On Being in My Hometown

I've been visiting in my hometown of Geneva, New York for eight days now. There's a curious dichotomy of familiarity and strangeness that invariably comes with being in the city where I spent the first 18 years of my life. Not much has changed in my hometown—or rather not as much as one would expect in the past 24 years. Of course I've been back annually in those 24 years since my parents still live here, but in the area where I live now, a whole lot can change in the course of a year. I can't even imagine the number of retail stores, restaurants, and subdivisions that have gone up in Blount Co., Tennessee in the past year. Here in Geneva, I've noticed but one building (Pudgies Pizza) bulldozed down and a Tim Horton's has gone up across the street from Dunkin' Donuts. I think I counted three new houses on a little cul de sac on Snell Road. That's about it.

Seneca Lake looks the same as always. There are the familiar sails of a regatta on weekend mornings (or "ricotta," as Duncan says) down by the Yacht Club. The hum of weekend boaters and the small lapping of the waves on the beach. Voices calling out from docks to houses. In town, Main Street looks just as it did when I walked on it three decades ago, tossing newspapers onto front porches with Lisa. The Baltimore-style row houses still look sharp and historic; the lady-of-the-fountain still gushes water on Park Place. Nothing's changed at the colleges—Hobart and William Smith—except maybe a new sign or two.

I visited my friend Lisa a few days ago. She's recuperating from major surgery at her parents' house. I haven't been in their house since high school, but nothing has changed even there. Even my friends look mostly the same: Robin and Michelle are still beautiful, Lisa still wears her golf shirt tucked into her golf shorts. I'd recognize them anywhere. Lisa teaches at our old high school; Michelle works as a secretary in the school system. Robin has moved to a neighboring town, but she still comes to Geneva regularly.

But with all these familiar things, I can't shake the feeling of being a stranger in my hometown. My friends mention people and I search for the memory of a face. I can't help but feeling now and then, erroneously, I know, that lives have stood still for those who have remained here. I know that is a completely false perception, but it adds to the strangeness of coming back to my hometown.

One of the oddest feelings is being at a supermarket and wondering if I know that man I just passed—if I went to high school with the woman in the snack-food aisle. I tend to pass over middle-aged people at first and then realize: Wait! They are my age! Again, that feeling of time standing still clouds reality.

Dr. H. always says my New York accent comes back for a brief appearance after a trip to my hometown. I started hearing the upstate nasal twang about 15 years ago: the incomplete "r's" and the harsh vowels. Upstaters are way toned-down from downstaters, but there is something there, for sure, something fast and a little hard. I am missing the gentle cadence of the south.

We have just over two full days left here before we head back to Tennessee. The next time I come back to Geneva, I'll be a full-fledged visitor, assuming that my parents will have sold their house here by then. I'm ready for that, I think. I'm so far from the girl I was when I lived here that I can't even conjure up more than ghosts of emotions.

There's no question where my home is now.

Three Beautiful Things: 60 Years

Today—on 8/8/08— my parents are celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary. I could list hundreds of beautiful things about that, but instead I'll just share three photos of them today. They began their day early with a sunrise canoe ride and spent the day relaxing with their grandchildren. (My mom did try to get my dad to mow the lawn at one point.) We fixed them a fabulous meal this evening, complete with the china my father brought back from Japan after the Korean War, my great-grandmother's wedding cake stand, and the flower vase the decorated my parents' wedding cake. It was a simple day, without elaborate parties and gifts, as my parents wished. For them there is nothing more special than family and the comfort of home.

Three Beautiful Things: Cookies, Friends, Italian Food

1. Half-moon cookies are a wonderful thing. Every summer when I come back to upstate New York for vacation, I eat about a dozen of these amazing cookies, which are apparently rather unique to New York. I found a pretty good recipe for making these at home, but they just don't compare to the real thing. Last night we each got a cookie from Tops Friendly Market. Isn't that a nice name for a supermarket? (They're not really too friendly in there, but that's NY for you.)



2. I spent a lovely afternoon with my high school friends, Robin and Lisa (above) and also Michelle and Karen (I forgot to take a picture before they left). Robin was my best friend in high school, and Lisa is my oldest friend. As always for the past two decades when we get together, I missed our friend Ros tremendously. She hasn't been back in a long, long time. I miss her. But we five had a good time. There is something so comforting about being with people who knew you when you wore red Keds, and when you had glasses and braces, and when you had your first kiss, and when your heart was broken for the first time. For a couple of hours the five of us caught up on all kinds of people-we-once-knew (they all still live in our hometown or nearby) and barely talked about our current lives. Later Robin and I went out for coffee by ourselves. I love that girl.


3. It's hard to properly express the joy of true Italian-American food. I grew up with it here in upstate New York. Down south the Macaroni Grill and other such restaurants do their best, but it just can't compare. When I was growing up, Nonna's Trattoria was Alice's Restaurant (and yes, the ad said, "you can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant"). It's changed hands since then but the food is still amazing. I had gnocchi with beans and greens and then Dr. H and I split tiramisu for dessert. Spectacular. Laurel and Duncan got to have spumoni for the first time. They couldn't believe we used to get that for lunch in the school cafeteria ("chocolate, vanilla, spumoni or Italian ice?").

Life is good.

Recipe Box Swap: Bruschetta

Amy at I Have To Say is hosting the August garden edition of The Recipe Box Swap. She explains: "This month's recipes are all Garden Fresh! If you can pick it from the garden, buy it at the farmer's market or get it from the produce section of the grocery store, tell us how to prepare it! All you need to do it post your recipe on your blog and add your post URL to the link above."

This is a repost on my blog, but it is definitely worth repeating. This is, really, the best bruschetta I've ever had. If you really hate olives, you can leave them out, but even Dr. H, an olive-hater, loves this bruschetta, olives and all.

Bruschetta

3 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded, finely diced
salt to taste
1/4 c. extra-virgin olive oil
3 TBS chopped pitted black and/or green olives
3 TBS finely slivered fresh basil
2-3 garlic cloves, minced
pepper to taste
one baguette or other bread, sliced into 1/2 inch slices

1. In colander, season tomatoes with salt, stir, and let drain for about 45 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, combine oil, olives, basil, and garlic until well mixed. Season with salt and pepper. Add to tomatoes to mixture and stir to combine.
3. Broil or grill slices of bread. Put tomato mixture on bread slices and serve.

That's all! It is truly amazing!

Packing Treasures: Amazing Poetry

So if you've been reading my blog the past few days, you know that I'm at my parents' home in upstate New York, helping them pack up a lifetime worth of stuff to get ready to move to Tennessee. I have found a lot of treasures, as I mentioned a couple of days ago. What I'm about to share with you ranks right up there in the top finds.

The year: 1977. If you were between the ages of 8 and 18 in 1977, you must have been well aware of teen heart throbs, Parker Stevenson and Shaun Cassidy, the Hardy Boys themselves. If you were a girl, you may have had their Tiger Beat pull-out posters taped on your bedroom wall, right next to Leif Garrett and Robbie Benson. We all did.

But I have something even more special; I have actual poems in my actual diary that I wrote to honor Parker and Shaun—a tribute that has lasted 30 years. After reading this poems, I'm sure you'll agree that I was right in pursuing a degree in creative writing.

Parker

Whose eyes light up like a 4th of July sparker?
Parker.
Whose hair is brown or a little bit darker?
Parker.
Whose a little bit chubby but he'd make a good hubby?
Parker.
Who do I dream of at night when out goes the light?
Parker.
Who's the man of my dreams? By all means:
Parker.



Shaun

Whose shy and as gentle as a fawn?
Shaun.
Who would you kiss at the break of dawn?
Shaun.
Who got good legs, not like barrel kegs?
Shaun.
Who just the right size, if you don't realize?
Shaun.
Who do you love, who's as gentle as a dove?
Shaun.

I was eleven when I wrote those masterpieces. My daughter, who is about to turn 11, giggled adorably when I read those to her, and she did proclaim that she thought I was a great writer. Obviously I was well on my way.

(Images from Stuck in the 70s.)

Three Beautiful Things

Three beautiful things on Tuesday, August 5

Morning sun on Seneca Lake, 8 a.m.



Roses by the lake, 2 p.m.


Father/son chess game, 5 p.m.


See more beautiful things at the links here.

Tuesday Miscellany

It is Tuesday, isn't it? Between being on vacation and being in summer, I tend to lose track of the days. For the past many years, the kids and I have come to my parents' home in upstate New York during the first 2 weeks of August. This year Dr. H is actually with us, which is incredibly special. But I was thinking how much I love coming here at this particular time because at home, back in Tennessee, the prevalent mantra is "Summer's over! Back to school!"

I feel all hemmed in and claustrophobic by that. Summer is not over on July 31. August is the hottest month. August is for swimming and camping and sleeping late. August is for dry grass, crispy under bare feet, and the less anxious buzz of crickets. I don't want schedules and new pencils in August.

Perhaps heading north, where schools still start after Labor Day, is my escape device. I'm not sure what we'll do next summer, assuming my parents have sold their house by then, but we'll surely be heading somewhere else to prolong that feeling of a long summer.

* Speaking of selling the house, my parents thus far have only stuck a few "For Sale by Owner" signs by the house and at the end of the road. And each day, they've had about 5 phone inquiries and even a few drop-by people. Everyone wants a house on the lake. This may be a much quicker sale than any of us anticipated, and I think we're all a little shell-shocked. Is it really happening so soon?

* Over at SmallWorld Reads, I keep track of and review books I'm reading and participate in a variety of reading/writing-themed groups: The Sunday Salon, Sunday Scribblings, Weekly Geeks, and Booking Through Thursday. If you are a book lover, you might enjoy checking out some of these groups (links are on my reading blog). I probably think too much about books, but participating in these groups has definitely given new direction to my reading and writing life.

* Books Read in July (click on titles for reviews)

The Sky Isn't Visible From Here (Felicia Sullivan)
More Than You Know (Beth Gutcheon)
Blue Ridge (TR Pearson)
Briar Rose (Jane Yolen)
Unaccustomed Earth (Jhumpa Lahiri)

Discarded in July (and thus, the worst book of the month):
The Ten-Year Nap (Meg Wolitzer)

Best Book of the Month:
Unaccustomed Earth, but closely followed by The Sky Isn't Visible From Here

* On today's agenda: a little shopping and hopefully a little swimming, if the rain holds off. The wind is perfect for sailing, if I can get my Dad to put up the sails...

Three Beautiful Things

I spotted Three Beautiful Things first over at Kellogg Bloggin' and was instantly intrigued. He pointed me to the home of Three Beautiful Things, where dozens upon dozens of bloggers regularly link their lists of three beautiful things in their own lives. I love this idea; it's the bloggers' version of "count your blessings instead of woes." How abundant our lives are when we focus daily on beautiful things. And so I begin.

Three Beautiful Things (in New York): Rainbow, Corn, Canoe

Rainbow over Seneca Lake after a day of off-and-on thunderstorms.

A picnic on the beach. Duncan says, "The dock is the kids' table."

Duncan, ready for an evening canoe ride.

Today's Treasures

I am sitting in my parents' bedroom in Geneva, New York. (My parents give us the whole upstairs while we are here and they take a smaller bedroom on the middle level.) Below me I hear my mother puttering about it in the kitchen and the waves lapping the shore. Randy and the children have just gone for a canoe ride, and every few minutes I hear one of their voices and the sound of the canoe skimming the ripples. Far away a motorboat hums.

The first day of vacation is always a lazy one. After a 14-hour car trip, we are a little woozy and weak, as if drugged by fast-food and miles. We arrived close to midnight and awoke to rain. A perfect morning to begin going through boxes in the attic.

And so my mother, Laurel, and I went through boxes marked "Sarah" in the attic. Every now and then Duncan would run in and I'd give him a special find: a necklace, a box of fossils, a small statue. He'd run back to "his" room satisfied and proud.

I'm supposed to be weeding through things, deciding what to throw away and what to keep. Somethings are easy choices: my Varsity jacket, my class pictures, favorite books. Of course I must keep these things. Some things I toss with reluctance but determination: a Shrinky-Dink dwarf, an old shirt, a bookmark.

And I found some treasures, too: the journal my brother made for my when I was 10. For about 2 months I wrote in it every day, and most pages even have illustrations. I love this one on May 1, 1976: "Mom and I went up to the attic. We played jump rope for four hours. Ooh! My feet hurt. That about all we did." the picture underneath shows us jumping rope. I commented to my mother that she was an awfully good mom for playing jump rope with me for 4 hours. She said, "Oh it was probably really about 4 minutes." Somehow that made me feel better, washing away the sometimes guilt of my own sometimes selfish mothering.

More treasures:
* a glass salt cellar in the shape of a frog. A note inside says, in my grandmother's writing, "Andrew Riley brought this with him from Ireland." My great-great grandfather, Andrew, and his brother came from Ireland in the 1840s.
* a set of gold wedding rings, tied together with a velvet ribbon. No inscription. What is their story? Who kept them, and to whom did they belong?
* my father's Eagle Scout pin.
* a tiny empty perfume bottle in a box, with this note scribbled on the back: "This bottle of perfume was given to Gladys M. Riley Cummins at Woods School, Christmas 1914." My grandmother would have been 14 then. Who gave it to her, and what made her keep it all those years?

I hear the canoe scraping the shore now and the kids jumping in the water. I may be more plugged in than I imagined this vacation. On a whim Randy opened up his laptop and said, "Hey, maybe we can pick up someone's wireless out here."

Gotta love the neighbors. Looks like we won't have to head into the library every couple of days to check our email!

The Party's Over!

Let me just say that I have really, really enjoyed this party! I think my new blog is officially broken in. I started out being really good about commenting on everyone's comments, and I must apologize for slacking off the past few days.

As you know, we are getting ready to go on a long and bittersweet vacation, as we visit my parents' home in New York one last time before they sell it (bitter) and move down here (sweet). You can read all about that on Day 3's post here. I have been trying to get ready for this trip, prepare for our support group's annual kick-off (which I just got home from), get ready for a new year in American Heritage Girls, help my brother sell his fabulous peaches, and just hop along with regular life.

All that to say: I appreciate all of you who've come to my party and played along! I have read each and every one of your comments, been to your blogs to see your posts, and smiled a lot. You all are great!

And so without further adieu, I announce my top 3 Party-Goers:
#1: Suzanne from God is Good
#2: Leah at Courtney Family Happenings
#3: Marbel at Two Kid Schoolhouse

Each of you will be receiving an amazon.com gift card in your email box in the next few days! Don't panic if you don't get one right away; remember, I'll be on dial-up!

Again, thanks to everyone for coming to my party. Now I've got to finish packing, water the plants, and put in my Rainbow Resource order so it's waiting for me when I return. Oh, and that cleaning the house thing? It's not happening.