The Weekend That Was

Dearest Ying’s funeral was yesterday, or rather — since Manila is 15 hours ahead of California — a day and a half ago. Dearest Mum described it by saying Dear Bro’s friends did this, and Dear Bro’s friends did that. Though self is only prone to isolated bouts of weepiness lately, yesterday evening, while listening to Dearest Mum, she had full-on breakdown. Ying had prepared messages that she wanted read to each of her children during the mass. She had selected the music she wanted played, with the help of a music therapist in Ichilov Hospital. Her coffin (what a terrible word) was absolutely covered with flowers — you couldn’t even see it, according to Dearest Mum.

Then, self went on to prepare the most gorgeous salad she had ever prepared in her life: She threw in sauteed shrimp, she threw in hard-boiled eggs, she threw in crisped bacon, about the only thing she did not include was the kitchen sink. She mixed all with leafy greens and plump, juicy tomatoes, and it was so good that hubby did not even touch the main course, steak and chicken self had brought home from her high school classmates’ reunion, Saturday night.

After that, self said she was going to bed early. Instead, she looked over the two plays that are closest to being finished, and added a bit more to each. Then, she opened her e-mail and saw that she had a message from Alfredo S, who is directing the staged reading of “In Which Menchit Attempts to Improve Her Fortune.” And he suggests beginning the play from Scene IV, so self reads the play as though it started from Scene IV. Hmmm, interesting.

Then, self managed to knock herself out with Tylenol PM. She woke once, in the wee hours of the morning, and hubby was still up. Self did not remark on this, as engaging in conversation during wee hours of the morning more or less ensures that self will be up for the rest of the day. Instead, self was able to fall back asleep right away, and had a dream about living in a beautiful two-story wooden house with wrap-around balconies, in a swampy area with a little creek over which was a rustic plank bridge. There were tall swamp grasses growing around the house instead of a garden. There were little children in her dream. Also, the department chair at xxxx community college, who again threatened self with dismissal. Also, various teaching colleagues at xxxx community college who seemed sympathetic to self’s plight but did nothing more than tell her not to quit. After that, it was back to the big wooden house in the swamp, someone was digging an immensely deep hole in the mud, so deep that this person (who was male, that much self remembers) disappeared completely from view. And, not too long after the man’s submergence in mud, self awoke. And she looked around her. And she knew she had had a good night’s sleep, thank God.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.


  1. Kathleen said,

    September 22, 2008 at 2:32 pm

    Oh……… heartwrenching. I don’t know how you are doing this an ocean away. What a beautiful funeral.

  2. September 22, 2008 at 2:38 pm

    I don’t know how I’m doing it either, Kathleen. But — what must be endured must be endured . . .

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