My cousin Liz and I went for a walk one day to the local playground with her two small children, Attila and Kris.
"So, how is the art stuff going?" she asked, as she simultaneously pushed a stroller, filled a sippy cup, and adjusted Attila's hat to keep the sun out of his eyes.
I sighed. "Overwhelming as usual. I've been going to a billion networking events, gathering sponsors, writing proposals, keeping the books straight, coordinating venues, attempting to apply for grants, distributing flyers, dealing with website issues, answering technical questions, creating tons of promo graphics and copy, and that's just the freaking film festival!"
"Well, what else is happening? I mean, school is over, so you can relax a bit, right?"
I chuckled at the thought of relaxation. "I've doing crazy amount of freelance graphic design and animation stuff, which means writing MORE proposals, and I'm still working full time at the architecture place, attempting to write short stories at least once a week, writing several online columns, and pitching around a couple cartoon series ideas at conventions. Oh, and I just signed...
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The other day, my boyfriend's roommate brought over "Sundae-Making-Supplies”: whipped cream, cherries, sprinkles, and some peanut butter cup ice cream. As you all know, I freaking hate peanut butter, especially peanut butter cups. Still, I can never turn down an opportunity to snack on sweetness, so I filled a small wine glass with whipped cream and topped it with rainbow sprinkles and like five cherries.
"Whipped cream sundae!" I announced to no one in particular. "Reminds me of my mommy!"
"Why's that?" my boyfriend asked, looking up from his mount of fudge-swirled-peanut buttery ice cream sludge.
"When I was a kid, Anyu would always come home and say, 'I haf a surprise for you!' and swirl a ton of whipped cream into a crystal glass. It always made me feel fancy, so that's how I like it now."
"Wow. That's the least traumatic thing I've ever heard you say about your mother. It's actually kinda sweet that you still make whipped cream sundaes."
"Well, this one isn't exactly the same. This is a wine glass, and the ones we had...
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My friend Alia and I usually sat together at the same lunch table, and on occasion, Kayla would join us. Kayla was popular, so she generally rotated from table to table, and only really visited us when she wanted something. One day, Kayla dropped her purple Thermos-Brand lunchbag on the table and greeted me with a quizzical stare.
"What the heck are you crunching on?" she said, inspecting my brown bag labeled "Stefike". Kayla was always looking to switch lunches with someone because her mom always packed the same thing.
"Green peppers with Country Crock." I replied, not even looking up. "On toasted white bread." Anyu always put together sandwiches fresh from Nagymama's garden, so I usually had some combination of raw green peppers, radishes, iceberg lettuce, or American cheese with margarine. "Why, what do you have, Kayla?"
"Um, peanut butter and jelly, like normal people."
"Oh. I've never had one of those."
Alia and Kayla simultaneous yelled, "YOU'VE NEVER HAD A PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH?!"
Kids from the other lunch tables turned around. If I wasn't uncool already, my friends had just confirmed it.
"Listen," I whispered. "Peanut butter with...
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The Annual New Jersey
Hungarian Festival occurs the furst weekend of June in New Brunswick. As much as I am looking forward to having a little bit of fresh
lángos with powdered sugar, I always get worried when I take my family to public events. I already mentioned the whole ordeal concerning "
The Secret Language" but sometimes, Nagymama's actions speak louder than her words.
Every time we attend the festival, we always make sure to stop at the Athletic Club around dinner time to sit down and enjoy truckloads of stuffed cabbage, kielbasa, and other Hungarian goodies. We usually all sit down at the long rows of tables while we eat so we could enjoy a free performance from the talented Hungarian Folk dancers. One time, we were so enamored by what was happening on stage that no one noticed when Nagymama wandered away.
It wasn't until I heard the table next to us laughing hysterically that we even noticed that she was gone. Apparently, she quietly strolled over to another table, grabbed a bottle of Hungarian "Bull's Blood" wine from in front of a...
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My cousin Liz and I went for a walk one day to the local playground with her two small children, Attila and Kris. 
