Last Thursday of August 2011

These are a few of the things you observed today:

  • The man who was handing out $10 racks of pork baby back ribs at the San Carlos Farmers Market (in front of Biancini’s supermarket) had red eyes and looked exhausted.  He was being assisted by a young boy, taller than him, with clear eyes.  Hubby asked for extra barbecue sauce (He always asks for “extra” everything, as much as he can get away with, without actually having to pay anything extra).  The man who handed over the ribs was indulgent and handed over two plastic tubs of barbecue sauce, and he still managed a smile.
  • You managed to return to the Hoover Archives.  It’s been months.  The whole summer went by too fast, you missed going there.  You saw a flyer taped to the entrance:  something about an exhibit of memorabilia from China, in the Hoover Pavilion. And you thought:  This is why you graduated from Stanford, so that you could savor the pleasure of coming to the Archives and spending whole afternoons there, reading.

When you went down to the reading room, you didn’t even have to ask to be buzzed in, the staff waved you through the stile.  And then you started reading, and taking notes, and reading, and taking notes, and suddenly you were in Manila while Japanese planes were dropping tonnage on Clark Field, and you were reading letters by American soldiers who were watching the mayhem, and right next to you, sharing the table, was an Asian woman who was very smartly dressed:  black cardigan, white tailored shirt, grey pants, black pumps.  (She’s Japanese, you thought.  I’m sure of it.  What would this woman say if she knew what you were reading?)  The pages the woman was poring over were a pale green, filled with neat columns of heavy black calligraphy.  And the two of you stayed side by side, reading, for almost two hours.  You left first.

Let’s see, what else about today?  You were standing in line at the Menlo Park Post Office.  Naturally, you were mailing out a story.  A story set in Cambodia.  You really like this story.  It’s the only one you’ve written about Ying.  Your new Droid sent out its space-y ring (not really a ring so much as an echo.  Like an outer space vibrato or something).  You answered, and it was son.  Wow, you thought:  this is truly my lucky day!  He told you he’d found an apartment.  At the very very last moment.  And of course, since school was only days away, it was —  ahem!  — kinda expensive.  Sigh.  But what can you do?  He is the sole fruit of your loins.  OK, you said.  You agreed to send some more money.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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