I had a dream about Nagymama last night. My aunt, Nagymama, and I were driving up Stelton Road, which is the main street that bisects my old town in New Jersey. My aunt was driving her white 1989 Volkswagen Rabbit, a leaky clunker with red fabric on the roof interior that always drooped down over our foreheads. Even in my dream, I could even smell the faint aroma of mold combined with the fake lemon-scented tree that always hung from the rear view window.
We were desperately searching for an ice cream shop, but it was 11 pm and everything was closed. Nagymama was complaining that she was hungry and my aunt really needed some coffee. We finally stopped at a 7-11 and got Nagymama a couple Twinkies, which she ate voraciously as we sat in the car in the parking lot. My aunt gazed into her black coffee, trying to find the solution to all of our problems at the bottom of her 16-ounce foam cup.
Nagymama threw the wrapper out of the car door and layed down on the back seat as...
Read the rest of this entry »
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...
Read the rest of this entry »
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...
Read the rest of this entry »
On April 5th this year, Nagymama turned 97-years-old. To celebrate such a momentous occasion, I decided to make a platter of ninety-seven of her favorite Snacky Cakes® for her to enjoy.
"You're freakin' crazy," my mom said over the phone. "Where you gonna get ninety-seven cakes?"
"Snacky Cakes®, mom, yah know, the Little Debbie kind that she pretends to bake for all the neighbors."
"You know, Nagymama, she just von't eat! Your aunt cooks her all dese nutritious foods, spinach, soft paprikas, everyting, and for some reason she just don't eat!"
"But she still eats cake, right?"
"Yes, vell, but she should eat more than just cake."
"Okay, then, I'll put some brownies in there, too."
Don't get me wrong, I am a big believer in health food, but once I am 97-years-old, I'm not going to eat spinach, either. If you make it past 90, you should be allowed to eat whatever the heck you want. If Nagymama asked to eat nothing but Cool Whip, chocolate sauce, and vodka off the tanned body of...
Read the rest of this entry »
I had a dream about Nagymama last night. My aunt, Nagymama, and I were driving up Stelton Road, which is the main street that bisects my old town in New Jersey. My aunt was driving her white 1989 Volkswagen Rabbit, a leaky clunker with red fabric on the roof interior that always drooped down over our foreheads. Even in my dream, I could even smell the faint aroma of mold combined with the fake lemon-scented tree that always hung from the rear view window.
