Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Bitter Betty Throws a Pity Party

The summer is off to a most ridiculous start. All my fine writing and reading plans have fallen by the wayside like crumbs from moldy bread. This proves, of course, that I was on track with my first pre-summer post, i.e. I should not have made any plans because plans are always waylaid.

In short, I have been sick for more than a week, and it's not just any sick. It's an illness that features, nay stars, the swelling of lymph nodes in my neck. This has become, through some fault of my own I'm sure, the Sad Summer of Giant Nodes. I will not go into too lengthy a description of my symptoms, but I will tell you that I cannot speak, swallow, turn my head, sleep, or yawn without the kind of discomfort that just really, really pisses me off. In more positive news, if you're in search of an effective weight loss program, you should consider purchasing some Giant Nodes.

With that helpful hint, I'll bring my pity party to a close. I promise to return soon with a post about unicorns, cotton candy, and the wondrous pan flute.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

The Blog Post in Which I Realize I Will Never Learn to Play the Flute

I just read that Montaigne's father had a servant play the flute every morning to gently wake his son. He raised a genius, so who am I to turn up my nose? This being the case, I suppose I should stop waking the twins by standing at the bottom of the stairs and screaming, "Get up! Get up! It's time to get up! Let's go, let's go!"

The beautiful thing is that for the next ten days or so I won't have to wake them up at all because today was the last day of school, and so summer is officially underway. They have camps and such on the horizon, but for now we are luxuriously left to our own devices. In preparation, we hit the library yesterday and checked out loads and loads of books. I swear I love the children's section best. I appear to be the first patron who has ever touched the brand new copy of Joan Aiken's The Serial Garden—The Complete Armitage Family Stories.


It now awaits me (what is it with me and proper English lady writers? You'll remember, of course, my literary love affairs with Jane Austen and Eleanor Farjoen). And I had to grab Roald Dahl's The Witches, as well, because of the first few pages:
In fairy tales, witches always wear silly black hats and black cloaks, and they ride on broomsticks.

But this is not a fairy tale. This is about REAL WITCHES.

The most important thing you should know about REAL WITCHES is this. Listen very carefully. Never forget what is coming next.

REAL WITCHES dress in ordinary clothes and look very much like ordinary women. They live in ordinary houses and they work in ORDINARY JOBS.

That is why they are so hard to catch...

Which child, she says to herself all day long, exactly which child shall I choose for my next squelching?

A REAL WITCH gets the same pleasure from squelching a child as you get from eating a plateful of strawberries and thick cream.

She reckons on doing away with one child a week. Anything less than that and she becomes grumpy.

Oh, that's so funny to me. Which—let's just face it—probably means that I'm never going to wake my kids up by gently playing the flute.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Revised Summer No-Plans, Plus Some Books, Plus Hello to the Market Manila-ers

I would be remiss if I failed to greet any and all of the lovely Market Manila folks who have been dropping by, especially bettyq, natie, and sanojmd! My first thought was to kick this post off with some pictures of my dad (aka SillyLolo), in full Silly Lolo mode, but since he fancies himself an International Man of Internet Mystery, I will refrain.


A few posts ago, I claimed that this would be a summer of catch-as-catch-can for your Nesting Ground Mistress. That in an effort to avoid frustration, I would not set personal writing goals, but rather go with the proverbial flow and see what writing time I might be able to eke out around my family responsibilities. What I failed to mention is that I AM SO FULL OF IT. Making such a claim was just me, as usual, trying to excuse myself in advance for ending the summer with nothing more than a suntan (and a half-hearted one, at that).

Immediately after I wrote that post, I...

...signed up for the Southeast Review "Writer's Regimen," which is an e-mail a day for 30 days type-thing. I'm on Day 6, and I've written every day so far. Have any of you done this? It's like getting a pleasant daily surprise in your inbox, and it's only $15! Anyways, you should do this. Good clean writer fun.

...e-mailed Bec to see if she'd be interested in exchanging some work with me. And she would. And we will. And so there's that.

...100% committed, with 5 writer-witnesses, to meeting a June 30th deadline on a thing we've been working on for so, so, so long.

In briefly related summer books news, I am eagerly awaiting Fables: Legends in Exile and Fables: Animal Farm. I have to admit that I bought them online because it's getting increasingly difficult to justify full-price book shopping when the in-store/online price difference is so drastic. For example, I saved $20 buying these two online:



I've mentioned before that I haven't wandered very far into the world of graphic novels, but these appeal to me. Here's the description:

When a savage creature known only as the Adversary conquered the fabled lands of legends and fairy tales, all of the infamous inhabitants of folklore were forced into exile. Disguised among the normal citizens of modern-day New York, these magical characters created their own secret society-within an exclusive luxury apartment building on Manhattan's Upper West Side-called Fabletown. But when Snow White's party-girl sister, Rose Red, is apparently murdered, it is up to Bigby, Fabletown's sheriff, and a reformed and pardoned Big Bad Wolf, to determine if the culprit is Bluebeard, Rose's ex-lover and notorious wife killer, or Jack, her current live-in boyfriend and former beanstalk-climber.

The fact that Snow White has a party-girl sister was enough to hook me. Has anyone read the series? I would love to know what you think. I also picked up the novel (NOT online, so perhaps these purchases balanced out) Brave Story by Miyuki Miyabe. It's a monster of a book, 816 pages and a total weight of what feels like 487 pounds:



A cursory web search revealed that it's already been made into an animated film, and there's also a graphic novel version.

Better go. There's much to read, and much to write.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

Journeys

Weekend before last, we piled into the car and headed to Lompoc for my Auntie and Uncle's 50th wedding anniversary. Classic Delfino hijinx ensued, of course, thanks to the uncanny number of dancers, singers, and musicians in the family. Still, my eyes were constantly drawn to the celebrants, and as I watched them sitting or dancing together, the following words ran through my head: holey betelnuts—FIFTY years! Fifty years is no small thing; it is no simple journey. And so I was properly in awe.

Here is my super-fantastic cousin, Luj, who is possibly the only musician alive capable of singing "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" without making me want to flee the country, screaming:


And here are my daughters, dancing with interesting abandon:



Last weekend we headed south again, this time to Santa Barbara for the wedding of our niece Sarah to her paramour, Chase. You've heard the term "storybook," yes? Beginning to end (the end being a "Sweet Dreams—Love, Sarah & Chase" cookie bar!), I have never witnessed more enchanting nuptials. My eyes were constantly drawn to the celebrants, and as I watched them sitting or dancing together, the following words ran through my head: holey awesome shoeshine—a lifetime commitment! A lifetime commitment is no small thing; it will be no simple journey. And so I was properly in awe.

Though I'm dying to post a picture of the beautiful couple, I hesitate to overstep. Instead, you'll have to make do with some familiar faces. May I present the junior bridesmaids and flowergirl:



As you know, the spousal unit and I hover somewhere between the two extremes of newlywed-ism and golden anniversary-ism. We have a history to savor, a today to get right, and a future to contemplate. I have to say: I like the view from here.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Post In Which I Realize I Should Blog More

I should. Because I love my blog.

But maybe I shouldn't be blogging right now because what I should be doing right now is working on a little schpiel I have to give at tonight's PTA meeting. As you may remember, I am in an almost constant state of fretfulness over the plight of struggling readers. When I see a kid who can't read, I want to throttle someone. Seriously. It wrenches the heart all over the place. I believe that if you don't have anything else in the whole world, you should at least possess the skills required to lose yourself in Harriet the Spy, for god's sake.

Anyways, months ago a night of feverish Googling unearthed a wonderful, local non-profit called Reading Partners. They set up reading centers at schools, and then twice a week—for 45 minutes each time—they provide intensive, one-on-one reading instruction for struggling readers. Is this not brilliant?! So of course I e-mailed them and set up a meeting to persuade them to set up shop at our school. And guess what?

So tonight I am asking our parents to volunteer for the program. This invitation will be met, I am certain, with an echoing silence. But this shall not stop me. I will smile! I will engage! I will straddle the fine line between enthusiasm and heavy-handedness! I will persuade, wink, and perhaps perform an interpretive dance!

And then there will be more silence.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Summer No-Plans, Plus Some Books

There is a canyon-like divide between the things I would like to do and the things I am doing. But I have a good feeling about the summer. The secret for me, I think, is not to bother with personal goals or plans because they are inevitably waylaid. This isn't so much a complaint as a simple fact and a reminder not to plan, essentially, for frustration. No, lovely readers, this will be the Summer of Catch-As-Catch-Can for your Nesting Ground Mistress.

I've been meaning to mention both what I read while on vacation and which books I purchased (I should note that the book selection at PowerBooks thumped the selection at National Bookstore). I read...

...The Danish Girl by David Ebershoff. Based on a true story, this novel tells the story of a married couple—both are painters—whose male half is the first person to undergo a sex change operation. What this book manages to do, basically, is expand the idea of love: what it is, what it isn't, what it can be. Most of it takes place in early 1900s Denmark, and when we left Boracay, I ended up giving it to the Danish couple we'd met.

...Un Lun Dun by China Miévelle. I don't know why I picked this up, except that I wanted to bring along a variety of books. It's a young adult fantasy, alternate-London-universe type of thing (get it?—"Un-London"), complete with plucky heroine, fighting garbage cans, a guy with a pincushion as a head, flying buses, wicked giraffes, and all manner of wackiness. I almost gave it up a few times, but it turns out I had actually emotionally invested myself in the heroine.

...Mr. White's Confession: A Novel by Robert Clark. I think this is the first novel I've read that falls anywhere near the detective/mystery genre. Mr. White is a sad, lonely, misfit of a man who—perhaps too conveniently—has no memory. To compensate, he keeps detailed journals and scrapbooks that eventually serve to incorrectly finger him in the deaths of two taxi dancers. Oh, poor Mr. White.

My forays into Makati bookstores were unfortunately brief, and I was ever mindful of our already stuffed suitcases (we were comically over the luggage weight limit on the plane to and from Boracay). I had to rein it in. I picked up...

...Kite of Stars & Other Stories by Dean Alfar.
...The Jupiter Effect by Katrina Tuvera
...The Flip Reader subtitled Being a Greatest Hits Anthology from Flip: The Official Guide to World Domination and edited by Jessica Zafra.

I haven't read any of these yet, as I'm saving them like pieces of jewelry to be worn only on special occasions. I also bought many, many children's books including two anthologies of Palanca prize-winning stories: The Night Monkeys and The Golden Loom.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Call For Submissions:

Philippine Speculative Fiction V

Ready your pencils, people:

Editors Nikki Alfar and Vin Simbulan are now accepting submissions of short fiction pieces for consideration for the anthology "PHILIPPINE SPECULATIVE FICTION V".

Speculative fiction is the literature of wonder that spans the genres of fantasy, science fiction, horror and magic realism or falls into the cracks in-between.

1. Only works of speculative fiction will be considered for publication. As works of the imagination, the theme is open and free.

2. Stories must cater to an adult sensibility. However, if you have a Young Adult story that is particularly well-written, send it in.

3. Stories must be written in English.

4. Stories must be authored by Filipinos or those of Philippine ancestry.

5. Preference will be given to original unpublished stories, but previously published stories will also be considered. In the case of previously published material, kindly include the title of the publishing entity and the publication date. Kindly state also in your cover letter that you have the permission, if necessary, from the original publishing entity to republish your work.

6. First time authors are welcome to submit. In the first four volumes, we had a good mix of established and new authors. Good stories trump literary credentials anytime.

7. No multiple submissions. Each author may submit only one story for consideration.

8. Each story’s word count must be no fewer than 1,500 words and no more than 7,500 words.

9. All submissions must be in Rich Text Format (.rtf – save the document as .rft on your word processor) and attached to an email to this address: nikkialfar@gmail.com. Submissions received in any other format will be deleted, unread.

10. The subject of your email must read: PSF5 Submission: (title) (word count); where (title) is replaced by the title of your short story, without the parentheses, and (word count) is the word count of your story, without the parentheses. For example – PSF5 Submission: Meeting Makiling 4500.

11. All submissions must be accompanied by a cover letter that includes your name, brief bio, contact information, previous publications (if any). Introduce yourself.

12. Deadline for submissions is October 15, 2009. After that date, final choices will be made and letters of acceptance or regret sent out via email. Target publishing date is February 2010.

14. Compensation for selected stories will be 2 contributor’s copies of the published anthology as well as a share in aggregrate royalties.

Kindly help spread the word. Feel free to cut and paste or link to this on your blogs or e-groups.

Thanks,

Nikki Alfar

Vin Simbulan

Dean Francis Alfar

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

Making Friends

I know I vowed to blog incessantly, but shit happens. It happens over and over again. It's astonishing, really. Pipes explode, children require extreme levels of parenting, children cut their feet and bleed all over the place, the top pops off the vacuum, teachers must be appreciated (for it is Teacher Appreciation Week), there are appointments to keep and to make, events to attend, and trips to the store and trips to the store and trips to the store. Just forward my mail to Target already.

If I were to blog, I would blog about who the girls ended up playing with in Boracay. There was no shortage of kids staying at our hotel, but with only one exception, Risa, Vida, and Lea gravitated towards none of them. Unlike me, they are frighteningly social and I observed that they did, in fact, try to befriend some of their fellow hotel guests. But the relationships didn't gel, and because my girls didn't really articulate beyond vague whisperings of, "They're not very nice," I don't really know why.

Their companions of choice turned out to be a sweet-as-pie Danish couple (ages 30 and 32) and fifteen or so kids (ages 3 to 12)—many related in some way—whose parents worked in various capacities at the establishments along White Sand Beach. This was fine by me, as my girls were having a more concentrated dose of fun than I can ever remember having as a child. It was a few days before I realized that they were the only ones playing with the local kids. It's not that the children of the other hotel guests were being told not to fraternize; it's that the thought of doing so didn't even occur to them.

I admit I second-guessed myself. Were the other parents—gasp!—flaring their nostrils at me (flared nostrils being, of course, the classic Filipino expression of grave disapproval)? Were they all going to start blowing their cigarette smoke at me (seriously, what's with all the smoking?! Someone needs to start a campaign)? This anxiety didn't last long, as I quickly realized I didn't give a possum's posterior, a skunk's scooty, a lamb's larynx...a...a...a turkey's tailfeather.

Here are the girls and their buddies:




On a boat ride around the island:




Every night, just before sunset, the kids carve these designs into the sand using two tools: a spoon and a broom. When they're done, they put candles in the holes and set out a can for donations:




Throughout the week, the kids exchanged several little gifts, each one treasured: barrettes, candy, bracelets, shells. They taught each other songs, they taught each other how to catch tiny fish, how to tumble, play volleyball, dance. I loved watching all of this play out; it was one of my favorite parts of our trip.

On the plane ride home, I was reading Luis Francia's (amazing) Eye of the Fish: A Personal Archipelago. He writes about leaving tokens behind for some guerillas with whom he'd just spent time:

These impromptu gifts represented more than just a practical gesture. They also spoke of a sentimental streak in the Filipino's nature, the desire to attach emotional value to friendly encounters, no matter how fleeting or brief. Objects became iconic, even talismanic, minirepositories of personalized history. At every encounter with society or with fate, the Filipino is obsessed with reducing everything to an interpersonal state. Abstractions with little relevance to a life lived, to the here and now, are routinely ignored, an attitude often thought of as hedonistic; in fact, it is the very opposite, a seemingly carefree spirit that acknowledges its shadow, mortality.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

The Intrepid Traveler

One of the highlights of our trip was the day we escaped the heat of the city and headed up, up, up to Tagaytay, specifically to Tagaytay Highlands. My uncle was one of the architects for this project, and I think it gave him full access to everything. At least I think that's what happened since we...had full access to everything. There were a dizzying number of options: badminton, anyone? Bowling? Golf, spa, basketball, skating, tennis, squash...go-kart racing?! The kids were in charge, though, so the day's agenda became: fruit shakes, lunch at the Chinese restaurant, horseback riding, a visit to the zoo, and swimming.

I should make a correction: Vida was in charge. For whatever reason, she decided that this would be the day she would take life by the throat, look it in the eye, and say, "Hello. I'm going to LIVE you now." First, to honor her Lolo who was at home in San Mateo, she ate a fish eye. Here is the eye, being prepared by my Uncle Pudjo:


Here is Vida holding the eye on the spoon.


Here she is eating the eye.


Here she is saying, "Hmmm. Not bad."


Next, while her sisters showed a certain amount of trepidation in regards to mounting a horse, Vida basically jumped in the saddle and took off. Good thing she was accompanied by a groom, or who knows where she would have ended up?


At the zoo, she asked to hold some of the birds. Her sisters? Her sisters were all, "Um, no thanks." We could barely convince them to stand near Vida in this picture:


And, finally, in clear violation of stated pool rules, she decided she would cannonball into the water. When the lifeguard took her to task, she just flashed a smile and held up her hands as if to say, "How could I not?"



Vida does not take after me. But I'm thinking maybe I should take after her.

Monday, April 27, 2009

What's In A Name?

There are only so many places to eat on Boracay, and we quickly found a very good one that suited all our palates. For me: crispy tadyang (I was obsessed with this dish throughout our trip; in fact, you should just call me Crispy Tadyang from now on), grilled prawns, etc. For the kids: ribs! For the spousal unit: chicken, calamari, etc. An establishment with a knack for unifying disparate tastes could only be called one thing:


We ended up eating there three times in all, and each time our waiter was this sweet kid named Walter. Risa, Vida, and Lea basically ate him up with a spoon; he was a particular favorite of Lea's. Everything was Walter this, Walter that, thank you Walter, Walter's so nice, let's go eat at Obama Grill so we can say hello to Walter, Walter, Walter!

During our last meal there, Walter happened to catch a glimpse of the SU's driver license. This inspired Walter to show us his official Obama Grill identification card. Much to my horror, it didn't state his name as Walter. The dozens of times we had addressed him as such ran like a slideshow through my head. I squinted at the card, hoping I'd simply read it wrong. No such luck. His name was not Walter; it was Voltaire.

"Voltaire?" I asked. "Voltaire as in the...French writer?"

"No Ma'am," he said. "When my mother was six months pregnant with me, she was—ano—electrocuted. So...volt. Voltaire."

Would you practically have DIED just then? Because I almost just about died.

Oh, Voltaire.

As a culinary aside, I must ask: is there anything finer than being served dishes of vinegar, soy sauce, red chiles, and calamansi alongside your steamed rice? No, I think there is not.

Just in case you missed them on Facebook, here is a public link to our Boracay pictures.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

The Thing Is...

...our trip was SO not conducive to blogging. That's not the way I thought it was going to be. I thought we'd go about our business every day, and each night I would dutifully report the goings-on. Instead, we went about our business every day, and each night I'd do some reading and fall dead asleep. The only communication I could muster was the occasional Facebook status update. How did this happen?! How, for example, knowing that this awesome, only-in-the-Philippines picture was sitting on my iPhone BEGGING to be uploaded, did I not upload it?


Life is a mystery, my lovely people. But I vow, here and now, to make up for my grievous lack of blogging! I will inundate you with tales of our adventure, I will blog until you beg me to stop, I will blog until my fingertips catch fire.

Just...not tonight. Because you know what? Jet lag is a bitch.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Nesting Ground: The Manila Edition

I'm lounging in bed, pillows piled high, as Makati goes about its fevered business fifteen stories below me. We did our part earlier today, dragging our overheated children all over Greenbelt for lunch and shopping and ice cream. It could be my imagination, but I feel we draw a disproportionate number of stares from passers-by; I can't tell if they are friendly stares, curious stares, or disapproving stares, so I've decided to ignore them altogether.

As always, the customer service here is superlative and sometimes even sweet. Our lunch waiter today—named, quite memorably, "Edz"—has been the best so far. After the initial setting-down of our meals, Edz took his leave, but reassured with the following: "I'd like to inform you, Ma'am," he said, "that you can simply call my name, and I will be here." Lea thought that was the most hilarious thing ever. She kept saying, "Call him, Mom. Call him." Later, he addressed the spousal unit as "Sir Andrew," which is something I think I may do from now on.

The kids are not having the easiest time adjusting to the clock, that's for sure. Each night, at least one person's eyelids begin to flutter and she flat-out falls asleep at the dinner table. No combination of strategic napping or swimming pool time has provided much in the way of relief; in fact, an afternoon nap seems to make things worse. We'll see what happens tonight. "We'll be fine, Mom," Vida has just said. But I think we'll stick close to the apartment tonight, as we have an outing to Tagaytay tomorrow.

***


The first time I visited the Philippines was with my dear childhood friend Jodi, when we were both fourteen years old. Back then we stayed in Greenhills at the beautiful, stately home of her grandparents, where many of her relatives also lived. Many of the family live in Alabang now, and they kindly invited us to Easter lunch yesterday. I was grateful for the opportunity to show the girls...what? How a Filipino family lives, I guess? How a Filipino family lives in the Philippines? It sounds so stupid, but I really did want them to see this one simple thing. There were plenty of kids on hand (about a dozen, I think), and while I sat and ate lunch I kept an ear bent towards their table so I might catch scraps of their conversation. Vida, as usual, was talking non-stop, and later one of Jodi's aunts told me she heard Vida pause mid-sentence to say, "Wait. I don't even know your names." Hahahahaha!

later...

Sure enough, the kids were asleep at 7:30, and Sir Andrew and I were forced to order room service. Such an absurd thing to do in Manila, but there you go.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

One Tuesday Morning

Vida was home from school yesterday with quite the scorching fever. I wasn't too surprised, then, to be awakened at five o'clock this morning by a wail of distress from Lea's room. Known as "Queen of the Fever Spike," she who had been perfectly healthy the day before—even attending last night's softball game (go Panthers!) and playing robustly with her friends—was now a quivering little ball of heat. I dosed her with some medicine, and then tried to leave. Of course, this was not permitted. So there we were, one of us too hot and insisting on no blankets or sheets whatsoever, and one of us too cold. We finally fell asleep again around six, but were soon awakened by a kerfluffle in the hallway bathroom. The spousal unit seemed to have it in hand, so I took the opportunity to crawl back into my own—warm—bed. Soon, it became evident that the kerfluffle was becoming a kerboomboom.

I opened the bathroom door to find Risa, Vida, and the SU. "What's going on? Lea's sick, and she's sleeping. You have to be QUIET."

"We're having an emergency," said the SU.

The emergency was Risa, who had inadvertently fell asleep while squooshing a giant wad of neon orange silly putty. It was now deeply embedded in her very long hair. Not at the tips, mind you, but at her nape. She was weeping silently and trying to hide her head.

"Let me see," I said. More with the weeping, lots of refusal. "Um, hiding it isn't going to make it go away."

I had to keep from gasping when I saw it because, really, it was terrible. She must have rolled around on it every which way; the tangle was the size of one of those mini basketballs that people use for office hoopster-ing. It was its own entity. I tried to engage it, but it wasn't interested. Finally, I said, "Get me some olive oil."

I don't know how I knew it would work, but for the most part it did. After a few minutes of massaging oil onto the wad, it started to give way. Once she showered, I had to snip little bits here and there, but at least she was spared a Tuesday morning surprise bowlcut.

About twenty minutes after I sent the big girls off to school with the neighbor, my little Queen of the Fever Spike emerged from her room, fully clothed for a day on campus. "Hi," she said. "Where's Risa and Vida?"

"They're at school. I sent them with L. so I wouldn't have to wake you up."

She looked around, confused. "Oh," she finally said. "I'm hungry."

So I fed her and she laid down on the couch, not fully recovered after all. And of course, the phone rang at eleven o'clock and....

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Let The Salt Wars Commence

My blog needs a new tagline. It should be, "Nesting Ground: Where Never The Day Is Dull." Or something like that. Some of you know that my crazy father recently experienced yet another one of his dramatic health episodes. A few people have asked me to blog about it, but I shan't do it full-out. For although he is crazy, I need to preserve the man's privacy. A little.

Last week, when I brought my mom home from having an MRI that lasted something like 79 hours, my dad was in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. "I have a cold," he said. "Call 911." And we all laughed and I went home and the next day was a normal day.

Two days later, though, my crazy father collapsed and my calm mother DID call 911, and the next thing I knew we were living an episode of that insipid show, Grey's Anatomy. Flash forward six days, and everyone is home where they are supposed to be, and doing what they are supposed to be doing which is basically eating no salt and making sure their blood sugar never again takes a deep-sea dive to...hello?...THIRTY-SEVEN. And we will be partaking on new adventures: physical therapy for my mom (as I believe I mentioned earlier) and dialysis for dad.

All the same, we are counting several lucky stars. One of said lucky stars is my dad's generally perky little take on life. For a couple of days, he had the world's most miserable roommate at the hospital. We'd draw the curtains completely and just listen with saucer-eyes as the guy went on and on about how he was just going to "end it" and nobody could stop him and how he was a "World War II vet and can use a gun; you figure it out," and how everything was shot to hell because he couldn't eat apple pie anymore. After listening to that poor man, I realized that maybe my crazy father is not so crazy; maybe he's a peach.

But I have to tell you, I'm not looking forward to the salt arguments that are about to ensue. In fact, I'm just going to refer to 2009 as the year of The Salt Wars.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Lions Roar, Church Bells Ring, and a Car Drives Off Into the Distance

I was determined to post today. Unfortunately, I was also determined to get to Ryder Park for my patented (why is it patented when it appears to make no difference whatsoever to my physical being? I don't know) Ryder Park workout, hit up Target and Trader Joe's, register the girls for two camps, pay my bills, prep for teaching art to the first graders on Friday, and write up a lesson plan for tomorrow's baby writer's workshop. Speaking of third grade baby writers, our first session was more fun than a fish fry on a friday night (is a fish fry fun? Is it more fun if it's on a friday night?). It was easy to get them thinking in metaphors/similes. Here are a few of their poems:

Maeve
Maeve is beautiful as a field of daffodils
She is green as ten forests
Maeve is a cherry red popsicle
She is a very large church bell ringing
- J.M.

Brother
My brother is strong as a weed
He is fun as yellow
My brother is sweet as a red cherry
He is a lion roaring
- by K.I.

Me
I am a daisy in spring
I am bright purple
I taste like a ripe orange
I sound like a car driving off into the distance
- R.W.

I don't know; I just think those are super groovy. We'll see what happens tomorrow.