Weekly WordPress Photo Challenge: Escape 5

All right, all right, dear blog readers!  Self knows she is really pushing it with all these “Escape” photos!  But of course it’s because, having just returned from a period in Venice, she has tons of pictures!  Tons!  She took 100+ photos a day!  Lucky she downloaded most of them to her laptop before her camera disappeared with her luggage (from the vaporetto stop at San Toma’ — BWAH HA HAAAA!).  And there’s only so much she can post about “Game of Thrones” and Jaime and Brienne without sounding ridiculous!

Map Next to the Vaporetto Stop in Murano

Map Next to the Vaporetto Stop in Murano

Which brings to mind the conversation she had with a professor who was on the same flight from Venice to Frankfurt.  Self was in a state.  All she had with her was her handcarry and her purse.  She kept mentally running through the contents of her suitcase.  She confided in this very composed woman, precisely because she was so composed.  Also because she was traveling with her 12-year-old daughter.

“Look on the bright side!” the woman said.  “Right now, I’ve just finished grading, and I have 198 students who hate me.”

Self gawked, then stammered:  “Do you really have 198 students who hate you?  Wh — why?”

The woman laughed, and told self a story about how she went to Siem Reap two years ago –  “Really?” self interrupted.  “I’ve been to Siem Reap!”

“And,” the woman continued, “there was a young girl who asked me if she could have my shoes!  That was the first time anyone ever liked my shoes that much!”

“What were they like –  your shoes?” self asked.

“Oh, they were kinda expensive sneakers, and they had glitter,” the woman said.

“But, Mom,” her daughter burst out (She had glasses, thick black-framed glasses, and she was slightly chubby — i.e., this daughter was adorable), “You had to walk back to the car barefoot!”

“And at least you still have your passport,” the woman said.

Self had to admit that was true.

“Because if you didn’t have your passport, they wouldn’t let you on the plane,” the woman continued.  “And you’d have to go to Rome.  There isn’t a U.S. consulate in Venice.”  The woman paused and then said, laughing:  “But on the other hand, you might have appreciated a little time in Rome!”

OMG!  What a conversation!  After that, self wanted to fall on her knees and kiss her U.S. passport!  She couldn’t wait to get on the plane so she could order a glass of champagne!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Weekly WordPress Photo Challenge: Escape 3

This weekly WordPress Challenge is turning into something of an addiction — !

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Self spent the weekend in Claremont to attend the graduation ceremony of Sole Fruit of Her Loins.

She was fascinated by the graduates’ shoes, peeking out from beneath togas.  The footwear ranged from Converse sneakers to extremely high-heeled stilettos and to colorful pumps, like the ones pictured above.

Stay tuned.

News of the Day (3rd Thursday of May 2013)

Self got another rejection, this from The Collagist.

Did she ever share with dear blog readers that Manila Noir got a REALLY good review from Publishers Weekly?  Yay!  Big, big shout-out to Jessica Hagedorn, for doing such a smart job with the anthology (and La Hagedorn has a new story in it, too)

She bought a greeting card (with dolphins on the front) to give to son on Saturday, after his graduation ceremony at Claremont.

In honor of the occasion, today self delivered The Ancient One to the pet hospital, where she will board for the weekend.  Self drove so slowly that at least two SUVs honked her.  But never mind!  The Ancient One has a tendency to car-sickness.  She kinda let her bladder go all over self’s jeans (the only pair of jeans self has left, because four were in the suitcase that got stolen in Venice) when self was carrying her down.  Despite smelling like pee, self made herself wander the San Carlos Farmers Market.  This you can do in America:  she’d never dare wander Bacolod smelling like pee, but here no one gives a hoot.  It’s so much less stressful.

Because self and The Man have junkers for cars, every time we go south, we must rent.  And this time, self decided to splurge a little, because she rented a Prius.  And Holy Cow!  She’s never driven a car that didn’t have an ignition.  Only a wee button to press.  Plus, there was so much unfamiliar electrical whirring going on, every time she did something (like switch from “Park” to “Reverse” mode) that self felt like she was operating from inside a battery.  It was so much fun renting this car, because self was in the wrong line.  She picked the shortest line, and only after she got to the front did she learn that she had been in the line reserved for “Executive Members of the Fastbreak Club,” whatever that means.  But never mind.  Rather than send her to the back of another line, the busy rep actually made the time to get self a nice car, and she even confided to self that she, too, had a birthday in July.  “Which makes you a Cancer,” self said.  “My husband’s an Aquarius.  They’re supposed to be very incompatible with Cancer.”  The sales rep said, “My husband’s a Pisces.  Is that compatible with Cancer?”  “Yes,” self asserted.  “Pisces and Cancer go together like white on rice.” (Lordy, just see how self rattles on!)

Anyhoo, The Man is very excited that we will be on Highway 5.  Because it passes Coalinga.  And in Coalinga there are humongous ranches, including Harris Ranch.  Which means steak restaurants.  And that’s all he’s been talking about for days.

Today, self was in the Chef Shop in San Carlos and she saw so many fancy kitchen implements.  Since son and his girlfriend are moving in together, self decided to give son a call and ask him if he already had a rice cooker.  He said he did.  So self was quite at a loss for what to get him.  She decided to control her impulse to shop, and walked out of the store with only a ceramic butter dish.  Pats on the back, self!

Stay tuned.

More on That Bear (In Episode 7 of “Game of Thrones”)

Self was having a heart attack the whole time Jaime was up on the ramparts with the (cowardly) men of Harrenhall Castle, watching poor Brienne bravely attempting to defend herself –  still wearing that pink dress! –  against a fearsome bear.

“You gave her a wooden spear!” Jaime blurts out, to sadistic Locke.

Self just wanted to say, Jaime Jaime Jaime, there is a woman down there fighting for her life and you waste time arguing over whether or not she should have been given something other than a wooden spear?

SPOILER ALERT!

Thank goodness Brienne herself settles the question by attempting a very foolhardy maneuver:  attacking the rearing bear head-on.  For that, she gets a good, hard swipe at the neck.

At that moment, self’s jaw went slack:  IT’S ALL UP FOR THE MAID OF TARTH, self thought.  FOR SURE!

But no!  Jaime bestirs himself to jump into the pit!  He shouts to Brienne:  “Get behind me!”

The scene ends the episode, but self’s heart was still racing.  The last name on the closing credits was:

BART THE BEAR

Tee-hee Ha ha BWAH HA HA!  So that was a REAL bear after all, not CGI as self surmised!

Kudos to Gwendoline Christie for being such a good sport!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

This Is What Happens

Umm, self simply cannot let go of this “Game of Thrones” Jamie Lannister/ Brienne of Tarth thing!  So, until self gets to a really interesting, quotable part of The Portrait of a Lady, by Henry James (she managed to breeze through Little Heathens, the remaining 150 pages, which were all about milking, walking to school in deep snow, etc)  –  which might, actually, already have happened, because in the very first paragraph of the Preface, James reveals that he wrote this novel over three months in Florence and several weeks in Venice!  And what self wants to know is:  How can anyone get any writing done in Italy?  That country is the buzz-kill of all buzz-kills!  In the future, she will only go if she wants to eat.  And eat.  And eat –

Back to “Game of Thrones” things.  And all the wee digressions leading there-to.

Self fell asleep right after The Man got home.  It’s like, everything inside her builds and builds, and then The Man gets home, and she is all normal again.

So, she was all normal ten minutes after The Man got home.  He decided to walk The Ancient One, because it was hot enough.  Seriously, what’s with this weather?  It was cold all the way until 3 p.m., and then it became scorching hot.  This is definitely not the kind of weather pattern self enjoys.

In fact, self was so normal, she fell asleep.  For six straight hours.  She vaguely remembers The Man asking her where the trash can in the bathroom was.  She vaguely remembers telling The Man that she made his dinner:  ravioli with every left-over in the fridge chopped up and sprinkled on top.  With minced oregano from the garden.

Then, self woke at midnight, feeling completely energized and ready to get started with her day.  So she naturally continued her internet explorations of Jamie Lannister and Brienne of Tarth (She has no intention of reading the books, mind you.  Which makes her a total Philistine.  Stop reading right now!)  And now she has stumbled on a site called winteriscoming.net.  And here is an excerpt from an interview that FaB and three other journalists conducted with the intrepid pair, March 21 of this year.  It’s very, very entertaining:

FaB:   You were very muddy through all of last season.

Nikolaj:   That doesn’t change though.

FaB:   Nothing?  No bathing?   No one’s thought to wash you down . . .  ?  Give you a bath . . .  ?

FEEL FREE TO MENTALLY INSERT THE SLY MICHAEL MYERS DR. EVIL RAISED PINKIE LOOK I WAS GIVING BOTH OF THEM.

Nikolaj (after a casual shrug):   Maybe we . . .  might have a bath.  At some time.

Terri catches on quickly, leaning forward, and asks, “May we say there could be bathing in season three?  Or . . .  is that in future seasons . . .  ?  This . . . POTENTIAL bath . . . ?”

Some polite coughing ensues.  But I cannot stress enough how each reporter is now . . .  slowly . . .  beginning . . .  to lean forward.  We’re so eager!

Gwendoline (casually):  I think everyone washes.  Don’t they?

Terri has the tail of a fish and refuses to let go, saying, “In the woods?  Do they?  I guess there are streams (innocently).  Maybe . . . “

Nikolaj (smiling casually):  I think Jaime would love a bath.

Everyone in the room pretty much agrees that yes, yes he would.  And yes, a bath would be a good thing.

And there’s more!  But for the rest of the interview, you will just have to go here.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

A Post About Rabbits

It is chilly inside the house.  But if the past few days are any indication, the clouds will eventually disperse and by late afternoon, the garden will be baking in heat.  It’s a miracle anything endures through late spring/ summer/ early fall in this place.

Self has Little Heathens:  Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression balanced on her lap  (Seriously, she’s getting sick of typing that title over and over and over, every time she posts about this book.  But since she isn’t even halfway — she started reading it last week in Trieste, and has so far made it to p. 136 — she must persevere).

P. 137 is about killing rabbits.

Sole Fruit of Her Loins’ first ambulatory pet was a rabbit named –  something or other.  Her cousin, a little ruffian named Niko, came over one day, got the rabbit out of its cage and, when no one was home (Dearest Mum was supposed to be baby-sitting but anyone who thinks Dearest Mum can baby-sit is probably living on the moon), strangled the poor little creature to death.

Since Son was absolutely distraught, we got him another rabbit.  This one was an enormous and aggressive creature whose pee spray arced for yards.

We finally gave it away and adopted Bella the Beagle, who is still alive today, still sniffing after morsels of food and still coloring our lives with joy.

Eons ago, when self had an artists residency in Mojacar, her favorite thing to do on weekends was to visit the markets in outlying towns.  There, she saw rabbits.  Many, many rabbits.  All in cages.  Self did not actually think about the strange importance of rabbits to the villages of southern Spain.  Not until the fateful day when dinner was served and it was –  eeeek! –  rabbit.

Self has seen Winter’s Bone.  Although she believes that was a squirrel Jennifer Lawrence was cooking for her siblings, not rabbit, the sight of skinned squirrel must be very similar to skinned rabbit.  In fact, you could probably skin them the same way.

And then:  Did you know that it takes “at least two rabbits to make a meal” for a family of seven “because there are only three good pieces to each one:  the saddle of the back and the two hind legs,” and “rabbits have almost no fat”?

In addition, self realizes that she has the same coping mechanism to stress as a rabbit.  Ms Kalish:  “We all knew that when a rabbit senses approaching danger, it will frequently freeze rather than run.  We also knew that a rabbit will leap forward when it does try to escape.”  So, the best strategy is to wait for a rabbit to lunge “forward from its hiding place,” grasp it firmly by the head, then swing it by its hind legs and deliver a sharp whack to the back of its head.  Ms. Kalish again:  “Rabbits have weak necks.  Everyone knew that . . . “

A heartwarming description of how to skin a rabbit follows.

And then a heartwarming description of how to boil a hog’s head.

What is really interesting is that this redoubtable farm woman has her current residence listed as Atherton, California.  And has apparently lived to a great old age (92) in spite of apparently daily ingestions of bacon, hog, and other high-cholesterol food.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

1st Sunday of May (2013)

Blustery winds.  Even, rain.

Watching “Arbitrage.”  That Richard Gere is so smooth.  Self can see why the lovely French mistress is so besotted.  Unfortunately, things do not remain ducky for long, they never do in a thriller. Who wrote this smart screenplay?  Self looks up the information on IMDB.  Oh, the movie was written and directed by a twenty-five-year-old named Nicholas Jarecki.  Imagine that, dear blog readers.  A twenty-five-year-old.  And he not only wrote the screenplay, he directed it.  Way to go, NJ!

Self went to the Menlo Park Farmers Market and bought cherries and nectarines.  When she got home, The Man was gone.  She thought he had taken The Ancient One for a walk, as Bella was not in her customary nest in the kitchen.  But then she heard a noise in the backyard and when she opened the back door, there was Bella!  Wandering forlornly back and forth on the deck!  Oh, come in, sweetie!  Come in!  Self cannot believe this creature is still ambulatory!  She is turning 18 this September!

Then, shortly, The Man walked in.  Turned out he had gone to the Mexican market and bought five lbs. of tripe:  the regular one we usually get, and a thicker kind that he said he wanted to try out.

Pretty soon, this was what was simmering on the stove:

Callos with two kinds of tripe:  a specialty of The Man

Callos with two kinds of tripe: a specialty of The Man

The full name of the dish is Callos Madrileña.  It uses tomato sauce, chickpeas, and chorizo de Bilbao.

Step # 1 is boiling and boiling and boiling.  Step # 2 is this:

DSCN0010

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Trieste, Still Day 2

Self is loving this beautiful city (pop. 250,000) on the shores of the Adriatic.

She decides to try and organize her suitcase.  She opens various pockets, and out of one of them pops the room rate sheet for the Hotel Danieli, which she requested on a whim.  And here they are, dear blog readers.  Prices quoted are per night:

  • A Double DeLuxe Room is 920 euros (about $1,206)
  • A Luxury Double Room with an Inner View is 1,095 euros (about $1,435)
  • A Double DeLuxe Room with a Lagoon View is 1,295 euros (about $1,700)
  • A Luxury Double Room with a Lagoon View is 1,415 euros (about $1,855)
  • A Luxury Double Room with a Lagoon View and a Balcony is 1,515 euros (about $1,986)
  • An Executive Suite with an Inner View is 1,815 euros (about $2,379)
  • A Dandolo Suite with an Inner View is 1,965 euros (about $2,576)

The list goes on.

Needless to say, self will not be staying at the Danieli, not even if she were truly hankering to make believe she is a Princess.

She also happens upon a small book she purchased from the giftshop of the Chapel of the Scrovegni in Padua.  She must thank Margarita for making this chapel one of the required stops on their Venetian adventure.  Admission is strictly controlled:  you must purchase tickets in advance, and each group is limited to 30 minutes within the chapel itself.  Margarita and self made reservations for 5:15 p.m., and afterwards the museum curators ushered us into another set of galleries which featured the most sumptuous Medieval and Renaissance church art that self has ever beheld.

Back to the book!  Self happens upon this interesting detail:

Recently the Chapel and its decorations have been the subject of various studies and even astronomical research in order to account for the extraordinary lighting effects that have been noticed in the interior –  not withstanding the number of ancient trees outside impairing direct observation.  It has been noticed that when the sun rises it shines through the first window towards the high altar, just to the left of the painting of the Nativity, and on Christmas Day, between 10 and 11, the ray of light shining through the window completely illuminates the little door through which the Scrovegni family members entered to attend the liturgical functions.  At midday, this same bright ray illuminates the head of anyone standing on the axis of the chapel, in front of the steps of the high altar.  Furthermore, after careful calculations, beginning with the calendar in use at the time of Giotto, it has been discovered that the part of the Last Judgement depicting the donation of the Chapel to the Madonna is lit up early in the morning by a slit of light that penetrates from a small hole placed above the first window immediately to the left of the entrance door, and that this occurs on the days of the most important Marian feast days (the Birth of Mary on the 8th September and on the Annunciation, 15th August).

Isn’t that wondrous, dear blog readers?

Margarita complained that one couldn’t really see the frescoes that were higher up the walls, and on the ceiling of the chapel, which was true.  She noted that none of the guidebooks advised visitors to bring along binoculars, which several Japanese tourists in our group were quite avidly using.  But self was simply too entranced about being in the presence of such art to let a little thing like the lack of binoculars disturb her.  Seeing all the frescoes in context –  that is, on the walls of the structure for which they had originally been intended, as opposed to the walls of a museum –  was simply fabulous!

Stay tuned.

Dinner in a Convent, Trieste Day 1

–  Larry?  –  Uso un tono professionale.

–  Non diremlo, –  l’anticipo lui.  –  Quando mi chiami “Larry” con quel tono inamidato da neurologa

After two weeks in Italy, self is so genius she speaks Italian fluently.

Not!!!

The above quote is from a book she pulled at random from the shelf in her little apartamento.  The book is from Capitolo XII of Henry Denker’s Un Caso Di Conscienza (in all probability, with a title like that, a mystery).

She had dinner (and a glass of red) at a place called Antico Convento, in a narrow alley off the main street.  The owner of a pasticerria (She had two chocolate eclairs in lieu of lunch –  gaaah, she will be a regular Porky Pig if this keeps up) gave her three restaurant recommendations, but upon seeing the name Antico Convento, self was absolutely tickled and determined that she would have dinner there.

She ordered a Primi Piatti (first course) of soup.  The waiter said it was a kind of specialty of the region, called yota.  Then, she ordered a main course of pork with porcini.  Even though the pasticerria owner told her that seafood was the thing to eat in Trieste, the restaurant was so unadorned that it reminded her of Louie’s in Bacolod.  So, since Filipino food is mostly about pork, she decided to try the Trieste pork.  Of course, it arrived second, after a HUGE –  and self does mean HUGE –  bowl of bean soup with sauerkraut (The waiter thoughtfully provided a bottle of olive oil to sprinkle over the soup) and pieces of ham.  Oh Mama Mia, self should have restrained herself, she should have known the second course would be unmanageable after the soup, but no.  Self plowed through the soup, leaving only two tablespoons at the bottom of her bowl, and then — TA RA! –  out came the second course, steaming, piled pork and porcini accompanied by a kind of side dish of sauteed potatoes (Sauteed in bacon, but not served with bacon, the waiter proudly informed self) and it was soooo delicious!  Self could hardly see straight after that.  She stumbled home, inwardly cursing at how tight her jeans were.  At the door to her building, she encountered two young people crouched right before the entrance.  Self’s first thought was:  Finally!  What The Man always warned self to expect:  A Proper Mugging!

But no, one of the two young people was a slender young woman, and she smiled at self and said Perdon or Scusi or something like that, and moved about two inches to one side, just enough for self to get her hand on the entrance knob, and give it a good (and somewhat hasty) push, and self nearly fell over a pristine, white baby carriage that looked as decked out as a gondola, and there was a baby inside it, sleeping, and self put two and two together and realized that the baby’s parents were right outside the building, right there pressed against the door, enjoying a few illicit hours of peace in the Trieste night.

Self, you stupid twit, if you’d woken up that peacefully sleeping infant, you’d never have gotten over the shame.

Grazie e Arrivederci, dear ones.

Trieste Day 1

And now, dear blog readers, self is in Heaven.

No, not in Heaven.  She is in Trieste.

La Serenissima is hours away.  Here, the Adriatic is cold, pewter.  There are boats lining the harbor.  And a giant aquarium.

The taxi she took to her new digs (for at least three more days) cost 7.5 euro (about $10).  The man refused a tip.

Ah, thanks much, Alexei J. Cohen who wrote the Moon Handbook:  Italy.  Because of the five-page section he included about Trieste, self was determined to get there.

For a brief couple of minutes, she wondered if she were in her right mind, for every available seat in her train compartment was taken up by a group of very young, very athletic-looking men, who were oh so bursting with energy and high spirits.  And self had the mean thought that if these young men were all bound for Trieste, she would have to return to Venice bright and early tomorrow morning.

But, lo and behold, the young men all stayed until Trieste, and just when self was reaching up for her roll-y, one of the young men swung it down for her without having to be asked.  Ah, grazie, grazie!  He smiled and said, It was nothing.  So there you go, another of her mean assumptions exploded.  Traveling is certainly good for self, as it forces her to abandon her old thinking.

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At the moment, self is unwinding in her all-white room (with its rather florid chandelier) and waiting for the kettle of water to boil so she can have some tea.

A Sweet Little Kitchen

A Sweet Little Kitchen

There’s a TV (Perhaps self can get caught up in “Game of Thrones”!), but she has not turned it on just yet.

There’s a shelf of books:  John le Carré’s A Most Wanted Man, Jo Nesbo’s The Redeemer, Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, and a travel book:  36 Hours:  125 Weekends in Europe, by The New York Times.

Self pulls down 36 Hours:  125 Weekends in Europe and browses through the Table of Contents:  London, Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh are all in a section called “North Atlantic.”  Paris, Lyon, St. Tropez, Madrid and Pamplona are in a section called “Southwest.”  Berlin, Frankfurt, Vienna and Salzburg are considered “Central.”  Rome, Naples, Capri, Florence and Milan are considered “Southeast.”  And Copenhagen, Moscow, St. Petersburg and all of Sweden, Iceland, Norway and Finland are of course “Northern.”

Time to stop posting and start rejuvenating!

Arrivederci, dear ones.  Stay tuned.

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