Now/here no/where woman

As I write this my Outrigger and I are perched on a balcony. The Outrigger has his nose buried in a law book and I am busy making up strategies in the pursuit of another dream. (Strictly speaking though, I'm procrastinating at the moment.) The Outrigger says I have a knack for making dreams come true. Sometimes this is a scary thought. From where we sit I see pine trees, grey sky and a distant lighting storm. An occasional crow flies across our view. I can almost forgive the cars and jeepneys rattling up and down the road below us. I can almost forgive the loud pop music and the mediocre coffee from the cafe behind us. This morning I took my two daughters, the Artist-in-Residence and the Little Boss, horseback riding. They spent half an hour humming to each other in their own world, on the back of Viper, a pony that the Artist-in-Residence has loved and returned to again and again for the past ten years. Lifetime friendships are made in Wright Park. Halfway through the day w...

What does it mean? I mean, to be a good person. The un-put-down-able kind of good person. The other  day, a stranger stopped me on Session Road and tied my shoelace for me. I was walking with the Baby in a sling, a bundle of papers in one hand, and an umbrella in the other. This woman looked to be in her twenties. She called me Ate, tapped me on my shoulder, and pointed out that the laces on my right shoe had come loose. I thanked her but it was impossible for me to bend down and tie them. I shrugged and walked on ahead of her. A few paces later, she tapped me on my shoulder again and said, "Ako na." I'll do it. Then she bent down and tied my shoelace for me. If she knew me to be the kind of person I am, my foibles, the sorts of trouble I've gotten myself into, the things I've said to and of people, would she still have given me this small act of kindness?  I thanked her again and again and she just shrugged and walked on ahead of me. 

A fish tail addresses my favorite Tito, who loves to cook: “I see you have fine knives here. Quite a kitchen you’ve got, sir, quite a kitchen. And those scissors – so strong! If I were you, I’d use them to cut off that ponytail. Doesn’t it bother you, the way it swings around while you move from pot to pot, seasoning, stirring, and tasting? A ponytail is not like a fish tail, sir. A man or a woman is perfectly fine without one but a fish without a tail is a dead fish and I don’t say that just because I wound up here with a dead fish – my dead fish, that is to say. Sniff. “Imagine a fish swimming in the sea without its tail. It wouldn’t even be swimming. It would be flapping about gracelessly, towards a slow and painful death. Can’t imagine what that’s like? Well I can tell you sir, it’s a far uglier sight than a splintered sailboat in rough waters. And to fish, a sailboat is an ugly thing to begin with, but not as ugly as boats with engines. Not only are boats with engines monstrous...

Home-baked bread fresh out of the oven never fails to arouse my maternal instincts. It takes all my self-control to keep from snatching up a warm loaf of bread, cradling it like a baby in my arms, resting my cheek against its delicious-smelling skin, and inhaling deeply. This never fails to disgust people who want to eat the bread. I want to first love the bread and then eat it. So I'm weird that way, but these moments of consummated food-love are a little bit of heaven on earth.

" Anyone's who's ever had a dream, anyone who's ever played a part, anyone who's ever been lonely, and anyone who's ever split apart... " Sweet Jane, Cowboy Junkies cover.

"You can build a way of life on postponement." -- Robert Corrimer, The Moustache.

 

I'm back!!! With a vengeance! Rrrawwwrr!

This evening's rain is my friend. Tonight I am an armadillo and the rain and I are talking. The rain tells me it will keep me safe tonight. The sound of the rain shuts out the rest of the world and I like it this way. I am not hungry. I can stay where I am. Something heavy rustles outside my den. Quickly I curl up into a tight, armored ball, but the rain says, "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. It's nothing." Image credit: http://www.atmos.washington.edu/2001Q2/211/groupC/biosphere.html

Image credit: Amazon.com I've always said that Baguio is Where the Wild Things Are. My friends and I, we're all a bunch of monsters out for a good time. Image credit: Amazon.com I grew up loving Maurice Sendak's book , and now I am waiting, waiting, waiting for the movie by Spike Jonze. Watch the trailer here. I wish I had a Max outfit when I was a kid. (And I shouldn't have to tell you that I don't mean the chicken.)

It's after midnight and I've just stepped back inside from having a delicious shot of Laphroaig Quarter Cask at a soothing concert of unseen crickets conducted, it seemed, by a bat that whirred softly back and forth through the trees across the way. The humans I live with are asleep. The dogs are asleep. The cat is asleep. The squatter mice in the ceiling are asleep. It's just me, the crickets, the bats, and now Madeleine Peyroux awake, blurring ever so slowly into tomorrow, our edges fuzzied by the effort of being yesterday. My body is still but my mind is near hysterical, feeling blindly along the walls, looking for an exit that might suddenly open unto Rembrandt's Nightwatch in the Rijksmuseum, or the display of shrunken heads in the Pitt Rivers. Why my mind wants me to be there, I do not know. It's time to put these waking dreams to sleep.

... is my Mac and I am so relieved that we are on speaking terms again. It's been a long time since I've spoken with The Mac or my books. I used to do it all the time, especially when I had eureka moments, then I would exchange a few happy phrases and whoops of delight with the tools of my trade. People around me find it disturbing when I do this because they think I'm speaking to them but I'm barely even aware they're there. So this is a good sign for the coming writing days, that I have resumed the conviviality of the long hours The Mac and I spend together. Me, typing on The Mac: Logging canals are private property of the persons who invested in having them built. The trees that the canals lead to also become the property of the investor. However, once the trees have been cleared, the land around the canal reverts to tanah kosong , land that belongs to no one or, literally, zero land... The Mac makes clicking, typing sounds, and whirrs every so softly, almost lik...

I have two observations about this blog: 1. The amount of time I spend posting is directly proportional to the amount of time I spend working on my diss. So more posts is actually a good thing. 2. I am way too self-conscious and that is counter-productive. Enough of that. Oh and the answer is: anthropoo-logist! That's me!

I'll be glad when February is over.

The Artist-in-residence and I were downtown observing people when she suddenly burst into a sardonic laugh. Me: What? A.I.R. (shaking her head): It's too silly. Me: What's too silly? AIR: Everybody's buying flowers! Hahahaaaaaa! Me: And? AIR (almost hysterical with laughter): Why choose today, of all days, to tell some one that you think they're special? How can valentine's day be special when everybody's buying the same gifts, going to the same places, and doing the same thing??? Hahahaaaaaa! Me (as I ushered her across the street and away from the dirty looks of the people lined up for flowers): You're right. How pedestrian.

I'm done with my pink phase.

... for wearing winter boots! (Not even if you're in a miniskirt in Baguio.)

The second-to-the-last chapter of the diss is expected in my supervisors' inboxes next week. What better time is there to procrastinate? This is the perfect time to release a slew of posts that have been festering as drafts since January. Brace yourselves, whoever and wherever you are. Coming soon, a series of meaningless posts for fellow-procrastinators! (I mean, really, why are you wasting your time around here?)

... relocating!