In spite of the heady arrival of summer (Sun! For the second day in a row! Now self has to start hauling around the old green watering bucket!), self’s writing continues at a brisk pace.
Which is not to say all is sweetness and light. Yesterday she received two (or was it three?) rejections. One of them was from the “fastest responder” in the literary journal universe, anderbo.com. Dear Anderbo Editors, self wants to respond, thank you for being so respectful of the lowly writer’s time!
Anyhoo, as self was saying: Yes, she IS working, and in fact she is returning to Hoover Archives again for another shot at that Rick’s Ice Cream — Ooops! Self, you didn’t! You didn’t just write that you were going to the archives for the ice cream???
But you did! Now dear blog readers know that the best way to entice self anywhere is to dangle in front of her nose the promise of food: chicharon, ice cream, you name it.
A few days ago, self decided to do her daughterly duty and call Dearest Mum: a decision she instantly (within two minutes) regretted because all Dearest Mum could say, over and over, like a broken record, and with a strange thrill of fear (or was it fascination?) in her voice was: Are you going to Bacolod? When? When are you going to Bacolod? Soon? What day exactly?
Self could have answered: Why, planning to throw me a par-tay???
BWAH HA HA HA!
(That’s what self so admires about Dearest Mum: She just cuts straight to the chase. None of this motherly “Dear, how are you doing?” kind of stuff! After all, time is short, life is fleeting, and what is here today will be gone tomorrow!)
Self decides to try and keep these calls down to once a month. And if she ever does make it back to Bacolod and L’Fisher Chalet this year, she will issue strict instructions to the hotel front desk to HOLD ALL HER CALLS. No more of this getting calls from Dearest Mum at 6 a.m. to find out what self is having for breakfast. At a certain point, the zarzuela aspect of her Bacolod epic becomes simply ridiculous.
All self wanted to do last time was step on a farm, and she couldn’t even manage that. Ida, excellent Ida — who to this day self can never forgive for taking a picture of her standing outside Bailon Fastfood without including the sign, so that no one can actually tell whether self is standing at the entrance to a Chinese temple or at the entrance to Bailon Fastfood — anyhoo, this excellent woman, who was supposed to pick her up, would call from the farm and say, ” ‘Day, I thought you might want to sleep in … ” (!!@@##)
OK, enough with the digressions. Where was self?
Oh yes, discussing Rick’s Ice Cream and how it has lured her to the Hoover Archives, for three days in a row now.
There is also, right across from the Embarcadero entrance to Stanford, the most fabulos-o place called Kara’s Cupcakes (See visual, below):
The filled Key Lime Cupcake is just so, so — heavenly. It has a cream filling and a Graham Cracker Crust bottom. Yuuum.
This morning, self awakened full of determination to get to the Hoover Archives early, that way she gets to use the copier without having to line up (Believe it or not, dear blog readers, the Archives have only one copier for all the library patrons, and sometimes the line here resembles a jam up on the Dumbarton)
But, first, she had to cross the living room to get something or other, and she glanced through the dining room windows and the light caught her attention, so she decided to run for her camera and snap a picture:
Last Friday, self found the neighbor’s little beagle, Tucker (the Escape Artist par excellence) wandering loose on Brewster and decided to take the dog home with her to keep it safe until the neighbor got home. This is the second time she’s had to rescue Tucker. Hubby is so enamored of Tucker that he says to self: One more time, and I’m going to keep Tucker. At which point, self has to interject that Tucker is not “our” dog, so under no circumstances can we keep her. But self will, whenever she happens to find Tucker out on the street, take him home with her, and if hubby at that time would like to play with Tucker for a few hours, that is perfectly acceptable and within the realm of what self thinks of as normal behavior.
Anyhoo, the neighbor (who works in San Francisco) was so grateful to self for keeping Tucker until he got home from work that he walked over with a huge bouquet of roses.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.