Making It Up As I Go Along
by Samantha Gianulis
Writes of Spring
Pink and buttercup colored dresses take over the clothing racks of stores.
Players report for Spring Training. Asparagus stands tall in the produce
section with hints of purple on the stalks. My boots feel too warm, and
there hasn't been a cloud in the sky in many days. My annuals peek out from
the muddy ground and say hello. Field of Dreams is on television and I
recite the James Earl Jones speech ("People will come, Ray") in my best
baritone, even though my kids beg me to be quiet. "Centerfield" dominates "Gypsy" on my iPod, and I disregard the button-fly jeans in favor of my
khaki capris.
It's springtime in San Diego.
I love spring. As long as I can remember it has been my favorite season. All
of the literary metaphors and lyrical references about renewal (spring) and
discontent (winter) were not lost on me - I absorbed them and adapted
accordingly.
Smiles mean more in springtime. The sweet, silent gratification of a smile,
sometimes accompanied by a wink, says "The sun is coming out again, baby."
I come alive at this time of year.
March 21st is the official date spring begins- the Vernal Equinox, or "Solstice" - but I feel spring long before she announces herself. The signs
are everywhere! And if I remember to remove the winter hats in the diaper
bag and replace them with sunscreen, we won't get burned.
I get lost in the seasonal excitement, and those trivial things like SPF
lotion bring me back down to Earth.
Hubby comes in handy at these times. He has a nasty habit of grounding me,
but he tempers that by encouraging my daydreams.
"Honey, are the kids' clothes ironed?"
Ironed? I thought I made it clear before I married you, I can cook, but I
don't iron.
Hubby is referring to the clothes the kids will wear to the annual Greek
picnic on Easter. I am Greek-by-marriage, and Easter (or Pascha in Greek) is
the holy season for the Greek Orthodox. Church service at all hours of the
day and night, the annual picnic after church, and everywhere you look,
traditional Greek food - not to mention the dancing (Opa!)
I just can't decide which aspect of spring I take joy in the most.
When I was young, Easter was celebrated with a backyard egg hunt, my name
assembled in jelly beans on a table, brunch on Easter Sunday, and many
people gathered in my parent's home. I don't remember one cloudy or rainy
Easter, the drapes were always pulled back letting in the sunlight that
warmed the white linens beneath the platters of brunch fare. Our American
Jewish/Christian Easter (think Chrismukkah with eggs) could be recognized by
cold, sliced Honeybaked Ham with Dijon Mustard, a different potato dish
every year (we tried several potato recipes on for size, as we were and are
loyal subscribers to every Food magazine published in the United States), "Kitchen Sink Salads" (my mother added everything but the kitchen sink to
the Spring Mix), egg salad, brie (it was the 80s), flaky biscuits, and
homemade chocolate mousse. There were more holiday trimmings I now forget,
because my mind defaults to Mediterranean dishes.
My fondness of Spring seems to be hereditary. My kids love Easter, who can
blame them? Greek Easter is celebrated the Sunday after the American Easter.
This means twice the festivities for my children.
In our home, we dye eggs all different shades and combinations of primary
colors, then the Easter Bunny, in an elusive manner the kids believe is
learned from Santa, leaves hidden eggs instead of wrapped presents.
The following week at my in-laws home, when the kids are usually out of
school, they help Yia-Yia (Greek for Grandma) dye eggs a rich, deep red with
crosses and leaf imprints carefully applied, as they nibble on the Pascha
pastries of phyllo, nuts, honey, cinnamon and powdered sugar. Tradition.
This is what I believe to be most important of any holiday - tradition. I
watch my kid's hearts and minds open when they learn about their "Greekness"
through holiday rituals. I step back at this time and hope they identify
with something much bigger than themselves, as commanding as Mt. Olympus, as
enchanting as licking honey syrup off homemade baklava.
That's all good, very touching, but I have to admit I'm in it for the food.
Donning new dresses, open-toed sandals, and button down shirts freshly
sprayed with Wrinkle Release is just a pre-requisite to getting my hands on
the spanakopita, dolmades, lamb and lemon potatoes, now as customary to me
as baseball, pastels, chocolate bunny rabbits and sufficient sunlight.
I make no apologies for my appetite, eating is my favorite way of honoring
my husband's culture.
And after I have had two plates of olive oil-lemon-oregano based Greek
cuisine, I watch my son kick his heels high as his uncles teach him Syrto, a
Greek dance. I videotape my father-in-law twirl his granddaughters who stand
far below him, their little hands in his, looking up at Papou's wise face
adoringly. I clutch my husband's hand in mine, tightly swinging our
intertwined grip back and forth, back and forth, bringing his hand up to my
face so I can kiss the back of it.
You don't need to say anything, silly. Just smile at me.
I have so many things to love.
I know January begins the first month of the year, but to me, the real New
Year begins in Spring. Life bursts from the ground. Clouds roll by ever
faster. Walk outside and the sun warms your face.
There is so much to love.
Samantha Gianulis, Managing Editor and Regular Columnist, writes from
Southern California where she lives with her husband and their three
children. Her first book, Little Grapes on the Vine.Mommy's Musings on Food & Family released March 2007. She has written for several print and online
publications, including Hybrid Mom Magazine, San Diego Family Magazine,
recipestoday.com, and alongstoryshort.net. She is also a columnist for
Family Food Network (http://www.familyfoodnetwork.com). Her website address
is http://www.samanthagianulis.com. Check out her blog at
http://samanthagianulis.blog.com.
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