Boca, Baby!

As I mentioned in the previous post, we're spending Spring Break week in Boca Raton, Florida, visiting family. Neither David nor I care much for Florida — we find it a very weird place, much more “foreign” to us than living in France ever was! But I have to say, we do manage to find much that amuses us here, from the drive-through daiquiri places to the bars that try to lure you in by offering a boxing ring in which you can pummel your best friends. And, of course, there are the old people. Everywhere you go, everyone is old.

The first night we were here my grandparents had us pick up Chinese takeout at one of the many, many strip malls near them. It was Saturday at 6pm, and the place was mobbed. They had told me our food would be ready in 30-40 minutes when I called, but I waited an additional 30-40 minutes beyond that, watching the natives. The constant arguments between the host and the clientele (who kept complaining and then commenting about how they keep coming back) was hilarious. My favorite was when two women who had turned down the table offered to them tried to take the next available table that they liked. Our host went running after them “You no go sitting yourselves!” while everyone else yelled at him about this or that.

In the end, the food was really only mediocre, but the opportunity to appreciate the fact that I don't have to live here? Priceless.

Memories found

We are visiting my 80-something year old grandparents in Boca Raton this week. My grandmother has a tendency to keep everything, which I’m sure has something to do with my tendency to get rid of everything.

During a previous visit, I was helping her reorganize the kitchen. She’s wheelchair-bound and can’t reach a lot of things, so I was trying to make her life a little easier. There was a stack of never-used “good” dishes, several of which had gotten broken during some kitchen remodeling. I had gathered up the pieces and put them in a bag to recycle when I was intercepted. “Maybe the store will take them back”, my grandmother declared, taking the bag from me and slipping the shards into a closet, away from my meddling reach.

Sometimes, however, I’m grateful for her inner pack-rat. Last night, while going through yet another cabinet where I found a coupon that expired in 1989, I found a little piece of my own past. There, among the stacks of unsent cards, old stationery, and other yellowed papers, was a stack of drawings that I did when I was about 4 years old.

They are especially precious right now because in many of them I am practicing my new writing skills, something Anna is just learning now. It’s so interesting to have the opportunity to glimpse a moment in time where I parallel my daughter. I can already feel my own pack-rat tendencies emerging!