A Bit of History

My grandmother (mom's side) died a few years back and while we were cleaning out her apartment (actually, we were looking for anything we wanted to have), I took several diaries and papers showing family history. They have been sitting in a bag on a shelf, unopened since I returned from her funeral. I've been thinking about them for a few months now and finally took a look. One of the diaries begins during World War II, when she was in her early 20s, dating my Grandfather who was about to be sent off to war. She hmms and haws about whether or not she really likes him, then a few months pass and suddenly they're married and pregnant and he's on a ship overseas and she's madly in love. I'm up to her eighth month of pregnancy (I'm a little concerned because she's happy about losing ten pounds, but I guess my mom was born and lived so I can let it go), he's landed in England, and has just told her that he learned that her brother made it there safely as well. They write to each other every day, sometimes twice, but the letters take a long time to reach each other. Most of the pages are filled with her daily doings -- cleaning, eating, teaching her mother shorthand, fighting with her sister. But the context is so interesting.

Anti-Music

Buskers often entertain us with blues, classical, mexican, bluegrass, rock, you name it, as we go to and from the trains through the BART station. The other day, a bedraggled man with matted hair and a long beard pulled out his violin. I actually doubt that it was his violin, only because it seemed like he had never played one before. He energetically (madly) drew the bow back and forth across the strings, making angry screeching noises. I did, at first, give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking perhaps it was some avant-guard performance. But after a few minutes of listening while I purchased my bart ticket, I came to the firm conclusion that he did not know how to play the violin, and was in fact purposely playing anti-music. I wish I had checked to see if he had the case out in hopes of dollars, because now I wonder if he were playing only to annoy, or whether he genuinely hoped some commuters would appreciate his (insane?) effort.

Lily, age 5

"How was school today, Lily?"

"No one played with me today."

"Really? Well who did you play with?"

"Just Sadie and Rosa, they were the only ones who played with me."

"And what did you play?"

"Pirates."

"Oooh. And were you a pirate?"

"No, I was a unicorn."

"I see. So was Sadie a pirate?"

"No, she was a unicorn."

"And what was Rosa?"

"A unicorn."

"Oh. Were there any pirates in your game?"

"No."

"Well, that sounds like a fun game."

"It was."

I still think it was a party.

On a beautfiful Sunday morning, Shaun and I and the girls made our way on foot from our house to the Thai Temple for a Berkeley brunch. On the way we passed the neighborhood halfway house and as we approached, it sounded like a gathering was taking place, with many gay voices chattering away. How nice, I thought, that they would do something festive on a sunny Sunday. But when I looked in the yard, there were only four or five people. Each was talking to him or herself.

If I Had My Very Own Parking Place...

Quickest Way To Heaven

In Erie, PA one can get fried cheesecake. So we did. It's your basic cheesecake wedge that has been rolled in egg whites and bread crumbs and then dropped into the deep fat fryer. The result is a tasty, warm and crunchy outside and your traditional cool cheesecake inside. Mmmmmm.