Blog move

So I have moved my blog and have been making entries when I had a "duh" momment. In case there is anyone frequently or infrequently visiting, and wondering where I am, you can find me at:

http://citywords.thecolumbiarecord.com/

It's a little more local although a lot harder to hide. Please come for a visit, and leave a comment if you like what you read.

Flavors of the World

Today we had lunch in Turkey, Peru, India and the U.S. We finished up with desert in Italy and Russia. The food was great, but the people were better.

Because other cultures are fascinating to me and the kids, we headed to the State Fair grounds after tap class this morning to check out the International Festival. I was a little hesitant at first-only because I don't like juggling three kids in a crowd alone-but it was well worth it.

We spent time at booths representing different countries first. Each had several volunteers dressed in traditional clothing, many who also spoke the language. There were samples of money, fabrics, handmade items, foods, books, you name it. Many of the volunteers showed tremendous enthusiasm for sharing their country's cultures; it was wonderful to observe.

When we got tired of the booths, we went to the international food court and selected several different items to share. Hands down, our favorite foods were from Peru; although the Jamaican and Thai booths were popular with others. While we ate, we sat in front of a tall stage where there was performance entertainment from a broad range of countries. We saw flamenco dancing from Spain, several Mexican dances, a Caribbeann steel drum band and others.

Then came a group called "Legends of West Africa". This was a drum line and dancers, so full of energy that it was powerful. When they started, the drums pounded and the dancer's bodies twisted; first slow, then faster and faster. There were four women dancing and drumming with true joy in their faces-their performance was more than just a job to them. Many in the audience couldn't contain themselves and stood up to dance and move; or else clapped their hands and tapped their feet. It was captivating. The music and dancing went on and on, with none of the performers showing any signs of fatigue. When it was finally over, the children and I felt incredibly lifted up and exhilarated.

Just watching and listening to the people around us was an experience. Individuals attend the festival for their own reasons-solidarity, education, heritage pride, interest in others. At one point, I went back to Peru for more chorizo (sausage) and flan. I stood next to a young mother and son, both with lovely dark hair and long eyelashes. She was watching the stage where girls with long ruffled skirts were performing a dance that looked like something out of the old west. The mother had a far away look in her eyes and murmured under her breath

"I haven't seen that in a long time."

When I asked her where she was from, without taking her eyes from the dancers, she said Puerto Rico, but that she had lived in the States since she was twelve. This dance was from her childhood. She watched silently for a long time, but then moved on as the line shifted.

It made me wonder how many people attend the festival to get a little flavor of home. I am thankful that they shared it with us.

Barbie

I often listen to my children playing. It can be very informative and it’s a good way to hear what they are picking up at school. It’s also quite funny. Children are naturally humorous in their innocence and serve as good reminders for adults to chill out, and quite worrying about life so much.

My girls love Barbies. Actually, that’s an understatement. They are Barbie freaks. They each would like their own personal copy of every Barbie ever made, plus accessories. So let’s clarify; every doll, car, horse and buggy, ball gown, castle, shopping mall, pair of shoes, bicycle, airplane, swimming pool and any other item Barbie takes it in her little plastic head to have manufactured. Multiplied by two. I would worry if I hadn’t gone through the same thing myself as a kid.

At first I considered not allowing Barbie for play because of all the studies relating to young women having unrealistic body image initiated with Barbie play. Fortunately for my girls, I got over this by their second birthday; just in time their first Barbie from grandma. Yes, I have unrealistic body image and played with Barbie as a child. However, I chalk this up to wanting to be a small size after having three kids-two of them at the same time. This also qualifies as an unfulfilled desire.

But I digress.

We now have forty-leven Barbie dolls. Many of them have different names, facial features, hair colors, and outfits. However, it is not necessary for me to keep up with their individuality, because my girls call them by one name only; “friend”. When I listen to their role play, this is what I hear:

(sample conversation between two Barbies)
“Friend, are you going to the ball tonight?”
“Oh yes friend, the Prince will be there!”
“Well friend, which dress should I wear?”
“Oh friend, why don’t you wear the pink dress while I wear the purple one?”
“That is a great idea friend!”

And so on. It almost sounds like a Quaker Society if you don’t know the details.

There is always a ball to go to at our house. We only have two prince Ken’s, but my son also has a GI Joe Firefighter and a generic police officer that are the right size to attend the ball. The police officer is quite handsome, and is invited out often, but GI Joe has a poor social life. His scar makes him look mean you see, and everyone knows that a prince is supposed to always smile.

Every so often, their brother will actually join them playing although there is never a ball when he is around. He scorns the Princes and goes straight for the Policeman. Tie a ballet skirt around his neck for a cape and with a paper sword, the policeman is now a knight off to fight a dragon. The policeman doesn’t have a name when my son is playing; he really doesn’t need one. He is too busy hunting dragons, flying, or leaping through the air to need a name for casual conversation.

I have met grown men who would like that job.

Grandpa's Zamboni

At this time of year, many people find Lake Murray a little depressing. I can understand this-you can’t ski or swim, fishing is pretty difficult as well. A boat ride in a cold, whipping wind is a miserable experience. The water is very low and there are mud pits around the docks. The whole area is gray, and looks used up and thrown away.

However, many people are wrong. When the lake is down, you can find treasures that were once thought lost, such as a fishing pole or sunglasses. You can sit on a porch deck bundled in blankets and feel the silence. You can watch the squirrels and birds clearly on the leafless tree branches. You can just exist, without worrying about what task or errand needs to be done next.

When our dad is working long weekend shifts (restaurant guy, remember?) we like to plan an escape to the grandparents lake house. I often call my oldest friend to join us with her two children. The lake house is way out in Saluda County, where cell phones only work sporadically and there is no email. We will cook ahead so that we can eat healthy, and there is always a bottle of wine for moms to enjoy after kids are in bed.

The lake house has toys and games that aren’t seen very often, but mostly, it has the benefit of wide open spaces, inside and out. This includes an unfinished basement. Now my parents are clean freaks who like every thing in its place and looking nice. Therefore, the basement isn’t typical; there are several coats of light grey paint on the floor, the walls are bright white, and it is well lit. There is a locked storage room for tools, but the main area is empty. When our five children went down to play last time, we figured they would get bored in minutes. We were wrong.

It turns out that the painted basement floor makes an excellent ice skating rink when thick socks are worn. The children loved skidding around the brick supports, pretending to spin and doing tricks. However, the best part was the Zamboni, really large green push broom that ordinarily sweeps up wood shavings. As the children experienced pure, uninterrupted fun, the noise factor grew louder every minute-but who was around to hear it? We had to force them to come up for bedtime. The first thing that they wanted to do when they got up the next morning was troop down to the basement for a quick game of Zamboni tag before breakfast. By the end of the weekend, the only way we could get them to leave was by promising a return visit at the next school holiday.

When I called Grandpa to tell him how much we enjoyed his Zamboni, he was understandably a little confused. He didn’t realize that his clean basement area was really an ice rink. It’s a shame how your vision changes when you get older.

The Eternal Why...

If you have any anwers to these questions, please feel free to leave them in the comments section so you can put me out of my misery.

Why is it that cookbooks are absolutely inspirational to read, but cooking dinner is a drag?

Why do health food stores smell funny? Am I unable to recognize the true scent of health?

Why is it that kids can be rotten all day long, making you want to snatch a knot in them; then look like angels while they are sleeping, making you want to hold them in your arms?

Why is it that the train is never sitting on the tracks across the road when you are early?

Why is it that when the dishwasher is completely empty and standing open, somebody always put the cup in the sink?

Why is it that Krispy Kreme has their “hot doughnuts” sign on whenever I am broke and dieting?

Why does it not shame me to put five dollars worth of hot doughnuts on my credit card?

Why doesn’t the color of the new paint on the wall look like the color in the picture?

Why does the dog need to bark at dust floating in the air, but will only snore when a stranger comes to the door?

Why do these people keep calling to offer a better phone plan? Why don’t they just do the right thing in the first place?

Why do I keep buying celery so that it can die in my refrigerator instead of the grocer’s shelf?

Why is it always in the hundreds instead of tens when the car has a problem that need professional help?

Why does the car only have a problem when I REALLY need to be somewhere?

Why is it that a husband always wants to have meaningful conversation when the wife is concentrating on a book or the computer, but will barely answer in monosyllables when the TV is on?

Why is it always so cold in the movie theater?

Why is it cheaper to throw away an electronic gadget and buy new, rather than have it fixed?

Why can’t you ever find someone to fix these gadgets?

Why do they all break at once?

Why don’t Hershey bars taste good anymore?

Why is it impossible to keep your eyes open at four in the afternoon, yet at nine you get your second wind until midnight?

Do I Hear A Waltz?

From the time that the children were babies, we have listened to classical music. We began with basic tapes featuring quiet songs to help with colic. As they grew, we moved on to a great collection created by Classical Kids; composers stories featuring selections from their work. The tapes are now family favorites, playing often in the car. I am also a big believer in the Mozart Effect, so we started piano lessons when they were three years old. We all love music.

Now that they are school age (and can theoretically sit quietly for a given length of time) we looked for a good concert to expose them to their first symphony production. We found it last weekend when the South Carolina Philharmonic presented “Viennese New Year”. We chose this concert because we knew the children would recognize at least some of the music. In addition, two ballroom dancers and a soprano were performing with the Philharmonic.

When the soprano, Margaret Kelly Cook came on stage for her first song, she announced that she was singing a section from “The Magic Flute”. We got very excited-we know that one, it’s from our story tape! Ms. Cook looked the part perfectly; she wore a strapless velvet gown with matching elbow length gloves, and had flawless skin, long flowing hair and a lovely smile. Her voice was beautiful, we barely blinked when she sang.

The ballroom dancers also held us transfixed. They were so elegant, sweeping and swirling on an impossibly small area of the stage. Always smiling, they flowed rather than stepped. I could watch a good dancer waltz forever, it is my favorite.

However, the best thing was the music, waltzes and polka's by Strauss and others. There was a young pianist who performed a concerto, her fingers literally skipping over the keys. The Philharmonic played a number of unique selections, including one with a real train whistle. An added treat was the conductor, Nicholas Smith. He was full of passion and had a very expressive face while he conducted; it was fascinating to watch him work. He also periodically would turn to the audience to explain a musical piece or technique. He had a charming sense of humor and just seemed full of fun. This was reflected by the musicians themselves, they played with lots of verve and very obvious enjoyment. My son leaned over at one point to whisper “I can’t tear my eyes off of the stage”.

We left feeling exhilarated, and with a greater appreciation of both the songs we knew and the dedication of musicians who played them. It was almost a shock-we never realized what a treasure we have in this organization. By the way, they are doing Mozart in February. We will be the ones who are glassy-eyed near the front.

A Time Machine

For Christmas, my sister gave me a time machine that really works. When I opened my package from her, there it was; a DVD of the first season of "21 Jump Street".

For those who may not be in the know, this was one of Fox Televisions first shows. It launched the careers of Johnny Depp and Holly Robinson, as well as many others. The story line was basic-young looking police officers became part of an undercover unit placed in local high schools. The cops were actual students, at least until the crime was solved and the bad seeds kicked out of school. The recurrent theme was big hair, torn acid-washed jeans, and long earrings (all for both boys and girls).

When I started watching the DVD's, my first thought was "good grief, how cheesy was this?" But, I kept it on as I folded laundry, and pretty soon, found myself drawn in. The memories came flooding through, and off I went; back in time.

The year was 1988, and I was floundering, undecided about my future. College had become too confining, and at this point, it didn't have a purpose for me. I ended up working as a bartender and made several friends, also working in the bar and restaurant business, who were in the same boat that I was. We knew that our current career paths were temporary (we hoped) but none of us had any direction; we drifted together.

It happened that "Jump Street" came on Sunday night, our only consistent night off. Six or eight of us would congregate at my apartment, or at another friend's double-wide trailer. One of us would cook if the others contributed the food and drink. We always ate the cheap meals that would feed the masses; spaghetti, hamburger helper, sloppy Joes, and so on.

When it was time for Jump Street, we all piled on the couch or floor. It started with the organ music, then the buzzing neon 21 and we were glued-total silence except for commercials until it was over. Afterward, we would sit around and shoot the breeze for an hour or two while cleaning up, then gradually leave and go our separate ways. Week after week, we always connected at the same time, to do the same thing. This routine lasted amazingly long, particularly in the transitional world of bar and restaurant people; I really can't remember when it stopped. The feeling of camaraderie is still very strong when I think about that time. I can easily close my eyes and visualize heads on pillows or someone's feet draped over the side of a chair. I am not sure why this show held our interest; maybe because it was us, Generation X before the label.

I am sure that I could come up with some deep, philosophical conclusion for this entry. However, I just don't have time. I have to jack up my hair and put in the next DVD. My young adult self is waiting for me.