U.S. Open Men’s Final = End of Summer 2010

Nadal is all in black except for flourescent yellow shoes. He’s wearing a thick black headband. Djokovic is wearing a white shirt with brown trim. There’s a design of a snake or a dragon on the back.

When the game started, it was a little after 4 pm in New York, and self was fascinated by the slant of shadows on the court. Now, the shade is even, everywhere on the court.

Self loves the long rallies, the way the players stitch the court: right, left, right, left, like pendulums.

So far, Nadal is chewing up Djokovic.

(And then there is a thunderstorm, and the game is suspended for a few hours, BOO. It was just starting to get exciting: the second set was tied, 4 games apiece)

With this event, summer officially ends (at least it feels as if it does). Hubby and self did not get to watch the # 1 movie of the weekend (“Resident Evil 4”) because of the arrival (as always, unexpected) of Dearest Mum. And since self’s car is a wreck and she’s still tangling with State Farm over who gets to pay for a rental car while her car is being fixed, she has a very limited range of destinations.

Another sign that summer is over: last Thursday, self dashed to the San Carlos Farmers Market, just before her stint at the Notre Dame Writing Center. She bought two quarts of freshly squeezed orange juice, a pound of Brussels Sprouts (hubby’s favorite veggie), and seven of the sweetest, most melt-in-your-mouth white nectarines she has ever tasted. Then she found out that it was the last farmers market of the summer (at least in San Carlos)

Hubby drove self to her uncle’s place yesterday, and self kept a sharp lookout for signs of the huge fire that destroyed 40 homes a few days ago. But the hillsides off Skyline Boulevard were unchanged. We did pass Bayhill Shopping Center, which last Thursday night was busy with homeowners and police cars and firetrucks. Now, the scene was rather sedate.

Dearest Mum brought self a bottle of dulong (anchovy fries; Self opened the bottle right then and there, and ate it with some of uncle’s leftover rice) from Salcedo Village Market; a box of pastillas; and a package of mango tarts (all gone, self practically ate them all in one sitting)

It is cool. Self hopes she can get all her new plants into the ground before she leaves for New York, in just four days (She bought one more plant yesterday, the last day of the annual Wegman’s plant sale: a penstemon “garnet”). She is enjoying Peter Godwin’s memoir, When a Crocodile East the Sun, and has packed one other book for New York: The Cruel Stars of the Night, by yet another Swedish mystery writer, Kjell Eriksson. She’s also reading, in fits and starts, William Boyd’s Blue Afternoon, part of which is set in Manila of 1902.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

“Bougainvillea” (by Fe N. Reyes)

Because self has been gardening so much, and because she has tried to coax her bougainvillea “Purple Queen” into blooming more, so far without success, this poem encountered today spoke volumes to her. It’s from Fern Garden: Anthology of Women Writing in the South (edited by Merlie M. Alunan and published in 1998 by the NCCA Committee on Literature)

Bougainvillea

Then I slashed away
at your limbs, their grip
taunting the brown fruits
of the chico tree.
I abhorred your masquerade:
Pale leaves parading
as pink petals subverted
the fruit tree’s crown.

Climber, you were meant
to be a shrub.
Now, properly pruned,
humbled, in place
you awe me, fuschia mass.
Despite drought in these parts,
you limber up to tired rafters
ornamenting my abode
as small and proud
as your inconspicuous flowers.
Flourishing and secure,
the chico tree
stands. You blossom
in your own ground.

— by Fe N. Reyes

About the author: Born in Tacloban City, her early education was at the Holy Infant College. She holds a Bachelor’s degree from St. Theresa’s College and a Master in Education from the University of the Philippines – Cebu. She has four children.

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