Homesick For Pizza And The People Who Come With.

Lately, when I overhear tourists from the United Kingdom or the United States I linger as long as I can just to hear the thing that unites me to them; their English conversations. Yesterday, I even rode the train an extra stop just to listen. Coming home to English speaking flatmates is something I am beyond fortunate for. And joining the American library full of English books, movies, and exit signs, is where I have truly found sanctuary.

Springtime table setting. 

Homesickness is a strange thing. Besides the fact that I have mastered how to order "kebab and fries with salad but without sauce and to takeaway" from the restaurant on the corner, my French is not exactly fluent. I finally understand why it is called a foreign language. To be constantly surrounded by a vocabulary and culture so different from my own is exhausting. It's like getting dressed up to watch a foreign film,without subtitles, in a fancy theater in the city. While traveling is beautiful, enriching, and culturing, sometimes I just want to stretch out on my couch and watch one of my favorite family comedies from when I was a kid.

Two nights ago I watched Stand By Me on Netflix, one of my Step-Mom's favorites, and halfway through I realized I had forgotten I was in Paris. I felt like I was back in the house I grew up in on a warm spring night, watching a movie with my family after our Sunday ritual of takeout from our favorite South Jersey pizzeria. I could so clearly imagine the warm glow of the ceiling lamp over the kitchen table.

With the breeze blowing in through our wooden sliding door and our cat Tiger sitting just on the back step, we dined. He observed so many dinners with laughter and thought provoking discussions. Even though the invitation was extended frequently to join us indoors, Tiger for some reason preferred to observe us from outside our cage. Our other cats were the ones that would cuddle force their way onto your lap and demand your love and attention while watching a movie.

Self portrait of me and my favorite pizza. 

Attempting to pass the time with Stand By Me, I ended up having an unfulfill-able craving for a great slice of pizza, my cats (none of which are around to cuddle anymore), and most of all to sit with my family and enjoy the comfort of the home and company in which we shared.

My dad has always been very adamant about turning off the television and sitting down to dinner together. Before cell phones, if we were at the table and the phone rang, he refused to answer it. Dinnertime is a chance to focus on each other and talk without interruption.

Throughout my life my family evolved, and I sat in that kitchen with many different combinations of people and many different combinations of furniture. When my Little Sister was a baby i can recall a changing table in one corner and for years we had a piano that nobody played and it held my stepmothers purse and the Christmas cards people sent us. Throughout our time spent there we had numerous kitchen tables, we changed the counter tops, the floors, the wall colors, and more, but the one thing that stayed the same was the lamp above the table.

As far as I know my Step Mom hated the lamp, it was stained glass and very similar to something you would see in a pub hanging above a pool table. It had a dimmer switch which in my opinion was always set too low. This light set the tone for thousands of meals. Dinner is where the majority of our family bonding would take place. We did not take many vacations with just the four of us, in fact I'm not sure if we took any. We rarely even went on outings as a foursome. But, what we did do together was sit across from each other at the table to eat dinner almost every night, and often it was followed by a movie.

Pretty typical scene from the dinner table.
Reflection of  the lamp in background. 

Sometimes the whole of the dinner conversation would be focused around what movie to watch. Other times we would sit for hours and have lively discussions. My Step Mom would often get frustrated saying, "Why do you three always have to argue?!" In which our immediate reply would be to argue, "Were not arguing! Its just a discussion!" Around the dinner table my Little Sister and I seemed to get along better than away from it, laughing about things mostly forgotten ("Remember when she forgot to pick us up from camp in that bad neighborhood?"). On rare occasion we would get to hear unimaginable stories about the town our Step Mother grew up in. On rarer occasions we would get to listen to our Dad tell stories about his childhood in the town we love so much. (See beach blog)

Since we had moved away from that home last June I hadn't let myself think much about it. But, being so far away, I am slowly understanding the concept of homesickness. I am beginning to define it as, yearning for the small things that bring comfort to ones heart. Being far away from good peanut butter, my moms chocolate chip cookies that are the perfect amount of salty sweet, and failing multiple times at trying to make my family's baked mac and cheese recipe taste just right, makes me appreciate what the term comfort food really means.

For the past few days I have been dreaming about a slice of pizza. But not just any pizza. I want pizza with my family. I want hours of conversation with the promise of enjoying a movie together afterward. I want to hangout with my Dad and my Step Mom and my Little Sister. My Dad and I have been emailing back and forth almost every day and we have video chatted once or twice but we don't have the kind of relationship where we sit and I tell him every detail of my day like I do with my (oh so patient) Mother. My Little Sister and I occasionally send Facebook messages to each other and if I text my Step Mother I'll usually get a response a few days later.

A few years ago at our family's Christmas Eve Party
we won fanciest dressed guests. 

This chunk of my family is harder to stay in touch with via the internet. That is because we have the kind of relationship where we like to sit down and enjoy a good meal together (don't even get me started on my Step Mom's cooking). Right before I wrote this post I was video-chatting with them and they said goodbye so they could sit down together and eat their pizza. No TV, no phones, just slightly dimmed lighting, and comfortable conversation. That was the moment I realized I was homesick.

I have been away for periods of time before and while I may not have any comfort food (except the TastyKakes my Grandmother mailed me) I do know that the comforts of home and good conversation are waiting for me when I get back, and while it might not be the same table, kitchen, lamp, house, or even pizza place, the company is the same and we will have a lot to talk about.

Lessons from Buddha

As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are. Otherwise you will miss most of your life.

Buddha

Irises, Vincent Van Gogh
These flowers were painted twice. Once with a white background to 
give the flowers a soft pastel look, and once with a yellow background. 

I very much believe that each day of your life is just as important as the one before it. Every day is made up of the same number of minutes as the next. When I was sixteen I did a project where I took a  photo 365 days in a row. The challenge was to include a one inch wooden figurine of a smiling Buddha in each image. The goal of the "3-6-5" was to practice and improve my photography, the end result was so much more.

 January 10, 2011
Everyday things can be so comforting. 

In order to take an attractive photograph, you as the photographer are required to put a lot of thought into what you find attractive. Some days are easy. Being surrounded by bright colors and long summer light sets up lots of happy images and inspires many memorable moments to be recorded on film.

Other days are not as easy to capture an instant. Days that are spent home sick watching television or figuring out how to move forward when you feel stuck in a rut are harder to find the happy moment. I've found when I am stuck in a funk the world is not as beautiful, not as easy to snap a portrait of.

As that year went on and I periodically looked back at where Buddha had traveled so far and all the friends he had laughed with I realized why he was always smiling. Buddha appreciates every day for what it is. I learned that I shouldn't live my life looking forward to things, or spend my time missing the past, I must try to welcome every moment of every day.

April 20, 2011
Sunny days in Munich

People seem to look at their lives in regards to major events; graduations, weddings, birthdays. But why should those days be any more momentous than any other? I spend more time each year in the shower than I do the mountains. But that doesn't mean I am going to consume my brain with wishing I was in the peaceful mountains when I can take delight in the peace of a hot shower every day.

If something makes me smile, no matter how small, I replay the moment in my head. I write it in my journal, I snap a picture, I type up a note in my phone, I highlight the well written passage of the book. It doesn't have to be the main event for it to be the headline.

Ever since I learned this lesson from my little smiling Buddha I have enjoyed life so much more. I don't fret about the notifications from my phone, I focus on the painting hanging in the restaurant, or the laughing children in the park, I take note of the details on the shutters and doors of the buildings as I pass by. If something catches my eye I stop and explore it.

This weekend I went to Amsterdam and was blown away by the beauty of the city. My new friend Becca and I walked through Vondel Park on our way to the Van Gogh museum. We almost did not make it to see his art because we were admiring some sculptures we discovered on our own.

By the time we arrived at the museum we had about fifty minutes until it closed, we rushed through trying to see everything, yet allowing ourselves to be enthralled by the beauty of so many paintings. I found myself lost, gazing into tulip fields through Monet's eyes, staring into the sea from Van Gogh's vantage point, seeing purple Irises from his perspective, and so much more.

Becca was off finding her own paintings that she was falling in love with. I would have to pull myself away from a painting and forbid myself from looking back. With time ticking down we would run to the next floor, not to rush through, but to seek more paintings that triggered such intense emotions. We hardly spoke to each other in that hour, all through the crowds and the excitement. We were both so affected by the art.

Appreciating art in Vondel Park Amsterdam

No photos were allowed so I stared deep into the paintings trying to memorize how I felt and what I loved about each. I was so overwhelmed with happiness that my brain overloaded and I knew I wouldn't remember anything. While I stared at Monet's tulip fields I knew I had to return some day.

Every event was a peak of the mountain and the final summit was nowhere in sight. It's rare to visit a destination and the tourist attraction is just as wonderful to see as the serendipitous discoveries. I need to return so I can spend hours in the Van Gogh museum, picnic in Vondel Park,  and ride bikes along the canals. I had fallen in love with Amsterdam (Valentine's weekend none the less).

Irises, Van Gogh
With a yellow background these contrasting
colors are stunning in person. 

I had been stuck in a bit of a "Paris funk" lately. Not doing much besides school and hanging around my apartment I was reminded of those tough times during my photo a day project. Some days it's hard to capture the happy moment, but it's important to remember those days don't last forever. Make the most of them and appreciate them for what they are , never wish the day away.

Find the good in the pit days, and peak days will come along as well. The view might be best from the top of the mountain, but that doesn't mean the view from the bottom is bad. As Buddha says, " be where you are, otherwise you will miss most of your life". You can see hundreds of world famous paintings in the same hour that you see an unknown artists work hidden in the trees and be equally touched by both of them. It's all up to how you decide to look at whats surrounds you.







The other highlights of our weekend and activities we would recommend:

1. Lunch at Cafe De Ceuvel. Check out my new friend Becca's blog to read about it. Off the beaten path, hidden treasure.
2. Waiting two hours in the cold to visit the Anne Frank House. Well worth the wait, but if planned in advance you can get timed tickets. However, we did enjoy chatting with our new friend Kristin, who was on a business trip from Boston.
3.  Vondel Park, search for the tree support sculptures.
4. Van Gogh Museum, allow hours to explore and appreciate. It's expensive, but worth it.
5. All the food. We had a No Kebab rule. Everything else we discovered was incredible.

My Mommy Is My Valentine

My Valentine for this year

I'm not a fan of Valentine's Day. I don't have much reason as to why, I just have no interest in taking part. I don't like the phony cards, chocolate, and excessive pink hearts. I feel like the idea of forcing people to be romantic is not very romantic.  Ever since I was a kid I have disliked the holiday, I just don't get it.

The winter I was in the fifth grade was when Webkins were popular, they were a stuffed animal that came with a specific code you could use to play online in an interactive world with them. This was quite a new idea to the world that now has apps and virtual realities for every toy, gadget, and kitchen appliance you can imagine.

That February my Mom came home late from a business trip and stopped to pick up my sister and I from our Dad's house. I was always happy to see my Mom after she had been away, and that was a gift in itself. I remember sitting in the family room, hearing the garage door open, and seeing her walk in. She was always so fashionable in her Ann Taylor ensemble that she would wear to work. After hugs and hellos she handed us each a card with a heart and a Webkin. What a special surprise!

My little sister and I all dolled up in pink on the day my
Mom declared her  LOVE to our StepDad forever. 

A few years later on a sunny day in February my Mom came and picked me up from middle school. As she used to work full time I remember this being a lovely surprise. We were on our way to the car and I was giving her all the exiting details of my day in the seventh grade. Right as we were simultaneously opening our doors to her silver Acrua TSX she said, "I have a present for you."

Six of the greatest words ever spoken to a kid. She reached into the back seat and pulled out a Hollister tank top that was a wonderful shade of dark pink. Hollister was the coveted store at that time, everyone had Hollister clothes except me. My little sister had a similar shirt in the bag waiting for her in a slightly different pink.

Spring semester of my Freshman year of college I lived at home. That semester was a lot more snow than it was spring so getting out of bed on that early February morning was a cold and daunting task. By this point my Mom had gone from working full time, to being a full time Mom of four. Arguably she was busier now than she had been when I was growing up.

After I was done brushing my teeth she stopped me in the hallway, both hands behind her back she pulled out two graceful and soft scarves that she had made, both were red. One scarf had delicate lace that she had sewn around the edges, the other she had sewn together in a circle (infinity scarves were popular that year). Since my little sister had slept at my Dad's house the night before I got the first choice. I admired the lace and its elegance, so I initially chose that and took it back to my bedroom, after a few minutes I ran back, I thought I would be more likely to wear the other one. So I swapped out and left the more beautiful one for my sister.

This morning my new friend Becca came into our room with mail, she handed me two envelopes. I had been expecting a piece of mail from my Mom that would include some practical bank items. Upon opening that letter I was happily entertained by the elegant decorations on the inside of the envelop (I am easy to please) and I laughed at what was written on the stationary inside.

Sitting and smiling at my Mother's remarkable

Valentine's Day isn't the only holiday
that involves the color red. 

ability to insert humor into the littlest moments of everyday life, I remembered there was a second package and on the outside there was some sort of customs form that had been filled out and under "detailed description of contents" was listed, "fabric headband". While I had been expecting the first envelope I was a little confused about this one. I had not asked her to mail me a headband, (although had I needed a specific headband from home I know she would have mailed it within minutes of me asking).

As I began to tear it open I knew right away what it was. Once again, my Mom successfully surprised me with a simple but sweet Valentine. A pink headband (with inside jokes written on the label as per expected) and a charming card with a hand written note inside, "Happy Valentine's Day! Love, Mamacita".

 I always forget that Valentines Day isn't about chocolate or pink hearts or cards or spending money. It's just an excuse to let someone you love know that you love them. And my Mom always makes an effort to give me a card and something pink on Valentines day, to show her love. Every year I like to let the world know that I don't like Valentine's Day because I hate how forced it is. When February rolls around that's the attitude that comes to my mind, and every year, my Mom surprises me and makes me remember to change that attitude. She does so with an unexpected card and a gift that reminds me how much she cares.

On the other hand she makes sure that the notion of showing love with chocolate, happens on every other day of the year, not just in February. She does this through baking delicious brownies, cakes, and cookies (things I am missing very much so far from home) As the wonderful mother she is, she shows her love in every way possible and I would never denounce that, Valentine's Day or any other day.

Loving my Valentine in Montreal! 

If you are lucky enough to go to the beach, then you are lucky enough.

John F. Kennedy once said, "We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came." 

June Sunsets

Long before I was born my Grandfather would say to my Nana, "Lets go down to the beach and see if it is still there." While the beach often suffers severe erosion during major storms there is never any real fear that our dear little beach will disappear from us entirely. It was more of an excuse to go for a walk on the beach during the off-season when the usual beach crowds are back in Manhattan hibernating. Another time when the two of them were sailing on the bay he said to her, "Our children will always come back here." She tells this story and explains that it wasn't necessarily that they would come back to visit their parents but that the attractiveness of  where they live on Long Island would be impossible to stay away from. She was right, not only has my father always returned to the beautiful beaches and landscapes where he grew up, he has infected us with the attatchment and love of that little Hamlet as we grew up.

Childhood days at the beach covered from the sun.

In the off season going to the beach is just an outing with very little preparations and even less commitment. It's a peaceful walk to see the waves. A regular trip can take place in under thirty minutes there and back.

Growing up summertime meant weeks at Nana's with the cousins and days at the beach. A day at the beach in the peak season is not an outing, it is an ordeal. In order to spend a day relaxing at the beach the whole family had to be up early, fed, and sun screened. Everyone trying to get out the door at the same time was not exactly relaxing.  Hours would be spent "getting ready for the beach", and after putting in that much time beforehand you were obligated to stay and relax until dinner.

  After breakfast was over the preparations would begin; packing the cooler with snacks and drinks, counting towels and gathering umbrellas, arguing over who got to use what skimboard or boogie board, and much to the distress of all four children- sunscreen. While the others prepared everything else, one adult would arm themselves with a big bottle of pasty white sun screen and would manage to coat every inch of us from behind the ears to the bottoms of our feet with the dreaded cold goo. Once at the beach it would be reapplied every hour or so, each application would be more annoying then the last as the greasy lotion mixed with the sand and salty water.

Some days unfortunately no matter how persistent our warrior parents were with the lotion, the umbrellas, and the surf shirts, the sun still won and I  (the palest of them all) would come home fried like the poor little Jersey tomato that I am. After years of fighting the sunscreen and being scarred with enough freckles to be confused as a dalmatian, I have become the wiser. Sunscreen is now my best friend in the summer, so are hats, sun glasses, surf shirts, and umbrellas. (My friends love to joke that I am "afraid of the sun" as they lay out and tan. While they enjoy their browned skin now I like to remind them that when we are old I'll be the one with the beautiful skin.)

Once we arrived at the beach we had to find parking, then the whole car had to be unpacked; the cooler with the snacks and drinks, the multitude of towels, the beach umbrellas, skim and boogie boards, and bags of other various tools to keep us busy got carried up to the beach and dragged what felt like miles across the hot sand. Once we had successfully crossed the scorching desert and made it to the water the day could begin.

At the beach during a hurricane, steel walls
exposed and stairs washed away.

After hours of preparations the majority of the toys, snacks, and towels were never even touched. The endless exploring, digging of elaborate holes, catching crabs in the bay, letting them go free in the ocean, and trying to master skim boarding entertained us for hours. A day at the beach is a treasure and I have always known our beach was my favorite place to be in the entire world. Long before I had even left the tri-state area I knew our beach was special.

Summer days at our beach are sensational, sunsets at our beach are spectacular, and winter days at our beach are just wonderful. To some the seashore is a place to spend summer vacations. To us a trip to Nana's without a walk on the beach just does not happen, no matter what time of year or what kind of weather. I've been to the beach on the fourth of July, walked through the sand during Hurricane Ernesto, gone swimming in the bay on my birthday in April, and climbed on top ice chunks in February.  One of the things I love most about the beach is appreciating how no matter how much it changes between visits the level of beauty is always the same.

There are many characteristics of our beach. What makes it unique is how close the ocean and the bay are to each other, close enough that during big storms the seapoose will open up and a river will flow between the two bodies of water. This event only lasts a few days  and only happens a few times

Seapoose opened up in early March

a year so when it does it is exciting news. Their are also big steel walls that are buried deep under the sand to protect the dunes. Every couple of years when a big storm hits the sand is eroded and the barriers are exposed. Our beach is not lined with boardwalks or ugly hotels, our beach is not covered in garbage, our beach is beautiful.

While we always recite my grandfather in saying "lets go see if the beach is still there" the visit is more about observing how it has changed since we last left it. To see the seapoose open, the bay frozen over, or to see the enormous piles of sand dredged up by the town that can be up to four stories high. My Nana and I like to sit and just watch the waves, in reference to a book she owns we call it, "the greatest show on earth".  Like JFK said, we are tied to the beach, once you have fallen in love with the sand and the sea, your life revolves around something new. If you have been apart from the sound of the waves for too long their is an internal urge to smell the salt and feel the wind, no matter what time of year.

Labor day weekend, observing the world
from under our shady hats. 

Before I left the United States for four months I knew I had to visit Mecox Beach. I hadn't been since Labor day and knew there was no way I would make it to Memorial day without getting my fill. On January third I bundled up and went for a walk on the beach. Just as beautiful as it always is I felt relaxed and at home.

I got a valentines card in the mail today from my Nana.  I was so focused on the beautiful card and the note inside that it wasn't until afterward that I found a newspaper clipping she had also included. A big storm hit the North East recently and the clipping was a photo of the steel barriers exposed to the water at our beach. As usual the beach is ever changing to keep us on our toes. Away in Europe I am eagerly awaiting my return to the sand, the sun, and the salt.  I sent her an email thanking her for the card and that I was glad someone went down to the beach to report back to us that the beach is in fact, still there.

"Last weekend's storm caused severe erosion and the loss
 of some of the dune..."