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fun in threes, sometimes fours

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Perfect Days

Thursday 19 July 2012 | 0 Comments

Some days are simply perfect.

Some days are filled with just enough of the adventure of the new and the comfort of the known to keep your eyes open but your spirit relaxed.

Such days are filled with napping and affection.

Such days have just enough hint of gray

that we appreciate the smiles that follow.

Some days are filled with friends and family, smiles and conversation, and the comfort of knowing that you belong just where you are.

These days have a hint of belle epoque and impressionism.

And they smell like dogs.

Apples 2011

Sunday 02 October 2011 | 1 Comment

It's a yearly tradition now, the herald of autumn, and if we lived in a colder climate, it would serve as a bookend to the summer.

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The selection is diminished at this time of year: the McIntoshes are long gone, if that's your apple. Honeycrisp tress are long bare, and Pink Ladies are still not ripe. Of course, there's always Red and Golden Delicious, as well as Granny Smiths, but those are at the very bottom of our list of favorites.

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There are a few Cortlands on the tress, though, and if you look hard enough, you'll find a McIntosh or two still hanging around.

And of course there are loads of Fuji apples.

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We can easily fill the baskets with Fuji, and the Girl adores that particular cultivar.

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The apples, of course, are only a means to an end, which is spending time with close friends.

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The Things We Leave Behind

Tuesday 02 August 2011 | 2 Comments

Immigrants bring all sorts of things with them when they move to a new country. They bring items of their culture: language, songs, recipes.

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They bring a love of native-language literature (even if it's actually translated from another tongue) that excites them beyond words when they find someone else who seems to love a given book as much as they do.

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But one thing they must leave behind is the confectionery that brings a smile to their faces and warmth to their hearts.

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Return to Table Rock

Monday 01 August 2011 | 0 Comments

The plan was simple: get up at a reasonable hour, drive two hours to a spot in northern Georgia, and be awed at the fantastic views of a canyon known as the "Grand Canyon of the South." But such plans begin taking shape the evening before, and when the evening drifts into the morning and all the adults are still awake, the likelihood of the plans coming to fruition diminishes greatly.

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The backup plan -- the realistic plan -- was a return to Table Rock State Park. At only forty-five minutes away, it seemed a more logical choice for a late start. Being in the mountains, it also seemed a more comfortable choice.

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We hiked the trail we always tale: Carrick Creek trail, appropriate both for its length (four-year-olds can walk only so far) and for its scenery, which is both beautiful and, more importantly for the kids, amusing. (Who doesn't love playing in waterfalls or slipping and sliding on moss-covered rocks?)

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The hike was more engaging with a game, so the kids had a contest: who could find the most trail markings on trees? It's a common game we play with L to keep her interested in the walk. We played it in Slovakia a year ago, and every time we're on a trail by ourselves, we encourage the Girl to look for the signs.

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Despite the fact that both contestants marched right by trail makers without noticing them as they tried desperately to be first (apparently it was a dual contest), the game ended in a tie, which was frustrating for both the kids but a relief to the adults: one less wound to soothe. No one likes to eat a picnic when one of the diners is tinged with tragedy, feeling the sting of an unfair loss.

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Any heated tempers would have been quickly cooled, though: the lake's swimming area was closed, leaving only one option for cooling off after an arduous mile hike.

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Out

Sunday 31 July 2011 | 0 Comments

When you live where the temperature in late July usually makes one feel as if one or more vents from the superheated underworld has been left open, an evening on the back deck is an almost shocking rarity.

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Best Friends

Wednesday 27 July 2011 | 0 Comments

At what point does “best friend” cease to mean “someone you argue with best”?

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Probably never.

Sześć Bab

Sunday 24 July 2011 | 0 Comments

I've always been fascinated by children of mixed culture, children who speak language X at home (Spanish, Hindi, German, you name it) and English everywhere else. Attempting to raise just such a child has shown me how difficult it can be.

The Girl understands Polish perfectly; she doesn't speak it unless highly motivated. Part of that is due to living in a mixed household: I don't always speak Polish around the house. ("Always?!" K would ask incredulously. "How about rarely?") Additionally, the Girl spends her days in daycare with other English speakers. Polish is that language of babcia, dziadek, and her cousins.

"What you need to do is send her to Poland for the summer," an acquaintance at the swimming pool advised. "She's not too young!" the lady assured us over K's protests that it was a bit much to force on a four-and-a-half-year-old.

Three Half-Polish Girls

Days like today, though, help: Polish friends from Asheville came for a day visit. That made three little girls in the same situation: perfect understanding of spoken Polish who exhibit great reticence to speak it themselves.

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The hope was that, the two friends, just back from Poland and spending every day with babcia for the last couple of weeks, would speak Polish with the Girl. But if siblings of immigrants speak English to each other (which they usually do), it was perhaps only wishful thinking to hope that the three would break into unrestrained Polish.

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In the living room, however, it was a different matter altogether.

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In and out ran the girls; English to Polish to English ran their conversation.

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Perhaps there was improvement; perhaps not. Perhaps that's not the most important concern.

T’s First Communion

Sunday 01 May 2011 | 0 Comments

St. Stephen’s Day

Monday 27 December 2010 | 1 Comment

Just before noon everyone begins heading home. Snow on the ground, wet roads, freezing conditions -- perfect weather for sandals and a drive to the mountains. As some of our guests head off to the mountains of western North Carolina, L has other priorities: a snowman.

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We're lucky: the snow is wet and heavy, easily rolled into balls. Indeed, we could roll up all the snow like a gigantic carpet: it picks up snow, leaves, grass, and all.

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When I was growing up in southwest Virginia, I rare saw snow, and even more rarely saw wet snow. It was most often dry, powdery snow good for skiing perhaps, but of little use to neighborhood kids wanting to create snow forts and have snow ball battles.

This snow is as easily rolled as insulation or blankets. In fact, it's almost too easy.

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As K directs everyone to the front yard, we realize that carrying the growing snow balls is almost impossible.

"Roll them," K instructs simply.

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Which means the snowman will be bigger than originally planned.

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By this time, L has lost interest and is more concerned about whether or not she'll get to make a snow angel.

"We might be able to just before going in," I tell her. "But it makes you very wet, so we'll have to go in right after you're finished."

A tricky situation: L is sick (as seems to be the new Christmas break tradition -- three years in a row), but snow is so rare, it seems a shame to herd her back inside so quickly.

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We finish up the snow man, snap a quick picture, then return to the warmth of tea and dry clothes.

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The theme of warmth and tea continues through the evening: a last dinner with friends to bring the 2010 Christmas season to a close.

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The familiar gender segregation returns, with the ladies in the living room, the gentlemen still at the dining table,

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and the kids watching Toy Story -- probably for the tenth time for L.

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Things wind down: time for children to go to bed and K and others to prepare mentally for a return to work tomorrow.

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A bittersweet moment in the end: it could be the last Christmas we spend with one family, as they're contemplating a return to Poland. Maybe we'll get together next year; maybe we'll only be able to share Christmas wishes over the phone. But for now, we depart, looking forward to Friday's Polish New Year's Eve party.

Christmas 2010

Sunday 26 December 2010 | 0 Comments

“There’s a forecast of snow,” was the rumor running through the house. “It’ll be the first snow during Christmas since the early 1960’s.”

By the time the guests arrived in the late afternoon, there were flurries. The temperature stayed above freezing, but the snow and festive mood led to the only logical conclusion: toddies for everyone.

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The evening continued, as did the snow and conversation.

The usual gender self-segregation gradually developed: the ladies in L’s room,

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the guys in the basement, and the children moving back and forth between.

Pool in the Basement

Visiting friends’ dogs and the pool table seemed to have an inordinate draw for the kids. I remember as a child the fascination I too held for the concept of billiards. It seems like the perfect kid’s game, which I guess it is: flat surface, lots of balls, purposeful collisions. Sort of like a demolition derby.

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I excused myself for a few moments to take some photos of the house in snow. I tromped through the first Christmas snow in almost fifty years, thinking about the privilege inside and out, that having close friends is as rare and dear as Christmas snow in the south.

Snowy Christmas Evening