<style scoped>
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
@font-face {
  font-family: 'Happy Times';
  src: url('../../../fonts/happy-times-NG_regular_master.otf');
}
@font-face {
  font-family: 'Semi Light Dots';
  src: url('../../../fonts/AC1-SemiLightDots.otf');
}
@font-face {
  font-family: 'ED Regular';
  src: url('../../../fonts/ED-Regular.otf');
}
* {
    border: 0px black solid;
    background-color: transparent;
}

.container_width {
  max-width: 100%;
  padding-left: 0px;
  padding-right: 0px;
  padding-top: 70px;
}


a:hover {
  color: hotpink;
  text-decoration: none;
}

a {
  color: gray;
}

.content {
  /*padding-right: 50px;*/
  /*padding-left: 60px;*/
  font-family: 'Happy Times';
  font-size: 18px;
  line-height: 24px;
  /*padding-bottom: 40px;*/
  color: #1B75BC;
  text-align: left;
}

.controls {
  padding-top: 12px;
  height: 120px;
  z-index: 1;
  position: relative;
  }

.title_story {
  font-size: 80px;
  font-family: 'Semi Light Dots', sans-serif;
  padding-top: 20px;
  color: #FA00FF;
  text-align: center;
}

.arrows {
  font-size: 80px;
  font-family: 'Semi Light Dots', sans-serif;
  top: 36px;
  color: #FA00FF;
  vertical-align: top;
  position: fixed;
  overflow: hidden;
}

.arrows a {
    display: block;
}

#leftarrow {
  float: left;
  color: #FA00FF;
}

#rightarrow {
  float: right;
  color: #FA00FF;
}

.image_container {
  padding-top: 5px;
}

.photo {
-webkit-filter: grayscale(100%);
        filter: grayscale(100%);
        width: auto;
  max-height: 100%;
  max-width: 100%;
  padding: 12px;
}

.img-fluid {
  filter: sepia(100%) saturate(300%) brightness(100%) hue-rotate(270deg);
}

.author {
  font-size: 20px;
  font-family: 'ED-regular', sans-serif;;
  text-align: center;
  color: #FA00FF;
}


.small_icon {
  max-width: 60%;
  padding-top: 100px;
}

.zoom {
  max-width: 100%;
}

@media (max-width: 575px){
     .small_icon {
       display: none;

     }
     .title_story {
       font-size: 48px;
     }
     .author {
       font-size: 21px;
     }

     .content {
       padding-bottom: 40px;
     }

     .photo {
       padding-bottom: 40px;
     }
   }

</style>

<template>
  <b-container fluid class="p-0">
    <MenuBar/>
    <b-row class="controls">
        <b-col md="12" class="arrows">
            <a href="/simmered" id="leftarrow">←</a>
          <a href="/phone" id="rightarrow">→</a>
        </b-col>
      </b-row>

    <b-row>
      <b-col md="4">
        <b-row>
          <b-col md="6" offset-md="3">
        <div class="zoom">
        <b-img center class="img-fluid" alt="Responsive image" src="media/magiun2/cauliflower.png"> </b-img>
      </div>
    </b-col>
    </b-row>

    <b-row>
      <b-col md="12">
        <p class="title_story">Me, My Mom and Those Three Eggs</p>
      </b-col>
    </b-row>
        <b-row>
          <b-col md="12">
            <p class="author">an essay by Patricia Cîrtog</p>

          </b-col>
        </b-row>
      </b-col>


<b-col md="5">

<div class='content'>

<p>Oh, to think of lunchtime with my mom… Since first grade, up to my first year of college, I’ve always had lunch with my mom. She’s a teacher, so during middle school we had a similar schedule. When she happened to have more classes than I did, I would patiently wait for her in the school's library. We would walk home together, change into some comfortable clothes and settle into the kitchen. The school’s bell still echoed into our ears and the air was filled with joy and small frustrations, but most prominently the smell of milk and bread (you know, the kind of food Romanian school offers children). We would heat up something cooked by my mother and talk about our day. I would detail everything that happened to me that day, from every project and good grade to some childish mischief that took place during the break, and, in exchange, she would take me into her adult world, through the teacher’s lounge and her classes.</p>
<p>
  We usually had homemade food in the fridge that we would heat up, in small pots only, just enough for the two of us. When I left for college, I thought I would mostly remember the soups and stews that she used to cook. However, I was wrong. At lunchtime, after a lot of classes and doing laundry, I started thinking about her omelet. The omelet she used to make when there was no other homemade food left.</p>
<p>
We would go into the kitchen, mom would whisk three eggs and I would cut the cheese, sneaking some into my mouth when she wasn’t looking. We put them over the sizzling butter and talked slightly louder to cover the sound. That’s when I used to get excited, because my tummy knew “Yey, we’re going to eat soon”. I was watching the cheese melt until I couldn’t tell it apart from the eggs anymore. Sitting near the stove would always warm me up during the winter and soften me in the summer.</p>
<p>
Mom would split the omelet in two, one half for me and the other one for her. I enjoyed eating from the plate she whisked the eggs in, because I liked taking a bit of bread and wiping the plate clean, like a little sponge. When I finished, I could feel motivation coming over me, so afterwards I’d start doing my homework. I felt fulfilled and warm and cozy.</p>
<p>
In college, I don’t eat omelet anymore. If I don’t hear the sound of my mother’s voice over the sizzling butter, it seems to taste bad. If my mom won’t whisk the eggs, the omelet won’t have the same consistency. If I don’t have lunch with my mom, the omelet becomes another meaningless meal taken in a hurry.</p>
  <p>So now, I encourage you to close your eyes with me and feel the warmth of any of your mother’s home cooked meals.</p>
</div>

      </b-col>
        </b-row>
      </b-container>
</template>

<script>
import MenuBar from '../MenuBar'
export default {
    name: 'threeeggs',
    data: function() {
        return {
        }
    },
    components: {
        MenuBar
    }
}

</script>
