Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Oh no Papa, that's my personal space.

Papa can be a tad overzealous when expressing affection.

I don't have any photos of her stepping on my eyebrow (yesterday, when she tried to wake me up). Or of her chewing on my chin as I wipe her feet after a walk. But I did manage this one, back in winter: It was supposed to be a typical couch photo — of which I have many — but instead she tried to kiss me. Or maybe I was in her way.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Oh no, Patrick, it's just a bath.

Patrick, an adorable dachshund who belongs to my friends Sarah, Mike, and baby Danny, also dislikes baths. However, "he LOVES the cookies he gets afterward as a reward for not jumping out of the sink!" Aw, Patrick.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Oh no, Papa, it's just a bath.

Papa loves to play Frisbee, anytime. She is not fearful of rain (storms, yes; rain, no).

When it rains, she slides on the grass (well, what used to be grass and now is a patch of mud) to catch the flying disc. Her sliding and moonwalking whips mud onto her belly as well as her legs. So I have to bathe her.

She jumps in the tub willingly but cowers at the far end as I try to wash off the shampoo. All this while giving me Sad Eyes, which she also does when I trim her nails. At least she doesn't try to drink the bathwater — that's only when she's at my parents' house.

I'm hoping the rainy season is over.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Oh no, Papa! Do you have something against Outliers?

I came home Saturday night and found my library copy of Outliers on the kitchen floor.

To say Papa ransacked my tote bag would be an exaggeration: The Geography of Love, a memoir, was still inside, as were a couple of laminated signs from the Bead and Button Show.

So why Outliers, I wonder? Was this an act of literary aggression (as I suspect the bookmark incident might have been)? Or was it a request that I read the book as soon as possible so I can help cultivate her talent? I know, I know: either possibility is equally likely.

Papa, you practically have your own blog detailing your accomplishments. What more can I do?

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Essay: Language losses

Last summer I took a personal essay class online and was stumped about what to write for one of the assignments. My friend Katy, who I’ve known for more than 30 years, gave me a suggestion.

After all the cutting, shaping, and polishing, here it is: Language Losses is online at East West magazine.

One last note: I’m not sure how long East West's home page will stay the same, but look for the group photo of me, Mom, Grandma, and my aunts (Reiko and Yoshiko) there.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Essay: Romance in a can

Two years ago, in a class on food writing, I wrote an essay about eating canned ravioli on a date. I got a lot of encouragement from my classmates but knew the story needed work when my friend Tom said it was nice. (I think of “nice” as synonymous with “utterly forgettable.” In fact, Tom doesn’t even remember saying that.)

So I revised. A lot.

And I’m happy to say that "Romance in a can" has just been published in the summer issue of Alimentum.

Incidentally, the story is listed as fiction in the table of contents. The publisher said they read it as fiction, and “either way we love it.” So I'm oddly flattered by the mistake. If you get a chance to read the piece (you can order a copy here), I’d love to know what you think. It's a true story, folks.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Oh no, Papa, not right now!

Papa has a new bad habit: crying when I don't play Frisbee with her.

This isn't the grumbling she does when she's content (that sounds odd, but it's true) or the growling when she hears people approaching the house. It's yelping. As if not playing Frisbee is painful. Pitiful, even. It's the sound she makes when she gets caught trying to run through a door before it's fully opened. Ouch.

When I tell her "No!," she hangs her head and backs away. Why do I say no? Because it's difficult to play while I'm mowing the lawn.

But then she tries again. She has also taken to dropping her Frisbee right in the path of the lawn mower, making eye contact and looking forlorn. She'll move it when I pause and say, "Pick it up."

I'm trying to train her to follow me with her Frisbee as I do yard work. We'll see how that works.