and. . . done

 

weather report

I know, only old people talk about the weather, but, word, the weather is worth talking about. All the places I go to get away from the cold are colder than where I am now.

vdays past

 

Love songs come to mind. The above reference to Heart of Stone. And so do the people you love. Thinking of Elaine, who sent me the following in 2005.

 "Ay dios mio, how can you talk about having A Valentine's Day without love? What about zee chocolates, zee flowers, my leetle petunia, zee moments listening to Freddy Fender ("I will be there until the last teardrop falls") and zee magnificent Diana Ross and the "Stop in the Name of Love" Supremes? And you, my dahling, showing up with zee roses and zee wonnerful leetle Valentine's Day card that I will fohever treasure in my heart....Oh, Ms. Surf City, you have zee most love then you can ever eeemagine.....As Edith Piaf seengs in A Hymn to Love: "If the sky should fall into the sea and the stars played all around me, all the time that we have known thee, we will sing a hymn to love....We have lived and dreamed we could do it all ...in a world that seemed our very own ...with its memory forever grateful...just for you we will seeeng a hymn to love....Ok, it goes something like that. Love you lots."

Love you, Elaine, and all of y'all!

 
   

 

 

new year, old friends

This is a picture of Ping holding a picture of her mother. I don't even remember her mother's name; I called her Chang Mama when I lived with her in Taiwan. That was fifty years ago. I was thinking of her when, in The Great Clearing Out, I found these pockets she sewed for me. 

 

I needed pockets because when I hand sewed the skirts I had to wear in Taiwan, I did not put pockets in them, and I was not a handbag type of girl. I saw one of these that Chang Mama had and admired it (I was a little hippy dippy), so she embroidered these for me. 

I sent the picture of the pockets to Ping, whose birthday by the lunar calendar is in three days, and I thought how amazing it is that we are still close after all of those years. We probably wouldn't be had she not moved to the States maybe twenty years ago. But here we are.

Our epic trip to the Goose and Graceland a couple years ago confirmed the fact that we can still live together in harmony despite culture shock and language issues (I having forgotten my Chinese and her having forgotten, though rather less, her English). 

So the deal is, you can't fang xia people. (See previous blog entry.)

fang xia

 Happy New Year! Happy new moon!  (The above is not it, BTW.) By the Chinese (and others') calendar, this is the Year of the Metal Ox. Last year was the Year of the Rat. Big surprise.

Anyway, this puts me in mind of something my sister Chang Ping taught me last week. I asked her if she was still mad at an ex boyfriend, and she said, "Fang xia!" I did not know what that meant, and she said it literally meant put it down. To take something and put it down. Basically, let it go.

She said at our age, it is time to fang xia everything: anger, concern about beauty, desire for wealth—everything. All that striving, all that controlling, all those emotions of youth are over. Fang xia. Let it go. 

Word for the new year: Fang xia.

cafe society

 Amsterdam Avenue in my neighborhood has become unrecognizable. It was always a street of bars and restaurants, most of which had seasonal outdoor tables. Now it has offseasonal outdoor tables that stretch into lanes on both sides of the avenue. Despite the fact that some indoor seating is opening up on Friday, guys were still hammering up semi permanent structures, some tented, some bubbled, some just outside and protected from the snow. When I walked along this ayem (on my way to the dentist) it was empty, as most restaurants don't open til much later, but it is common to see parka and mask clad New Yawkers sitting on the streets and waiting for their food to arrive. The bars are not allowed to have this outdoor seating unless they also serve food. So there are even new options and cafes these days.

new jersey sky

So beautiful. From my neighbor's apartment, where I was fighting with her printer.

 

super bowl debauch

 

Like all good Americans, we had a Super Bowl party. Except we did not watch the game. I don't have a TV, after all. We ate and drank, though, and convivialized. Donna brought the stuffed shells and made the salad. It was quite a debauch. And it continued the morning after. Cookies and oatmeal for breakfast so late it was lunch. 

The Morning After, we listened to the half-time show and watched some of the commercials on You Tube. Kind of. Substances were consumed. Pictures were taken. Sunshine enjoyed. And, for me at least, all plans for the day postponed. I didn't even finish the Monday crossword puzzle, which typically takes me about 12 minutes.

it's like this

 Today, the sky s blue and clear, the weather is warm, and the poor snowman is melting in a pile of dirty snow, his carrot nose at his feet. Sorry I did not take a picture of that. Chien Chi is in strict quarantine in a hotel room in Taiwan, meals delivered to his door, so that he can visit his mother in the ER after a 10-hour heart operation. Ed may or may not have his furnace working again. I still haven't finished the damn sky on my puzzle, but I have cleared out most of the clothing from my closets. So I guess all proceeds. 

the garden room

The light may be short lived these days, but now if can always be bright in my kitchen/living room/office. So grateful to have these bright and beautiful paintings by Katie. I do keep looking at the one picture for the time, but I moved the clock over to the locate-yourself-in-space/time area. Must reprogram self.

 

kondo that

Here is one of the problems, Marie Kondo, if you are 70 years old and going through your stuff. There is a lot of stuff, and much of it sentimental, or it wouldn't still be hanging around.

That is the last baby bottle. I convinced Hannah to throw it in the trash at age two by telling her all the kids did it. But then I snuck it out and hid it. Does anyone want this brittle plastic baby bottle? I don't think so. But I have been unable to throw it away.

There are notebooks from my adventures all over the world that not even I can read, due to my handwriting. And let's not even talk about the photographs. 

There is my helmet and vest from racing the Carrera Panamericana in my then sister-in-law's Porsche. The Viyella shirt I got from one long ago (and obviously WASPy) boyfriend. Jewelry: every earring has a story. The qipao I had made to fit my skin in Taiwan in 1971 that even Hannah wasn't able to wiggle into. And the socks I wore when she was born. 

But worst of all are the books. Two Little Savages, the how-to bible for my brother and me when we were small, traipsing through the woods with a travois and trying to light fires with a stick and bow. The Bomba the Jungle Boy and Tarzan series I inherited from my father. The Robin Hood books I collected. The books written or photographed by friends —or me.

What to do? No one will even know the stories attached to these objects when I have forgotten them. Help me out here, Marie. You're 36 now. When you figure it out, let me know.
 

holy!

And it's snowing again. Though all is kind of damp. And icy.

But the big news is, you can now buy Donna Ferrato's book, Holy, on Amazon. Intro by yours truly. I'd rather join her religion than any other I know of. But as most of you know, I'm a pretty confirmed atheist. We'll both be joining the witness protection program presently.

 

ice skating in block island

it must be winter!

 

It's blowing and snowing like a bandit outside. I ordered groceries yesterday, so that's all good. The wind is howling, and Toby was talking about hot toddies and candlelight later. I've got candlelight now. If I had a fireplace, I would light a fire. I like just staring out the whiteout window at the snow from the coziness of an overheated NY apartment. Snow is even sticking to my plants in the courtyard, which I can't remember having happened before.

I wouldn't want to be in Block Island right now, though Pam and John seemed to be enjoying themselves skating on our pond yesterday. Johnny and son Noah have been building out the interior of his latest structure, which is becoming another art house. Or maybe library. Here are some of his pix.