Life in Ink and Footsteps

Winter was slowly ending, and I was being a busy bee with my family. We had a lot to do with the upcoming celebrations, so all my weekends and time off were spent out of the house with the girls or Mr. MagicalCarpet S. Yes, yes, I know, I was being young and stupid. And dramatic, of course. But let’s not talk about boys for once—let’s talk about the places we visited and all of my work at home.

One of the few trips we did with the girls was to a closed psychiatric clinic in Kings Park. That place is creepy. I mean, obviously. But I am a chicken. I do not watch horror movies or even thrillers. I do not enjoy being scared. And yet, somehow, I ended up driving all the way to Kings Park to visit this area with the girls. And they were both pretty hyped up about it. This is the reason why I didn’t say anything—since I was cool. Ehm, tried to be. Seriously, being young is hard if you have no healthy self-esteem.

We walked around the whole compound, took some pictures, peeked into some of the small houses, and then they wanted to go inside the main building. Which is prohibited, I think. We had to sneak under a fence, walk to the back, and climb in through the window. And inside? Inside was wrong. I wish I was more eloquent and had a better way of describing it. The energy was oppressive, heavy, and dark. Graffiti on the walls, dirt, broken furniture, and filth all around. It was too easy to imagine the screams, pain, and fear of those locked inside. The constant feeling of being watched. Which is ridiculous, since it was obviously used as a party spot for youth, but I knew I didn’t want to be there any moment longer. So I left. In a hurry. Actually, I was trying to get out of there so fast that I scraped my whole lower back on the window.

If you’re interested in creepy abandoned spots, give it a look. I am sure it has a messed-up history. It was a psych center—who knows what went on in there?

I do have a feeling we were checking out other creepy places on Long Island because I remember C. telling us a story about a house used as a setting in a horror movie, where a man slaughtered his whole family in it. Or something like that. I remember we drove around that place, and I refused to stop. I admitted I was a scaredy-cat and told them they would have to do this on their own since I had enough at the psych center. And guess what? They were good friends. They didn’t laugh at me and admitted they weren’t completely comfortable with these things either. Turns out, you just need to be honest with the people around you. We also visited Mt. Misery, which is supposed to have Mothman sightings, but all there was to it was a walk in the woods and with that, I was done with the creepy.

My winter weekdays were hectic. The Bar Mitzvah was approaching, and with it came a massive amount of organizing. There were about 300 people invited—most of the classmates, their families, all the work associates, friends, and acquaintances. We prepared invitations, gift bags, menus, and decorations. Let’s not forget all the last-minute errands.

B. spent a lot of time in the synagogue for his Hebrew lessons and had to memorize all the prayers, which he didn’t want to do, so we had some tough arguments to work through. He also had to work on a charity project connected to his love of soccer. He was a good player and wanted children from less fortunate families to have access to soccer balls for playing. It was a lovely idea, and he worked hard on it. We were all proud of him. So the whole period of a few weeks was both tiring and exciting at the same time. I liked being around all the family members so much and spending time with the mum. Everyone was often busy, and most of the time, I was alone or with just B., so this was a nice change.

The Bar Mitzvah was an interesting experience, in all honesty. I come from the most non-religious country in the world. I was baptized as a child, but only because my grandma pushed for it. She said that since I was a non-marital child, I would have it hard enough in life. Interestingly, she doesn’t believe in God, so I don’t understand the meaning behind it. Anyway, I was never part of any religious celebration and was curious about it.

On Friday, we made a big dinner and had an evening service at home, which was a beautiful event. I was enjoying all the food we spent most of the day preparing. By the way, soup with matzo balls will forever be one of my favorites. I’ll have to look it up and try it at home. The soup will be easy enough, but where will I get the matzah?

On Saturday, there was a service at the synagogue for the closest people, and that was a peculiar thing for me. The clothes, hairstyles, and music. But I loved the prayers and the rhythm of the language. It never ceased to amaze me, no matter how many holidays I celebrated with the family or how many times I watched them pray and sing. There was a certain magic to it that felt sacred. I made some recordings to remember it. After that, it was party time.

Since I was officially off duty, I was encouraged by the mum to drink from the open bar—since it was hella expensive. Her words, not mine. So I joined the family’s old au-pair who came to see B. during his big moment. And so we did as we were told—drank. And surprise, surprise, it was a lot of fun for a kid’s party. I honestly had a better time than the unfortunate Halloween that I barely remember. We danced and laughed and hugged. We ate delicious food and just had a blast. There was a DJ and a lot of games for the kids. We painted our hats—those that rappers wear; I have no idea what to call them—and flirted with the bartender.

But back to the food—it was yummy, and I actually saved the menu that was presented on everyone’s seat. The first course was a Jewel Salad, then a choice of entrée—pan-seared sesame-crusted salmon, individual filet mignon, fresh-cut oven-roasted chicken breast, or grilled vegetable napoleon. All finished with a dessert buffet.

All in all, it was one hell of a party. Which is kind of funny since it was intended for children. But you know, at least nobody was blind drunk and rude. Mostly, you just had to worry about not getting hit in the head by a basketball.

Imagine Dragons – Believer