And Also..Hot Off the Press @ FilBook Fest!

WHAT: Hot Off the Press: 10 Readers @ 8 Minutes Each

WHERE: Koret Auditorium / Lower Level SF Main Library / 100 Larkin St.

WHEN: Saturday and Sunday from 12:00 - 1:30

Saturday's Lineup

(in order of appearance)

• Moderator: Veronica Montes
• Tony Robles - Lakas and the Manilatown Fish, Lakas and the Makibaka Hotel (will be reading poetry)
• Almia de los Santos - Journey to the Beginning - A True Story
• Peter Jamero - Vanishing Filipino Americans: The Bridge Generation
• Cecilia Brainard - Vigan & Other Stories
• Rafe Bartholomew - Pacific Rims
• Sunny Vergara - Pinoy Capital: The Filipino Nation in Daly City (will be reading fiction)
• Gloria Ramos - The Whippoorwill, Mirabella's White Boots, Mango Memories
• Romy Honorio - Open Visa: A Novel
• Bob Flor - Daniel's Mood - Mestizos, The FAYTS (Filipino American Young Turks)
• Geraldine Solon - Love Letters, Chocolicious

Sunday's Lineup:

(in order of appearance)

• Moderator: Cecilia Brainard
• Angela Narciso Torres - contributor, Hanggang sa Muli: Homecoming Stories for the Filipino Soul
• Sarita See - The Decolonized Eye: Filipino American Art and Performance
• Karen Llagas - Archipelago Dust
• Veronica Montes - co-author, Angelica's Daughters: A Dugtungan Novel
• Aileen Ibardaloza-Cassinetto - Traje de Boda
• Lilia Rahman - For the Sake of Louise
• Tilay Angbetic - Love & Other Firsts
• Emmie Velarde - Show Biz, Seriously--Entertainment as Life, Life as Entertainment
• Myles Garcia - Secrets of the Olympic Ceremonies
• Samantha Sotto - Before Ever After

Hope to see you there!

At the LA Times Festival of Books

A few weekends ago, I had one of those experiences that re-energizes the writer in me. Books—the kind you can touch—are supposed to be on life support, but you'd never know it from the crowds at the LA Times Festival of Books. "It's like Disneyland for books!" said Zack Linmark, author of the new and fantastic novel Leche (this is a link to an interview about how Leche came to be. Cheeeek it out!).

I mean, look at this college student who purchased something like six books at the Philippine Expressions booth! I have no doubt she picked up many more at other spots:

Here's a shot of the booth itself. There was a strong and steady (and therefore heartening) stream of customers, many declaring their Filipino or partially Filipino heritage. People were looking for books to comfort their ailing grandfathers; books for their mothers (Cecilia's classic When the Rainbow Goddess Wept was snapped up by a man whose mother lived in the Philippines during WWII); books to shore up a curriculum or a dissertation; books for kids; and, of course, books for personal enjoyment. Cecilia, Zack, and I sat side-by-side chatting with browsers, making suggestions, and signing books.

Here are Zack and Cecilia Brainard. I basked all weekend in the glow of their literary starpower, I tell you.

Around lunchtime, Zack and I snuck off for a quick lunch, first hightailing it over to—where else?—the food area. Unfortunately, it was packed and lines of people were snaking haphazardly all over the place. Bringing all our resources to bear, and working up quite the sweat now, we headed off-campus where our eyes alighted on a bright yellow Denny's sign. "Hmmmm," Zack deliberated. "They're racist." True enough. Our search ended at last when a Burger King came into view. "YES!" we screamed.

And guess what? No lines! Except for in the ladies room. So you know what I did for the first time ever in my whole entire life? I used the men's room. It was disgusting; I will never do it again.

Finally, Whoppers and fries in hand, we sat down to wolf down our joyfully unhealthy lunches. And it was so effing fantastic because I got to hear all about the long and winding road Zack took towards the publication of Leche. And we talked about our mutual love of Daly City, and about life in Hawaii and Manila. On our way back to campus, he impressed me with his uncanny ability to recall exact lines from the classic 80s movie offerings St. Elmo's Fire and Pretty in Pink ("You break my heart," he rasped, just like Demi Moore. "But then again...you break everyone's heart."). We objectified Andrew McCarthy, after which Zack performed a spot-on impression of Andrew's character being thrown up against a school locker. He screwed his face up sideways and went all cockeyed, and I pretty much died laughing right there on the USC Campus ("Ally Sheedy is an alum," he pointed out in yet another dazzling display of pop culture knowledge). As we got closer to our end destination, we passed a booth whose awning announced "Self-Realization Books." "I'm going to write a self-realization book," proclaimed Zack. "It's going to be called I am I. Get it?" Hahahahahaha!

I would totally buy that book. And of course I bought a copy of Leche. I suggest you do the same, immediately. I started reading it on the plane home, and I felt sorry for the woman sitting next to me because I was laughing so uncontrollably that I think I scared her: she kept a tight grip on her pretty Prada bag and didn't dare fall asleep.

Our day at the LA Times Festival of Books was preceded by a very fun Authors Night, also hosted by Linda Nietes and Philippine Expressions Bookshop. You can read all about it (and see more pix!) here at the Re: Angelica's Daughters blog.

Kids Books & French Gangster Films

Last night I read Lea the story "The Giant and the Mite" from The Little Bookroom. The other two characters besides the giant and the mite are the Angel in the Sky and the Angel Below the Earth. These two angels aren't pitted against each other in the same-as-it-ever-was good vs. evil trope. Instead, they work together to keep everything that exists between them, i.e. the earth and all its goings-on, on an even keel. It was the first time I'veever run across that idea, and I think it's a keeper.

In other reading-to-the-kids-news, we finished The Horse and His Boy and, as I said I would, I poked around to see if they had picked up on the racism. And the answer is...no. I'm all baffled and shit.

Anyways, now we're reading The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers. It is an enormous, 700-page, insane novel. I'm in a constant state of hysterics while I read, and the girls are always saying, "Calm down, Mom."

Bluebear's first life takes place shortly after he's born and, for reasons unknown, floating naked and alone in a walnut shell. He is rescued from the maelstrom by Minipirates. Bluebear explains:

"Minipirates, as their name implies, were pretty small...The little creatures sailed the seas in tiny ships, ever on the lookout for something small enough to capture. This happened very seldom—never, in fact. Truth to tell, the Minipirates had never managed to capture a single prize, not even a rowing boat, in the whole history of navigation. Sometimes, usually in desperation, they attacked bigger ships...but their efforts passed unnoticed as a rule. The tiny buccaneers hurled their grappling hooks at the big vessels and were towed along until they gave up."

Minipirates: I want one. I need one.

In addition to lots of reading with the girls (I think I'm cramming in as much as possible because I'm afraid that very soon my 11-year-olds will want nothing to do with me and my novels about blue bears and their various lives), I've been mildly obsessed with the stories of French criminals as told via French films. I started with Mesrine: Killer Instinct, which stars the ubiquitous Vincent Cassel in a kinda campy turn as the real-life nutball gangster and France's "Public Enemy #1," Jacques Mesrine:

I don't know if it truly lives up to its billing as "The French Scarface," but I'll watch Part 2 anyways.

And a few weeks ago we watched A Prophet, which I cannot recommend highly enough. Just watch it, learn enough about the Corsican mafia to make you believe that you could totally take them on, and then join my club that I just made up. It's called The I Will Watch Any Film That Stars Tahar Rahim Club:

In unrelated news: allergy season. Boo.

The Post Where I Mostly State the Obvious

This is no news to anyone at all, but...catastrophes are occurring at an increasingly alarming rate, as if the earth is a giant gameboard and someone has lost his temper and flipped the whole thing over. I almost always start to blog about these various disasters, but then the posts go unpublished because this has just never seemed like the right place to write about such things. On the contrary, this is the space where I proffer up too much information about my children, my many embarrassments, the minutiae of my days, my attempts to write stories.

So I won't say much, but I will note that a few days before the earthquake in Japan, Bino posted on Facebook that he'd had a dream about the end of days. And this thing—these tremors and waves and nuclear explosions—seems like just that: the end of days. After the fact, someone else reminded his friends to live, for God's sake because all of this is so very, very over. And today while I was washing dishes, I wondered what people say to each other in those moments before certain death, while the water rises or the ground falls away. And I wondered about the pain of dying from radiation poisoning, and if anyone is allowed to touch you, and if they aren't, how sad that is.

I've made a conscious decision not to talk to my kids about the breadth of the devastation or to show them a bunch of images; I don't know if that's right or wrong. There were some families at their school who are affected, and one of my twinkers is particularly close to a boy whose cousin was lost for a number of days (he has since been found), so they are very much aware. But I think it feels to them more like a scary movie than like something that has actually happened/is happening.

Tangent alert! Tangent alert!

I'm reading The Chronicles of Narnia to the girls, and right now we're finishing up The Horse and His Boy. When I read this series of books as a child, I didn't—despite a Catholic upbringing—pick up on the Christian references at all (so I wasn't the snappiest snap in the snap container; SO WHAT?!), and since I'm not pointing them out as we read, and since we're raising our children as moral-less, soul-less heathens, there's no reason to think they'll pick up on them either. What I am concerned about is the overt racism in The Horse and His Boy and if they've taken note of it. I'm waiting 'til we get to the end to poke around in their tween brains.

And that's the end of that.

My Mom's Cookbook

Have you noticed that people rarely feel neutral about their mom's cooking? Your mom is/was either the best cook ever OR she was sweetly and hilariously awful. I'm sure it comes as little surprise to anyone out there that I place my own mom squarely in the first category; I've written as much before. Her pesky and evil multiple sclerosis prevents her from cooking now, but of course I still go to her for advice and whatnot. PLUS I filched her copy of Recipes of the Philippines, compiled and edited by Enriqueta David-Perez and published in 1970 (the 16th printing).

How groovy is this cover? Take note of the bakelite faux wood handles on the carving set! The creepy twisty candle! Those random dried flowers! And let's not forget the pineapple wedges stuck to the ham via a toothpicked, pimento-stuffed olive. But don't be fooled by the cover, for many jewels are hidden in these pages, including my mom's handwritten notes, yellowed recipes clipped from newspapers, and what I think is a recipe for cucinta written on the back of a page from her 1974 check register (on October 19th of that year, if you must know, she spent $2.00 on books).

The book proper is equally entertaining. There are little charcoal folk drawings—people in traditional dress, a pair of tsinelas, cooking vessels, and of course a rider atop a caribou; color photographs; black and white photographs; and some fun text. In the intro, David-Perez warns that the book is not a complete collection of Philippine dishes, but one with general appeal "that give a good glimpse of the Filipino heart."

Here are a few more quotes that amuse or baffle me:

"After adding vinegar to a cooking dish, do not stir until mixture has boiled." - But what happens if you mix it before it boils? Tell me! Tell me!

"A Filipino thinks nothing of starving himself or getting into debt to be a perfect host." - This gave me pause, but then I realized: she's right.

"Bread and butter has taken the pace of the kakanin in many modern homes. But in many a heart lingers the nostalgia for something at one with the long ago." - Um, I would like to be at one with the long ago. The long ago of my 30th birthday, let's say.

Here's to nostalgia. *raises glass of Crystal Light*

Birds, Bees, and Wisdom From the Count of Connotation

The twins have turned eleven years old. Over the past year, I've been wondering how to broach the subject of what I believe schools refer to as "family life." Certainly, the various topics within the larger context have popped up during the course of everyday conversation, and so going into this, their eleventh year, they did have some general knowledge. While holiday shopping, I found what seemed to be an excellent book that covered just about everything. It's titled, It's So Amazing: A Book About Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families.

I wrapped it up with some of other books and put it under the tree. It was unwrapped along with their other gifts, but just as I imagined would happen, it went mostly unnoticed during end-of-the-year mania and back-to-school preparation. But yesterday, during a quiet moment, I saw Vida pick it up and begin reading. I headed back to Nesting Ground Central, still within earshot of the complete silence. Ten minutes in, Risa entered the same room and said, "What're you doing?" And Vida said, "This book is...kind of...odd." More silence, in which I could tell they were reading together. I gave them another ten minutes and nonchalantly walked into the room.

"Mom!" said Vida. She looked up from the book, concern all over her face. "What the HECK?!"

And I said, "Look, you guys are eleven years old now, and I got you this book because I thought it might help with any questions or concerns you might have AND because I felt you were mature enough to deal with it in a...mature way because you're so...mature. If you have any questions, just let me know."

"I didn't know the man sticks..." Vida began.

Risa immediately put her hands over her ears (this, too, I knew would happen) and said, "Can't. Can't do it. Can't do it."

"Okay, okay, Risa, GEEEZ," Vida said. "Mom, can I speak to you in your room?"

So, yesterday, I spent much of the late afternoon fielding questions such as these from Vida:

What is the difference between sex and making love?

How do gay couples have children?

Is there any way BESIDES sex to make a baby?

I guess you really have to be in love with someone, then, to make a baby with them?

What's masturbation? I don't get it.

THAT'S masturbation? Oh. You can't hurt yourself, can you?

Etc. etc. I'm sure I will be barraged with still more questions, but I'm feeling pretty good about all this. And I highly recommend the book (it's for ages 7 and up, and there is another for ages 4 and up, plus another for when puberty arrives). The whole thing was neither as difficult, nor as easy, as I thought it would be. At the very least, I feel even more prepared to discuss the subject(s) with Risa whenever she decides to uncover her ears.

***

It doesn't seem right (or maybe it does?) to blithely blog without mentioning the political assassinations—both attempted and successful—that took place in Arizona, that current hotbed of unrest, this past weekend. Over-the-top, unimaginative (hi, can you think of any metaphors that don't revolve around violence?), hateful rhetoric may not have had anything to do with the shootings. And yet the shootings have directed the spotlight towards the senseless jabbering. The right blames the left for directing said spotlight, but I don't think the left had to do very much: it's simple to make the connection.

Is there crazy talk on both sides? Of course there is. But the left does not have leaders who use inflammatory language in the style of the former Governor of Alaska, Rush Limbaugh (some will say he doesn't lead the movement, but I would argue that oh yes he does), and their ilk. This columnist at Politics Daily correctly points out that only the right has "institutionalized their side's craziness."

I was reading The Phantom Tollbooth last night with Lea, and I think that the Count of Connotation (loyal servant to the King of Dictionopolis) should have the last say: "'You see,' cautioned the count, "you must pick your words very carefully and be sure to say just what you intend to say.'"

An Apology to My Family

I just finished reading Lord of the Rings last night, and I feel I owe my family an apology for several things related to said reading. Like, for example, disappearing for hours at a time. Or not making it to the grocery store. Or not wrapping gifts as prettily as I might have were I not anxious to get back to the book. And also for referring to my children as "Risa, Vida, and Lea of the Shire." But most of all, I think I should apologize for the following statements and a dozen others like them:

Statement: The Dark Lord calls.
Translation: I'm going to bed now.

Statement: I have scaled the black mountains of Mordor. I have battled on the Fields of Pelennor.
Translation: Sure, I'll play a round of Clue.

Statement: I prefer the trees and flowers of Lothlorien.
Translation: No, I will not consider a camping trip in 2011.

Statement: Beware the web of Shelob, my halflings. Away!
Translation: Clean your bedroom. Or else.

I am wishing you and yours all the delights of Middle-Earth in 2011. Make merry and be safe. I'll see you back here in the new year.

The Post in Which I Start with Lord of the Rings and then Veer Off Course

For reasons unfathomable, I picked up a copy of Lord of the Rings, pondered briefly, purchased it, and now cannot stop reading it. I don't know why I've never read it before, though I have a vague memory of thinking that it must be exceedingly dorky. Now I don't care if I'm dorky. Frodo rulez!

On the same day, I found a new, hardcover copy of The Dictionary of Imaginary Places (which I have wanted for quite some time now) for twelve dollars! So if I ever get lost in Middle-Earth, I can refer to it, and all will be well. But seriously, it's difficult to pass up a book billed as "...an invaluable guidebook to more than twelve-hundred places-that-never-were," including Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, Eco's Island of the Day Before, and...how much do I love this?... a two-column entry for Dictionopolis and Digitopolis from The Phantom Tollbooth!

As I continued to ride the train of consumerism that day, I also purchased Hunter rain boots. But I did this for good reason, as heavy rains were imminent and my current boots had a hole. And also I bought other things, for reasons not as logical.

Moving on...

The spousal unit and I recently watched two films which I thought were excellent. First, I Am Love with Tilda Swinton as the lady-what's-in-charge of a villa-dwelling Milanese family. Super rich folks have major issues, people, but they also have dreamy shoes, textiles, food, and wait staff:

And then there was The Kids Are All Right with Julianne Moore (on whom I have a huge crush) Annette Bening, and the charming, rakish Mark Ruffalo. It was hilarious and true and good:

While I'm on the subject of recommendations, I shall now call your attention to my Pinoy/Pinay lit recommendations for this holiday season, which were cross-posted at the PAWA blog and the Re: Angelica's Daughters blog.

Finally, I will post a picture of my youngest, who now appears to be not-so-very-young. I post this because she was so extraordinarily overjoyed on this day and it made me—by maternal extension—extraordinarily overjoyed, as well. She performed in a holiday dance show, you see, getting all jazzy to the strains of U2's It's A Beautiful Day. I find these dance shows absolutely hilarious, but they also make me cry. Life is confusing.

Hey, the doorbell just rang and it was the UPS guy (did you know I harbor a not-so-unreasonable belief that one day I will open the door and the UPS guy will be an old high school classmate? Well, I do) with a big old box of holiday cards for me to address, so...yeah. I have to go.

Getting Things Sort Of Done

On the one hand, I am ever-grateful to the inventor(s) of Daylight Savings, for it has meant the end of this Fall's relentless march of soccer and baseball practices and, in fact, the end of the "Fall Ball" season entirely. On the other hand, my sleep is completely wrecked: I can neither fall asleep nor wake up. I'm in a perennial state of half-wakedness which, thank God, has nothing to do with half-nakedness, and thus unable to perform tasks with any sort of elan. I am simply s l o g g i n g.

And yet, and yet...things do get done. The lunches are made, the house is standing, homework is neatly completed, and the kids and I take turns reading to each other after dinner. Lately, Ri likes to read from her own writing: stories set in Sweden for no apparent reason, sunsets the color of "orange sorbet," and characters who like to "ponder" quite a bit. It's hilarious. Her sisters listen attentively and offer appropriate praise when she's done. Vi likes to read out loud from Stone Soup (remember Stone Soup?!), which is filled with stories and art by kids who are around their age. And Lea is into Jack Prelutsky poems—clever little rhyming pieces about "homework machines" and gigantic pizzas and whatnot. Last night—miracle of miracles!—they requested I read from Gombrich's A Little History of the World, and then they asked for Rex Warner's Men and Gods: Myths and Legends of the Ancient Greeks (the NYRB edition with Edward Gorey illustrations!), and after more than an hour of this I had to have been the happiest mother in the world.

Then they all wandered off humming Katy Perry songs and arguing about who would get to log onto Woozworld first, and I was forlorn. But you know what? We got some good stuff in, right? I've decided that I will use the same rule of thumb I use for their eating: as long as they consume leafy greens every day, I'm okay with some Halloween candy.

In other news of the world, Cecilia Brainard came to San Francisco to join me for the PAWA-hosted book launch of Angelica's Daughters. I turned my report around quickly, and you can read it here (with pictures and everything!). Cyndi Vasallo, who joined us and read a wonderful story, also blogged about the event. Anyways, I can't think of a more pleasant way to spend an early Saturday evening than hanging out with folks who write, enjoy, and support Filipino and Fil-Am literature, so high-fives all around.

The Sleepy-But-I-Can't-Sleep-Post

I had the world's best break in my scintillating routine of soccer practice, soccer games, softball practice, softball games, homework, dance class, homework, dinner, lunches, breakfast, homework EVER, and it came in the shape of a reading at Eastwind Books in Berkeley. My full report is posted at the Re: Angelica's Daughters blog, so do click over if you haven't read it yet.

I'm often guilty of ADD reading, and it seems especially true right now. I've been dipping in and out of a lot of things, but the anthology My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me: Forty New Fairy Tales, (edited by Kate Bernheimer) has claimed my reading-in-bed-time for now, and I have to say that the sinister element in these stories has kept me up more than a few nights. The title is a dead giveaway, is it not, that these are not Disneyesque versions? So far, it feels like an homage to Angela Carter, which is very cool indeed. Two thumbs up.

Also I'm reading from Barbara's Diwata and Maiana Minahal's Legend Sondayo. They make a nice complement to the fairy tales, actually. At Eastwind Books, I also picked up a copy of The Solemn Lantern Maker by Merlinda Bobis, and I'm looking forward to starting it. As for Illustrado, I see it every night as I climb into bed, but we continue to pretend we don't know each other. Why? WHY?!

And I do like my non-fiction, now and again. From the book Nudge I learned it is a proven fact (as opposed to an amusing, but not necessarily true, observation) that two people who have lived together for a long time start to resemble each other. Why? Because of shared diets and eating habits, yes, but also because they imitate each other's facial expressions. I buy this to a certain extent, but let's face it Nudge: my 6'3" smooth-domed, white spousal unit is never going to look like your Nesting Ground Mistress.

The moon is waxing gibbous this evening. I don't know why I mention this; I just like the way it sounds.

Angelica's Daughters In the Manila Bulletin

Did I tell you we are blogging about our dugtungan novel at Re: Angelica's Daughters? Well, we are! And the current post has the full text of an article that was published in The Manila Bulletin yesterday. In it, Nadine and Susan spill the haricot verts on our writing process.

Some Summer Reading

What's everyone reading this summer? As usual, I've committed to reading a classic during these warm months, namely In Search of Lost Time. Unfortunately, I brought it to the lake over the 4th of July weekend, and even though I know it returned safely to our home, I can't find it anywhere. So I am, in fact, in search of In Search of Lost Time. Maybe it's just as well because the more pages I consumed, the more it sounded like Proust was completely insane. But in a good way.

I secretly love Sarah Dunant's historical novels, and I've read two of them in as many months: In the Company of the Courtesan and Sacred Hearts. This is the intro to the latter, and I have to ask...wait, I'll ask after you read it:

By the second half of the sixteenth century, the price of wedding dowries had risen so sharply within Catholic Europe that most noble families could not afford to marry off more than one daughter. The remaining young women were dispatched—for a much lesser price—to convents. Historians estimate that in the great towns and city-states of Italy, up to half of all noblewomen became nuns. Not all of them went willingly...This story take place in the northern Italian city of Ferrara in 1570, in the convent of Santa Caterina.

Come on! How could you not want to read that?! I couldn't resist. Read the whole thing in like 48 hours.

As an aside...I'm kind of disturbed by the fact that I've pieced together bits of European history based on shows like Rome and The Tudors, films like Elizabeth and...A Knight's Tale (I'm kidding! Kind of!), and historical novels. Alas, what's to be done? Nothing. I shall live with the guilt.

Speaking of books, Vida is at a publishing camp for the next two weeks (hat tip to my pal J.). It's run by the formidable Klise sisters, a powerhouse author/illustrator team. So she gets to spend half the day writing, and the other half illustrating with a bunch of different materials. I'm as ecstatic for her as she is for herself, and I'm also super jealous. You've read that New York Times article, have you not, about French insurance companies footing the bill for spa visits? Well, we should have that in this country, but they should pay for grown-up camp. Yeah.

I have a copy of Ilustrado, but have so far been unable to crack the spine. Why is that? What am I waiting for? Well, if I can't find In Search of Lost Time in the next 24 hours, Ilustrado it is...

Oh, wait! I forgot that while at Kepler's the other day with the girls, I picked up this gorgeous edition of Keri Hulme's The Bone People, with cover art by tattoo artist Pepa Heller:


It's one of those books that I always meant to read, so I think it will come first. Then Ilustrado.

All By Myself. Don't Wanna Be. All By...

I'm all by myself.

It's weird. The SU and Risa are in San Diego for the Cal-State/Junior Olympic Games, where Risa will be swinging her bat and playing first base for her softball team. Vida is on day 4 of sleepaway camp (Risa was there, too, but we had to pull her out early for the San Diego jaunt), and Lea is at an overnight at her camp, as well. I will spare you an overwrought description of the dramatic maternal emotions I've cycled through in regards to all this sleeping-away business. Suffice it to say it's been a bittersweet week.

For two days now, my friends have been asking what I'm going to do tonight. "What are you gonna do? You'll be ALL BY YOURSELF." I felt compelled to plan something. Salsa dance class, anyone? A massage and/or facial? A movie? But then I came home from taking the SU and Ri to the airport, and the housekeepers had just finished their work, and the house is all clean, and my books beckon, and my moleskines send out their siren call, and the pillows on the couch in the den have been plumped up and then punched down perfectly in the center, and well, at heart I am a homebody. So I'm just gonna keep my body home.

As I type, I'm caramelizing onions. I'm doing this because I figure that if I get hungry later, they will provide a tasty base for whatever I eat. I think I will also fry some garlic. Is my life not fascinating? Am I not now FASCINATING you with the details of my FASCINATING life?

Speaking of fantastical (yes, I know, the word I was using was fascinating; stop quibbling), I'm reading a book by the late Italian children's author Gianni Rodari. It's titled The Grammar of Fantasy: An Introduction to the Art of Inventing Stories. It's amazing in that it outlines a sort of curriculum for the imagination of children. I'm fuzzy on the details, but it seems that the work in this book is part of the famed Reggio Emilia teaching method. Here is what Rodari has to say in his introduction:

I hope that this small book can be useful for all those people who believe it is necessary for the imagination to have a place in education; for all those who trust in the creativity of children; and for all those who know the liberating value of the word. 'Every possible use of words should be made available to every single person'—this seems to me to be a good motto with a democratic sound. Not because everyone should be an artist but because no one should be a slave.

*dramatic pause in which you realize the import of Rodari's message*

I'm here to say that the book doesn't just work wonders for children. Your Nesting Ground Mistress was so generally inspired by the ideas that she has begun to write a new story. Oh bless-ed happenstance...

Good Day, Mini Rant, 500 Books, and Softball

Yesterday was my definition of a pretty much perfect Summer day. Behold:

1) Slept in slightly, awoke, made chocolate chip pancakes, ate one too many
2) Pilates. Ouch.
3) Drove to Menlo Park with the kids, singing Journey songs super-loud while enjoying the scenic 280 route
4) Ate a shrimp melt on sourdough for lunch
5) Moseyed over to Kepler's Books, where we browsed for well over an hour. Purchased 12 books.
6) Left and had chocolate milkshakes at McDonald's (and we're still alive!)
7) Drove to Risa's softball practice and, since it went for FOUR hours, played at the park with the other two and read our books

Lovely day.

***

So, I've been disheartened by the constant barrage of complaints about President Obama. He's doing too much say some. But...isn't there an awful lot to do? And doesn't the list keep growing? He's not doing anything say others. Really? Maybe he'd get more done playing cowboy every other week at his Texas ranch like his predecessor? He's not doing exactly what I want him to do so he's an idiot others seem to be saying. I don't feel like there's an awful lot of time for special interests at the moment, do you? In the immortal words of LOST's Jack: "Live together or die alone." We can get to the special things when the not-so-special things have been resolved. He's going to be a one-term President scream the gloom-and-doom crew. Well, you know what? I hope he IS a one-term President just so he doesn't have to put up with this crap anymore. Jeeeezus.

I appreciate what Andrew Sullivan has to say in his Getting Shit Done post. Here's a piece of it:

I sure understand why people feel powerless and angry about the vast forces that control our lives and over which we seem to have only fitful control - big government and big business. But it seems to me vital to keep our heads and remain focused on what substantively can be done to address real problems, and judge Obama on those terms. When you do, you realize that the left's "disgruntleist" faction needs to take a chill pill.

And also:

[Obama's] refusal to pose as a presidential magician, and his resistance to taking the bait of the fetid right (he's president - not a cable news host) seems to me to show not weakness, but a lethal and patient strength. And a resilient ambition.

You can read the rest here. It's really good.

***

The kids have created a family goal of reading 500 books before school starts again. We have about ten under our belts so far, but these deserve special distinction:

Henry and Beezus by Beverly Cleary - read this out loud to Lea at bedtime.
The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet by Reif Larsen - I just finished this; I thought it was amazing. Go get it.
The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo - read this out loud to them. Another good one.
The Sisters Eight, Book 5 by Lauren Baratz-Logsted - Vida and Risa love this series.
Sophie The Awesome by Lara Bergen - Lea thought this book was pretty funny.

***

This coming weekend is yet another one devoted entirely to softball. But whenever I look at this picture of Risa with her teammates, I can't find the heart to complain. Look at her just right of center. Have you seen a happier kid?

Sure Is Quiet Around Here

I'm alone in my house for the first time in I don't know how long. Just me and the clanking of a sweatshirt zipper as the dryer spins 'round and 'round. This is quite a change for me, as your Nesting Ground Mistress has endured and/or enjoyed several weeks of pure lunacy. Highlights are as follows:

1) Our acacia tree tried to kill me, but it only succeeded in causing debilitating allergies that morphed into a sinus infection. For twelve days, I could not taste or smell at all (I also couldn't hear very well). Because eating held no attraction for me, I ate only to relieve that little knot that forms in my stomach when hungry. And what did I learn? I learned that I clearly overeat in my regular life because all it took to relieve said knot was four almonds, say, or half an apple. Now that my senses have returned, do you think I continue to sate my hunger with four almonds? Of course not, you silly. In fact, I just ate an It's-It.

2) Over spring break, we took a road trip to Disneyland, Santa Barbara, and Monterey. Disneyland was...Disneyland. But Santa Barbara? It was a revelation. We lived there for four or five years before we had kids, and though I thought it was lovely THEN, everything seemed to appear in technicolor this time around. There was much frolicking in the waves, there was much traipsing around the zoo, there was dinner with friends, and there was some seriously good eating (I'm so grateful that my sense of taste returned on Day 1 at Disneyland) at Jeannine's American Bakery, La Super-Rica (where I was almost brought to tears by my tamale), and even the humble hamburger joint called The Habit. Here is a picture of the charming Jeannine's (taken from their website):


3) Our trip ended in Monterey, where the spousal unit set us up with luxe accommodations at The Clement:


Pampering, though, was not the goal of our visit. The goal was to cross the threshold of the fabled Monterey Bay Aquarium, a place that none of us had ever been before (I know: losers). I was enthralled—like, ridiculously enthralled—with the jellyfish and the seahorses. I could have watched those creepy seahorses all day. I knelt down in front of one of the tanks and had the following silent, one-sided conversation with the seahorses: You are so creepy. How'd you get so creepy? Why do you all have your tails wrapped around that particular thing? You float around and float around and float around in the creepiest, creepiest way. You crazy, creepy seahorses. Like that. Anyways, here is Lea's silhouette against a tank of jellyfish:


4) Two days after we returned from our trip, my two brothers, two nephews (ages 16 and 14), and one niece (20ish) arrived to partake in a week of relaxed (hahahahahaha!) celebration in honor of my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. Translated, that means we ate a lot. One night, we stormed the doors of a restaurant and my eldest brother, my 16-year-old nephew, and the spousal unit ate this:


5) On Saturday, the I-Hotel Manilatown Center hosted a book launch for Growing Up Filipino II, and I had the pleasure of reading again with Tony Robles, Oscar Penaranda, Rashaan Alexis Meneses, and Marianne Villanueva. It was a well-attended event with a lovely vibe, and so what if a young man approached me afterwards and prefaced his question with the word, "Ma'am?" I am, indeed, a "Ma'am," and I should just get used to it.

6) Yesterday, we took the last of my family to the airport, and now I'm quite melancholy.

7) But then I learned that Philippine Speculative Fiction 5, in which I have a speculatively-told story, has just been released in the Philippines, and they are having a launch party this weekend. This makes me happy, as does the cover of the book:


You can read more about the collection at Dean Alfar's blog.

The Post With Two Links and a Question

Hey, here's is Rashaan's write-up of the Growing Up Filipino II book launch. She covers a key topic of that afternoon, one which Marianne Villanueva hilariously expounded upon. Namely: why are Filipinos so cool? Why, indeed? Read it to find out. Or, if you happen to be Filipino, simply glance in the mirror and wink at yourself. NAKS!

In other blogging news, our own Tony Robles has started one here. Make sure to read his new poem, which was inspired by a short meeting with a fellow Filipino security guard. I eagerly await a post in which Tony waxes poetic about his love of Hall & Oates and other old-school cultural icons.

Utterly unrelated: how do we feel about the new Moleskine "passions" journals? I feel...not so good. Why are you all of a sudden so strongly suggesting what I should put in my Moleskine? Annoying.



And that's all for now.

Growing Up Filipino II Book Launch Report

The silence here at Nesting Ground has been deafening, but not as deafening as the rain on my windows in the middle of the night. The endless gloom is causing me to shriek ridiculous things like, "I come from island people!" or "My kingdom for a golf umbrella!" But with all that's going on in the world, I am quick to bite my ridiculous tongue.

It's always hard to get going after a week-long blogging absence, but for my purposes, last Saturday's Growing Up Filipino II (pick up your copy here or at any of your favorite online bookstores) reading is a logical place to start. First there was a little bit of nail-biting surrounding the question of whether or not Marianne (whose husband gallantly agreed to drive her into his city with his reliable—as opposed to her unreliable—car) and Tony (who cruised in Filipino-time on his eco-friendly bike) would, in fact, dazzle us with their appearance. I'm sure everyone was as happy as I was when they walked through the door.

It was a pleasure to meet Rashaan and listen to her read from her story, "Here In the States." It's about a young girl coming to terms with the changes that immigration has created in her family dynamic. I was surprised to see later on her Facebook page that reading makes Rashaan super nervous, as she did a perfect job. I know her story is going to resonate with a lot of young Filipinos. You can read a short excerpt here.

Tony was next, and the guy is so damn funny. In his piece, "Son of a Janitor," he reflects on what he's learned from his father's work which is, as it turns out, more than he ever learned in high school or college. I think I've said before how much I admire Tony's style of reading. He has a way of making things conversational, of just...connecting. He says he's almost done with his novel; I can't wait to take a look.

Marianne is so very Marianne: quirky, self-effacing, and—let's just face it—a brilliant writer. I love her supernatural stuff (have you read her story, "The Hand"?). The story in the anthology, "Black Dog," is from her first story collection, Ginseng and Other Tales from Manila, and it holds you in thrall until the final sentence. Think: the witches of Aklan, the creepy mangkukulam, a grisly murder, a weary judge.

I realize now it's been some time since I read my work in front of an audience. And I was especially nervous because the spousal unit brought the kids, and there were two places in my story where the language was not ideal for very young ears. My story includes the word "tits," for example. Twice. And also, "goddamn." As it turns out, I stopped reading before I reached the tits-and-goddamn parts, because a voice in my head said, "Perhaps you are taxing the courtesy of this audience; stop reading now." Anyways, mission accomplished with (I think) just one stumble.

I so appreciate PAWA and Arkipelago Books and their joint reading series. Barbara Jane was there, of course, and she has comments here. I only have two pictures, and I'll share them with you. Here I am with Oscar (recently featured here at Oakland Local! Supahstah!) and Sunny, who finally signed my copy of his Pinoy Capital: The Filipino Nation in Daly City:


Speaking of Daly City, here are two friends I grew up with there, Yamila and Karen. How sweet was it of them to come? Super sweet:



And that's my report. Thanks for reading!

The Post Where I Start Off One Way and End Another

Why does everyone have their lights and trees up already? I do not understand. I'm still adjusting to daylight savings, for crickets' sake. I'm still getting into awesome boots mode. I'm still shocked to hear the furnace clicking on. I'm still wondering where back-to-school went. What's the rush?

Moving along...though my days of early motherhood are but a distant and fatigue-causing memory, I've been reading—for other purposes—a lot about that time in a woman's life. There's some odd stuff going on out there. I had no idea, for example, about the vitriole inspired in some quarters by the stroller brigade of Park Slope (as in mothers, New York, white, moneyed). This article in Salon, "Everybody Hates Mommy," was so disturbing to me, as were the several pages of reader comments. In the end, I don't think mothers (in general) have a sense of entitlement; I think they are tired and overwhelmed relative to their fortunate or not-so-fortunate circumstances. I think certain individuals have a sense of entitlement, and the fact that they may or may not be mothers has nothing to do with it. Everybody needs to play nice on the playground of life, people.

Speaking of playing nice—or in this case, not playing nice—someone stole my iPhone on Friday night. The texts and calls we made to the perpetrator were not enough to inspire the phone's return, so the wonderful spousal unit picked another one up for me yesterday. It's so sparkly and has all sorts of new gadgetry (voice memos, anyone?) and whatnot, but I sort of miss my vintage iPhone in all its clunky slowness. Plus, it creeps me out that someone probably looked through all the photos that were on it. Ewwwww. I repeat: play nice.

And in writing news: yesterday I received my contributor's copies of Growing Up Filipino II: More Stories for Young Adults, which you can purchase here.


Now, I know I started this post off complaining that everyone was making a mad rush for December when November isn't even over, but one must make allowances for holiday book shopping! This beauty would make an excellent gift, would it not?

Stuff I'm Doing

I am eager for soccer season to end, for I can take it no more. Much to my surprise and horror, I am far too attached to outcomes, when what I should really be concerned about is whether or not my girls are enjoying themselves. My idiot-ness is compounded by the fact that R & V's team has only lost one game this season, while I think L's team has only WON one. I need off the emotional rollercoaster, thanks. I need to get my own damn life.

I exaggerate, of course. I have my own damn life. For example, I am quite enjoying my tutoring work with Reading Partners. My little gap-toothed tu-tee to-ta-lly loves me. "We gonna do this every day, right?" he said. And I said, "Just twice a week." He then nodded sagely and said, "I love Reading Partners. It's so fun." At first I found this a little hard to believe, but then I recalled that we start every session lounging on beanbags while I read to him from whatever books he chooses. Once he chose a book about reptiles, and we just screamed the whole time. So maybe it is fun for him.

This year I once again have in my possession a group of five strong 4th grade writers, and this time I have them for a whole hour every week. I've decided to start every session with a 5-minute freewrite, and this one kid totally cracked me up because his freewrite sounded just like mine when I was his age (for some reason they all wanted to share their freewrites, and I'm not one to balk at such enthusiasm): "My hand hurts. Why do we have to do this? I wish it was over. When will it be over? Seriously, my hand is going to fall off..." etc. etc. I told them that if they ran out of things to write, to just keep writing, "I am, I am, I am" over and over again until something showed up. All four girls at some point wrote, "I am awesome." Isn't that hilarious?!

Also, I'm teaching art in two separate 4th grade classroom, and three combined 2nd grade classrooms. Um, a little bit of art overload, I'll admit. But there are plenty of other parents helping out this year, so while I am responsible for lecture, discussion, project demo, and prep, I don't have to do as much during the actual project time. So, yay for not having my face smudged with charcoal or whatever every Friday!

I'm fully back in the swing with Latino/Community Outreach work, as well. I hit a wall with our previous administration, the end result of which was me running full force into said wall, and then collapsing into an unattractive heap on the floor. However, the new power-that-is truly gets it (gee, could it be because he is a personne de couleur? Mais oui!), and we have tons of momentum going at the moment. I plan to wrangle all the good energy into bringing adult English and literacy classes directly onto our campus. It'll be a pretty sweet trick, what with everyone's budget disappearing, but you just watch. Watch me and my own damn life.

So, while all this is going on, I try to remember that I am a writer, and that a writer should, you know, write. I think the fact that I have two manuscripts out there at the same time (I don't even remember the last time that happened) shows that I'm doing okay with this. When they return to me, rejected, I will wear the rejections as a badge of honor. I'll attach them to a flagpole and salute them. I'll frame them for the mantle. Tattoo the text on my bicep. Quote them verbatim at every opportunity. I'll even use them as an ingredient in an energy drink which I will then consume in three gulps.

But for now, it's late and I'm sleepy. Sea of Poppies, here I come.

Good Reading

I was just speeding blissfully through the pages of Amitav Ghosh's Sea of Poppies when I realized that if I didn't slow down, it would be over too soon. But then I remembered that it's only the first of the Ibis trilogy, and I worked back up to a regular reading pace. It's one of those novels that truly creates an entire world, one that's populated with the most unlikely but believable characters, and that takes you from elation to tears with nothing but a section break to let you catch your breath. A woman was just snatched from her dead, opium-addicted husband's funeral pyre, made love to by a rescuer (from a lower caste!) whom she promptly marries in a do-it-yourself ceremony and, in an attempt to escape her family (who will not rest! will not rest! will not rest until she and her true love are DEAD!), has boarded a boat headed to Calcutta (and indentured servitude) with her strapping new husband. And that's just one strand of the story! Smack in the middle of it all is the human and environmental wreckage created by colonialism. And coming soon: the Opium Wars. It's just killing me, this novel. It's only 10:58, but I'm headed to bed so I can read some more...