Been Away
For those who have expectations of reading a weekly post from me, I apologize for not delivering. Several events have come into play the past two weeks, some of which follow:
*my daughter got sick, I think with H1N1;
*my sister's house in the Philippines suffered from the flood; her husband almost didn't make it;
*I had a lingering cough/cold/sinus infection that just refused to go away;
*I organized a relief program here in Illinois in coordination with a Rotary club in the Philippines, where my father is president;
*we have a new puppy, 10 weeks old today
photo courtesy of Bunny Fabella
Of course, I could just say that life intervened. But that's a sorry excuse, one I'm embarrassed to admit that I've used too often to justify not working on my writing projects.
Body
One thing I could say is that people have told me I've lost weight. I haven't confirmed it by using my bathroom scale; allow me to savor this delusion for a bit. I've kept up my zumba classes (except when I was sick). Every Tuesday night I swear I'd never make it to the cooling down exercises (which still leave me panting.) Thank God for Gatorade.
I walk my very energetic puppy at least twice a day. I've come to appreciate the beauty and serenity of early morning walks, when it's still dark and nobody's about. (Well except for that one time when Isis and I passed a car with its motor idling under a street lamp. When the driver saw us, he drove just a few feet forward, under the next street lamp. Just happened to park at a private subdivision at 6:30 am?) We walk at a brisk pace, to keep my puppy focused, and I like feeling that I'm already into my day while the others are still sleeping.
I'm still belly-dancing. In fact, I'm participating in a short dance in a student recital in two weeks. Does "Rock the Casbah" sound like anything I'd be doing? Those of you who know me well know I don't even know what the Casbah is. They're probably saying it's a midlife crisis. I'll tell you what the crisis was: what to wear. Since I'm very shy about exposing my midriff (which is ironic for belly dancing), I ordered a body suit from Australia with the most coverage, snipped the bottom off an old shimmery blouse, and fashioned a long tie that hangs all the way past my belly button. It will do for a five minute dance. I'll be the most inexperienced there, having taken lessons for less than 2 months while the others have been doing it for over a year. My 14year old daughter refuses to go (Good. She'll dogsit.) My husband makes funny noises and averts his eyes when I practice--you'd think a husband would be more eager, curious, at least, but he winced when my coin hip scarf arrived in the mail. So why am I doing this? Why do we do anything?
Mind
I've been making progress on my novel. I try and write several hours a day, when the puppy is resting. I've taken to writing at the kitchen table--quite a change for me since I usually write in isolation so I can more fully imagine this world I'm creating. Since the story is set in the Philippines, it's not a difficult transition, except now I'm working on a chapter that takes place in Quiapo and Binondo, where I've never been. I guess I've been there a few times, but I have nothing close to the intimate knowledge required for the chapter. I've resorted to eating Filipino food to get me in the mood, which actually works. Eating is such a sensory experience that I think it fuels my imagination. Now if only it were hot and humid here, instead of dry and 67 degrees fahrenheit. And if only I were surrounded by a crowd of Filipinos instead of my Wisconsin husband, my high schooler (a world of its own; need I say more?), and an Australian shepherd. Funny how somebody in my writing class who read my manuscript called my novel magical realism, when in fact, this world does exist, on the other side of the globe. And the narrative is based on actual events, although I've made the characters more eccentric. The theme is ambitious: How does religion survive in a secular society? This is something I grapple with everyday, coming from a devout Catholic family. My mother would probably answer, "We survive because of religion." My mother is a very insightful woman. She's 82 years old and still active with volunteer work. I owe so much to her. Damn, now I'm missing her.
Questions
I haven't received any feedback regarding our camino arrangements. I'm sure the typhoons set things back a bit, but I'm ready to start asking my friend again. After all, I've been telling my friends about this walk and now I'm setting expectations. I have a habit of doing this.
Answers
None at the moment. Just something I heard watching a Mad Men rerun last night: Chinese saying goes, "The faintest ink is better than the strongest memory." Not a mind-blowing insight, but a useful tip for a writer. Especially one who gets the names of her daughter and dog mixed up sometimes.
Peace,
Almira
