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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Salutations, Dear Blog Readers!

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 »

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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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(July) Saturday Morning, Redwood City: E-Mail from Son, Among Other Things

July 26, 2008 at 1:45 pm (Books, Pleasures of Travel, Quotes, Son, Surprises)
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Self super-excited because a) she got e-mail from son, informing her of his latest whereabouts; b) she got a new comment on her blog and c) she found another passage to quote from Eichmann book (in which she has lived intensely — except for yesterday afternoon, when she was wandering around downtown RWC with Gillian — all of the past week)

First, son has kindly listed for self his latest itinerary:

    It’ll look like… 2 nights Madrid. 2 nights Granada. 3 nights Barcelona. 0-2 nights Carcassonne. 3 nights Paris. 1-2 nights Florence/Milan/Venice/Ravenna. 3-4 nights Rome. Then home.

He also sends picture, and even though son is naturally the only person whose shoulders hunch up (as if he is tense — something he must have inherited from self!), he has a big smile on his face and so do the 26 other American students in the picture, including one man who son said was a complete stranger who sidled into the photograph at the last moment, but who seemed pretty happy anyway as he held his full glass of wine aloft.

Now to Eichmann (Self already on the last 80 pages, for those dear blog readers who can hardly wait for her to get over this period). Here are the list of witnesses at the trial and the countries from which they originated. An effort was made to obtain witnesses from every camp. Self is surprised that there were not more:

“five witnesses from Prague . . . just one witness from Austria . . . one witness each from France, Holland, Denmark, Norway, Luxembourg, Italy, Greece, and Soviet Russia; two from Yugoslavia; three each from Romania and Slovakia; and thirteen from Hungary. But the bulk of the witnesses, fifty-three, came from Poland and Lithuania . . . sixteen men and women who told the court about Auschwitz (ten) and Treblinka (four), about Chelmno and Majdanek . . . four witnesses for Theresienstadt and one for the exchange camp at Bergen-Belsen.”

Among these witnesses was “the father of Herschel Grynszpan, who, on November 7, 1938, at the age of seventeen, had walked up to the German embassy in Paris and shot to death its third secretary, the young Legationistrat Ernst vom Rath. The assassination had triggered the pogroms in Germany and Austria, the so-called Kristallnacht of November 9, which was indeed a prelude to the Final Solution . . . “

Arendt calls Grynszpan “a psychopath, unable to finish school, who for years had knocked about Paris and Brussels” (aren’t all these assassins psychopaths? Self means: Sirhan Sirhan, et al?) And the irony is that his victim, Vom Rath, was “a singularly inadequate victim, he had been shadowed by the Gestapo because of his openly anti-Nazi views and his sympathy for Jews.”

Is not that the irony of all ironies, 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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End of Fourth of July Weekend, Another NYTBR Twofer

July 7, 2008 at 12:21 am (Books, Brain Cloud, Pleasures of Travel, Son)
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Son e-mailed, and that was excellent. He said he was back from Salamanca, and tired. His message even included pictures! Here’s a list of the pictures son took:

  • cathedral interior, from “right balcony”
  • cathedral interior (from another angle)
  • old Roman bridge
  • view of Salamanca from a cathedral balcony

Self pretty frustrated that there are no people in any of these pictures. She knows son has two traveling companions, a boy named Sean and a girl named Emily. Could not one of them have taken these pictures while son posed with one or the other?

Anyhoo, what else happened today? Nadal beat Federer! And it was a veritable slug-fest! Self was so happy that Federer did not get to break Bjorn Borg’s record of five consecutive Wimbledon wins!

Later in the afternoon (after self returned from attending Heather’s baby shower, in Il Fornaio in Burlingame), self was able to get to the downtown library and borrow yet another book: this one a biography by Barbara Goldsmith of “the obsessive genius” Marie Curie (Self seemingly on a non-fiction reading kick this summer!)

Without further ado, here are the books self is interested in reading after perusing the June 22 and June 29, 2008 issues of The New York Times Book Review:

From the 22 June 2008 NYTBR:

(1) After reading Michael Hirsh’s review of Joe Nocera’s collection of his best business writing, Good Guys and Bad Guys: Behind the Scenes with the Saints and Scoundrels of American Business (and Everything in Between):

(2) After reading Jay McInerney’s review of Andre Dubus III’s novel, The Garden of Last Days:

    André Dubus III’s House of Sand and Fog
    André Dubus III’s The Garden of Last Days

(3) After reading Sarah Kerr’s review of Eleanor (wife of Francis Ford) Coppola’s memoir, Notes on a Life:

    Eleanor Coppola’s Notes on a Life

(4) After reading Michael Hirschorn’s review of David A. Price’s The Pixar Touch: The Making of a Company:

    David A. Price’s The Pixar Touch: The Making of a Company

(5) After reading Marilyn Stasio’s Crime column, the following new releases:

    Ruth Rendell’s 21st Inspector Wexford mystery, Not in the Flesh
    Jeffery “The Bone Collector” Deaver’s latest, The Broken Window

* * * *

From the 29 June 2008 NYTBR:

(1) After reading James Panero’s review of Vanity Fair writer Marie Brenner’s Apples and Oranges: My Brother and Me, Lost and Found:

    Marie Brenner’s Apples and Oranges: My Brother and Me, Lost and Found

(2) After reading Mark Sarvas’ review of Ed Park’s first novel, Personal Days:

    Ed Park’s Personal Days
    Nicholson Baker’s Mezzanine
    Upton Sinclair’s Jungle

(3) After reading Rachel Donadio’s end-paper essay, “Cultural Crossroads of the Levant”:

    two novels by Israeli writer S. Yizhar : Khirbet Khizeh and Days of Ziklag

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Condé Nast Traveler on San Francisco

June 24, 2008 at 7:59 am (Books, Places, Pleasures of Travel, Quotes)
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(Gone: “Advice to Son . . . “)

Self desperately trying to limit herself to two posts a day, but failing miserably. Why is is that everything self reads these days, she finds illuminating?

Exhibit A: The following quote, found on p. 166 of the Condé Nast Traveler’s March 2008 issue:

Aside from the unpredictable weather, San Francisco’s only real drawbacks are a near-useless public transportation system and a shortage of taxis.

A statement with which self finds herself in absolute agreement.

A few pages further in the same issue, self happens upon a reading list aimed at anyone who longs to steep him or herself in San Francisco culture:

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Some of the Things Self Did Today, the 6th of June 2008

June 7, 2008 at 1:28 am (Food and Drink, Places, Pleasures of Travel, Surprises)
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Crossed the Jose P. Rizal bridge to downtown Seattle.

Visited Jose Rizal Park. Took many pictures of the bust of the great man himself. On plaque beneath his statue, a list of names of (presumably) the people who donated to the monument. Self spies mention of a Bacho family, asks her host if they could possibly be related to the writer Peter Bacho.  Host Maria B says yes.

Visited the Volunteer Park Conservatory and saw:

  1. the most amazing plant: looked like a very deep pitcher, at least two feet long (Self took a picture but, alas, she still hasn’t figured out how to load images on to her blog, and she didn’t see a sign identifying the name of the plant) Self surmises that these plants must be carnivorous: that their shape makes it possible to trap insects who crawl down the sides of the pitcher, then get trapped in sticky glue (which self surmises must coat the insides of the jug-like forms), and then when the jugs fill up with water (from the rain) — Self, you realize, don’t you, that this is the most un-scientific plant description ever formulated — drown.
  2. the largest, hungriest-looking Venus flytraps self has ever laid eyes on (Again, apologies for being unable to post the picture, dear blog readers will just have to take self’s word for it: these specimens were simply hu-mongous)
  3. the hugest fuschias self has ever seen (hanging from enormous baskets suspended from the conservatory’s glass ceiling)

Self also posed in front of one of the large succulents in the cactus house. What is remarkable about this picture is that: a) Self’s shoulders are hunched up, almost touching her ears (ergo, she is cold). AND b) she is wearing a long, bright red coat that does not belong to her (Self arrived woefully ill-equipped for the rainy weather, so Maria had to lend self a coat)

Later, self met up with Vince R, who teaches at the University of Washington. Vince took her to Seattle’s famous Pike Place Market. There self saw the following:

  1. the hugest razor clams self has ever seen ($6.99/ lb.)
  2. Do-nut peaches (Self had never known such a thing existed; you’d have to see a picture to believe it)
  3. piles and piles of “Boy” brand adobo-flavored bawang (Again, you’s have to see a picture etc etc)
  4. a market that has been operated by the same Filipino family since the 1930s (There is a carinderia next to the market. Self took a picture of a sign that said: FILIPINO FOOD — MASARAP, “DELICIOUS”)

Self got to visit Vince’s home, where she managed to take a picture of Vince and his lovely wife, Carol.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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