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

One

There was a French guy from Vendée selling his baguettes and pastries – the best of the best, not only at the Farmer’s Market, but also in the Valley of the Sun. The line was so long that he was asked to move his booth near one of the exits so it could extend toward the parking lot.

Then Popescu arrived, accompanied only by Baloo, a puppy at the time. My goal was simple: to train and socialize Baloo. His objective was exactly the same, except it was to train and socialize me.

My son was still with us then, and I decided to stay in line to get him a croissant and a pain au chocolat. Why those? Well, that’s a story for another time, but just before it was my turn to order, I stood near the booth, peering through the glass to see what else he had to offer.

That’s when I heard a loud sigh from the people in line behind me. Turning around, I realized what had happened: my Baloo, ever the sneaky one (and never one to stand on ceremony), had smoothly chosen a whole croissant from the basket. In one swift move, it was devoured completely .

Two

We had the priest and my mother-in-law’s case manager (from the insurance company) over at our house. The case manager is of Mexican descent, which doesn’t really matter, but it added to the charm of the moment. So, there we were: three Romanians and a Mexican, gathered for a celebratory religious blessing [of the house].

After the prayers were said, the conversation took an unexpected turn – to sausages (hard to miss, gloriously drying outside, in plain view). The priest (also Romanian) shared his recipes, the case manager had his own, and I, of course, had mine. Despite the cultural differences, the process was the same: smoke, air-dry with wind or a fan, smoke again, then freeze or eat.

We wrapped it up with an extra prayer and parted ways, not just as acquaintances but as good friends.

Three

For the first time in 30 months, we took a trip up north to Prescott to hike around Lynx Lake. In the back seat, as usual, were the boys. They seemed to realize this wasn’t the usual trip to the park, but that didn’t stop them from behaving like two “Are we there yet?” young pups.

It was cold and windy, but the only ones bothered by the weather were us, the two hoomans: the dogs, on the other hand, were in their element. They sniffed every bush, marked every tree, and paid attention to every noise and critter. For almost two hours, they were in wildlife heaven.

On our way back, the boys were again in the back seat. Once in the car, with the heat on, it took them all of five seconds to lie down and fall asleep. Not a peep for the whole two-hour drive home. But as soon as we hit the driveway, they were back, full of energy, batteries recharged, looking at us like “Now what? Let’s go again!”

Four

Sunday morning, I went to Fry’s (our local supermarket) to buy the ingredients for the weekly dog food topping, which consisted of whatever was marked down in the veggies and meat section. I grabbed the veggies and some chicken liver.

At the checkout, the cashier, a new lady in late middle age saw the liver, glanced at the rest of my items, and said with a playful smile: “You made a mistake; the liver isn’t marked down.” Her eyes were warm, and so I took no offense. For the first time, I admitted: “I bought all of this for my dogs. I cook for them.” Usually, I don’t tell people that I buy meat and vegetables specifically for my dogs. During these challenging economic times, it just doesn’t seem right to me, or fair to others.

She didn’t even blink. Instead, she leaned in slightly and said, “If you ever have mice or a rat problem, come find me here. I have two snakes – they’ll take care of them in no time.”

For the past two years, my mood has been somewhere between blue and dark blue, but this time, I left the store laughing. Now that’s a side gig.