Mencius

July 9, 2008 at 1:10 pm (Books, Quotes, Sayings)
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A long, long time ago
When self was just a wee babe,
And studying Chinese

NOT!

Try again:

A long, long time ago, when self was _____ and studying Chinese, she came across this book:

The Sayings of Mencius

A New Translation of James R. Ware

Professor of Chinese at Harvard University

Published by the Confucius Publishing Co.

In this book were many pearls of wisdom, but self was so distracted by:

her graduate studies (Masters in Chinese, Stanford University)

her child (sole fruit of her loins)

her marriage (to hubby)

her books (GINSENG, etc etc)

and visits from relatives (Dearest Mum, etc etc)

that she could never find the time to sit down and read it.

This morning, at 6:08 a.m., self finally cracks it open. And this is what she finds, on page 114:

If you love others, but they do not love you in return, re-examine your own love. If you would bring peace and order to men, but disorder ensues, re-examine your own wisdom. If you are ceremonious with others and they do not return it, re-examine your own reverence. If your deeds are unsuccessful, seek for the reason in yourself. When your own person is correct, the whole world will turn to you.


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The Latest II

July 3, 2008 at 6:14 pm (Aunts, Calls, Conversations, Quotes, Relatives, Sayings, Tel Aviv)

“She doesn’t have faith. If she believed in God, things would be different.” Read the rest of this entry »

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The Street: Excerpts From Shlonsky’s “In Tel Aviv”

March 28, 2008 at 3:36 pm (Eavesdropping, Places, Pleasures of Travel, Quotes, Sayings, Some Interesting Articles, Tel Aviv, Voices)

Self’s first Shabbat. Self didn’t know, no buses run after 4 or 5 p.m. A Filipina told her, while self stood waiting in vain at the stop for Bus No. 10 on Arlozoroff.

Ying was asleep when self left the hospital. Less voluble today, but her fever’s gone: her temperature was 36.5. But lymphoblasts — or whatever you call those cells doctors count to measure the body’s immune response — were low, “only 500″ said the nurse. So, self had to wear a mask all day.

Now, back at Ruppin Street. This narrow thoroughfare is like a stage: all manner of people come and go. Self likes sitting on the balcony, where she can enjoy the breeze while listening to Astrud on her brother’s ipod. Motorcycles spurt up and down the street, doors slam, car engines sputter and turn over. And always, there are voices.

Nephew’s back from a trip to Haifa with self’s brother. All excitement: he wants to share his views of Haifa, the bomb shelters and the beautiful palace with the pink trees. Then, he shows me his newest invention: nutella with yoghurt, something he dubs a “nutgurt.” Self has to admit, it looks dee-lish.

Tomorrow self wants to go to Old Jaffa. Nephew told her it was only a 25-minute cab ride. But how much is a 25-minute cab ride? 100 shekel? Self has to husband her finances sooo carefully, especially as hubby’s tales from his office grow increasingly bleak and the economic forecasts in The Jerusalem Post spout doom.

Ah, but let’s deal with that when self returns, in another week. In the meantime, this is an excerpt from a series of poems by Shlonsky — a member of what Barbara Mann calls the “first generation” of Hebrew modernists in Palestine — from the series called “In Tel Aviv”:

Street lamps before evening falls
Ah– who lit you, yellowed eyes?
For what did you bring, empty auto, untimely,
a strange gust to the wine house?

Hackerbrau pictures on the walls,
overturned glasses on the bar.
And in a neglected nook a clock drowses,
and a Jew asleep at the counter.

I, a Jew, came for no reason,
I, a Jew, returning home,
an empty car shifts another moment,
and silence returns to what it was.

And a snoring shofar roars,
A scratch in the skin of silence.
And only streetlights still throw
Yellow rings to the earth.

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Self’s Horoscope for Today, Tuesday, 18th of March

March 19, 2008 at 1:13 am (Conversations, Quotes, Sayings, Surprises)

Self’s horoscope for the day says:

Don’t be thrifty with your love. Lavish your sweetie with affection and attention every chance you get. After all, some investments are priceless.

**@@!!

Who writes these things?

Self had an appointment to see her doctor this afternoon. It’s not like she wanted to. But there was a call on Monday from the nurse, saying that self had to come in to discuss the results of her latest blood tests. The nurse sounded so serious that self got scared. Did she have leukemia? No, nothing so dramatic. Self merely had high cholesterol.

Self’s doctor is a young-ish man from Hong Kong. Today, for some reason, self found herself paying more than usual attention to what he was wearing. Pants: a kind of soft brown tweed, with front pleats and cuffs. Pointed leather shoes. White long-sleeved shirt with stiff collar. And a gold tie. Yes, gold. With great black calligraphy all over it. Self was put in mind of Holland Cotter’s article on “Wang Xizhi Watching Geese.”

The doctor said that self’s cholesterol was 238 (which meant nothing to self), and her LDL was 150-something (which also meant nothing to self). He then informed self he would give her a prescription for Lipitor (Oh dear: old person’s medicine).

These, he told self, will not cure her problem, but may prevent further complications: clogged arteries, even perhaps strokes. Self then blithely informed doctor that her grandmother had died of a stroke (in the parking lot of Sam’s, on the way to Lake Tahoe. This little detail, however, self decided to keep to herself). “As a matter of fact,” self continued, “I think my grandfather died of a stroke as well.” (Self! Must you forever be sharing your little stories? Don’t forget this is a doctor, whose eyes this afternoon are rather red, most likely from fatigue)

Poor Dr. ___ then feels compelled to explain that high cholesterol is a natural function of aging. Something in the way self has arranged her face prompts him to add hastily: “Not that I’m saying you are old.” Self hastens to assure him: “No, no, I AM old!”

And Dr. ____ continues, as if he has not heard self: “When babies are born, the cholesterol is used up to protect brain cells. But at your age, brain cells are dying, not growing” — Self is finding all this information exceedingly fascinating — “and they disappear, or go away, or die, who knows?”

“Hence,” he winds up, “the high cholesterol!”

“Oh, thank you!” self replies, impish as ever (am afraid her tone of ironic happiness is totally lost on Dr. ___ , however).

Then self gets up, and on the way out she stops by the receptionist to inquire about how much she owes. And this is the reply:

    $115.51 for a doctor’s visit last January (Self is under the impression all she did was sit and chat in the doctor’s office for 15 minutes). Apparently, there is a $250 annual deductible before her Blue Cross insurance kicks in. Whew, it’s a good thing self remembered to bring her American Express card!
    $20 for office visit co-pay (It used to be $10, dear blog reader. And here self was thinking she’d have money left over to buy a box of Salonpas to bring with her to Tel Aviv. But that was the last $20 in her wallet. In fact the last bill of any kind in self’s wallet)

And, that’s not all, receptionist said. There was still an unpaid bill from last November.

Self walks out of there thinking grimly about how everything, even sitting for 15 minutes and chatting about cholesterol, costs money. It seems to be bleeding out of self’s and hubby’s bank accounts at the moment: paying fat checks to the IRS, then the dentist’s bill, and now the doctor. And none of this — not the dentist or the doctor — results in any discernible improvement in self’s state of mind or health or what-have-you. Self knows she is too poor to afford dental implants (which dentist is urging on her), and her Lipitor costs $50/ month, and why does she have to pay that much just for the privilege of popping a pill into her mouth every day? If Lipitor made her hair shinier or her eyes brighter she wouldn’t mind so much, but here it’s just another thing she has to add to her list of things that have to be endured. And she isn’t even truly old — yet.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Asian Art at the Met: Why Self Loves Chinese Painting

March 17, 2008 at 3:37 am (Conversations, Opportunities, Quotes, Relatives, Sayings)

Dearest Mum is leaving tonight for Japan, where she is slated to give a concert, at the behest of one Sister Remedios, who self remembers as her sixth grade art teacher (To this day self knows her only as “Sister Remedios”) Self called Dearest Mum to wish her Bon Voyage. In the midst of the conversation, Dearest Mum suddenly said that if self was planning to bring books to Tel Aviv for Ying, self had better make sure they were audio books. She said it so casually, as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. Sighing, she then added, “Well, you know, when the body starts to go downhill . . . “

* * * *

Self found this article in the Weekend Arts section of the Friday, 14 March 08 New York Times, along with a picture of a section of Qian Xuan’s masterly painting, “Wang Xizhi Watching Geese” :

An Art Review by Holland Cotter:

From his terrace, the world is blue and green — mountains and trees — or almost green. Spring is on the way: the geese are back. One, then two, alight on the river, with more still invisible but close behind. Pavilion living! The only way. With the city somewhere down there, and nature everywhere up here, he watches mist rise. River meets sky.

The calm watcher is the fourth-century scholar-artist Wang Xizhi, father of classical calligraphy and model for living an active life in retreat. He is depicted by the painter Qian Xuan, another connoisseur of reclusion, in a 13th-century handscroll at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The scroll is in “Anatomy of a Masterpiece: How to Read Chinese Paintings,” a spare, studious show that offers , along with many stimulations, a retreat from worldly tumult — the religious fervor, the courtly pomp, the expressive self-promotion — that fills much of the museum.

This exhibition is also a refuge from the hurly-burly of Asia Week in New York, which is now in session and has mushroomed into three weeks this year. Dealers are in town from abroad with special shows; others arrive next week. Two art fairs are returning. Add a passel of events devoted to contemporary Asian art, along with the auctions, and the situation is clear: a marathon stretch of looking, judging, sorting, tsk-tsking and oh-mying, not to mention wheeling and dealing. Naturally, the urge to get away from it all can be strong.

I mean, isn’t part of the point of our Western passion for Asian art to find a serenity that we can’t seem to cook up on our own, a metabolic slow-down, a less-is-more state of grace? One 15th-century Chinese writer recorded such an ideal in a lifestyle wish list that includes:

“A nice cottage. A clean table. A clear sky with a beautiful moon. A vase of flowers. No cares of the world.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Self’s Activities Today (The Sixth Most Gorgeous–?)

March 13, 2008 at 12:35 am (Books, Conversations, Food and Drink, Home, Movies, Places, Pleasures of Travel, Relatives, Sayings, Surprises)

Self today engaged in the following activities:

1.
Sniffed around friend Sandy’s garden. Sandy is building a shed. With purple walls. Self asked what that tree was growing next to the shed. Sandy said it wasn’t really a tree, it was more like a bush that “got big.” It’s an Angel’s Trumpet, Sandy said. “And later, you’ll see, it has the most gorgeous yellow flowers.”

“Yellow!” Self said. “I used to plant a lot of yellow flowers in my garden. Then I realized I hate yellow.”

2.
After lunch with Sandy at Mike’s (which used to be Late for the Train, for those of you old enough to remember MP in the olden days), self dropped by Roger Reynolds and bought two ranunculus “Bloomingdale’s” (because she got a big kick out of the fact that the flowers were named after a department store — or are they really?) Self got home, looked up Ranunculus “Bloomingdale” in the Sunset Western Garden Book, and found that these are “dwarf” specimens, best for borders. Also, ranunculus are tubers. So perhaps self better not put them in a pot, as she was planning to do.

3.
Self received e-mail from her brother: He’s in Manila now, but he’s collecting stuff that he and self will need for the apartment, when he returns to Tel Aviv next week. Things such as, adapters, since Tel Aviv has 220 volts, and three-prong sockets. Also, he’s found a priest who is willing to serve as our guide for our one-day trip to Jerusalem. Self e-mails: Can we split on a car? Brother replies that we are to take the public bus (Eeeek, suddenly self has the most awful visions of — of — never mind). Also, he asks self to order a new charger for Ying’s iBook, which is a good sign because it means that Ying is interested in e-mailing again.

4.
Self is starting to grade yet another humongous batch of papers.

5.
Self called hubby to inform him that she is making something called “Turkish Chicken Thighs” for dinner.

6.
Self is watching her latest Netflix movie: “The Jane Austen Book Club.” It’s not at all like the book — or, what self really means is, none of the characters in the movie look like the characters in the book. For instance, the Prudie in the movie is played by Emily Blunt, who’s much too young and much too pretty to be really Prudie, and Jocelyn, the organizer of the book club, is played by Maria Bello, who looks nowhere near old enough to be playing a woman in her 40s (even though she may actually be in her 40s, who knows), and the guy who plays the lone male member of the book club is too cute, and so forth and so on. Jimmy Smits is fat in this movie. That’s too depressing for words.

Hmmm, let’s see, what else? What else? Almost 12 hours have gone by since self first opened her eyes this morning. Are the above really the only activities she has engaged in today? She hasn’t even managed to crack open a book. And her horoscope says:

Something piques your interest midday and requires a big decision — do you want to take that risk and see what happens, or do you want to withdraw to your shell?

Drat! What could that interesting thing be? At mid-day self was having lunch with Sandy. Sandy told self that she was going to Japan in September, to attend the wedding of her exchange student, Yuko. She’d be traveling to Osaka, Kyoto, and Naga. And self found herself becoming exceedingly jealous. Was this the “interesting-thing-that-is-supposed-to-happen-at-midday?”

Or could it be the time that self was walking down Sandy’s driveway, back to her car, and she spied a little ceramic gnome off to one side, and Sandy told her that it was a “traveling gnome,” no one knew who owned it, but it kept popping up in different yards around the neighborhood? Could that be the interesting-thing-that-is-supposed-to-happen?

And now it is 5:30, and obviously it is no longer mid-day, so whatever interesting thing should have happened has happened, there will be no more. Now, self will finish her movie and cook dinner. She will finish grading papers. She will wait for hubby to come home. She will feed the dogs. She will maybe spend a little time in the garden (just a little, for it is chilly today). She might send a few more e-mails. She’ll go to bed. The day will be over. Tomorrow, she teaches again.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Quote of the Day: On Experience vs. “Change”

January 7, 2008 at 1:46 am (Quotes, Sayings, Surprises, Voices)

If it’s a question of “experience” versus “change,” change will win every time. Hillary Clinton, of all people, should have known that. Doesn’t she remember 1992?

    – Time columnist Michael Kinsley, in the Opinion page of today’s New York Times

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Christmas Eve at Self’s Humble Abode

December 25, 2007 at 5:52 am (Food and Drink, Holidays, Home, Sayings, Son, Surprises)

At 3:30 PM, self was hot-footing it to downtown RWC to catch Atonement. She made up her mind at the last minute, so she didn’t even have time to clear the sink from this morning’s dirty dishes. Just as she was rounding the corner from Middlefield, she saw Beard Papa! And she remembered that she’d been telling son about this wonderful confection for ages and ages! But he always refuses to go with her to the store, so self remembered her Dear Departed Dad’s favorite saying: If the mountain will not go to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain. Or something to that effect.

So self stepped smartly inside and asked what time they closed today. And they said they would be closing in five minutes. And so self decided to stay and have them fill an order for two cream puffs and one chocolate eclair (Filling of the day: caramel), even though this would probably mean she’d miss the first 10 minutes of Atonement. And then, clutching her little goody bag, self ran to the movie theatre, and — surprise! — she ran in and they were still showing previews. So self saw the preview of a creepy movie about an orphanage, with a female star who looked a lot like Embeth Davidtz.

Then, the movie started, and self got all swoon-y over James McAvoy. And she loved the movie! Just loved it! And thought all those snarky movie critics who called the movie “fitfully appealing” and couldn’t understand the symbolism of the war scenes were nuts! Just nuts!

And then self arrived home just in time to catch hubby pulling in, and so we walked into the house together, and not 30 minutes later son came home and declared he was famished, and then self had to get Christmas dinner ready and it took her the next two and a half hours (as there was a huge prime rib roast), and then self set out all her little goodies of the day (Christmas yule log, topped with Santa figurines; tiramisu; Beard Papa cream puffs) on a green and red ceramic plate, and hubby opened our last bottle of champagne from Laetitia Winery (just south of San Luis Obispo), and the following happened:

(1) Son said he did not drink. Hubby and self kept urging him to make an exception, “because it’s Christmas,” we said, and son responded, “I’ll decide when I want to drink. Don’t tell me what to do.”

(2) We soon shifted the conversation to various cousins who had split up this year (carefully avoiding the topic of Ying, who self fully intends to call later), and hubby remarked that it didn’t look like one of self’s aunts would ever have grandchildren, as her eldest, a girl, was 42 and childless, and the youngest had just split from her husband of two years. Then hubby opined that it would be so sad not to have grandchildren. And self heartily agreed with him. That is, until she took a look at son’s face and it looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. But hubby kept going on and on about other people who looked like they would never have grandchildren, like Mrs. King, who is in her eighties and none of whose six children have any children (by choice). And self kept nodding her head sagely and son became extremely poker-faced. And then self managed to switch the topic of conversation to –

(3) the Beard Papa cream puffs. And son said he wouldn’t have any. “Well how about the Yule log? Won’t you have a slice of that?” And son refused that as well. And self said, “Oh come on! Look at the little dancing snowmen on top of the Yule Log! Come on!” And finally hubby told self to get a plate, he’d split a Beard Papa cream puff with son. And self produced a plate, and son took two bites of his half and gave the rest to his dad. And then, just as he was getting up, self said brightly, “Want to watch a movie?” Nah, son said. He just wanted to rest in his room. And son slipped quietly away (no doubt uttering Hallelujahs in his mind).

And thus ended self’s Christmas.

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Redwood City, California: Day Before Christmas, 2007

December 24, 2007 at 9:03 pm (Food and Drink, Holidays, Places, Relatives, Sayings, Son, Surprises)

12:50 PM

On flat-screen HDTV: “The Bold and the Beautiful” — Party apparently in progress, entire cast is caroling “Joy to the World”. KPIX inserts public service announcement: Today is a Spare-the-Air Day. Don’t light a fire tonight.

Tree: lighted. A scatter of pine needles at base (must sweep later)

House: Dust on all surfaces — coffee table, side tables, bookshelves, etc. Must dust! Better still, must wait until self can buy Swiffer Cleaner from Costco so she will not simply be transferring dust from one place to another (Not until after Christmas, then)

Sink: still full of dirty dishes from this morning, my bad

Self’s state of mind: wonderfully energetic, bubbly. Accomplished call to Dearest Mum without getting depressed. Watched old movie, Love, Actually, in which Emma Thompson plays frumpy housewife to philandering hubby Alan Rickman (hard to believe, self knows)

Son: Home, cleaning up his room. He found $30 in an old Birthday card, doesn’t know who sent it to him. Self ready with aphorism: Don’t look a gift horse in the etc etc

Update on Ying: positive. Latest tests show her TB is no longer infectious. Has been allowed two visits with her children.

Accomplished many many errands this morning: bought bagels for tomorrow’s breakfast; bought a Yule Log from Chocolate Mousse on Laurel St. in San Carlos (Also threw in a Tiramisu cake, what the hell); bought funny musical Christmas cards from Donna’s Hallmark, perfect in which to tuck gift cards for hubby from Kepler’s and Peet’s (Self’s favorite was a card that said: WHY IS NOBODY FREAKED OUT BY A FAT, BALD GUY SNEAKING INTO THE HOUSE AT NIGHT? Open the card and Ray Charles is singing, “Is that you, Santa Claus, is that youuuuu?”); cashed check reimbursing self for travel expenses to LA last September (Self promised to cash it only when she was well and truly broke; now is definitely the time. While at bank, heard customer next to her telling a teller: “I can hardly wait for the holidays to be over.” Self heartily agrees). While driving hither and thither, sang along to newest CD: Sergio Mendes and Brasil ‘66 (Remember Mais Que Nada? And their arrangements of Scarborough Fair and With a Little Help From My Friends? And Lani Hall singing Like a Lover?)

Returned home safely, without hitting anyone or being hit in turn. Told son he could invite someone for dinner tonight, it was on the tip of her tongue to say “your girlfriend” but at the last minute switched to “Aubert.” Son said (as expected), “That’s all right. He’ll probably be having Christmas dinner with his family.” Self says it’s too bad, because she got the biggest five-rib prime roast from Costco yesterday (Self isn’t kidding: this one cost almost $80). Son refuses to take the bait, darn!

Anyhoo, hubby had to work today, self sent him off with a packed lunch. Company-that-is-going-down-the-tubes apparently cannot do without his services, awarded him a certificate of appreciation (and a nice check) yesterday.

Let’s see, what else? Self is sure she is forgetting something!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Reading for the Day: On the Values of Gift-Giving

December 15, 2007 at 2:27 am (Holidays, Opportunities, Quotes, Sayings, Some Interesting Articles)

All right, so self knows people are too busy with the Christmas shopping to sit around reading Kanlaon. Which means self can tinker as much as she likes with the posts and no one will notice. Today, for instance, she’s going to replace a post about Quang Bao’s departure from the Asian American Writers Workshop (after being its Executive Director for the past seven years), and combine it with a “Reading for the Day” which has something to say about the season. Sorry, Quang! Self promises she will get to you at some point in the near future.

Without further ado, here are a couple of paragraphs from the “Science” section of last Tuesday’s New York Times:

Gift giving has long been a favorite subject for studies on human behavior, with psychologists, anthropologists, economists and marketers all weighing in. They have found that giving gifts is a surprisingly complex and important part of human interaction, helping to define relationships and strengthen bonds with family and friends. Indeed, psychologists say it is often the giver, rather than the recipient, who reaps the biggest psychological gains from a gift.

The article goes on to point out the social value of gift giving:

For thousands of years, some native cultures have engaged in the potlatch, a complex ceremony that celebrates extreme giving. Although cultural interpretations vary, often the status of a given family in a clan or a village was dictated not by who had the most possessions, but instead by who gave away the most. The more lavish and bankrupting the potlatch, the more prestige gained by the host family.

Finally, generosity itself may be the product of natural selection — what the article refers to as “evolutionary forces” :

Some researchers believe evolutionary forces may have favored gift giving. Men who were the most generous may have had the most reproductive success with women.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Self thinks that is the funniest thing she has ever heard. Now she’s going to go around the whole day — despite crowds, traffic, and crass displays of rampant consumerism in stores — with a huge smile on her face.

And, apropos of nothing, self suddenly realizes that she hasn’t consulted Sage Master Shih Cheng-Yen for a very looong time. Consulting his Still Thoughts this morning, she finds this:

Still Thought # 21: The greater the effort you put into your work, the more capabilities you gain.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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