August 20, 2008 at 5:37 pm (Conversations, Movies, Quotes, Son)
Tags: The New Yorker, Filipino movies, summer movies, Anthony Lane, Meryl Streep
After the Olympics are over, self can catch up on her sleep. But last night was another night of staying up until 2 a.m. and then waking (with noise of Gracie’s piteous whining) at 6:30 a.m.
This morning, hubby left for work two hours later than he normally does, Read the rest of this entry »
August 12, 2008 at 7:36 pm (Conversations, Writers and Others, Writing)
Tags: interviews, Literary Journals & Websites, Writing
Self interviewed by Tania Hershman, of The Short Review.
The same issue has a review of Mayor of the Roses (and self can’t thank Tania Hershman enough for finding a reviewer for it.) The review was written by Steven Wingate, and all self knows about him is what’s listed on his website:
I have reviewed books for American Book Review, Colorado Review, Rain Taxi, and other journals. My B.A. is from the University of Massachusetts at Boston and my M.F.A. from Florida State University. Since 2001 I have taught writing workshops full-time at the University of Colorado at Boulder. For a few samples of my work, see the Media etc. page on this site.
August 6, 2008 at 6:03 pm (Calls, Conversations, Movies, Relatives, Son)
Tags: summer movies
Self has spoken to Ying. She sounds so much herself that it is a little hard to take in when she says she is “very dizzy” and running a fever. Still, we are able to conduct a normal conversation, about books and Dearest Mum and what-not, and in the end it’s self who has to cut the call short, for fear she’s overtaxing her sister-in-law.
Then, self finds herself filled with anxiety that she has not heard back from monastery (even though website through which she made the reservation says to give them “three days”, and it’s only been one day). Oops, there she goes again, dialing poor Sean’s cell. And Sean is by himself “in a supermarket,” no son in sight, so OK, so sorry . . .
And then self gets e-mail from her brother-in-law in New York: seems some of Dearest Mum’s unpaid bills are piling up and brother-in-law doesn’t know what to do.
And then, and then . . .
But what more is there? Self simply has to screw her brain on tight and hope for the best. Perhaps self should just go and see a movie, to take her mind off things. While self was tooling around Mendocino, she heard a local commentator give a really enthusiastic review of “Mamma Mia!” If only self were still into ABBA. And Netflix just sent over “Stop-Loss,” so if self doesn’t feel like paying for downtown parking she can just stay home and watch Ryan Phillipe and Abbie Cornish play out their (at the time presumably subliminal) desires.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
August 5, 2008 at 5:10 pm (Calls, Conversations, Pleasures of Travel, Son, Surprises)
Self did not get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning for hubby, after spending a risible day saying BWAH-HA-HA-HA to self’s face every time she called him at work, arrived home and was suddenly overwhelmed by a premonition that son was being mugged. Yes, just as self and spouse were about to partake (at 9 p.m.) of dinner of cold roast pork, hubby declared emphatically that son was in all probability being set upon by a band of gypsies.
“Gypsies?” Self responded. “But they’re in France!”
“Doesn’t matter!” hubby said. “There are gypsies all over the place!” Read the rest of this entry »
July 29, 2008 at 6:15 pm (Conversations, Dogs, Surprises)
Tags: beagles, pets
It’s the day before you have to leave for the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference. Office is a mess of papers, books, and clothes. You’re on the phone to your host, DR, who’s giving you directions: “Turn on Little Lake Street; make sure you’re heading towards the coast; a little white house; right across the street from the Mendocino . . . “
Gracie starts yelping and whining. You opine that the li’l crit must sense your imminent departure. But whining reaches fever pitch and it’s driving you bananas. “OOOFFFF!” you yell, the minute you get off the phone. But– hold on! You recall that the last time Gracie set up this much fuss, you followed her to the backyard and saw her proudly prancing around a mouse carcass bitten in two, minus the head.
This time, you go to the living room and — wherefrom that drift of wind, wafting invitingly across your cheeks? When living room’s windows are all shut tight, per hubby’s explicit instructions? But — NOOOO! Front door is invitingly open. And you are at first stunned and then deeply chagrined, because you know for a fact that Bella, the other beagle, has walked right through that inviting space, and is now lost to yourself and hubby, forevermore. Worse, you know that you will now have to forego packing, planning, resting etc etc in favor of calling the neighbors, walking up and down the streets yelling Bella’s name (much good that’ll do, since the li’l crit long ago became stone deaf) and driving to all the nearby pounds.
But Gracie, who sometimes drives you crazy (like this morning, when she set up whimpering at 6 a.m., when you felt as though you had just fallen asleep like, maybe, forty winks before), is leaping around like a crazy animal, and though you, standing there in stunned befuddlement, take many unforgivably long moments to be roused to your senses, you finally get the idea and fasten Gracie’s leash and, quicker than you can say “Peter Piper picked a pot of pickled pepper,” she’s pulling you out the door, pulling, pulling, pulling. She stops once or twice, distracted by a bird, a stray cat. But after a few moments she pulls forward again, and always in the same direction. Then she stops dead.
You look up the street. You look down the street. You yell at the top of your lungs (anguished yells, ala Marlon Brando in “A Streetcar Named Desire”) “Bellaaaaa!” And then, suddenly, you see Bella. In a neighbor’s front garden, behind a gate. No neighbor in sight, so who knows how Bella was able to walk in. You push the gate latch, and it swings open without resistance. And that pesky Bella is more interested in smelling the flowers than coming to you, and you have to go chasing her with the leash, and let me just tell you, dear blog reader, that it is quite a job to leash a dog who is trying like might and main to get away, while the other one is prancing about like a dervish. But finally you manage to get the leashes on and straightened out (Still no neighbor– thank God!) and you walk both dogs home.
Now, quite exhausted, you need to take a few moments to collect your thoughts. Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
July 27, 2008 at 11:58 pm (Brain Cloud, Conversations, Food and Drink, Relatives, Son)
Tags: nostalgia, farmers markets, shopping, Spain
It is Sunday. You made yourself go to the Mountain View Farmers Market because the last time you went was who-knows-how-long-ago. Before you left the house, you did as hubby requested and called sole fruit of self’s loins (even though your last call was only yesterday, and calling two days in a row significantly lowers your “coolness” quotient, which you have been steadily stoking ever since son got to Spain, because you know about the Guernica and the black Goyas). So you called and son was in the Prado (Oh miracle of miracles, self has raised a child who goes to museums of his own accord!) and he was (as you suspected) none too pleased to hear from you again, and as soon as you had hung up you turned to hubby and asked, What time is it there? And hubby said, 6:30 p.m., and since self had distinctly heard a guide talking somewhere in the background, it was a matter of no small amazement to self that the museums were still open at that hour.
And then you were in Mountain View. And the thing you never expect to happen happened: that is, your mind went wending down all the highways and byways of memory, and you thought of son’s 11th birthday party, which we celebrated at Colonel Lee’s Mongolian Barbecue, and this you remembered as you wended among the booths in the (exceedingly crowded) Mountain View Farmers Market, and it seemed to you that the cookie lady had grown much grayer since you’d last seen her (only a few months ago!) And then you wended your way home bearing peaches and organic tomatoes and seven different cookies (pecan, chocolate chip, coconut macaroon, you name it) and a 12 oz. package of artichoke, gorgonzola and walnut ravioli (for dinner tonight, $8.25) and you were so pleased with yourself.
In the middle of the afternoon, hubby, who’d been declaring all summer that he was fat and wanted to take up bicycling again, announced that he was going to actually go biking. You waited but he did not move from his computer and was still there an hour later. So, finally, you suggested dropping by the Woodside Bakery for some coffee — a little change of routine. And after much dithering hubby finally decided that that was exactly what he had in mind to do. And after you had gotten your iced coffees (which was such a bargain, really, only $3.50 for two) you walked across to Emily Joubert, one of your favorite home and garden stores and, as luck would have it, there was a 50-75% off sale of selected items, and you got yourself a big throw pillow (originially $83) for $20, and a beautiful handmade ceramic bowl (called “Small Rain,” how lovely is that) for $13.75, perfect for holding the peaches you’d bought in the farmers market that morning.
And you can’t end this post without mentioning that today you finally got to talk to Ying, for the first time since her bone marrow transplant. And she sounded much the same as she always does (in fact if you closed your eyes you could very well imagine you were in Manila, both of you, sitting across from each other at the breakfast table). You asked her if you could send her audio books but she demurred. And you asked her if she was eating and it worried you exceedingly when her voice faltered because you knew she was going to tell a fib, you just knew it, and you told her that she mustn’t lose anymore weight, and you also told her this really stupid thing, “You will pull through,” which is something you swore you would never ever say to anyone who is sick, it is totally asinine, but Ying only laughs. And you hear the doubt in her voice (which makes you want to smack hubby, who is standing right next to you, smacking his lips because he’s just stuffed his mouth with a slice of prosciutto slathered with melted butter).
And after Ying tells you that she is being fed intravenously, you turn your attention to dinner. And the memory of Ying stays with you while you cook: lentils, rice, curry.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
July 16, 2008 at 5:25 pm (Conversations, Surprises)
Why are Wednesdays the days when surprises always seem to happen to self? Self has only to cast her mind back to a few weeks ago, when Dearest Mum was still here, and she and Aunt and Uncle and their dog showed up late afternoon one Wednesday, and self scurried around thinking of ways to entertain them. See, in Manila, no one announces their visits in advance. Self distinctly remembers her cousins dropping by for casual visits — at 11 p.m. And it was all so exceedingly natural. What a social culture. She’d better get back into that mode, pronto.
Monday, self’s birthday, was pretty fine. Self’s phone was broken, she missed calls from Dearest Mum and son. But, she got to do what she loves to do most in the whole world: she curled up on the couch and read. Read, read, read. Read until her neck began to ache tremendously. Then she stopped. But not until then.
Today, self has just discovered that hubby’s office is moving. From Mountain View to Fremont. Apparently, this move has been in the works for some time. But self only found out yesterday. And now she understands why hubby was so crabby over the weekend. If only she could know things for a fact instead of having to rely on base conjecture.
Today, in fact right this minute (since self is so genius at multi-tasking), self is typing madly away while staring at hubby’s sleeping form. It is 10:21 a.m. A little while ago she poked him in the ribs: “You sick or something?” she asked.
“We’re moving today. I don’t have to be there to haul boxes,” hubby mumbles.
“So, what time are you going in?” self asks (for this information can absolutely make or break her day)
“Not until lunchtime,” hubby mumbles again.
Self thinks “going in at lunchtime” means hubby is planning to have lunch with his officemates rather than with her. She’ll fix that!
Another poke in hubby’s ribs: “Let’s have breakfast at The Courthouse Café.”
“No,” hubby mumbles (amazing how coherent he is, even while supposedly dozing), “It’s too expensive.”
Self has to mull this over for a few minutes. The last time self and hubby were there, hubby spent something like $20. This “too expensive” business is throwing her for a loop.
But when something has gotten into self’s brain, she has all the doggedness of a — of a — barracuda? “Let’s watch the matinee of Mongol,” self suggests.
“Nggrh.”
Then, absolute genius: “Let’s go have dimsum!”
To which hubby assents with alacrity.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
July 12, 2008 at 7:03 pm (Conversations, Relatives, Surprises, Writing)
Tags: Manila
Self undertook to write a story during Dearest Mum’s latest visit (only a month ago, how time doooes fly!).
Story was about a man, his wife, and the man’s plain mistress, living in Sampaloc.
Dearest Mum expressed extreme eagerness to read draft.
Self allowed it.
Dearest Mum read a few pages, then put it aside. There was an oddly prim expression on Dearest Mum’s face.
There ensued the following conversation:
Self: What’s wrong?
Dearest Mum: You spend too long getting to the “fun” stuff. What’s all this about the beautiful skirt the wife wears? And, besides, it’s not realistic. No one would have a plain mistress in Manila. That’s just crazy.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
July 11, 2008 at 5:05 pm (Conversations, Surprises, Writing)
Tags: conference, Events, Luisa Igloria, Readings
And, as the 2009 AWP takes place in mid-February, it will be cold. And self will freeze her toes off. As she (nearly) did in Seattle last month. Self thinks the word to describe her sensitivity to cold is “lamigin.”
But, anyhoo, being in the presence of the five other lovely ladies who will be on the panel with self will be warmth enough 
And, in addition, self thinks the title of the panel is the most GORGEOUS panel title ever. And it was probably Luisa who thought it up (because Luisa has a brain like a computer: not only does she write poetry, teach, raise children and cook, she also thinks up genius titles for panels. Self’s predilection for multi-tasking is nothing compared to Luisa’s!)
Panel was put together in something like two days, just before the panel proposal deadline. Self had proposed panels twice before (but she had a dearth of ideas: both times she used “Landscape” in the panel titles, and she remembers calling up someone in AWP afterwards, and he told her: “Do you know how many proposals we got with the word ‘Landscape’? Eleven.” And all self could do was go: “Uh, really??? Tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee . . . “)
Without further ado, allow self to introduce (drumroll, please) THE PANEL:
July 7, 2008 at 2:57 pm (Calls, Conversations, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
Phone rings 7:38 a.m.
Self runs down the hall, stumbles over a gazillion books and papers, claws through handbag, dredges up cell phone, says “hello,” hears a female voice, and says stupidly, over and over: “Mom?”
Finally, over the squawking, self hears: “This is Ying!”
@!!###
Self almost falls down, she is so happy!
The other day, self did manage to place a call to Ying’s cell (Thanks so much for the help, Yosef!), and Ying picked up but could not talk (She was in a taxi? With her sister? Or did she say she was in an elevator?).
Now she is home in her apartment (So, the hospital let her out for a while — that’s good!) and her sister, Ann, is there, and self offers to fly there again (since dear blog readers know how Tel Aviv has gotten under self’s skin!), but Ying says no, Dear Bro is returning in a few days, and then Dearest Mum is coming, and there will be “lots of people” around.
Amazingly, Ying’s voice sounds exactly the same.
The call lasts 16 minutes (Hope Ying’s charges on her end do not go through the roof!) and just before self rings off, she tells Ying to contact Yosef Halper of Halper’s Books on Allenby. Ying promises that she will.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
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