It’s been almost a year and a half since the last episode of Super Peanut. The one good thing about my daughter being at home sick for so many days was that she had the time to crank out a couple more episodes…
In case you missed the first episodes, you can get caught up here.
I loved having the time to spend with my kids and my family and friends in D.C., but it was good to get back home, too.
This week I made a special trip to see one of my favorite local places: Chiles Peach Orchard. It’s one of the many reasons I love living here. The orchard is in Crozet, an idyllic little town just to the west of Charlottesville.
Related post: Peaches
Yesterday I wrote about being trapped on a paddle-boat in the Tidal Basin with one crabby, one cantankerous, and one ailing kid as being a sort of existential hell.
In fact, the real hell on earth is any amusement park. I’ve always hated amusement parks, even as a child. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid them for all these years. I’m not quite sure what madness gripped me when I bought tickets to Six Flags for me and the three kids. I tried to convince my friend and my sister to come with us. My friend very politely declined. “Oh wow! Saturday? Ummm… Oh, SHOOT! That’s the day I clip my toenails. Otherwise…” My sister was far more blunt. She laughed in my face and said, “Six Flags? Oh thanks, but I’d rather douse myself in gasoline and set myself on fire. I’d rather bash in my own kneecaps with a baseball bat. I’d rather gouge my own eyeballs out with a melon baller.”
I totally understand these reactions. Life is scary and unpredictable enough as it is. I honestly don’t understand what possesses people (ME!) to actually pay a lot of money to do things like this to themselves:
In my case, it’s stupidity, plain and simple.
For example, I agreed to go on a roller coaster called “Apocalypse.”
“What did you do that for?” my husband asked incredulously, when I told him about it afterwards.
“Well, I didn’t see what it was going to be like until I actually did it,” I answered defensively.
“Did the name Apocalypse not give you a hint?!”
I lost some IQ points on that ride for sure. How bitterly I regret letting the kids ride that roller coaster before they even got a chance to take their PSATs! It felt like being flung violently down ten flights of stairs. And then being pummeled by a band of rabid gorillas at the bottom of the stairs. We were rattled about so hard that it felt like we were being punched repeatedly in the head by the so-called “headrests.” My legs were shaking as I staggered off the ride. I was sore for days afterwards. I resolved not to do any more scary rides.
By this time, we were all probably suffering from concussions and weren’t in our right minds, which would explain why the boys decided to go on “The Joker’s Jinx” roller coaster next. Once again, we failed to watch the ride first to see what it entailed. This nasty roller coaster starts by hurtling you right out of the gate with an acceleration from 0 to 60 mph in three seconds. After that, there are all kinds of loops and spins.
My son assured me that it was far worse than the Apocalypse. Here they are, returning after their ride.
Let’s zoom in, shall we?
We decided to regroup and be kinder to ourselves. The kids rode the bumper cars and then a gentle ride called “Pirate’s Flight.”
My oldest kept trying to persuade his little brother to go on more rides with him with names like “Mind Eraser.” Being an obliging sort of person, he would agree. Obliging, not stupid. By this time, he had learned his lesson. We would go check it out, he would take one look, and then turn right back around.
Photo by Coasterman1234 at en.wikipedia
Finally we saw a ride that looked like we could all handle it. It had cute cows with rhinestone collars. No need to watch the ride in action. What could be more benign than cute cows wearing jewelry? The boys settled into one cow and my daughter and I into another. And then this happened:
It was truly awful. We staggered off the ride clutching our heads and bellies. We all had to sit down in stunned silence to recover from the horror. Everyone agreed that this was the worst ride of them all.
In the end, my teenager did manage to badger the eleven year old into going on one more roller coaster with him called “The Wild One”:
That was enough for us all:
The next morning the eleven year old said wonderingly, “I can’t believe I went on all of those rides.”
“Did you enjoy any of them?” I asked.
“No. Not really,” he said.
“So you probably wouldn’t ever want to go back?” I asked.
“Of course I would!” he answered promptly.
“But WHY?”
“Because it’s so awesome when the ride is over. You feel so relieved.”
Here’s the real punch line, my friends: I bought season tickets.
The cherry blossoms hadn’t quite popped yet, but the Cherry Blossom Festival was in full swing this weekend.
After lunch, we decided to go paddle-boating in the Tidal Basin.
Two people had to peddle in our four person boat. My three kids argued over who would get to peddle as if they were vying for seats on the U.S. Olympic rowing team. The man who was helping us into the boat solved the problem by suggesting that we return to the dock halfway through to switch positions.
“Remember! You’re not allowed to switch positions in the middle of the water,” he warned, “When you’re ready to switch, you have to come back here and we’ll help you do it.”
The boys took the first shift:
while my daughter and I relaxed:
Halfway through the hour, we returned to the dock so that my daughter could have a turn. My oldest son graciously gave up his coveted spot to switch positions with her…
…and immediately transformed into a crazed martinet. “FASTER! Peddle faster, you maggots!” he shouted gleefully.
His siblings bore his strident orders with good humor at first, but the relentless nature of his hectoring soon began to pall. Undeterred by my dirty looks and increasingly forceful requests that he put a sock in it, he kept goading his younger siblings. We were like the characters in Sartre’s Huis Clos, who eventually come to realize that they are in hell, and that their punishment is being trapped for eternity with each other.
To distract the kids, I suggested that we go investigate some white rocks I could see in the distance. I didn’t recognize them and wanted to get a closer look.
The two kids got the boat fairly close to the rocks, but not close enough for me to make out what they were.
“I still can’t see what they are. Can you get a little closer?” I asked.
My conscientious eleven year old, our family’s own Jiminy Cricket, advised me against this unwise course of action. “It will take us too long to get back to the dock if we get any closer to the rock.”
“But I really want to see what they are. How about you get us just a little closer?”
Meanwhile, my eldest took this as a signal to renew his taunts.
“CLOSER! Get CLOSER! Peddle harder, you maggots! I want to see bubbles in our wake!!!”
Against his own better judgment, Jiminy Cricket steered us close enough to the rocks so that I could see at last that it was the new(ish) Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial:
“OK, let’s head back now!” I said, sneaking a peek at the time.
“How much time do we have left to get back to the dock? NO! Don’t tell me, it will just stress me out. OK, go ahead and tell me.”
“Ummm, well, we have about ten minutes.”
Now Jiminy Cricket was pissed. He started scolding both of us.
“You HAD to see the rock! And NOW we’re going to be late getting back to the dock. Don’t blame me if they make us pay more for the boat! I TOLD you it would take too long, but NO, you HAD to get closer.”
“Don’t stress out about it! If we have to pay extra, we’ll just pay extra. It’s not a big deal,” I tried to reassure him.
All the while, his brother provided a steady dose of maddening counterpoint: “Is that the best you can do? We’re not even moving! Come ON! Peddle for all your worth, Maggots!”
Jiminy Cricket lost it: “YOU peddle then. I’m not going to peddle anymore!”
“I’d be glad to peddle, but we’re not allowed to switch.” (For some reason, now my eldest son switched to a velvety, smarmy English accent dripping with evil).
For dramatic effect my second son stopped peddling, even though I know it was killing him not to be making any progress back toward the dock.
“Well somebody has to peddle…,” I ventured, as the boat came to a standstill.
At that point we realized the youngest was not feeling well.
“I think I might throw up,” she moaned.
“Just stop peddling. STOP PEDDLING! Take your feet OFF the pedals. I can manage myself!” shrieked my poor little Jiminy Cricket as he resumed peddling as fast as he could, “UGH! My back is KILLING me! My legs are killing me!”
“QUIT your whining, you maggot and peddle!” (I whacked the boy to shut him up – to no avail). “Don’t tell me that’s the best you can do. Peddle harder!!!”
The ridiculousness of it got to me and I started shaking with silent laughter.
“You think this is FUNNY?!” asked Jiminy Cricket, apoplectic with rage.
“NO! I’m sorry! It’s not funny at ALL!” I said trying to get a hold of myself, “I’m sorry, I wish I could help you peddle, but….”
Finally, we made it back to the dock, about fifteen minutes past the time we were due. Fortunately, they took pity on us, and let us stagger off into the sunset without any additional payment.
As we walked on, my sweet Jiminy Cricket said, “Thanks so much for taking us on the awesome boat ride, Mommy.” I looked at him suspiciously to see if he was mocking me, but he continued with earnest sincerity, “It was so much fun!” (That one’s a keeper, I’m telling you)!
The three siblings reconciled…
and we headed back to meet up with my sister for our ride back to Arlington.
Last week was spring break for all three kids, but not for my husband or for me. The older two boys were OK on their own, but for the first two complicated days, our youngest child alternated between sitting through her dad’s college lectures and my advising hours. We took turns ferrying her mid-day to a half-day soccer camp and then back home at the end of the day. After just the first day, it became clear that my vague plan to take some time off from work needed to happen sooner rather than later. I decided to take off Wednesday through Friday and to take the kids to Arlington.
On Thursday we hitched a ride into DC with my sister and I took the kids to the Natural History Museum.
(See: Kayaking: Or How I almost killed my P.E. Teacher)
The mummies were ghastly:
The animal mummies were kind of cute:
The insect zoo is always a hit:
We checked out the butterfly exhibit. The butterflies checked us out too:
And then we scoped out the gems. I took plenty of notes and photos to give my husband some ideas for my birthday…
Tucked way back in an alcove is a Korea exhibit!
Time for lunch!
Tomorrow: The Tidal Basin…or “L’enfer, c’est les autres.”
Today is my child’s fourteenth birthday.
We were overjoyed when we found out that I was pregnant with our first baby. We had been trying for a long time to have one, and were beginning to think it might never happen. Almost as soon as we had gotten used to the idea, our joy turned to despair when I started spotting. At the hospital a doctor performed an ultrasound and concluded that I was miscarrying when he didn’t find a heartbeat. He offered to do a D & C (dilation and curettage) right then and there to hasten the inevitable. Devastated, I said I just wanted to go home. He told me I would lose the baby naturally in a couple of days and to come back for a checkup.
I spent those days in bed sobbing. When my mother called me from Korea, I told her that I was pregnant and that I was miscarrying all in the same conversation. She called me later that day after consulting medical professionals she knew in Korea. She told me there was still hope. She was deluding herself, I thought. I pitied her, and pitied myself even more. The only thing that kept me calm was repeating Psalm 23 in my head over and over in the rich, archaic language of the King James version. I hadn’t even realized that I knew it by heart until then. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside still waters…Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
When we went back to the hospital, they did another blood test and were surprised by the results. They sent me to get another ultrasound and within seconds the technician casually said, as if she were not announcing something life-changing and miraculous: “There’s the heartbeat.”
The point is: from the very beginning it’s been a bumpy, winding road. These past fourteen years have been full of drama. There have been painful times and searingly beautiful moments when I have felt a love so intense that it literally hurt my heart. The point is: this “Prince of the Silla Dynasty,” as my parents dubbed him at birth, has taught me to have faith and to believe in goodness and mercy and miracles.
Happy birthday to my dear son. My cup overflows.
On our last marathon day in Seoul, my sister and I checked out another place that was right next door to our hotel in Gangnam. At the Seoul Center for Important Intangible Cultural Assets, we took silly pictures (see above)!, wandered through galleries, and checked out studios where master craftsmen produce things like norigae (decorative tassels) and calligraphy.
And then it was on to another part of the city to visit the university my grandfather founded. We saw this fantastic cart en route:
and stopped for lunch. It wasn’t exactly what we were expecting!
The last time I was in this part of the city about five years ago, this stream area was still under construction:
After a lot of aimless wandering, we finally found our way to the university, where my grandfather, an uncle, and our own father were presidents, and where another uncle is currently the president:
We finally ended our last day in the Bukchon Hanok Village. This is a residential area in the center of Seoul, between the palaces of the Joseon Dynasty – Gyeongbokgung and Changdeokgung. These traditional houses (“hanok”) were the residences of high-ranking government officials and aristocrats. They have been carefully preserved and are still used as private homes. Some have been converted into shops and restaurants.
There were so many other places I wanted to go, but didn’t have the time. It will have to wait until my next visit to Korea!
The next few days were busy from the crack of dawn to late nights with a reception, meetings at Seoul National University, and a conference…
In the evenings after work my sister and I roamed around the city together…
Once the conference was over, my sister and I had one more day to explore the city. It was a marathon!
Our hotel overlooked a group of Royal Tombs of the Joseon Dynasty. There are 40 different Joseon Dynasty Royal Tombs scattered around various locations in Korea. Collectively, they have been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. Seonjeong-neung Park in Gangnam contains the tombs of King Seongjong (1469-94) and his wife Queen Jeonghyeon, as well as the tomb of King Jungjong (1506-44). On Friday morning we began our day by taking a walk around the park. The first stop was the jaesil, or “house of purification.” This was where officials would stay to purify themselves before presiding over the funeral rites.
Being here reminded my sister of visiting my paternal grandmother when we first moved back to Korea many years ago when she was six and I was a baby. Our grandmother lived in a house like this in the country. My sister remembers waking up in the middle of the night to see my mother compulsively glueing down edges of the waxed paper floor covering that had curled up:
Traditional Korean houses were heated by underfloor heating called ondol. Smoke from a furnace would travel through channels covered by the paper. The paper would be the only thing protecting everyone from the real peril of carbon monoxide poisoning.
This T-shaped shrine is typical of Joseon Dynasty burial sites:
A closeup view of some of the gargoyles perched along roof edges:
The tombs themselves are located in three different sections of the park. To reach them, you wind past copses of undulating pines:
More tomorrow…
One of the things I like most about Seoul are the many parks scattered around the city. The elderly often congregate and exercise in these parks. Many parks and walking paths in Korea are equipped with a whole circuit of exercise equipment that’s available for anyone to use. Some just have enormous hula hoops and a wide-open space. It’s quite a sight to see little white-haired old ladies hula hooping with those oversized hoops! You often see elderly retirees lounging in the colorful shelters, socializing with each other.
My sister and I spent a few moments resting and wandering around Tapgol Park, a serene oasis located in the center of bustling Seoul:
The park’s main structure as well as some of the smaller satellite shelters are painted in the traditional Korean dancheong style, that is: wood decorated with patterns and symbols primarily in cinnabar and blue-green. You find dancheong on temples and palaces throughout the city. Handpainted by trained dancheong artists, the traditional style buildings provide a striking contrast in an otherwise modern urban landscape.
A couple weeks ago I went to Korea for work. I badgered my sister into going with me, so I got to play a little too!
Things were still hopping when we arrived at our hotel in the Gangnam district in Seoul very late on Saturday night. The first thing I noticed was that there were foreigners everywhere and that I could hear a lot of people speaking English. They all seemed to be coming from a side street right next to our hotel. When we investigated the next morning we found this rather dramatic entrance to a nightclub:
The last time I was in Korea was about five years ago. At that time, it was still extremely rare to hear English being spoken or to see any foreigners. People would openly gape at my husband wherever we went, as if he were a space alien. The only English we ever heard was when children would run over to ours when we’d be hanging around playgrounds to practice saying “hello.” That was, in fact, usually the only word they could manage. Things have changed a lot in a very short amount of time.
Another thing I noticed this time was an overabundance of coffee shops:
and makeup stores. I spotted this at one of them:
The minute you walk into one of these stores the saleswomen start plying you with free samples. Korean makeup is at the cutting edge, so those millions of little packets they press upon you are like pure gold!
On Sunday my sister and I wandered around Insa-dong, a neighborhood filled with antique shops, art, and handcraft markets. Weekends are a good time to go, because the main drag is closed off to vehicles and becomes a pedestrian thoroughfare. When you get off at the Anguk subway station, you have to go through a twisty rabbit’s warren of restaurants and inns before you finally reach the main shopping area.
Of course, I had to stop and take photos along the way.
We noticed that Insa-dong has become much more tourist-oriented in the last few years. It’s become a sort of Korean tchotcke strip. Apart from the many smaller shops and teahouses, there are a few larger souvenir stores dotted along the main street as well. There’s also a mall called Ssamziegil, which is fun to explore. It’s designed like the Guggenheim spiral, so you can go up to the top and hit every single store as you make your way down. Very satisfying!
For lunch we had tteokbokki, traditional Korean street food. There are pojangmacha, or street vendor tents all over the city. Many of them are open into the wee hours of the morning, so you can get your fix any time of the day or night. We took a seat on little plastic stools at a plastic table in a rudimentary tent. Armed only with a long toothpick, we ate tteokbokki, a dish made of cylindrical, super chewy rice cakes swimming in gochujang: a spicy, slightly sweet, fermented chili sauce. So delicious! Notice the plate is covered in a plastic bag for easy clean up.
For dessert we got bobki:
My sister remembers getting one of these every day after school when we lived in Korea. It’s a sort of candy made of sugar and a little bit of baking soda. The vendor melts the two ingredients together and then pours it out onto a flat surface and stamps a design into it. My sister remembers that if you could break off the edges cleanly to leave only the star shape inside, you would get another one free.
To this day, my brother bears a scar on his arm from our secret attempts to make this ourselves when we were living in Pennsylvania. You can try this at home too! (Making the candy, that is. Not burning your little brother)! Put some sugar into a metal ladle and melt it over a burner, stirring all the while. Once the sugar melts into a clear liquid, add a pinch of baking soda. It will become a caramel color and the mixture will get slightly foamy. At this point, you pour the mixture out onto a plate or other flat surface. Press it with another flat surface to get a thin flat disk. That’s it! Easy and yummy!
More tomorrow…
o wonderful, wonderful 