bubble

something which can only be described as "odd" happened to me this morning when i was checking my messages after a few days away.  i won't go into details, but it left me feeling a bit unsettled, not to mention creeped out.

i couldn't shake that disturbing feeling for much of the day, so it got me thinking about how i've lived in this protective bubble most of my life, shielded from all the "bad things."  my parents worked hard to provide me with shelter and comfort, to grow up in a nice house and good neighborhood, to attend award-winning schools and participate in activities that allowed me to develop my interests.  i was guided to college and supported through it (even when my parents disagreed with my decisions), given the confidence to obtain my first job and the next and so on, granted opportunities that not everyone has.  and yet, whenever something that feels unsafe happens, the air inside my bubble grows larger, so the lining of the bubble itself becomes thinner and thinner until it's essentially ready to pop. 

maybe this is what it's like to be an adult.  or maybe this balance, of wanting to feel protected but realizing that the world is, in fact, a scary place, is what holds the bubble together; keeps it afloat, keeps it from bursting.

artsy fartsy

old town alexandria reminds me of the shopping boulevard in red bank, nj or maybe even the palmer square area of princeton.  what i liked about alexandria was the character of the old buildings mixed with the modern shops.  it made for a great day of shopping and eating.

one of the stores we went into was a paper/stationary store.  my sister and i could spend hours in there just browsing.  i don't know what's so interesting about paper and cardstock and fabric, but i'm just drawn to it.  i have boxes full of untouched scrapbooking material with the intent to use it someday (when? who knows).

we had to leave the store, though, because my parents were set on taking us to the torpedo factory art center, a gallery where you could meet the artists and watch them in action.  i followed my mom into weaving stores, as she seems to admire textiles.  my dad took me to the second floor to view these amazing watercooler paintings from one of the local artists.  he was so excited to share these works with my husband and me, and seeing him this way finally made it click in my mind: my parents' appreciation of art played a vital role in shaping me.

my sisters and i have always been inclined to art, whether it's creating or appreciating it.  my parents both have an apt for drawing, and my love for museums probably comes from all the times we visited them as kids.  i didn't know it then, but my parents were instilling art expression as an important aspect in our lives by showing us how to enjoy it.

we lost track of my sister in the gallery today for a bit.  she was probably overwhelmed by all the beauty.

beach bummed

my parents were set on taking us to the beach today, although we weren't really up for it.  but we obediently packed ourselves in the van for a 50-minute car ride from their house.  upon arrival, we were greeted by an overcast sky, the mist so enveloping it was like standing in a massive gray cloud.  my parents methodically unpacked the beach chairs and started for the sand while my sister and i (and our husbands) tentatively followed, not in much of a mood to be where we were but appeasing them nonetheless.  as we made our way toward the water, droplets of rain started falling.  this didn't discourage either of my parents though.  they were jovial and laughing, all of us kids wondering how they could be having such a great time in such miserable weather.  as soon as we put our chairs down, they headed to the waves hand in hand, dipping their feet in the ocean.  mere minutes later, it started raining harder and the lifeguards kicked us off the beach.  we had probably been there no more than 10 minutes before having to head back home, since there wasn't much to do in a shore town in the rain.

during the car ride home, the sky dried up and the sun even poked through.  we joked about how funny it was that we traveled nearly an hour each way to visit the beach for about 5 minutes.  it was an event so typical of my parents, and we had agreed to tag along since we were doing it for them.

what i've realized as i'm writing this is that they were in fact doing it for us; planning this day trip to the beach, putting on a happy face once we got there, despite the crappy weather.  making our day enjoyable and memorable.

and i've also decided that by having just a glimpse of how happy it made them to have us there together, i would go to the beach with them on a rainy day any day.

home cooking

a coworker gave me some spring onions from her garden, so i decided to try my hand at making spring onion pancakes from scratch.  they turned out pretty good for my first batch, but i'll probably need to make them a few more times before i'm satisfied.. that is, if i make another attempt.

spring onion or scallion pancakes remind me so much of my mom.  i don't think she actually ever made them from scratch, but she always liked heating some up for us in a pan as a snack.  whatever she makes always has that "mom" touch, like her signature.  the same goes for my dad too... his fried eggs or salmon dish that i can almost taste as i'm typing this.  there's always something about homemade cooking from your parents that can not be duplicated.  i don't know how many times i've tried to make something that my mom or dad has, and it just doesn't taste the same.  it's similar, but there's always something missing.

i've asked my mom over the years for recipes, but like any mother would tell you, there really aren't any.  it's all by memory and taste.  she's tried to put together recipes for me with portions and amounts, but no matter how precisely i measure or how much i compensate, it turns out different.  i can't put my finger on what it is, but i know enough to know that it's not my mom's.

maybe the reason is because i know who it's coming from, the love and care that's put into the food, not only to provide nutrition and sustenance to my body, but to nurture and sustain my life.

recreation/re-creation

this afternoon, my sisters and i (along with our respective husbands, which still sounds alittle funny and odd to say), went on a bike ride with our dad at the local park.  i was trying to remember the last time we'd ridden our bikes as a family, and it must have been when i was in high school and we were all still under the same roof.

the park by my parents' house wasn't always there.  it used to be a massive field that was across the street from our old house.  it was so neglected and overrun with grass and weeds that it reminded me of a wheat field.  it could have actually been one, but i can't be sure.  the middle sister and i would walk over there to play, much shorter than the growth, getting lost in the land.  sometimes we would test how far we could go before one of us chickened out (more likely to be me) and we'd turn around towards home.  a few times we saw deer, and i remember twice we discovered a buck.

when we found out about the plans for the park, we couldn't wait.  it took a couple years to develop, and i still remember the first few times we went after it was officially open, how new and fresh it looked, the black pavement of paths undiscovered.  one summer i'd get up early (a true feat) to go jogging with my dad.  we would often go at night too, with just the sounds of the crickets and our sneakered feet hitting the ground in rhythm.

the middle sister and i loved to bring our bikes too.  there was an entrance to the park right across the street, so we'd pedal over and hook onto a larger loop that brought us to a bridge that spanned over a creek.  that was the best area for honeysuckle; even to this day i could smell the sweet scent as i rode by.  there is still wildlife around (today we spotted a groundhog), and back then, we would still see the deer.  i remember one particular time when we tried to catch up to a one as we raced down a hill.  we couldn't, of course, but it was still fun trying.

there is also another memory i particularly like.  on the last night (or so we thought) before we moved, my sister and i snuck out of the house to the park.  there, on the swingsets, we said our goodbyes to our town and talked about how much we would miss the place we had come to know so well.

it's a wonderful feeling to be able to come back to a place that holds so many fond memories, and to share it with the same people who helped create them in the first place.