Love, Peace, and Covrigi

“Put it in the fridge for now,” my old lizard said about the bottle of milk the milkman delivered this morning. “I’ll boil it when I get back in touch with myself.” This could be any day now. Though some evidence suggests that she’s spent nearly a century trying to achieve this. She even has long conversations with herself daily, but apparently they’re no use. Luckily some of life’s matters are not as complex: “I was hoping you’d go out and buy some covrigi,” she said. “I want two sesame ones.” I was more than happy to fulfill this request. I even dared conquer my embarrassment and took a picture of the girl dispensing the fresh warm covrigi, houses and storefronts from across the street reflected in the window. One can even see the dreadful omnipresent bridal gowns they sell in the old part of town here, and I think they offer an interesting juxtaposition to the girl in her white uniform. She was much friendlier than the woman who’s been selling me covrigi in Bucharest.

Nobody came to visit us today and though there was plenty to do – grandma’s meals, and a plethora of dirty dishes my old lizard keeps producing – I had some time on my hands to search all over the house. I like to look in every cupboard, every closet, and every drawer. Everything smells very interesting – a combination of moth balls, lavender, and Turkish green apple soap. The contents are never surprising, but still, it can be a fun exercise. I didn’t find my childhood drawings of chickens. Someone must have thrown them out, as the whole family is rather unsentimental about my art. I did, however, find some of my old school homework and one of my favorite books about a little blue pig – Schweinchen Jo. I was not a stellar student, didn’t get the awards my mom wanted me to get, but I had neat handwriting and always a lot of imagination. Also, I drew excellent chickens. If only someone had deemed them worth keeping!

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