valued, according to Zillow, at $4.5 million. Probably someone’s second home at that.

This kind of conspicuous wealth — I just don’t understand it. It screams lack of confidence in one’s own being. The only way I can feel great about myself is by showing off how much wealth I have. That’s how I’ve already seen it.

But that was neither here nor there as the Boy explored the shoreline (with the Girl still asleep in the condo), discovering at least a dozen horseshoe crab shells.

The place we’re renting is in a somewhat-dated but still lovely complex that, according to one resident we spoke with, is 50% owned and 50% rented. There are tennis courts (used, as far as we can tell, primarily for pickleball), an outdoor pool, an indoor pool, a jacuzzi, a sauna — a regular spa.

There’s even an odd, enclosed but unheated porch area. Not sure how comfortable that might be in the heat of the summer, but in the winter, all one needs is a blanket or jacket and it’s fine out there.

After our post-walk coffee and cake, we went downtown to do a little shopping. Not what I love doing, but I made it through the whole afternoon without even a peep of protest at the suggestion, “Let’s go into this store!”

The Girl was shopping for a birthday present for one of her friends; K was shopping for a dress for the Girl.

In the end, they both walked away happy, and I even got something: a bottle of Ghost Pepper and garlic hot sauce, locally made.

“Is it hot?” the Boy asked after I sampled a bit in the store.

“It’s definitely warm.”

After shopping, it was time for lunch: Babcia’s first time having sushi. The meal came with miso soup — another first — which Babcia liked but suggested: “it could use some potatoes.”

After lunch, we headed to the main beach. At first, K was in love with it: “The changing rooms, the showers — so charming!” But the beach itself — nothing much, she proclaimed.

So in the end, we just headed back to our little beach to see the sunset colors.

Cracker Stop

Friday 29 December 2023

On the way to Hilton Head this evening, we stopped for dinner at Cracker Barrel. It’s not a place we ever go to on our own, but when someone from Poland is here—well, they have to try good old fashioned greens.

Christmas 2023

Monday 25 December 2023

Previous Years

Wigilia 2023

Sunday 24 December 2023

First times almost never go unnoticed. When we’re experiencing something novel, we’re rarely not aware that it’s new. Our first kiss — we all remember that. The first time we saw our first child — no one could fail to realize the significance of the moment.

Sometimes, those firsts surprise us: my first Christmas was something I never thought I would experience, and while I doubt many people can remember their first Christmas, I clearly remember mine.

Family in Poland

But lasts? We often don’t even realize we’re in the midst of some last, and we don’t realize it was a last until so much later. Our last Wigilia with Nana and Papa together in 2018 — we didn’t realize it was the last. Our final Wigilia with Dziadek in 2007 — we had no idea it would be our last. Our last Wigilia with Papa in 2020 — no idea. 

W. S. Merwin hints at this in “For the Anniversary of My Death”

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day  
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what

We move through these lasts without even thinking about them, without even realizing their presence. 

But some lasts approach. They haunt or taunt us from far off: our last day of duty for the year hangs tauntingly in front of us teachers every year. Our last time in a classroom in a given school — we know it’s coming, and it haunts us. At least it did me both times I left Poland.

We’re approaching a last in our family: L is now seventeen, a junior in high school. Next year will be the last time she’s here for Wigilia for certain. Sure, she’ll be here for most of them in the years in college, maybe even all of them. But there will come a time when she decides to spend Wigilia with the family of someone she’s fallen for.

Then there will be the same situation for E five years later. He’ll move out, probably come to Wigilia with us more regularly than L (but who knows?), and we’ll never be certain like we are now that we’ll be spending the next Wigilia together.

And at some point, K and I will have our final Wigilia together, and we most likely won’t even know it.

So this all raises the obvious question: is it good to know that last has arrived or not? I think it depends on the event itself. In the end, though, it’s a moot point: we often don’t know our lasts when we happen across them.

But what if we tried to live each moment as if it were our last time doing whatever mundane task was at hand? What if we washed dishes as if we’d never get to do it again? Such a simple mundane task that has marked our lives with such regularity that we don’t even think about it. Putting it in the context of a potential last seems to imbue it with some sparkle it lacked before. And I guess that sparkle really comes from us — and we can dispense them wherever we choose. We can make a conscious choice to live our lives as if ever single event were the last time we do that, or even the last thing we do on earth. It seems like it could be the ultimate life lived in the now.