Vacation Week
The Second Mind
Sunday
M, J, A, E, and I piled into the car, shoulder to shoulder, a little cramped but content enough to laugh it off. Mom stayed behind to rest; she had an early shift the next morning. We skipped breakfast to hit the road by seven, the drive to Doylestown stretching only a couple of hours ahead–our empty stomachs eagerly awaiting hearty fare from the Polish-American Country Fair and Festival in Pennsylvania. What we talked about blurs now into the usual threads, but the memory isn’t in the words—it’s in the warmth of being together. Families aren’t endless; you get only one, and with that in mind I try to hold mine close.
We squeezed into the pews just as the first hymn began, A whispering urgently that we’d miss it if we didn’t hurry. The Polish words rolled over me like a tide I couldn’t quite catch—familiar enough to stir something, yet still out of reach. Around us, a sea of blonde and white-haired heads bowed and rose in rhythm, the summer heat pressing down until the wood of the pews grew slick beneath my palms. Later, the smell of frying onions and sugar guided us to the fairgrounds, where pierogi, paczki, and kielbasa lined the tables like edible heirlooms. An accordion tangled with an electric guitar riff, old folk tunes and new colliding in the humid air. Shoulder to shoulder with my siblings, a somewhat sentimental thought drifted to mind, of which I’m not easily disposed to: it wasn’t the food or the music that I’d remember, but the rare warmth of being crammed together, noisy and almost whole.
Tuesday
Yet another hot, sticky day. Cotton candy clouds hung in the sky, framing a blazing white sun pasted onto an unbounded teal sky. Summer haze shimmers in the air, like a feverish, children’s summertime dream of endless pool parties and pizza like cardboard with the synthetic rubbery cheese on it that’s only good when it comes right out of the oven. Humming cicada song whirred through the air while red lanternflies flapped industriously about. J, A, E, and I drove to the University today to have lunch with Mom after work and meet her colleagues.
Hurrying through the humid parking lot, we pulled open the cafeteria doors to a blast of cool air. Right before us, Mom stood, helping students scan their cards. I was so proud to see my Mom working enthusiastically–there’s something that just pulls at your heart when you see people close to you smiling and chatting pleasantly with others. My excitement dimmed a bit when I saw her pointing students towards a palm scanner–I would be reticent to relinquish her position as the proud gatekeeper of the cafeteria to some cold, soulless palm-reading device.
Mom ushered us into the cafeteria and we piled mac and cheese, pizza, swordfish, peruvian chicken, beef, and salad onto plates and bowls. On an ice cream patrol, we met “The Eel”, “Tiny Buddha”, Byron, Irma, and others who all furnished Mom with the grandest of compliments–a beautiful mom, a hard worker, the gentlest and most compassionate. What pride swelled in my chest at these hearty words, food for the soul! The drive back, my thoughts drifted towards the future of Mom’s work all the while Mom passionately thanked us kindly for coming to work with her.
Wednesday
We departed at 2 to pick Mom up from UMD again. Squeezing once more into our tiny car, we hardly minded the heat as our thoughts drifted to New York City. A trip with Mom this break–and how excited she was when we saw her to take this trip, we couldn’t help but smile. She talked incessantly during the 5 hour drive up to New York City, and we quickly checked into our NYC hotel.
Stepping out into Times Square was a riot of sounds and noise, even at 9 pm. Colors, neon lights like a river, taxicab horns blaring, stereo speakers blasting New York drill with deep 808s and thumping bass. An explosion of life–curiously, something like imported energy, given that most folks we saw were almost surely tourists like ourselves. A NY pizza slice to end the day bookended the night–a fitting closure for an exhausting day of driving.
Thursday
We took the train down to the Lower East Side for breakfast first thing in the morning. Pushing ourselves into packed train cars at rush hour was a fitting introduction to the New York subway system. I felt a strange sense of endearment to these 1980s train cars on rusted iron tracks, worn brakes screaming at every station. Something familiar in them reminded me of the cars in Boston.
A couple of highlights stood out during the day, including sneaking into the international house of Columbia. Much to our chagrin, protests had closed down the Columbia University campus to the public, despite Mom’s alumni status. How disappointed we were not to be able to see Mom’s alma mater! But A amazingly was able to find an unguarded entrance to the international house when she was looking for a restroom, and showed us the way in.
Another spelunking expedition led us to Chinatown and a splendid corner of shops: Kam Man market, and nearby a couple of old grannies on the street pointed us towards some fresh chickens at “Amaze Meat Company”, and a surprising dried goods store selling excellent dried kumquat at cheap prices. Hong Kong supermarket stood next door, as well as Wong No. 1 Restaurant Inc. serving generous heaps of fried Chow Fun, treasure spare ribs, and glistening soy sauce chicken.
Rushing back to retrieve the car right before they could charge us for overtime parking, we pulled out of the lot and I hastened us back towards Wheaton. Collapsing quickly asleep back home, I drifted to bed thinking of blasting Jamaican music, the scent of Dominican oxtail, posh uptown girls garbed in grey astride a corner store bodega jabbering on their phones, prancing with all the imported energy of a living city…
Sunday
20 minutes late to mass at the National Shrine. I was fairly certain the ushers looked down their noses at us as we strode right in. Booking it back to pick up mom from work, we retrieved her happily and made our way back to prepare for a dinner with Aunt M and Aunt L.
Time flew. Treasure spare ribs, singapore noodles, choy sum, three seafood treasures, wonton soup, plates flew out and tea poured like water. Aunt M emphasized in typical subtle but pointed fashion the importance of caring for Mom–come on, she needs only to work one day a week, how about you guys tell her that?–and so on. I’m grateful we have family to watch out for us. Collecting the leftovers and, of course, fighting for the bill, we usher ourselves out of FQ restaurant. Another workout, and I’m out for the night–drifting again to sleep.