monoceros blogsI got back today from the Associated Writers and Writing Programs conference in Chicago. Wow, what a great trip. I left on Wednesday evneing on a 5.30 Amtrak train, got to Chicago at 10:30 (train got delayed halfway, of course), which was actually Michigan time 11:30. I had my dinner (Chicago Deep-dish Pizza, reputedly the favorite pick of the Godfather) at midnight, on my body's time. The hotel, Hilton Palmer House, was lovely. Very antique with lovely artwork on the ceiling lobby and a large red and gold ballroom. I felt as if I were in Europe.
The conference itself was great. I met some old friends, one was a classmate from my undergraduate days (she's now an MFA student in Ohio) and another was an instructor of mine at NELP (the New England Literature Program that took me up and down Mount Washington the summer of 1999). I got some free books, applied for free textbooks that I might use for teaching next year, attended a number of useful and practical information sessions and panels, saw and spoke to some famous writers, one of them being Lee Gutkind, the godfather of creative non-fiction, went dancing (AWP organized music and dance for every night) and decided that writers dancing are quite a sight (I think I did all right. I certainly had fun dancing with my friend and travel companion, Elizabeth).
After the conference, I'm inspired to really teach writing, be it in the US or in Singapore. I attended a panel on teaching writing in the international community. It seems that the US is the main country whose schools encourage creative writing in its education system. European schools avoid it, and it's unheard of in many parts of the world. A French child will leave primary school without ever having written a poem or tried writing creatively. After the conference, I'm also certain that I'll be seeing plenty of rejection letters once my manuscript is ready. It's tough to get a literary agent and publishing houses are just inundated with query letters every week. Agents do come to schools to scout (last year, a Thai-American MFA student got picked up by an agent, whom he picked up from the airport when she came to visit U of M) and writing instructors can refer students to agents, but still...I'm not going to hold my breath. Elizabeth has been in touch with an agent and if things work out for her, she's promised to introduce me. But first, I've got to get my act in order and clean up my manuscript. Better still, I have to complete it. That's what the summer will be for this year. I've also been thinking about a novel, but that will require a lot of research and a number of years, I think.
Outside of the conference, I saw very little of Chicago. We arrived at night and I only stepped out of the hotel in the evenings, and didn't venture very far. So today, being my last day, I took a walk to the public library, which was close by. It's an amazing building, a Beaux Arts one, with large red stone walls and a green roof of amazing design. Later, Elizabeth and I decided to go to the famous Russian Tea Room, which is near the Art Institue of Chicago where I wanted to pick up a present for Andrea, who took me to the dog show last week. The Art Institute is wonderful, I didn't get to go look at the exhibits, but I will, I will! I promised myself I would return and spend a day there! The famous lions (not unlike the ones that guard the New York Public Library) were very nice to look upon and the gift shop was very nice to browse. Edward Hopper, Edward Gorey, Claude Monet, Charles Manet...ooh, I wish I were studying in Chicago! I also passed by the building where the Chicago Symphony Orchestra performs. Russian Tea Room, art, music - all within walking distance of my hotel, I wished we were staying longer. The Russian Tea Room is the place where museum-goers escape to after a long day among works of art. It serves very authentic Russian fare and even the employees are Russian. Our seating hostess looked very Asian - I believe she's a mix of Russian and Chinese - and spoke with a lovely soft Russian accent. Elizabeth and I had strong Russian tea and borscht soup. We gobbled down our entrees and then had to run, really run back to the hotel to collect our bags, hail a cab and dash for our train, which we boarded two minutes before it left Chicago.
I'd love to go back soon. Chicago is a lovely, vibrant city the way New York is on the East Coast, although Chicago is cleaner and less crowded. What NY does for the East Coast, Chicago does for the Midwest. I wish I could exchange Detroit for Chicago.
Oh, and clever me forgot to bring my digital camera. And my phone doesn't allow me to email my pictures to my account so, aargh...no pictures! I feel very foolish. Next time I'm there, I will have my camera.
Check out this little baby. This kind of thing appeals to my inner voyeur. Ah, what would that nice neighbor be doing today? Well, I should say I'd probably use it for walks and hikes. It's cheaper than the proper bird-watching binos and it looks neat in its old-fashioned way.
Also of interest is this replica of Nikon's first binoculars. Updated with the latest lenses and coatings. Pity it's a whopping $249.00.
Yesterday, I went to a dog show in Detroit. A friend of mine, a dog-lover, invited me to attend with her and her family. This is the kind of show we always see on TV, fluffed poodles and jumping retrievers. We had an early start and got into town around nine in the morning. We prowled the rows where the dogs were getting primped and were allowed to pet and talk dog talk (ie baby talk) with the purebreds. Borzois, poms, goldens, beagles, afghan hounds, welsh corgis (that's Ein from Cowboy Bebop!), shelties, border collies, terriers, great danes, dalmatians, french bulldogs, whippets, setters, westies. Think of every purebred you know, and then some - they were all there at the Cobo Arena. There were areas designated for poop and pee, rings for the performances and judging, stalls with dog paraphernalia, food stalls (I bought some famous Mackinaw Island fudge, had yummy ice-cream, and a Philly Cheese and Steak sandwich) and balloons.
My favorite show was the border collie herding ducks. The owner, from Iowa, couldn't bring sheep so she used ducks. She explained how border collies are one of two breeds that uses the eye to control cattle/duck movements. Maddie, her border collie, understands commands that tell her to go clockwise or anti-clockwise, knows how to direct her ducks up and down a slide into a little tub (makeshift pond), and appreciates a good soak in the tub once the ducks are safe in their pen. Herding is hard work! Maddie has such power that sometimes she only needs to tilt her head slightly and the ducks start moving. I loved watching her body movements, the slinking, head-near-the-ground, stance as she walks slowly behind the waddling ducks, or the quicksilver bolts round the ducks to push them in the direction she wants. Once, when her owner was walking towards the audience to answer a question, Maddie got up to follow, but her owner just moved her hand and said "stay" and Maddie immediately dropped to the ground and waited.
I was amazed at the patience of the dogs while they were being washed, blow-dried and hair-sprayed. No fuss, just endless patience, and a couple even went to sleep after their long preps. I caught many signs of affection between dogs and owners and wished I had a sweet westie, or a little welsh corgi. If I had the land, I would love to have a border collie. My friend and her family are partial towards the borzois, very aristocratic and lean dogs.
I left the show with a stuffed welsh corgi and the following pictures.
Watching the Amelie DVD led me to another world, the world of Michael Sowa's surreal paintings. If you've seen the movie, you might recall the pictures of the sick dog and classy goose above Amelie's bed. There was also a glimpse of a picture of a little girl walking next to a bear. On the DVD commentary, the director tells us that these paintings were done by a beloved German artist called Michael Sowa who has illustrated a number of children's books. His pictures are whimsical, surreal and very popular. Some books he's illustrated: The Little King December, Esterhazy, A Bear Called Sunday. He's also got a book called Sowa's Ark, which is an amusing take on Noah's Ark.
My favorite ones include the girl and bear, or maedchen and bear. Incidentally, I was surprised that the German word for girl, "maedchen," bears (no pun intended) a high resemblance to my dialect name, Mae-Chern. Other favorites: swine lake and rabbit dressing.
My favorite online DVD store gave me a nice discount last Christmas and I bought a bunch of DVDs during the holidays. Tonight I finally got round to watching one of them - Amelie! Watching it again was like finding a small treasure I'd hidden a long time ago, not unlike the tin box of mementos hidden by Mr. Bredoteau in the 1950s.
I laughed and smiled and felt very warmed by the burgeoning mystery and attraction between Nino and Amelie. Nino works two jobs, as a skeleton in a horror train ride at a funfair and at a porn video store, but his passion lies in collecting things; presently they are discarded photos at instant photo booths around train stations in Paris. Amelie, a waitress at Deux Moulin, turns a do-gooder after returning the box of trinkets to its aging owner. She doesn't just do good, she changes lives.
I think every girl wanted to be Amelie after watching the movie. Amelie the perpetual dreamer, the sweet pixie who skips stones and makes great plum cake. And certain guys wanted to find Amelies for themselves. Me, I just want to go to Paris and climb to Montmarte! Actually, once, I did think about cutting the hair a la Amelie, but I didn't think it'd suit me. Paris it is then, some day.
I recently read something I'm not supposed to read, and I don't know how to write about it here without compromising my position on how I got to read the something in the first place. I'll try to be as vague and as detailed as I can.
The something is actually a letter from a person working in Madrid. He wrote of the victims - immigrant workers from 11 different countries who died far from their families, the dreams of university students, the weddings that won't take place now. He also wrote of those who worked in the midst of the pain and turmoil - doctors, school children, taxi drivers, fire fighters, the police, people who became blood donors on the spot, who gave comfort to persons they had never met before, who threw blankets into the streets for victims. He wrote too that it was Madrid on Thursday morning, but it had been New York in 2001, and it might be anywhere else tomorrow or some time in the future. (I'd also add that it was Bali in 2002.)
It seems sad that the human spirit tends to shows its true heightened form in moments of tragedy but it's good to know that we are capable of such work. It seems even sadder that we've plunged ourselves into this hellhole of fear. These days I actually think about how safe a place is when I try to pick a holiday destination. Egypt's risky, Istanbul is probably fine, parts of Ireland used to be no-nos. People will start thinking about safety on trains now.
I lament the senseless deaths and wish only for better days ahead. Peace may come one day, probably the day that aliens invade earth and force us to put up a united front. Then again, we might have some dirty players trying to strike deals with the aliens.
An interesting incident which I failed to write about earlier this month. I got roped into a make-up session with a visiting and allegedly talented professional make-up artist working for Lancome. So I found myself at the mall approaching the Lancome counter on the day of the appointment; a little nervous, a little wary.
Insult #1: the make-up artist carrying out my half-baked facial (by this I mean, half-assed; and I just broke my rule about swearing on my weblog) asks me my age, hears my answer, tells me, "oh, you're a baby!" then goes about making her colleagues guess my age by looking at my face.
Insult #2: after the same girl - who happens to be my age and looks stunning and appropriately her age - completes my half-baked facial and applies foundation in the wrong shade (I'm not a make-up artist and I do get this right on my own) to my face, she guides me to wait for the fella who's supposed to turn me into a goddess, or a demi-goddess, at least. I look at the other women he's just transformed, and think, hmm, okay not bad. My turn, and he says to me, "Oh you remind me of my friend so-and-so." (I can't remember the name.) I try not to roll my eyes and say, "Let me guess, I look young, right?" He smiles and nods and says, "So you want something for the day?" To which I reply, yes. He does things to my face, sweeps something here, something across my cheek, puts mascara on my lashes, lines my quivering eyelids (I have delicate contact lenses inside), dabs something on my lips and finally whips a mirror in front of me. I look like a teenager desperate for adulthood and just about ready to go to the disco. He's lined my eyes in dark purple, put shimmery blush on my cheeks and even more shimmery lip gloss on my lips. No, I look like a deranged 80's Tinkerbell. My eyes look like they're about to explode. Somehow, he's used his talents and energy to make me look even more juvenile. Wrong direction, mister. Somehow, I exude courtesy, thank him, stumble out of my chair and back to the counter where I decide to buy none of the products he used on me. Thank goodness the session is free, although we have to buy something, so I select a blusher that I wanted months ago. Something subtle and with zero shimmer.
Insult #3: The lady who handles my purchase looks at me and says, "You look lovely!" I try hard not to hit her, hand her my credit card, take my bag and coat, thank you very much, and leave the mall.
I don't think I'll be headed that way for a while.
Wow, the weather pixie in Ann Arbor has new clothes today! The weather is getting warmer and I hope it stays that way.
Sunday was unproductive in terms of school work. I went to church, then to Main Street to pick up some cards and a couple of items my sister-in-law had ordered, and then headed to my friend Elizabeth's home for tea. I've been going to Elizabeth's place for lovely tea parties and play sessions with her three children. Yesterday, I arrived with a basket of strawberries and a book I'd bought in Singapore for the children. It's supposed to be a book of children's favorite Singapore stories but some of them were completely unknown to me! Well, I read two to the children anyway. Yanka wanted the story which had mermaids and Tony, the oldest, wanted the story with a tiger in it. I had to read in a very loud voice because little Kiril was competing with me in the living room, playing on his own and being adorable as usual.
In the evening, I overcooked my eggs and cheese special, an Italian side dish, but brought it over to Peiming's birthday party anyway. It was nice to get together with familiar faces. I stayed longer than I'd planned and left the place sleepy and all ready for bed. Tuba player, Jake, looked like he was going to be stuck to the carpet until Lim Jia unpeeled him and pushed him out the door, disheveled and mumbling about sleep.
The week begins again. Let's hope I last through it.
I rose early Friday morning so that Leslie and Noella could give me a lift to the music school where Noella and Peiming were to rehearse for their Piazzolla piece, Le Grand Tango.
For weeks I'd been pestering the duo to let me attend their rehearsal. We settled in a classroom with two grand pianos. The two musicians, Peiming and Noella, readied their instruments - Noella tuning her cello and Peiming warming up on the keyboard - got out their digital metronomes which look like pocket calculators and then jumped straight into the piece. The acoustics of the classroom weren't great of course, but it was still a delight to listen to the two parts of cello and piano come together. Even better was watching the two musicians digging into the piece and refining their interpretation. Noella often played with her eyes closed (having memorized most of her part) in an attempt, I presume, to hear better the notes emanating from the cello. I'd say that a cellist tends to be more dynamic in performance - the facial expressions and body movements echoing the rise and fall of the melody.
Leslie, Noella's fiance, and I sat quietly, taking in the music. To my left, a large window provided a lovely view of the large pond next to the music school. A light, constant snowfall lent more beauty to the panorama. It was a good morning to be listening to Piazzolla.
Half an hour into the rehearsal, Peiming asked if I could turn pages for her. I'd seen her wrestling with the pages during the practice so I immediately agreed. My first page turning task! I've always felt that I would be a great page turner. Precision of timing, it goes without saying, is the most important attribute of a page turner. Unobtrusiveness is the next. Slight and vertically-challenged, I fit the bill, especially next to Peiming, who stands in the 1.7-something range.
I was worried at first about getting lost in the music and not knowing when to turn the page, but I found myself reading the notes, glancing at Peiming's hands and just knowing when to turn the page. Of course, it's hard to know when exactly she'd want the page turned, so I hazarded my guesses - perhaps just before the final measure on the page ended. I would stand up in the middle of the page to be turned, place my fingers on the top of the sheet, and wait for Peiming to reach the final measure, and then I'd turn the page and sit back down. It is pressurzing because you have to keep up, you can't get lost and you mustn't panic. Once, I did get lost, and was searching for the right measure while the music kept getting further and further from me. Peiming was nodding, and then nodding more vigorously until I caught on that I had to turn the page; I'd thought she was nodding to keep rhythm!
Some notes:
1. Pages to be turned should have their upper corners turned down in advance, this makes the fingers grip the page easily, and not fumble and accidentally take hold of two pages instead.
2. The pianist should nod once to indicate to the page turner when he or she wants the page turned.
3. It helps if the page turner is familiar with the music.
4. It helps if the page turner doesn't have horrifically-polished nails that would distract, slivers of bright colors against the busy black notes on a white page. (No, I'm not guilty of this.)
5. If female (or even male), the page turner shouldn't overdo on perfume, which would cloy, and the pianist would wrinkle his nose, irritated, and possibly sneeze. (No, I'm not guilty of this either.)
Thursday night, Rackham Auditorium: readings by Yu Hua, Ha Jin and Bei Dao. The name Ha Jin, National Book Award winner in 1999, would draw the American audience, and the other two would pull in the Chinese. Boon and I went because we'd both read some of Ha Jin's work. Several years ago, Ha Jin came to Borders in Ann Arbor to read, and I went away a little unimpressed because I didn't learn anything new from the reading.
After tonight's reading, I didn't really learn anything new from Ha Jin's reading again, but I enjoyed the other two readings by Yu Hua and Bei Dao. Yu Hua is a fiction writer, and his second novel To Live was made into a film by Zhang Yimou. Of course, the movie was banned in China and this sort of things always does wonders to the sales of your book and ups your celebrity status. The excerpt he chose to read was set during the Cultural Revolution, and a father cooks imaginary food for his hungry children because it's his birthday. I was pleased that I could grasp most of Yu Hua's reading in Mandarin. (Peter Ho Davies read the English translation.) Of course, I gather that I understood the Mandarin because the text was about food and cooking, contexts I'm very familiar with so the words weren't difficult.
Not so when it came to Bei Dao's poetry reading. First off, Bei Dao has amazing diction. I've never heard anyone speak more beautiful Mandarin. Poetry in English can be difficult as it is, so Chinese verses were swathes of wondrous, colorful, I-don't-really-know-what-I'm-hearing words. This didn't bother me. The graceful enunciation of the poet kept me awake and content. When the lines were delivered by Linda Gregerson in English, my enjoyment went a step further as the meanings arrived. Even in translation, the poetry seemed no less beautiful. Bei Dao has already been on the short list of candidates for the Nobel Prize. He was a Red Guard during the Cultural Revolution and his work aims to identify both public and private wounds, and targets afflicted people. He was forced into exile after the Tiananmen Square Massacre and now teaches in California.
Selections from Bright Sheng's CD, China Dreams, were played during each reading. Bright Sheng teaches at the music school here at University of Michigan, and according to my friend, Peiming, is a "big-shot" - a MacArthur Fellow and Leonard Bernstein Distinguished University Professor of Music (he was taught by Leonard Bernstein). The compositions featured music on pipa and cello, and were quite lovely.
Naturally, the groupie instinct drove me to get two of Bei Dao's poetry collections and then directed me to the table where he sat signing books.
An interesting night, as Boon pointed out, with his hairdresser from the Chinese hair salon buying poetry books and waiting for autographs. A large turnout of Chinese students and residents in Ann Arbor. One couldn't help but feel patriotic. Or in my case, pretty pleased about my ethnic heritage. Four years ago, when I was graduating and receiving an award for a piece of fiction set during the Cultural Revolution, the emcee mistakenly referred to me as a Chinese citizen, and that the story was based on family history, thereby inferring that my parents were Red Guards! This, even after I'd submitted a bio indicating that I am Singaporean, that I'd never been to China and had to carry out research before I could write the story. I was mortified for my family who was present, but well, as Lin Kiat said later, never mind, let the audience think you're from China, let them think that a little Chinese girl is capable of winning an award from the English department!
I've been working on a short story about a cellist and I approached my friend and member of my cooking group, Noella, since she's a graduate student in Cello performance at the music school.
I learned about the different parts of the cello, the various cases, the make of her cello, a Charotte-Millot (from 18th century Paris), how to hold the instrument, how to bow with it, the importance of coordination between ear and fingers/wrist/arm movement and a dozen other important things, I'm sure. That was the theory part. On Monday night this week, I went to her apartment for dinner and it wasn't till the end that we realized she might as well give me a demonstration on her cello. After all, she's also been rehearsing Astor Piazzolla's Le Grand Tango, for the opening ceremony of the Old Parliament House in Singapore at the end of March. When she played the first note, I was astounded by the power of the sound. It's not simply loud; the instrument just resonates with a rich, glorious sound. She put the mute on so I could listen to the difference and then she broke into the Piazzolla piece.
A woman once said that there is a tender nerve that connects the ear to the ankle, and boy, did I feel that nerve that night. Piazolla's compositions are full of melancholic and vivid melodies, wonderful stuff that urges you to dance. I've loved many recordings of his work. To have it played before you is something else. I've never been more moved by another instrument. The notes come out strong, low, beautiful, and when Noella's fingers slid up and down the fingerboard, playing either vibrato or harmonics, I was just spellbound. Noella was playing standing up, leaning against the back of a sofa in a casual position since this wasn't a real rehearsal, but I could already sense the skill involved, and the joy she has each time she plays. It was one of those moments when the music enters you, changes something inside, though you're not quite sure what it is, and when the music ends, you're left beggared.
Okay, I guess it's obvious I was very moved. It's different from watching a pianist. With string instruments, the process of creating the sound, the music through touch and feel is just wonderful to watch. Noella told me you hold the instrument in your embrace and you pour everything you feel and think about the music into your arms and wrists and fingers. The playing is harder because you have to listen more to tell if you've got the right note. It was an experience to watch, and it must be a wonderful experience to play. (May, I'm sure you will agree!)
I count myself pretty lucky to have discovered or been introduced to an amazing range of music. The leaps I've made from one singer or musician to another has been great fun, like how I found Dulce Pontes after her collaborations with Ennio Morricone and how I picked up Mich En Scene's CD after watching the movie, Tadpole. I also came to love Coralie Clement's style of singing and realized her brother Benjamin Biolay had written and produced all the songs on her CD, and his CDs aren't bad either. A couple of Coralie Clement's songs are featured on the soundtrack of Something's Gotta Give, and I was evilly smug about how I had her album for a whole four months before the rest of the world - excepting France and Montreal where the folks, I'm sure, were already on to her - came to know her after watching the recent romantic comedy.
My recent find is a singer-songwriter-pianist called Vienna Teng. I was on the National Public Rado (NPR) website looking for information about another indie singer, Grazyna Auguscik, a jazz vocalist, when I saw Vienna's picture on the front page. The two main details that made me sit up: her lovely name and her race. An Asian-American singer. I went to the NPR page on her and learned that she studied engineering with a minor in music at Stanford, worked for Cisco Systems in Silicon Valley and then decided to become a full-time musician. Lucky for us, because her two albums are wonderful collections of thoughtful lyrics and inspired melodies. She is a classically-tranied pianist, which anyone who has taken the ABRSM exams can lay claim to but Vienna takes her piano-playing further by using her technique to support the beautiful works she composes. In addition, there are cellos and guitars, instruments which always get my vote, on several songs, .
She's been compared to Sarah McLachlan and Tori Amos, two singers she confesses to have influenced her, and even Norah Jones. Perhaps because I'm rather disappointed by Norah's latest album, which has a strong country feel (I don't dislike country; there're certain types of country I take to, and Norah's blend doesn't quite work for me), I find Vienna's music far more favorable. The songs aren't as quirky and difficult to access as some of Tori Amos's tunes, and she doesn't yodel as extensively as Sarah McLachlan. Her voice is sweet, unadorned and strong when the song calls for it. Her speaking voice is actually a deep alto, surprisingly.
Those who are familiar with Corrinne May will probably make comparisons, but again, I think Vienna has an edge over Corrinne's song-writing. At times, Corrinne's lyrics are a little on the fluffy side ("cotton candy clouds" or something close to that effect features in one of her songs), and although I do like some of her music, I didn't find myself as drawn to her words as I am to Vienna's, which tell interesting stories about people and places. I also like that Vienna adds in one or two unusual tunes, one of which, Unwritten Letter #1, has a distinctively Latin let's-tango feel, and it's supposed to be a sad song! It makes the lyrics all the more poignant. There's no self-pity or overly despairing tone and you admire Vienna for the intelligence and style of her music. On her second album, there's an uncredited track, which is a Taiwanese traditional song, "Green Island Serenade," and she does sing it in Chinese (her parents are migrants from Taiwan; Vienna grew up and has spent all her life in Northern California). When I heard it, I was swept back to my own childhood when I used to watch tons of Chinese and Taiwanese serials with my grandmother.
I suppose if you're still reading, you'd like to have a listen. There are a few links I thoroughly recommend. The NPR pages, and you can and should listen to the interviews with her (her speaking voice is lovely too).
The latest interview - click on "Weekend Edition - Sunday audio." You'll also notice a few audio samples from her latest album. I like "Mission Street."
The first interview about her debut album. Again, there are audio samples.
And if you're still reading and want to know more about Vienna, you can visit her website here and download clips of all her songs. Her albums are the kind which don't compel you to skip a track. I'm really impressed, and she must be the first Asian-American I know of to break into the American-vocalist-song-writing scene. Brava!
I always enjoy my weekly virtual newsletter from NYTimes. I get book reviews and essays and articles on current literary phenomena. This morning, I got up with an aim to get started on a critique of a peer's 60-page novel excerpt (while pushing away fears of completing my own short story in time for next week's workshop). Opening up my inbox, I read a little of the newsletter and found a review of the latest historical novel. It's actually more of a historical romance in the vein of Girl With A Pearl Earring.
The Birth Of Venus has a lovely book jacket and an equally picturesque but politically-charged story setting - Florence, Italy, 15th Century. Alessandra Cecchi is married at 16 and then left to pursue her own interests with a secret artist lover. Given the title, I'm tempted to believe Sandro Botticelli. The review gives up little clues. However, I'm drawn to this book simply because of the time period - the height of the Renaissance when scores of artists filled the world with beauty, the peak of Savaranola's power (the forceful Dominican monk who eventually burned at the stake in Piazza Signoria) - and of course the setting.
I read the words "Medici", "cloth merchant", "Ghirlandaio" and I knew that this book was going on to my wish list or straight to my shopping cart at Amazon. (It's in the cart, folks.) Next moment, my heart's all bunched up and I'm near to sobbing, "Someone, please take me to Florence, let me go back! Take me back to Florence!"
Hysterics aside, here's the excellent book review by Valerie Martin. You might have to register with The New York Times online, but it's free and you might as well sign up for the same Sunday Book Review newsletter I get, anyway. More moments of literary joy to you!
A record high of 68 degrees today (that's 18 degrees celsius. Check out my weather pixie below - she's got new threads at last!). It's very windy and there's a mix of sunshine and rain out there. Blue skies for now, but that may change, as Michigan's weather is one fickle dame.
First week of school after spring break and I'm slogging away again. A week ago, my sister-in-law, Christine, was here for a weekend visit. It was great fun to show her around Ann Arbor and the places where Lin Kiat and I used to hang out. We went for a long walk in the park where we watched the geese and swans on the water and also some daring Japanese boys walking on the frozen river. We strolled down Main Street, which I haven't been to for a while, and dined at a fine restaurant, Gratzi's, where we had scallops and pasta and pear salad and tiramisu. I think I'll have to bring my husband there when he next visits. I don't believe the two of us have ever dined there! I've been there only with my brother and a couple of friends. On Sunday, we had brunch at a sweet little cafe called Cafe Amadeus. Wonderful Eastern European fare - potato pancakes, beef goulash, scallions and eggs. We also visited a furniture shop with tons of fascinating objects for the home.
The weekend was very relaxing and surreal in the midst of the school term. I felt like a holiday-maker visiting shops and walking down Main Street. I should do this more often, particularly having brunch at Cafe Amadeus. I'll save that for a treat next weekend after finishing this big paper. Next week is going to be rough.
I haven't been writing much, although I really ought to. I have a post-it on my wall with a list of blog topics and the list is growing. Days go by and I keep adding things but I don't write them!
Spring break is over and I'm back in the game, although I'm still struggling to keep up. I've got an important paper due next week and I still have this great desire to watch DVDs (carried over from spring break, no doubt).
Well, today is the 3rd of March. Exactly a year ago, this website or weblog went live, thanks in no small part to my friend Vantan. Since then, I've gone for dress fittings, made wedding invitations, had the wedding, moved halfway round the world, watched a bunch of movies, taken plenty of digital pictures, gone to New York twice, fell really ill, made new friends, watched the last LOTR movie, watched the LOTR gang sweep the Oscars (yes, Monkey, they did wonderfully, didn't they?), and I think I'll keep writing some more (when I get a break from my work!).