Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Introduction or Conclusion

The holiday season is in full swing, and everyone seems to be in a festive mood. But for me, it’s a time of mixed emotions. I’m still grieving the loss of my child, and the thought of celebrating feels really wrong. But my friends and family insisted that I get out and have some fun.

Last year, we stayed home for the holidays, and it was the right decision for us. This year, however, I feel like I have to make an effort. So, I’ve been doing my best to put on a brave face and attend (almost) all the holiday parties, even though I haven’t been in the mood. I’ve even bought gifts for everyone, even though I’m not sure they’ll appreciate them.

The truth is, I’m just going through the motions. I’m not having any fun, and I’m not sure when, or if, I ever will again. But I’m trying to be strong for my wife and my friends. I don’t want them to worry about me.

Christmas minus two weeks

The invitations have started pouring in … the joyful season commenced with a vibrant Saturday afternoon gathering at Bobel & Co. We relished a lavish feast: enjoying Baloș Mici and engaging in a lively conversation over some 15-year-old Rum, accompanied by some super appetizers.

This year, we’ve traded our caveman cloaks for the wings of those American “social butterflies,” albeit with all the enthusiasm of a slug on salt. Cosmin and I, though, have a motto: embrace the awkward, stumble through the crowds, and who knows, maybe we’ll accidentally have a good time.

The calendar was full – apparently, my on-call shifts on the 25th and 31st are mere inconveniences in their merrymaking marathon. They, of course, have the luxury of uninterrupted sleep and carefree festivities.

December the 18th, 2023

Armed with a “know your giftee” shopping list and a yearning for single malt, I tackled Total Wine. The Balvenie whispered temptations, but reality shrieked its price. So, I pivoted to Belgian beer: four beauties and a quirky glass, hopefully enough to spark joy (and not hangovers).

But who is Marcel?

My Christmas self-present, not quite the Balvenie’s $106 price tag, brought a short lived flicker of joy., gone immediately after Irina saw it: “Oh, for Ionel! What a cute box, the cool beer inside… he’ll love it!” “Huh?” I choked, although 33 years of marriage should’ve prepared me for this whiplash. “Honey, I like beer too, and Belgian ain’t Ionel’s usual poison.” She flinched, like I’d used hot pliers on her heart. “Fine, keep it,” she muttered, the hurt palpable.

Now, the beer’s lost its luster.

December the 19th, 2023

I found myself on the verge of death in the evening, under the fascinated and slightly questioning gaze of my wife. I choked on half-chewed peanuts, the morsel taking an unfortunate detour and triggering a spasm of coughing. In a desperate attempt to simultaneously breathe and swallow, I found myself in distress.

Emerging from her Jeopardy-induced trance, Irina launched into a level 2 FBI interrogation, her voice escalating: “What are you doing? Another bout of coughing? Why is your face turning red? What did you eat? I explicitly told you to avoid that junk. Breathe, man! What’s coming out of your mouth? Mind the dogs; it might fall on them. Should I call an ambulance? What do I tell them? Look, it’s even coming out of your nose. It’s falling on the floor and making a mess. Oh my God, you’re so gross!”

As the commercial break concluded, Irina returned to her TV program, leaving me with stomach cramps from the intense coughing. Baloo, our dog, diligently cleaned up the aftermath, while I pondered the peculiar experience of peanuts exiting through my nose. It was a brutal ordeal.

Irina, undeterred, uncorked a bottle of Snoop Dogg’s sparkling wine, only to express her displeasure midway: “I warned you not to buy this anymore; I don’t like it!”

In a timid yet hoarse voice, not entirely my own, I responded, “I got it for myself. You still have five bottles of prosecco.”

My explanation was met with indifference. Retaining what was left of my dignity, I retired to bed after texting my cousin “Good Night”. A quarter of an hour later, he called, inquiring if I had already fallen asleep. I chuckled and engaged in a half-hour conversation.

December the 20th, 2023

I woke up feeling quite well, despite a peculiar dream where I got fired from work and was preparing to relocate to Romania, with my mother, father, and Cosmin assisting in the packing.

Raising an eyebrow, I addressed them, “I’m not coming just yet. As challenging as it may be, it’s my life, and I choose to stay a bit longer.”

In the evening, I crafted a delicious piftie (pork jelly), of which Baloo managed to sneak a quarter. His breath now carries a hint of garlic, and I anticipate he’ll be drinking a lot of water and requesting bathroom breaks throughout the night. Perhaps I should use the dog mouthwash I already have for them– he’ll still ask to go out, but at least his breath won’t be as pungent.

I compiled my wishlist for Santa: an iPad mini, a Withings ScanWatch Nova, an outdoor Ion speaker—completely frivolous items. Oh, and a gorgeous, impeccably maintained 2021 Volvo XC90!

While I could afford any of the mentioned items, including the Volvo, the reality is I’d be left without funds for insurance, gas, or even food. Okay, let’s scrap the idea of buying the Volvo; why tarnish such a beautiful car by transporting dogs around?

The schedule for visits has been finalized: friends on the 23rd, relatives on the 24th, work starting at 5:00 am on the Christmas Day, another work commitment on the 31st in the morning, and New Year’s Eve festivities at The Paulescus in the evening.

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But here it is, Christmas has come. I haven’t written for almost a week and it shows. I forget more and more. That’s why I write, so I know, at least a little, what I did the past few days.

The planned visit on the 23rd got called off due to the host’s Covid situation, but on St. Daniel’s Day, about a week before Christmas, we visited some friends, and that visit had quite intriguing consequences.

Amidst conversations ranging from home furniture to pick-up trucks, sofas to armchairs – what we have, what we don’t, what Cosmin possesses and we fancy – the idea emerged: what if we bring Cosmin’s sofa and armchair to our place and exchange them with ours? The next day, whether dealing with a hangover (or not), Dani arrived with his son and grandson in Stu’s sizable truck, and the moving process began.

By the afternoon, we had a seemingly new sofa and armchair in our possession, while the seemingly old ones embarked on a journey to Tempe, where Dani’s wife was revolutionizing their home.

Meanwhile, I found myself eyeing a 2023 Mazda MX5 with two seats. One had zipped past us on the street, and its zoom-zoom caught my attention. However, upon checking the price, it matched that of a used Volvo. Regardless, I’m not leaning towards purchasing either, but I now find myself entangled in an unnecessary dilemma.

On a different note, my desire for a motorcycle with a sidecar remains steadfast!

On the evening of December 24, Christmas Eve, we adorned ourselves in festive attire and headed to Ionel and Amanda’s place. The Momma and her consort joined the gathering, and amidst the pretenses, discussions, and calculations, a spirited competition unfolded between Romanians and Poles for meat supremacy. Alma, arriving from New York with a bag full of “fresh forces” (to be read “meats”), added to the annual fierce battle.

Nostalgia gripped me as I missed those who were no longer with us, and I found myself wandering aimlessly. Indulging in an abundance of food, particularly in the midst of the yearly intense contest over meats, I exercised restraint in my alcohol consumption. Despite lacking the inclination, I participated in the exchange of gifts, both giving and receiving. Interestingly, I received a gift that we had given two years ago, a phenomenon commonly known as re-gifting—I harbor no qualms about this practice, but a bit of caution is advisable, as not to give it back to the original gifter.

Little Ioan reveled in happiness, seemingly transitioning beyond belief in Santa Claus to a fervent desire for gifts. And gifts he received, in abundance!

Sometime during this period, I prepared a batch of sausages in my signature style, featuring three types of meat, smoked thrice, and left out in the wind and fan for three nights. The number three resonated—three brothers, three daughters of the emperor, three goats—an embodiment of a Romanian folk fairy tale motif. While I reserved one sausage for dinner, the remainder found a place in the freezer, vacuum-sealed in packs of four to avoid the recurring theme of three. Irina also crafted some exquisite sarmale. Despite the traditional nature of our preparations, the absence of our loved ones weighed heavily on our hearts.

The gift I got for my lady was exactly what she had requested, albeit in white instead of the desired blue. Unfortunately, she didn’t appreciate it. In return, she allowed me to indulge in the Belgian beer I had purchased for myself a few days earlier. Despite my initial pout, the bottle now sits unopened on the table. It lost its appeal.

On Christmas Day, the TV festivities included a Ștefan Bănică (the Romanian Mr. Rock and Roll) concert at noon and a Jean-Michel Jarre concert in the evening. Two distinct styles, two extraordinary performances.

Ștefan Bănică at Palace Hall showcased a remarkable production. Regardless of what the critics may say, orchestrating a concert at the Palace Hall involves a considerable amount of effort: dance performances, dazzling lights, massive screens, and a diverse array of guests for all tastes. Truly commendable!

Jean-Michel Jarre delivered a phenomenal mixed Virtual Reality show, combining both real people and avatars at the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. To fully appreciate and understand the experience, special VR glasses were recommended. While it was possible to enjoy without them, the use of VR glasses enhanced the spectacle. Having grown up with Oxygène, my love for it remains undiminished over forty years later, and JMJ continues to innovate and surprise.

Inspired by these experiences, I’ve initiated a new wishlist for Santa Claus ’24 – Meta Oculus 2 or 3 for VR. Oh, and a bread machine like Misu has.

Until then, this was the New Year’s celebration: