Philippine Coral Reef Exhibit To Open in San Francisco

August 18, 2008 at 3:59 pm (Places, Quotes)
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An exhibit on the Philippine Coral Reefs will be one of the permanent exhibits on display when the California Academy of Sciences re-opens in Golden Gate Park on September 27.

The following is a quote from the California Academy of Sciences Press Release:

    Often called rainforests of the sea, coral reefs are the most diverse aquatic ecosystems on the planet. They are also among the most endangered – up to 70% of the world’s tropical coral reefs may disappear within the next 15 years due to the impacts of global warming and other environmental stresses. Worldwide, over 25% have already been destroyed or badly damaged. These ecosystems are important to save, not only because of the biodiversity they contain, but because they provide protection for coastal communities against tropical storms, hurricanes and typhoons. Additionally, hundreds of millions of people depend on coral reefs for their livelihood or for food. Despite their global importance, most people on the planet have never seen a living reef. When the new California Academy of Sciences opens in 2008, over a million visitors a year will be able to experience the splendor of a living Philippine coral reef and learn what they can do to help save coral reefs around the world.

    The Academy chose to feature a Philippine coral reef because the reef systems in the Philippines are among the most diverse in the world. The new tank will hold a variety of delicate soft and hard corals, as well as sharks, rays, and more than 2,000 colorful reef fishes. All of the animals will be captive bred, or will come from sustainable wild sources, highlighting the importance of in-country research and conservation programs.

For more information, visit www.pusod.org/reef

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Vicarious

August 11, 2008 at 9:23 pm (Books, Places, Pleasures of Travel, Relatives, Son, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
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As loyal blog readers well know, self has greatly enjoyed living vicariously through son’s peregrinations across Spain, France, and Italy this summer, and today is his last day in Rome. When self woke up, she looked at her watch and thought, “He is finishing up his Vatican tour,” the one self paid for and arranged on the internet (oh, how self loves the internet!), the one that included the Sistine Chapel, the Pieta, and St. Peter’s Basilica.

Self has also been living in Tel Aviv — yes, longer than the three weeks she was actually in Tel Aviv, through phone calls and e-mails to Ying and Dear Bro. Now, that too is coming to an end. For the doctors were ecstatic at the results of Ying’s bone marrow transplant. She may soon be allowed to go home.

Then, self finds herself reflecting on the highlights of the summer (or of the year thus far). She’s having fun watching the Olympics, which is in a whole other hemisphere. She’s also been writing a lot of stories about explorers, stories that take place not only in another hemisphere, but in a whole other era. When Dearest Mum comes and leaves, there is always a day or two when self feels at a loss. The energy seems to have left with Dearest Mum, and all that self has to fill the vacuum is a foot-high stack of books by her bed. And self realized (a long, long time ago) that here, in California, her most intensely lived moments are inside her head. And the realization scared her exceedingly, for she then had the follow-up thought: This is not normal.

For in Manila, where she lived until she was 21 years old, there was no question that she was in her life. The smells, the people around her, the experiences were so vivid.

In California, self moves with a — let’s call it a certain detachment. For two decades, though she studied at Stanford and later worked there as a program administrator, she didn’t know what those huge palms were called, the ones that line University Avenue. She didn’t even know that the gumamelas that grew all over her backyard in the Philippines were here, too, though called by another name (hibiscus), and that the flower she knew as santan back home flourished here, but as lantana.

When she started to write stories, she found that the events in the stories were far more colorful than her daily life. And, and — WHERE are you going with this line of inquiry, self? Self has no idea.

You see, it all started when, about an hour ago, self realized that she was going to let her New York Times Book Review subscription lapse. It probably lapsed some months ago, but last night she was still thinking of calling, making complaints (Why was she not given notice that her subscription was about to expire? Would that not be the courteous thing to do, to a customer who had subscribed without interruption for 10 years?), and setting the account to rights. But now she thinks, no. Even though the reading lists self drew up from perusing the New York Times Book Review were the first posts that lured readers to her blog (that and the weekly updates to last year’s HBO smash, “Rome”!!)

There are simply too many things to read in this world! Things such as:

    the Chang-rae Lee novel, Aloft, which has self’s attention in vise-like grip this morning (White male protagonist has crazy Asian wife: will she set the house on fire or murder her two children one day when passive husband is at the office?)
    Jeanne M. Leiby’s wonderful collection, Downriver, which self is reviewing for the Women’s Review of Books
    Viktor M. Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, which she has to teach to incoming freshmen (in about two weeks)
    the Sunday New York Times of three weeks ago
    The Economist of two weeks ago

You see how much reading material there is, lying around in self’s house? This doesn’t even include the literary journals (self must have subscriptions to about 10). Self’s life is all about reading. Yesterday self read a Vanity Fair interview with Bette Midler who, when asked what “her idea of perfect happiness” was, replied: “an empty house and a good book.” How self loved that answer. For that is self. Self’s feelings exactly.

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Self Learns Something New Every Day

August 6, 2008 at 2:23 pm (Places, Pleasures of Travel, Son)
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The plants self brought back with her from Mendocino seem to be surviving, if looking a little “peaked.” One of them even turns out to be a shade plant, oh happy happy joy joy.

The gardenia “First Love” which was starting to show some yellow leaves is now fully green again — yesterday self decided to pull all the budding yellow leaves off, for she knows herself too well: They make her nervous, and when she is nervous, she waters. And, because of watering in such a state of high anxiety, self has killed many a plant. So, this morning, 7 a.m., when self takes a peek at her front yard, the gardenia is all green. Self can relax.

In the wee hours of the morning, self had a dream about vampires. Attacking Martha’s Vineyard. During a garden party. Where all the women wore white lace.

Could this have anything to do with the fact that yesterday afternoon, self was frantically trying to find son and his friend accommodations for three nights in Rome? Self found a site where you could book convent and monastery stays. The rooms were austere but had private baths and doubles were going for 60 euros a night. Imagine her chagrin when son e-mailed back: His budget was 20 euros a night.

He also gave self a website to check out: hostelworld. So, self dutifully followed son’s instructions and began going down the list of hostels for Rome. And there she found that more than half of the listings were full (since son needs a place to stay on the 9th, only three days from now). And the only places left were places one hour from the city center, in campgrounds, where you could rent a “tent” (Only 11 euros a night). And when self told this to hubby (who fortunately was over the BWAH-HA-HA phase), he immediately conjured up the most awful spectacle of drug-smoking gypsies. (What is with hubby’s obssession with gypsies? Ever since son set foot on European soil, this is all she hears from him, day after day: the gypsies! The gypsies!)

And the other places that had space available had mean and surly staff, like the hostel next to the Termini train station where everyone said that the proprietress answered all queries with an angry snarl.

And the one with the awful shared bathrooms.

And the one where the neighborhood was “snatch-y” (yet another word to add to self’s already out-of-joint vocabulary) — this from a reviewer who had achieved status “Globetrotter” for posting over 30 reviews to the site.

And at that point, self decided to go with “monasteries.com” and found a monastery right by the Vatican, and this one was run by the Minime Suore del Sacro Cuore, and was only “500 meters Northeast of the Vatican.” The website required a deposit of 45 euro, which self gladly put on a card. And then, oh no, the message came back that the deposit did not mean the reservation was confirmed. For that, self would have to wait as long as three days, for the convents (many of them) had no internet and all the reservations had to be made by phone, and sometimes the monks were praying and did not answer the phone, but, after all, as the website explained, hosting tourists was not their primary purpose. Which self thought made sense. But now she has just awoken from a dream about vampires, she will not call her Paris friend today, and she wonders if in fact the monastery next to the Vatican exists or is just a figment of her imagination.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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1st Monday in August: Reading Linmark

August 4, 2008 at 2:08 pm (Books, Places, Quotes)
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ALONG EPIFANIO DE LOS SANTOS AVENUE

Every half mile or so —
A pink sidewalk urinal.

    —- R. Zamora Linmark, The Evolution of a Sigh (Hanging Loose Press, 2008 )

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Over Twenty Years Ago . . .

August 3, 2008 at 4:01 am (Places, Pleasures of Travel)
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Dear blog readers, it has been over 20 years since self has been to Mendocino. It was only a year after her wedding, and self and hubby were still practically strangers (ha ha ha ha!). And why self had Dearest Mum along, Lord only knows. Except, now that she reflects a bit, self remembers that Dearest Mum, who had scarcely paid attention to self when self was growing up, suddenly discovered her second daughter around the time of self’s engagement, and then kept thinking of excuses to visit self and hubby (in their crummy first apartment), and this caused no end of tension.

Anyhoo, there we were, the three of us, in Mendocino, in Heritage House. And self remembers that she bought a beautiful ceramic pot (which she still has to this day, in a glass cabinet in her dining room, next to pots by Jon Pettijohn and Nelfa Querubin).

In Mendocino now, self doesn’t see potters. Instead, she sees a lot of glass, a lot of metalwork. Where oh where did the potters go?

One thing self seems to have forgotten is how beautiful this stretch of northern California coast is, how wild and craggy. And, on the drive up, on 128, she and Daphne passed through redwood forests. Actual forests! Where there was a kind of ghostly twilight, and giant ferns, and self felt the whole mystery of the north. What powerful magic this place must have had, for the native people who lived here.

Today, self stumbled upon a bookstore right next to the Mendocino Hotel, where the last conference dinner was held (James Houston was the keynote speaker, and a very moving speaker he was). Just across the street were the cliffs. Whenever self looked through the bookstore windows, she could see the surf. My God, she told the salesperson at the cash register. What a view you have here, you are so lucky. And the salesperson said yes, she was very lucky.

Twenty-four years ago, when self was last here, she wasn’t even a mother. She wasn’t even a writer. Look at what she has become. She is here again, after all these years, because Charlotte Gullick, director of the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference, took a chance. Took a chance on self. Will wonders never cease?

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Mendocino, Day 2 — Or Is it 3?

August 1, 2008 at 11:56 pm (Food and Drink, Places, Pleasures of Travel)
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Self’s hosts are wonderful, and have provided her with a most fluffy bed. There are plenty of reading lamps scattered about the room, and books like Alice Seybold’s The Lovely Bones, Tony Hillerman’s The Great Taos Bank Robbery (both of which self has not read) and Anthony Bourdain’s vastly entertaining Kitchen Confidential . But, anyhoo, self hasn’t had much time to read, for every day she teaches a morning workshop and then stays through lunch to sit in on some afternoon sessions.

From her window, self can see down into a garden filled with nasturtium and bright red and yellow flowers. How self loves the gardens here; this afternoon she stumbled on the Mendocino Farmers Market, and it was a very wee market, but full of the most gorgeous plants. Self bought something called a “Chinese foxglove,” with beautiful reddish leaves and lavender flowers.

Sitting in the neighbor’s backyard is a small orange dinghy. Farther away, self can glimpse the sea.

Self is still reading Marilyn Krysl’s Dinner with Osama. The first story was wild, and it took her a while to sink into the language. But now she is on the last story, and it’s about the Sudan. Plus there’s this priceless quote on p. 112: “In my mother’s closet, the numbers of pairs of shoes my father gave her rivaled Imelda’s.”

This morning, self had breakfast at a bakery so tiny she doesn’t see it listed on any of the websites about “Places to Go” in Mendocino. She was attracted by the great mounds of white flowers and fuschias growing around the narrow lane leading to the bakery. Inside, just off the display area, there was a large kitchen with at least four women darting around with great energy, involved in — what else? Baking. Self had a ham and spinach quiche and continued reading her students’ manuscripts. The story she was marking up was a neat one: science fiction with a satirical edge, something about a Quiggly Macaroon and how she loved walking down hallways and was mad at X’s.

She’s already been to Moody’s Organic Coffee Bar, on Lansing (Must remember to bring home a pound of the organic coffee before she leaves), and tried some raspberry and chocolate ice cream from a small shop across the street (No wonder self’s jeans are so tight this morning). She’s dined at the Hill House and perused the menu of Cafe Beaujolais. She saw a sign advertising healing therapy and massages, and was so tempted to give it a try but decided that she had too much to do.

Years ago, before self had even had son, she came here with hubby and Dearest Mum. And Dearest Mum, always brimming with ideas, said, “Why don’t you rent a cottage here for the summer and write?” Ah, what a lovely idea, but self has a feeling that a summer rental would be quite beyond self and hubby’s fragile household economy. That will have to wait until she sells a book to a big publisher and gets a hefty advance. Or lands herself a grant. Neither of which seem to be even remotely within the realm of possibility, at the moment.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Headlands Coffeehouse, Fort Bragg

August 1, 2008 at 12:14 am (Places, Son, Writers and Others)
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5:08 p.m., Fort Bragg — in a coffee shop called Headlands, sipping frozen caffe mocha. Fellow writer Andrew T. was already here, writing on his laptop, when Daphne and self waltzed in, looking for sustenance after a few hours spent exploring area thrift shops.

Self tried on blouses in all kinds of shiny metallic fabric! And bought a blouse that was electric teal! And bought the sweetest blue flannel nightgown! And Andrew tells us there is another neat shop just down the street, called Tangents!

How gorgeous is the day? The sky is absolutely blue (self would like to say “cloudless”). All the colors of the street jumped out at self with a hard-edged clarity. The thrift shops were full of interesting smells and musty oddities that brought self back to a memory of looking at a glass cabinet where her long deceased grandfather stored his collection of clay pipes.

Two perfect days in a row. Did self luck out or what???

Read the rest of this entry »

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Third Monday in July 08 Status Report

July 21, 2008 at 4:02 pm (Aunts, Calls, Food and Drink, Movies, Places, Son, Writers and Others, Writing)
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It rained. Self saw the almost transparent sheets of rain from the window in her living room. She waited, just to be sure. Until she saw the sidewalk begin to grow a darker grey. The heater kicked in, for the first time in months.

She stood at the kitchen counter, slicing broiled pork into slivers. Then she mixed in some Hoisin sauce. She’ll use the pork slices to make fried rice for dinner tonight.

Last night, she read portions of the piece she is writing to hubby, while he watched Mike Nichols’ “The Graduate.” Now and then he would guffaw, and self would think it was because of something she had read. But on screen, Dustin Hoffman was engaging in risible exchange with Anne Bancroft. It did lend a certain je-ne-se-quois to self’s words, to hear it in counterpoint to such dialogue as “Thank you for giving me a ride home, Benjamin.” Self knows that her new piece is good, because hubby was trying so hard not to show how much he liked it.

There is no word, of course, from Tel Aviv. Self promised she would not call Ying for at least a week. There were seven messages yesterday on self’s answering machine, all from the same aunt. And, this morning, two e-mails from son: he was in Toledo for his birthday, yesterday. He seems to have fallen in love with the city. His camera ran out of battery and all he could do was describe the city in words: the churches, the bridges.

Self wrote back: “If you love Toledo, now you will understand El Greco.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Mendocino Coast Writers Conference, July 31 - Aug. 3, 2008

July 21, 2008 at 3:35 am (Places, Pleasures of Travel, Quotes, Writing)
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That is where self will be, from July 31 to Aug. 3. Never fear, dear blog readers, self is bringing trusty laptop with her to Mendocino.

Here’s where the conference will be held:

College of the Redwoods
Fort Bragg, California
Information: mcwc.org

Here’s an excerpt from the conference brochure:

Come and enjoy three and a half days on the beautiful Mendocino Coast of Northern California in the company of fellow writers, editors and agents.

  • Become more fluent and comfortable in your craft.
  • Learn how to express your ideas more effectively.
  • Talk with publishing professionals on what they and their clients require.
  • Go home refreshed, invigorated, and with a clear vision of how to write what matters most to you.

Conference fee includes continental breakfast on campus for the four mornings, lunch of salads or sandwiches Thursday through Saturday, complimentary coffee, soft drinks and water throughout each day, a welcoming reception with local wines and hors d’oeuvres, and a gala dinner.

Mendocino Coast Writers Conference 2008 Faculty:

Keynote Speakers: Michael Datcher and James D. Houston * Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston: Memoir * Linda Swanson-Davies: Glimmer Train Editor * Susan Wooldridge: Poetry * Daphne Gottlieb: Poetry and Graphic Novel * Jody Gehrman: Young Adult * Suzanne Byerley: Open Genre * Marianne Villanueva: Short Fiction * Andrew Todhunter: Narrative Nonfiction * Jenoyne Adams: Literary Agent * Kate Gale: Editor, Red Hen Press

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Where In the World Was Self (Today, Saturday, the 19th of July)?

July 20, 2008 at 12:38 am (Food and Drink, Places)
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Self was in Menlo Park. Specifically:

    St. Raymond (son’s elementary school: self almost became weepy)
    Connoisseur’s Marketplace on Santa Cruz Avenue (Self bought a sterling silver crucifix — self would like to say hubby bought it for her, but the man has such a sixth sense: every time he saw self honing in on a jewelry booth, he made sure to stand at least half a mile away)
    Kepler’s (Why are half the shelves cleared? Self suggests loyal customers beat it there, pronto!)

Self was home. Specifically:

    Lounging in the backyard, reading The New Yorker of 23 June 2008, a fantastic story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Self was in downtown (RWC). SpecificallY;

    At 8 a.m., in the Main Post Office on Broadway (mailing out manuscripts, what else could get self to the Post Office at 8 a.m.???)
    At the Farmer’s Market, buying: cilantro, green beans, new potatoes, green onions
    In Courthouse Square, listening to the bands at the Blues & Jazz Festival
    In front of the cinema, watching the crowds lining up for “The Dark Knight” (and feeling so sad about Heath Ledger)
    At Peet’s on Broadway, having an iced white mocha

In her heart, always: self is in Tel Aviv, with Ying.

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