Dearest Mum, Dear Bro, and nephew are stopping over in Bangkok en route to Manila with Ying’s ashes. Her funeral is Sunday, 9 a.m., at the Santuario de San Antonio.
Self found two pictures of Ying, both taken with Dear Bro and Franco: In one of them, Franco seemed to be about seven. They were at a beautiful beach, perhaps in Palawan. The second was a studio shot: Franco appeared to be a year old. In both pictures, Ying is heart-stoppingly happy and beautiful.
Self also saw a movie: “Bangkok Dangerous.” It’s the last week that she’ll have any free afternoons: next week she starts teaching her fourth class, the one in xxxx community college. Half the time self was sniffling, remembering the first time Dear Bro introduced her to Ying: It was 1995. Self was visiting Bangkok for the first time. Ying and Dear Bro were already living together. We had dinner in a small restaurant and then dropped by an English pub filled with farang. The rest of the night we spent wandering around the stalls in the night market in Patpong.
Hubby came home, in a bad mood again over son’s latest credit card bill. Suddenly, he said, “What’s wrong with Gracie?” And it was only then that self noticed that Gracie was not her usual energetic, happy self. She was listless under self’s chair; self thought she had fallen asleep. But hubby noticed right away that her mouth seemed swollen. And only then did self notice that Gracie hadn’t eaten her dinner. And she was drooling quite a bit. “Give her aspirin,” hubby said. And self did. Then Gracie fell asleep. Self will have to wait until tomorrow’s classes are over before she can take Gracie to the vet. She called the emergency room, but when she found out that just to be looked at would cost $100, hubby said to wait until the morning and take her to our regular vet at the San Carlos Pet Hospital.
Self realizes that she has not been paying attention to the election. Suddenly, it appears that Obama and McCain are neck and neck. How can this be? Obama, where is that electrifying voice you used to such devastating effect against Hillary in the primaries? Finally, this evening, self watched a television spot that featured the senator staring directly at the viewer and saying something about the economy. To self he appeared somewhat tired: that is, she detected bags under his eyes. And for the first time, she entertained the thought that he might lose. But this was an awful thought, so she put it aside.
Son called: he was happy. He’d landed a job, and he’d met a girl. She studies Chinese, just like self did at Stanford. Now son wants to read all books on Chinese history and philosophy. Self told him, “Read Phil Kafalas‘ In Limpid Dream. Request it for your school library.”
Hubby was saying, “Ask him how he ended up spending $2,000 in two weeks,” but self hung up without asking him.
And now, self has to go to bed, for she has a long day tomorrow, and she still has to finalize her syllabus for her class at xxxx community college, and devise a test for her course on “African American Literature,” and read 100 more pages of the Barbara Ehrenreich book. And Gracie’s mouth problem is worrisome.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.