Washing Brushes

My birthday is tomorrow but I have to admit that ever since my dad died it has actually become a pretty hard day for me. I just can't erase that birthday from three years ago.  It was the last time I ever heard his voice because they took him off the ventilators for a brief period. He looked awful but as the month progressed I realized in retrospect that it was one of his strongest days. I wish I had talked to him more and spent more of that day by his side. I hate hospitals and I was in such shock about everything that was happening that I kept leaving the room to catch my breath. My dad picked up on that and actually kind of snapped at me about getting it together because he needed me to be strong. I needed to hear that and I did pull it together, but I still feel guilty about that. It's all just such a mixed up situation. This whole sandwich generation business. For me it was compressed into a very intense month of vacillating between feeling like a three year and wanting/needing my daddy to scold me and comfort me while also suddenly taking on the impossibly adult role of making horrendous medical decisions, being a support for both of my parents, rubbing my dad's feet, sleeping in shifts, and trying to be available to my children from both a physical and emotional distance. 

It is always so challenging and awkward to know what to say after someone has experienced a loss. Words of sympathy usually sound so trite and empty. Often they are said more to fill that uneasy, quiet space for the one standing outside of the intense grief, the one who is grappling with how to offer comfort. It's never easy to really find right the right words but I have never forgotten the words that one of Adam's colleagues shared with me soon after my father's funeral. I didn't know her very well, but she walked right up to me, looked me straight in the eyes and said: "I know you saw some terrible things during your father's illness, I just want you to know that those images will eventually become dimmer and they will be replaced by the better ones. That's what happened when my dad died after a long illness". She said it with such sincerity, honesty, and clarity that it gave me more hope and comfort than anything else I heard in those hazy weeks right after his death. And they continue to give me comfort because they are turning out to be true. 

I no longer have the same "flashbacks" to what he looked like in those final days and that's a very good thing. I am no where near the weepy mess I was in that first year after his death. I still feel a pinch in my heart when I unexpectedly find a slip of paper with his handwriting on it or a photograph of him but now that is mixed with a smile because I like those surprising reminders. I can now tell my children stories about their grandpa or "gumpa" (that's what Camille used to called him) without becoming teary-eyed and choked up. But I still yearn for his voice. And that's why I was smiling few weeks ago when I was washing out some paintbrushes. Out of nowhere, I could suddenly hear his voice telling me how to do it. Just like he used to do when I was a kid. Just like he used to teach his students. I wish I had recorded some of the big conversations we had over the years, but those are now just fragmented pieces in my memory. It's funny how the words that stay with me so clearly are his instructions on how to clean a brush or how he loved to slap his knee and say "that's the real deal". It turns out it that it really is the small things that matter. Small, unexpected, ordinary, mundane words that now mean so much to me.

Taste Hungary: A Budapest Market Tour

Pussy Willow for Easter Trees

Sweet Hungarian Wine

Gabor and Friends under a Spotted Rudolph sign

Fresh Spring Greens and Peppers

Chocolate Easter Treats

I have just returned from a fabulous trip to Budapest with two friends. Kid-free in a beautiful city full of great sites, good food, and fun company turns out to be a very nice combination! One of the highlights of trip was the market tour we did with Gabor of Taste Hungary. We met Gabor at the grand Central Market where he presented us with a unique Hungarian treat: Spotted Rudolfs...dark chocolate wrapped around a sweet cheese filling. From there he proceeded to share the history of the market while also convincing us to join the locals in a morning glass of sweet Hungarian wine (other locals were drinking fruit brandy or unicom). We continued our tour by sampling freshly made poppy and cherry streudle and ambled amongst the vendors selling seasonal vegetables, jars of pickled vegetables, paprika, and handpainted eggs just in time for Easter.

But the tour didn't end there. After we had visited all three levels of the Central Market, we hopped on a bus and headed out to a working class neighborhood where farmers displayed their offerings next to local butchers and bakers. No other tourists in sight, much cheaper prices, and a spot we never would have found on our own. We ended our time with Gabor by having lunch at a Hungarian Jewish Restaurant, Kadar. The meal started with a special raspberry drink and beet salad with horseradish sauce. Both were wonderful. I was the brave one in the group who opted to try the sour lung main dish. It was a unique culinary experience, but not something I'd crave on a regular basis. That would be the beef stew I got to sample. And then there was the yummy Emperor's crumb for dessert.  

The whole morning turned out to be a very tasty way to see Budapest and it was especially great to spend time with such a friendly, knowledgeable local like Gabor. In addition to the market tour, Gabor also leads wine tours and we would certainly sign up for them on future trips to Hungary. His wife, Carolyn, is an American who has written two very handy food guides to Budapest. And both Carolyn and Gabor gave us some fantastic restaurant recommendations especially Central Cafe and Momotaro. We ate very well in Budpest!

Love Locks

 Are you familiar with these? I remember reading about them prior to our move to Italy and feeling excited the first time I spotted some in Rome. We found a lot in Florence at various points along the river. I like them. They are romantic, symbolic, and even a bit festive when bunched in colorful, shiny swags along railings. It turns out that they aren't unique to Italy and they aren't always appreciated. Lovers are leaving signs of their love all over the world. Have any in your part of the world?