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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Invasion of the Turtles

July 15, 2008 at 2:34 pm (Places, Quotes, Surprises, Tel Aviv)

When self was in Tel Aviv, she would walk from the apartment at Ruppin to Ben Yehuda, to a small grocery near the corner with Gordon. There, she’d buy the Jerusalem Post and the International Herald Tribune. The Post kept her abreast of the NCAA tournament, and once she saw John McCain on the front page (never, though, Condoleeza Rice, who was visiting then).

One day she read with great interest an article in the Post on a particularly pesky American interloper.

Here’s an excerpt of the article, which appeared in the Post on _____ ? The article’s by Ofri Ilani:

A new danger lies ahead for the ecosystem of freshwater pools in Israel: an invasion of turtles. In the coastal rivers, red-eared slider turtles native to America and imported here as pets are spreading at a rapid pace. The ones likely to be affected are the local swamp turtles as well as local fauna.

The slider, which is about 30 centimeters long, is a freshwater turtle that is found primarily in the southern United States, in the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. But for the last 50 years or so it has been distributed all over the world as a pet.

According to Boaz Shaham, the director of the Society for the Protection of Nature in Israel’s reptile and amphibian center, “the slider has undergone globalization. Even though it is originally American, it is raised in farms in Asia and and distributed worldwide. Dozens of countries have already seen it in nature and all of them report that it is very aggressive and pushes out local turtle species. Researchers told me that in Cyprus, for example, the European swamp turtle which was common there is now in danger of extinction because of the sliders.”

Self asks: what next, dear blog readers? What, in God’s name, is next?

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Ying!

July 7, 2008 at 2:57 pm (Calls, Conversations, Surprises, Tel Aviv)

Phone rings 7:38 a.m.

Self runs down the hall, stumbles over a gazillion books and papers, claws through handbag, dredges up cell phone, says “hello,” hears a female voice, and says stupidly, over and over: “Mom?”

Finally, over the squawking, self hears: “This is Ying!”

@!!###

Self almost falls down, she is so happy!

The other day, self did manage to place a call to Ying’s cell (Thanks so much for the help, Yosef!), and Ying picked up but could not talk (She was in a taxi? With her sister? Or did she say she was in an elevator?).

Now she is home in her apartment (So, the hospital let her out for a while — that’s good!) and her sister, Ann, is there, and self offers to fly there again (since dear blog readers know how Tel Aviv has gotten under self’s skin!), but Ying says no, Dear Bro is returning in a few days, and then Dearest Mum is coming, and there will be “lots of people” around.

Amazingly, Ying’s voice sounds exactly the same.

The call lasts 16 minutes (Hope Ying’s charges on her end do not go through the roof!) and just before self rings off, she tells Ying to contact Yosef Halper of Halper’s Books on Allenby. Ying promises that she will.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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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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Huf’n Puf, Huf’n Puf

May 24, 2008 at 4:14 am (Books, Calls, Conversations, Relatives, Son, Surprises, Tel Aviv)

Tomorrow self and hubby are wending their way south, to San Luis Obispo, there to grace sole fruit of our loins with our munificent presence (Sincerely hope son’s in the mood, not cranky because his RA job required him to get up in the middle of the night and bring a freshman to the emergency room at 2 a.m., as happened last weekend). In preparation for trip, self ran around the whole day like a madwoman, watering plants and staking back roses and buying plant supports from Wegman’s and now, at 9 p.m., her arms are covered with long, red scratches (Better wear a long-sleeved shirt tomorrow!).

Then, self remembered that a friend of Zack’s was going to Tel Aviv and had asked if he could interview the employees at self’s brother’s company. So self tried (for the third time this week) to reach said brother (not Yoo-Hoo, another one), but she kept missing him. One day, she called at 9 a.m. Manila time, and he had just left for the office. So, the next day, she called at 8 a.m., and she had again just missed him. Today, self missed him again so she ended up calling Dearest Mum, at which point Dearest Mum informed self that Dear Bro YH was moving out of his Ecology unit, and if there was no one there with her (Dearest Mum has the unit a few doors down), she would sell both units.

“Ah, ah,” self found herself stammering, “Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I mean, everyone is under stress this year, because of Ying you know, and even I had to miss classes and was running around like a chicken without a head when I got back, and that was pretty stressful let me tell you, and maybe we should put off making all decisions — most especially anything involving real estate — until next year, when we are all calm–”

“It’s too late,” Dearest Mum said. “I already called an agent.”

@@##!!

At which point self thought the following:

    Thank God Stella K had the wherewithal to reserve that hotel room in the Makati Renaissance Hotel for when self goes home to attend Stella’s exhibit opening in January.
    And, where will self stay from now on, if she visits Manila? Self means, in future years, not just in January 09? She surely won’t have to stay with one of her Dear Bros??? Time to call Maitoni, Dear Cuz in Virginia! Then, self remembers that Dear Cuz has been given the go-ahead by her husband to start building a house in Dasmariñas. Oh, what a relief! Thank God for Dear Cuz!

And now, self has to hot-foot it to San Francisco Airport to pick up rental car, for as loyal readers of this blog well know, both self’s and hubby’s cars are real clunkers, almost ready for the junk heap (Self was sorely tempted, when her car was towed a few days ago, to lie and tell the insurance company it had been stolen. But, self cannot tell a lie! She’s like that stupid Linda at the end of Lorraine Adams’ Harbor, the woman who wore a wire and kept talking to the agent who was talking in her ear, instead of conducting nonchalant conversation with terrorist suspect)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Tapas & Tel Aviv Memories

May 20, 2008 at 3:16 am (Conversations, Food and Drink, Places, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
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This time last night, self was sitting in Picaro Tapas Restaurant on 16th Street in the Mission, and Lucy Burns was talking about that morning’s Bay to Breakers, and Zack was imitating some famous singer, and Alan Isaac was talking about his upcoming trip to Tel Aviv, and self was telling them all about how much she loved that city — the bookstores, the Neve Tzedek district, Allenby Street, Bialik Street, the Rubik Museum, the beach, Jaffa, her favorite café on Gordon Street — and while all this was going on, self’s Nissan Altima was being towed.

The waiters were so friendly (and good-looking, too, which always helps), and we by no means were the loudest or most boisterous table in the restaurant, and there was even a very authentic-sounding mariachi band providing musical entertainment.

Self had parked in the middle of Dolores Street. Which is kinda crazy, when you stop to think about it. But there were 20 other cars parked ahead of her (in the middle of the street), and Zack asked one of the other people parking there, a man with a red SUV, and the man said that the City allowed cars to park in the middle of the street, just on that stretch of Dolores, and only on Sundays because there were masses at the nearby mission.

So, after dinner, we headed back to Dolores, and self had no idea, no idea that she had a problem, but Zack knew right away and said, “Shit. I think your car got towed.” And all self could do was stare at him with her mouth open. “What?” self finally managed to say. “Maybe this isn’t the same street.”

But, of course it was the same street, and while self and Lucy were still standing around in semi-shock, Zack was on the phone to someone, and every now and then he would stop to ask self a question: First, “What’s your license plate #?” and then, a little later, “What’s the make of your car?” and finally, “What’s the color?” And then he rang off and told self: “Your car’s at 450 7th Street, between Bryant and Harrison. We’ve got to get a cab.” And self was absolutely overcome with admiration at his total get-up-and-go.

Anyhoo, in the taxi, self sat between Lucy and Zack, who seemed *quite* concerned. But self was not at all concerned because, in the scheme of things, having your car towed is not as bad as having acute leukemia. Or having emphysema. Or having Bell’s Palsy. And this quarter teaching has been a nightmare. So what’s a few hundred dollars to retrieve a towed car (ha ha ha ha ha ha) ???

Anyhoo, car was retrieved in short order, and then Lucy and Zack took off for further carousing, this time with the “young ones” — Christine Balance and Anthem Salgado and a few others whose names self did not recognize. Self drove home. And, would you believe, dear blog readers, that when self walked in the door, and saw hubby just finishing his dinner, self was able to remain completely mum about the whole car-being-towed business? Really, self exhibited such aplomb that she amazed even herself.

Today, self decided to pay all her bills. So, she picked up her American Express statement, and running her eyes over the charges, this is what she found:

A charge from Roladin Coffee Shop on Allenby Street

A charge from Keren Muzion Art Dealer and Gallery

A charge from Landsberger Books on Ben Yehuda

A charge from Mazzarin Coffee Shop on Gordon Street

A charge from Ben Harim Travel Agency

A charge from Thailand House on Ben Yehuda

There was also a charge from the Frankfurt airport, where self had a stopover. For the life of her, self has no memory — zip, nada — of what she bought.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Various Odes to Summer

May 15, 2008 at 9:33 pm (Books, Food and Drink, Places, Son, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
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Ode #1:
Oh, weather that is hitting 100 degrees (all over the San Francisco Bay Area) and adding to the misery of the $4/a gallon gasoline: How self wishes you had come just a week later, for yesterday self spent hours digging planting holes for the following: passiflora and two five-gallon loropetalum. And now the plants’ leaves have shriveled as if they’d just been passed through an oven.

Ode #2:
Oh, Tony Shalhoub: How self loves to watch you as Adrian Monk, especially on a hot day like today when self is supine on couch because it is too hot to be anywhere else (though self did make an attempt to locate a book called Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs at the Redwood City Main Library, a few hours ago)

Ode #3:
Oh, T. C. Boyle (and self learned just yesterday that the “T” stood for “Tom”, which was a name self thinks is altogether too pedestrian for you), you and your black suit and your large stone pendant and your pouff-y hair and your piercing (but also somewhat vacant) gaze: How self’s heart beat in her chest when she accosted you after your reading at xxxx community college, while her two English 1B students could do nothing but stammer out their admiration, and you revealed that you wrote the story about Pakistan although you know very little about Pakistan and in fact have never been there, which only tripled self’s admiration

Ode # 4:
Oh Kokomo Colada yogurt smoothie from Yumi Yogurt on El Camino Real: How self adores your lambent blend of banana, pineapple, and coconut — the perfect antidote to this scorching weather. How self dreamed about you for hours and finally relented and stood at the end of a line that was 10-deep (the first eight like escapees from some techno-geek convention, Asian-Am males with short short hair and polo shirts and khaki pants. The only thing missing were the pens in the shirt pockets, dear blog readers)

Ode # 5:
Oh son who bothered self exceedingly yesterday with your last-minute decision to enroll in a college-level course in Spain that is delivered in Spanish (knowing very well your last Spanish was in eighth grade, with Mrs. Teresa C, who wasn’t a teacher, just a member of the Mother’s Club, and not even, herself, Spanish), and who had to get thrown out of the program by irate Mr. Martinez, who argued with self and then with hubby before finally stamping “Denied” on your application: How self wishes you would go somewhere else, Tel Aviv or Hong Kong, where one of self’s Dear Bros has that fab three-bedroom apartment and you wouldn’t have to pay a thing, no not a thing, only for your airfare, and wouldn’t that be preferable to spending four hours M-F sweltering in a classroom in the University of Valladolid?

Ode # 6:
Oh, Orhan Pamuk, who writes altogether too much of snow in the book of the same name (and not enough about the virgin suicides, pace Jeffrey Eugenides): How self wishes the blizzard would be over already, so self could discover who killed Ka.

Ode # 7:
Oh, man who loves Thom McGuane who excoriated self for her “feminist” reading of the great man’s work on xxxxxxx.com: How humbled self is by the knowledge that no one will ever defend self’s work the way you have McGuane’s.

Ode # 8:
Oh, students, you who chat about all and sundry after class, who offer to walk self to her car so that she will not be harassed by J & J: How self adores you, how self truly adores all of you.

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Mother’s Day 2008: Wishes for Self

May 11, 2008 at 3:38 pm (Conversations, Food and Drink, Places, Pleasures of Travel, Quotes, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
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Last year, self wrote a post called “Belated Mother’s Day Wishes for Dearest Mum” (still very much viewed, even a year later!)

This year, having just put down the phone to Dearest Mum (and having just learned that self’s share from the family corporation, uncollected all these years, is more than double what she earned the past five years at Foothill Community College — ha ha ha ha!), self will draw up a list of Mother’s Day wishes, for herself.

But, first, self wants to talk about yesterday’s reading at the Redwood City Main Library. And then maybe she’ll talk a little about Dearest Mum’s visit to one of self’s favorite hang-outs in Tel Aviv (second favorite next to Bialik Street, that is), The Brunch on Gordon Street.

Yesterday’s reading was so fab. In the audience: smattering of Vangie Buell’s husband’s relatives. Also, a Redwood City mystery writer. Also, a co-teacher of Edwin Lozada’s at Woodside High School. Also, Roz Kutler, who works for the library and is the best-est, sweetest, most tireless event organizer self knows, who provided cookies and coffee and a display table for all of the assembled writers’ books.

And let’s not forget the presence of hubby, who was listening to self read for the first time in — well, maybe almost a decade. And who took lots of pictures of self while she was reading, which was one of the reasons self refused to look up.

And so, here’s who read, and in what order:

    Oscar Peñaranda read his hilarious short story, “Prelude to a Gig.” Every time self hears this short story, she just wants to double over laughing, she can’t help it.
    Penelope Flores, fab teacher at San Francisco State, read a hilarious story about her mother, called “Far Above Cayuga’s Waters.” There is a prelude to this story, and it has to do with one of Penelope’s sons being in Cornell, and singing that school’s “theme song” on one of his visits home, only to find that his Lola knew it as well, but with different words — words inserted by her American teacher, who was one of the first wave of American teachers to arrive on Philippine shores, shortly after the end of the Filipino-American War.
    Next, Vangie Buell, who read “The Parol: A Bamboo Star of Hope,” which was just heartbreaking. Every time self listens to Vangie read, she wants to tear up, she can’t help it. Vangie had a horrendous childhood, but is alive and flourishing today, and self credits her remarkable fortitude and generosity of spirit for this feat.
    Next, Jennifer Almiron, self’s amazing student at UCLA Extension, who read her (funny and acerbic) story about her Catholic school education, “I Am She.” Self had not known that Jen studied at Amherst. And, after listening to Jen read a poem called “Hartford,” self learned that those Amherst students with significant others usually went to Hartford on dates. Which is where Jen set the poem which was, ironically, about her break-up with her first boyfriend — ha ha ha!
    Then, self read. A very short piece. Only five pages. Over in 10 minutes.
    Then, last, Edwin Lozada, editor of Field of Mirrors, who has such a mellifluous reading voice, and whose poetry is so lush and lyrical.

Anyhoo, it was a very good afternoon. And now this post is getting too long, so perhaps self will reserve the Tel Aviv story for another time.

Early this morning, self called Dearest Mum and woke her up (Self, after all these years, why are you unable to remember that Manila is 15 hours ahead of California ???). When self inquired how Dearest Mum had spent her Mother’s Day, Dearest Mum was quite happy to tell self that one of her closest friends had thrown her a dinner, complete with huge, fat lobsters “flown in from Maine.”

Whereupon self shared with Dearest Mum the news that hubby was taking her to Redwood City’s Lobster Shack for dinner.

And then self Read the rest of this entry »

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Self Asks, “Why?”

April 9, 2008 at 12:25 am (Brain Cloud, Places, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
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Blog views back to pre-Tel Aviv levels. Self watching glumly as the flag on the Carinis’ front lawn, across the street, snaps and crackles in blustery winds. This afternoon, students trudged around xxxx community college in parkas trimmed with fake fur. Only a few days ago, self was sweating while wandering the Neve Tzedek neighborhood of Tel Aviv with Dearest Mum. Why, oh why?

The Olympic Torch arrives in San Francisco tomorrow. Which should be extremely exciting, as protesters will be sure to try and grab/douse it. Did anyone see what happened to that poor woman who was holding the torch aloft in Paris? Why, she was practically clobbered by a group of very tall men in track suits. She momentarily disappeared from view and self was sure she had bought it. Also on the news last night was an extremely entertaining clip showing a daring Frenchman attempting to douse the torch by flinging a bucket of water over it. (Self, have you completely forgotten? Tomorrow, you will be in the City, specifically in the Ferry Building, where you and Nona will be reading and discussing the short story writing process. Let’s hope torch relay is over by then)

In the mail today, a furniture catalog, addressed to Dear Hubby. Now everyone wants to sell him stuff, ever since he ordered self-forgets-what from Hammacher Schlemmer last year. And self now recalls that almost the first thing she heard husband doing, the day after she got back, was placing a phone order with Hammacher Schlemmer for: a) Something that looked like a giant green Pogo stick, which hubby explained he would strap on his feet for the purpose of aerating the lawn. You see, one maneuvers on the thing by jumping, and so hubby will be jumping — hop, hop, hop — all over our front lawn, like a giant Easter rabbit, and b) a special rear view mirror that is so wide it successfully eliminates those blasted driver “blind spots” and c) an exceedingly interesting gadget which– self knows not what it does, but it did look interesting.

Also in today’s mail is the latest issue of Vanity Fair with — hallelujah — a person close to self’s age on the cover. This is none other than the Material Girl, looking very hip in black unitard and almost-thigh-high leather boots. The caption is: MADONNA: UNBOWED, UNCOWED, STILL TAKING ON THE WORLD.

Oooh, and here’s Condoleeza, popping up on the Ch. 2 news. She was in Tel Aviv last week, and that city’s Hotel Row, Hayarkon Boulevard, was crawling with cops and security details. Now it seems there is a rumor going around that she is interested in being McCain’s Vice President? But even more interesting is the gossip self heard that Oliver Stone is about to direct a Bush movie, with Josh Brolin to play Bush, Thandie Newton to play Condee and Welsh hottie Ioan Gruffud to play Tony Blair. Say what?

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Head in a Muddle

April 3, 2008 at 11:14 am (Conversations, Places, Relatives, Surprises, Tel Aviv)

Dearest Mum arrived last night. 1 A.M., self was sleeping on the couch. She has a vague memory of seeing a skinny woman enter the apartment in skintight jeans (reminding her of Oprah-surrogate in “The Brunch”, who also has a penchant for skinny jeans, though self doubts very much that Dearest Mum’s are Dolce & Gabbana) and a pink top.

Then, morning. It’s a beautiful day! Apartment’s environs are rather busy and noisy, and the cafés apparently keep going until the wee hours. If self were 20 years younger and much richer, she would be down there, participating in the life of the street.

Self told Dearest Mum all about the dear boutique on Gordon Street, and the little coffee shop next door, and self agreed that after Dearest Mum returned from visiting Ying, self would take her there. But Dearest Mum has returned with brother and nephew (who has a humongous appetite: show him a piece of anything and he’ll gulp it down faster than you can say — than you can say, whatever. This morning, self examined the jar of Nutella that nephew has been feeding from, the last week. She still doesn’t have any idea what it tastes like. Should she give it a try? No thanks.)

Anyhoo, self now declares she has a headache, for she simply can’t bear the idea of her last hours in Tel Aviv being spent in the company of Dear Bro, and especially she doesn’t want to have her last meal at favorite coffee shop in the presence of Dear Bro, and just as we are all setting out together, self declares she feels “sick.” Suddenly, brother is extraordinarily solicitous, wondering if it was the bed in the apartment, perhaps she should try the bed in the other room (At Ruppin self slept on the sofa in the living room for 10 days straight, her clothes scattered on armchairs, and brother paid her no mind). Then he says, still in solicitous mode, “Does your stomach ache? Can we get you anything?”

And self just stops dead in her tracks and stares at him with vile loathing. She backtracks and starts walking back to the apartment and Dearest Mum tries to detain her with those strong fingers of hers that are honed from decades of piano-playing and her grip is really very hard but self shakes her off and just keeps going. The last thing self remembers seeing is Dear Mum’s face, boiling over with fury.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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