I haven’t the faintest idea why, but I have been very nostalgic of my time in New York lately.
Last night, scizor had a fight with another of our friends. He was all huffy, so obviously he came on over to my place to pick me up so we could go to Denny’s (A tradition begun with my best friend and SIL, Dy, and now continued with my ‘hubby’). Here we have hot chocolate and just talk, order something if we feel like it… but mostly we spend over 2 hours talking about nothing and everything.
I don’t remember what we were talking about for me to mention this, but I brought up how a certain gent (funny, this seems to be his nickname now on here! lol) showed me this site for this beautiful island and how it had a lilac Festival. Scizor, of course, automatically said how I’d be in heaven in such a place. It’s common knowledge that while tulips are my favorite flowers (as mentioned in a melancholic state for V-day), my favorite floral scent is lilac. In fact, a few years ago when I couldn’t find a commercial perfume that I liked, I would order a perfume oil mixture of lilac, magnolia and ivy.
Anyway, the thing about that lovely island is that it doesn’t have cars. You can only go around on bicycles or horse-drawn carriages. Here is where scizor learned something new about me because he very snobbishly said that I don’t do bicycles. But he was actually very wrong and I set him straight immediately.
Of course, scizor had no clue that in NY one of the main family activities we used to do since I learned how to ride a two-wheel bike was to go bicycling as a family. Sure, I can’t do the cross country thing, but I used to love going to the parks and just going around with everyone else. And in NY there are quite a few neighborhood parks where we used to haul our bikes to.
We used to make entire days of it… First we’d go and fill up those red thermos jugs, one with iced tea and one with water and lots of ice. We’d wash out the square wicker picnic basket with the sets of 4 plates, mugs and utensils. Then we’d place all our bikes onto the car carrier and head down to the supermarket. There we’d go to the deli section and get some cold cuts, fresh rolls, pickled mushrooms and some mousse (there was this cookie speckled on that was SO good!). From there we’d go over to Flushing Meadow Park to the southern section which has Meadow Lake. This lake has the bike path around it and nice fields where you can sit down and just relax. My mother would sit and read while my brother and I went around the lake.
Those kind of picnic bike trips were common occurrences.
I miss those pickled mushrooms and the mousse.
When we got to PR, we brought our bikes with us. But where we live in my hometown, there are too many curves and there really isn’t a good place to bike through, not when you are used to open parks and winding lake trails. My bike fell into disuse and eventually was thrown out because it got ruined from being on the balcony so long. It took my little brother until last year to learn how to ride his two-wheeler. That was an ordeal. I don’t remember my learning to be that difficult. Because, as always, the story went for me how my mother let go the first time and I crashed a little ahead, but only when I’d realized she’d let go of me. She’d been worried that I wouldn’t ride anymore but instead I just picked myself up with the bike and kept on going all on my own.
When teaching my younger brother to ride, I got a chance to use his. I was almost afraid that I wouldn’t remember how. It had been well over 9 years since I rode a bicycle, but it all came back to me. If the area were better for it, I’d actually love to have a bicycle. However, no point in getting one now.
Needless to say, szicor was very impressed with my memory… and how picnics were so rare here, and how he wanted to go to NY someday. We joked and I told him of how it would be like if I were to be his guide, and I’d take him to all my old haunts, the places of my childhood memories. All this talk made me feel very homesick, my home being NY. One would think that after a decade I would feel more in place in PR, but that’s not the case. I feel like I was already very grown up when I came to PR even though I was only 11. Some of my stories made scizor very sad and he began to understand some of the deep rooted resentment I seem to hold for this island… but, I’ll leave those stories for another entry.
Last night ended with us hitting the beach at 3AM. We sat on the sand and watched the moon and waves. Then I started collecting seashells and stepping into the clear cool water. It was shallow and we walked along the starlit surf. Then we went home, the hood to my sweater full of pretty shells.