And whereas on Sunday evening I was pampered and peppered with French by people who have cousins living off of the wines they produce in the Sancerre region of France, last night’s couple has relatives that, like them, are as American as apple pie.
American: what exactly is so American about them? Can a transplant onto American soil even say something intelligent about this? Sure I can. I have eyes. I see someone making pink drinks and I think: it may be called a cosmopolitan but it sure feels local. American local. In Poland, only American wannabes (I’m guessing that's 64% of my country men and women) (please don’t write me in protest, I’m joking) (sort of) would even think of pouring anything into their beloved vodka.
Another example: I ask them about their relatives – if they trek down to any vineyards to check grapes for rot (it’s a curse for the French) and they tell me no indeed. Too busy volunteering for various political and social causes. You mention volunteerism to a Pole and he or she will ask “and what do I get for it?” And, too busy working at such American jobs as corporate forecasting for credit cards. Poles don’t work that hard and they don’t use credit cards.
Anyway, this oh-so-American couple feeds me regularly and welcomes me to their home and listens to my stories even though I am sure they think I am completely insane, because it is not unusual (like yesterday) for me to come in and note that I have had some dramatic event occur just moments ago. They know not to sigh audibly. They know that it will be a long evening and I will not leave before 11 before I get things out of my system.
(As a matter of fact I have been a lot calmer lately so perhaps my stories aren’t as dramatic as they once were, but still, they listen very very patiently.)
A good pal recently said this to me: Nina, you and I like to be with people who are different from us.
A correct statement. And it fits here as well. An example: this couple has young kids. At least, I think they still have kids. I haven’t seen them for months. I come there at 7:30 and both children are sound asleep. I am told. My kids were never simultaneously asleep at any time before midnight in their entire lives except at times when I drugged them (I mean with cough syrup).
And when I enter their home, dinner is cooking (see below) and there is no sign of a dirty dish anywhere. You know how it is at my place before a dinner party? Well-ordered and neat until about 5 when all hell spills onto every dish and pot, so that by the time anyone comes I feel that stacking things on the floor is the only alternative
Anyway (have you noticed? every first word of this post’s paragraphs begins with the letter A, how weird is that?), I am enthralled with these people. Obviously. So dearest daughters, I don’t want to hear any more claims that I am sometimes not sufficiently devoted to and intoxicated by things American. I am, to these people and by these people (in all ways: she makes the best cosmos in town). So there.
neat & tidy and delicious
