Self is Back!

Self walked in the door about an hour ago. First things she noticed were:

  • The white hydrangeas by the front door were not droopy. Ergo, hubby must have watered.
  • Gracie sniffing at the door, her fat, sausage-like body wiggling in a paroxysm of delight, the minute self pushed it open with her foot.

The next things self noticed were:

  • a pile of mail on the dining room table
  • phone message light blinking

First, the mail. Along with a rejection (the size of a postage stamp; no signature) from The Cimarron Review, there was a pink slip requesting self to pick up a letter sent by certified mail from xxxx community college. Since self has never ever received anything by certified mail from xxxx, she knows it can only be from the one person who has been the bane of her life, ever since she took one day off at the end of Winter Quarter the day of the final exam, (Self got a sub, but apparently that made no difference — to this person, that is) to visit Beloved Sister-in-Law Ying in Tel Aviv. And this letter is probably filled with such fulsome praise for a job well done that sender wanted to make sure she received it (NOT!). So, self does the thing she knows she should probably not do: she tosses the notice in the trash.

And now, self has lovingly unwrapped one of the suman that has miraculously survived being stuffed into her overnight bag and being pawed at by a curious security person at the airport in Seattle. It is somewhat surprising that even though self requested an ube suman, this suman is definitely not purple. But it does look so delicious, lying there on the plate. And after self has liberally sprinkled brown sugar over it, hubby gobbles the whole thing down in something like five minutes.

Self now has the opportunity to reflect on the events of this (extraordinarily full) day, and this is what she concludes:

  • The new Wing Luke Asian Museum was a delight.
  • Meeting up with Felicia F, someone she used to know in Manila almost 30 years ago, was even more of a delight.

The sun came out just two hours before Felicia delivered self to the airport, and self got to see Seattle in all its glory. The city is just heartstoppingly beautiful, more beautiful (self thinks) than San Francisco.

Self’s plane winged low over the San Francisco Bay just as the sun was setting. As self had the window seat, she was able to see the reddish sheen of the Golden Gate Bridge, illuminated by the setting sun. It was a sight she had never seen, in all her years of flying out and then home again.

And here’s one more thing: yesterday, after the reading, a stranger came up to her, one of the few men in the audience. He wasn’t old. He told self (and this was so unexpected): “Your story made me cry.”

What does this all mean, self wonders? What does it mean that Seattle lights up just as she is leaving, that she sees the Golden Gate Bridge lit up in the late evening light, and that she receives notice of (odious) letter sent by certified mail from xxxx community college, all on the same day? Her emotions are ricocheting around like crazy. Whatever. Self knows she deserves all the good stuff — every single moment of happiness and joy. And as for the bad stuff? She hopes they won’t be around long enough for her to remember them for very long.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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