When David finished his boards we were frothing at the mouth to get out of Dodge. To be perfectly honest, I was frothing at the mouth. David, the little dear, delirious from four weeks of only his desk and the library carrels for company, was too brain dead to know which way home was. Just in the defense of med. students, those library carrels can be made to be a home away from home. Students put pictures of their family up, they have a stack of sweaters hanging over their chairs, an assortment of cheez-its and beef jerky line the shelf. You know, the necessities of life.
Anyway, while David was taking the test that would decide his fate and future from this point on in his mortal exsistence, I was doing something really useful for mankind. I was researching things to do online. Using really specific search terms like "fun" and "Harrisburg" and "outside." And lo and behold, what did I find but a little outdoor festival only thirty minutes away. What fortuosity!
I printed off the flyer for the festival from the computer. In cursive lettering it proclaimed, "Liederkranz German Folk Festival! Fun for the whole family! Singing, dancing, food, drink, and much more!" Well, didn't that just sound like a free-spirited, family fun environment? Congratulating myself on my excellent date planning skills, I set to make a "Yay! You survived the worst test of medical school history: Part 1” cake. No need to mention the parts 2-1,692 that he would have yet to take throughout the rest of his life. In fact, I was so pleased with my find, I thought it would be selfish not to share in this fun filled event. So I invited the Ellingsons to come along.
Driving to the festival, I had visions of Von Trapp Family singer type folk sitting around a camp-fire singing good old German tunes of yore. There would be sweet little children skipping in the field beside us playing with some traditional German toy, and happy old couples dancing a polka jig. What a night of cultural fun it would be!
Upon arriving at the festival, we were greeted at a welcome tent that had a wooden sign that stated, "Velcum." Ohohoho, I laugh condescendingly to myself, how quaint. It's even spelled in German. The man in the tent asks to see our licenses. What? Why does he need to see our licenses? I pull mine out and he slaps a red bracelet on me. Katie had forgotten hers, and apologetically the man puts a yellow band on her arm. "If you go back and get your license, I'll get you the right color." Suddenly it dawns on me what the bands are for, "Oh, we're not going to drink." The man cocks an eyebrow for a moment, and then begins to laugh, "Oh, yeah, right."
We walk further into the paved green area. Booths dot the path along us selling shirts, mugs, and other cheap paraphernalia. There are two main stretches of tents where vendors are selling food and people are refilling their jugs with a strange brown colored liquid that I guarantee wasn't cider. Large men that shouldn't be wearing shorts were wearing what looked like a 12 year olds suspenders. Women were wearing Von Trapp family garb with 6 inches less skirt and 5 inches less neck line. People were filling steins bigger than my watering can. And everywhere you looked people were quite simply put, wasted. I began to apologize to everyone for bringing them to this "festival."
"I really thought it said it was family friendly." Everyone else just laughed.
David and Clint bought ridiculously disgusting bratwursts, smothered in rank smelling sauerkraut, and Katie and I contemplated pretzels. We watched a few traditional folk bands and dancers, a puppet show, and a lot of people get sloshed.
David and I tried to dance amidst the crowds. But after the second song and stumbling over the third drunk person passed out on the floor, we decided to call it quits. As we exited the dance area, a large man with a full white beard stuck his hand out to David, "That's quite the dancing you did out there." David nodded his thanks, and we began to make our exit. The man called after, "You're not leaving are you? It's summerfest! You can't leave yet!" We smiled and waved them off, deciding it best to leave before all the inebriated summerfester tried to drive home.
Upon recounting the experience to my mother I complained, "I thought their might be alcohol, but I didn't know it was going to be the main event."
My wise and patient mother just said, "For future reference, Julie, when it says German festival alcohol will always be the main event."
Monday, August 24, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Salsa
Today I miss my mom.
And how it will be fall in Iona soon-which means it will smell like salsa. The tomatoes will line the windowsill of the kitchen and my mom will slowly watch them ripen, saying things like, "I think they'll last another day." She'll say that for about three days and when finally they really won't last another day, she'll pull out the grinder, and the slicers, and the cutting boards, and the jars with the clunky metal rings, and her canner that's older than I am.
Water will boil, tomato skins will fall, knives will chop, and then steam will erupt. The little cuts on her hands from gardening all day will sting as the tomato juice runs over them as she slices. She'll have Johnny turn the handle of the grinder(this is the only job he will do willingly) as she slowly feeds pieces of onions and peppers into the top. The kitchen counter will be covered with the pots for boiling, pots for cutting, pots for stewing, and pots for canning.
She'll pour her conglomerate of vegetables into the jars, her hair flat from cooking in the heat of early fall, and her apron smeared with tomato seeds and onion skins. Carefully monitoring the canner, she'll take out and replace batch after batch, jar after jar.
She'll labor day and night as the fumes of salsa permeate the air everywhere. Upstairs, downstairs, bathroom, garage, all you'll smell is salsa. And maybe your mom makes salsa, and I'll bet it's great, and it probably smells good too, but our salsa always smells the best. Because my mom made it. And so therefore, it has to be the best.
I wish I had even one jar of my mom's salsa right now. I'd put it in the crockpot and keep it on warm all day. That way my apartment would smell like fall too.
And how it will be fall in Iona soon-which means it will smell like salsa. The tomatoes will line the windowsill of the kitchen and my mom will slowly watch them ripen, saying things like, "I think they'll last another day." She'll say that for about three days and when finally they really won't last another day, she'll pull out the grinder, and the slicers, and the cutting boards, and the jars with the clunky metal rings, and her canner that's older than I am.
Water will boil, tomato skins will fall, knives will chop, and then steam will erupt. The little cuts on her hands from gardening all day will sting as the tomato juice runs over them as she slices. She'll have Johnny turn the handle of the grinder(this is the only job he will do willingly) as she slowly feeds pieces of onions and peppers into the top. The kitchen counter will be covered with the pots for boiling, pots for cutting, pots for stewing, and pots for canning.
She'll pour her conglomerate of vegetables into the jars, her hair flat from cooking in the heat of early fall, and her apron smeared with tomato seeds and onion skins. Carefully monitoring the canner, she'll take out and replace batch after batch, jar after jar.
She'll labor day and night as the fumes of salsa permeate the air everywhere. Upstairs, downstairs, bathroom, garage, all you'll smell is salsa. And maybe your mom makes salsa, and I'll bet it's great, and it probably smells good too, but our salsa always smells the best. Because my mom made it. And so therefore, it has to be the best.
I wish I had even one jar of my mom's salsa right now. I'd put it in the crockpot and keep it on warm all day. That way my apartment would smell like fall too.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The box in the corner...
As of today you can see the floor of my new classroom. I know, I know, I'm choking up here. I never thought it would happen. It gets better. You can not only see the floor, but you can open 95% of the cupboards without anything falling on you. Thank you, thank you. I'd like to thank the janitors for making this moment possible for me. Without you, the junk would still be crowded around my doorway.
Current problems:
1) There's still a closet in the corner that is completely empty, but smells like a combination between a hamster cage that hasn't been cleaned in a few decades and rotting potatoes. (Shudder). I've Febreezed the life out of that closet until I thought the school would have to evacuate due to the fumes, but I return the next day and the smell beyond all potency still pervades. I'm thinking maybe there's something with its own life-force under the floorboards.
2) This one box. Just one box. And I don't have the courage to open it. I think I've seen it move a time or two of its own accord. A box like that just shouldn't be opened. So it sits in the corner, away from everything else. I have visions that it's last year's class pet stuffed away in this cardboard box--starved and rabid. And on the first day of school it will break out of its jail to the horror of 25 students and myself. You may think I'm inhumane not to let the poor creature out...but what if it's a snake?
3) August 31st. The day that school starts. Yes, that's a problem.
David and I have finished the Percy Jackson series, and there's a hole in my heart that cannot be filled. This always happens when I finish a good book. I make such good friends with the characters, I become emotionally involved. I'm with them through good times and bad times. And then...it ends. And they're gone. I could re-read the book, but it's like reading the memoir for someone who has died.
Books are like relationships. Some books are like weekend flings. They're okay, but when they're over you don't really feel that badly. Then there are those that are like summertime romances. You love them for a little while longer, look back on them with fondness and a little embarrassment that you liked them. But you're ready to see what else is out there. And then there's the year long relationship. It goes so much deeper then the others. You give over so much of yourself. But when that one ends, it's devastating. You are through with relationships because nothing else will compare. Oh the drama!
I need a rebound for my current ended book affair. Sigh.
Current problems:
1) There's still a closet in the corner that is completely empty, but smells like a combination between a hamster cage that hasn't been cleaned in a few decades and rotting potatoes. (Shudder). I've Febreezed the life out of that closet until I thought the school would have to evacuate due to the fumes, but I return the next day and the smell beyond all potency still pervades. I'm thinking maybe there's something with its own life-force under the floorboards.
2) This one box. Just one box. And I don't have the courage to open it. I think I've seen it move a time or two of its own accord. A box like that just shouldn't be opened. So it sits in the corner, away from everything else. I have visions that it's last year's class pet stuffed away in this cardboard box--starved and rabid. And on the first day of school it will break out of its jail to the horror of 25 students and myself. You may think I'm inhumane not to let the poor creature out...but what if it's a snake?
3) August 31st. The day that school starts. Yes, that's a problem.
David and I have finished the Percy Jackson series, and there's a hole in my heart that cannot be filled. This always happens when I finish a good book. I make such good friends with the characters, I become emotionally involved. I'm with them through good times and bad times. And then...it ends. And they're gone. I could re-read the book, but it's like reading the memoir for someone who has died.
Books are like relationships. Some books are like weekend flings. They're okay, but when they're over you don't really feel that badly. Then there are those that are like summertime romances. You love them for a little while longer, look back on them with fondness and a little embarrassment that you liked them. But you're ready to see what else is out there. And then there's the year long relationship. It goes so much deeper then the others. You give over so much of yourself. But when that one ends, it's devastating. You are through with relationships because nothing else will compare. Oh the drama!
I need a rebound for my current ended book affair. Sigh.
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