December 26, 2008
Scampi
A couple of weeks ago, I just couldn't get my mind off scampi.
I know that is a little weird. That's why I'm posting it here and not on our other blog.
Used to see lots of this when we were in Ireland.
Look at those other things. They're not fries, they're "wedges".
Posted by Dipika at 3:45 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
March 1, 2008
A Ha!
Posted by Dipika at 10:13 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 13, 2007
Weather, Rain, and History
Recently I had the good fortune of catching up with some of my favorite people in Ireland, and getting to that reminded me of all the goodness of being in the southwest corner of the Emerald Isle. Yes there was the rain, of course, but it's what bound us. The crappy stuff, like weather the rain, and history.
D: You know, you said the weather thing twice there.
A: Yeah! It's crappy, that's why.
D: ...
A: That's what's Irish, though.
D: Hm?
A: The mutual joy in complaining about the miserable things in life.
D: Aw, damn.
Posted by Dipika at 11:01 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
September 21, 2006
"The Wounded Skies Above" and Other Lines from George Michael
Does anyone still have George Michael's tape, Listen Without Prejudice? I found it in a forgotten box, and remembered why I bought it. In 1990, the artist released this song called Praying for Time. If you get a chance to see the music video, see it. The words go like this:
These are the days of the open hand
They will not be the last
Look around now
These are the days of the beggars
And the choosers
This is the year of the hungry man
Whose place is in the past
Hand in hand with ignorance
And legitimate excuses
The rich declare themselves poor
And most of us are not sure
If we have too much
But we'll take our chances
Because God stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere along the way
He must have let us all out to play
Turned his back and all God's children
Crept out the back door
And its hard to love,
There's so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say it's much too late
Well maybe we should all be
Praying for time
These are the days of the empty hand
Oh you hold on to what you can
And charity is a coat you wear
Twice a year
This is the year of the guilty man
Your television takes a stand
And you find that what was over there
Is over here
So you scream from behind your door
Say what's mine is mine and not yours
I may have too much
But I'll take my chances
Because God stopped keeping score
And you cling to the things
They sold you
Did you cover your eyes when
They told you
That he can't come back
Because he has no children
To come back for
Posted by Dipika at 2:13 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 30, 2006
カラオケはOKよ！歌うか。
D: Can I look at the song book when you’re done?
K: Um... it’s in Japanese.
D: Right.
K: ...
D: ...
K: Which artist are you looking for?
D: スチャダラパー*.
K: Really? But they’re so old! Hey, which song?
D: "Konya wa Boogie Back".
K: What! I love that song! 一緒に歌いましょう！
...
...
...
K: Hey, I want to know what else you know.
*Akira reviewed one of Scha Dara Parr's albums in his Music Fridays column.
Posted by Dipika at 5:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 3, 2006
Flashback: Advice from a 106-Year Old
An elderly lady stopped me as I started to make my way to the other side of Denny Way.
"Excuse me, honey. Mind if I cross with you?"
Strolling with her for a few blocks in the sun, I recalled some of the advice older folks have given me. I still remember clearly the words of a man who'd just turned 106.
I'd been asked to interview him:
'Hello, Mr. Barry,' I say, introducing myself to the oldest man in Ireland.The above is an abridged version of a piece in the 2003 archives of the Irish American Post.Tommy Barry is seated in a flower-patterned sofa chair in a far corner of the room. Family photographs and books line a shelf beside him. There is a quiet calmness around him, a certain inner peace—it is apparent from the first minute we meet. He holds a tiny book in his hand.
A prayer book, wrinkled at the corners, and aged. 'He's always studying one of those,' says Mae Barry, his wife. From time to time, he looks up, either at the racing on television, or in an attempt to hear what's being said around him.
'You see, he's practically deaf,' says Tommy Barry Junior. 'He can hardly hear anything.'
'I see.'
The elder Tommy Barry reads without glasses, intently concentrating on the text before him. After a time, he decides to make conversation.
'And who are you?'
He leans towards me, tilting his ear in my direction. He catches my hand, it is soft and spread with creases...
'You'll have to speak a little louder.'
So begins my conversation with a man of 106...
I wonder what advice he might have for young people of today.
'Advice?' He frowns slightly, then pauses for a long time. It might have been five minutes that passed, or it might have been 10. In that time, Mae Barry and I are respectful and attentive. Mae repeats the question to her husband, but Tommy nods confidently. He heard the first time, and has understood perfectly.
'All the advice I'd give to anyone,' he begins, looking straight ahead and with great conviction in his blue-grey eyes, 'is to say your prayers. Say your prayers. That's the best advice I could give 'em.'
Posted by Dipika at 3:24 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
December 15, 2005
Once in Florence
Once upon a time around this time of year, Akira and I bumbled into Italy on a last-minute fare.
As other passengers, mostly natives, unpacked themselves from the aircraft, they put on sunglasses. They relaxed. They wore clean, well-manicured shoes with labels ending in vowels.
Dazed but optimistic, we followed.
It was winter, yes, but here there were no rain-soaked winds like in our green corner of Europe. Tan earth. Dry air. We weren't in Ireland anymore.
Sure, we could have done with some cassette-tape language lessons and travel guides. But despite the lack of background knowledge, something about this place was comfortable. It was easy to wander aimlessly and enjoy the light, which was always perfect no matter what the time of day. It no longer became so important to get to the next musuem. What was nice, we found, was to pause.
Posted by Dipika at 8:20 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 26, 2005
Parisian Scene
Akira and I are in a cafe in Paris, the kind with slim wicker chairs shoved together, their backs a line of arcs. Two café au laits appear and Akira removes his gloves. It's nearly Christmas and even small places like these are decorated lush. Outside, the air is white.
In a corner, a group of well-dressed people hold long cigarettes. Jewels dance under umbrellas of light. "Reminds me of that time," I say to Akira, "we watched snowflakes flutter into the light of street lamps."
"Mmm," he returns.
We halve a crossaint and watch a woman bustle about, smudging makeup on half a dozen of the women’s lily faces. Chairs and skirts rustle. A tripod on wheels appears. A camera.
I was reminded of this scene the other day, when I happened upon a film crew working a corner of Seattle's downtown. The mood was much different.
Perhaps it was the novelty of being in Europe, but the powdery feel of the French scene consumed one's senses much more fully. More drama over there. Or was there? Maybe we've simply lived long enough that chance encounters like these no longer engage us. I wonder which it is, and which it isn't.
Posted by Dipika at 11:52 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
November 17, 2005
Leaving Soon
8.39 PM The snow is fresh and all my bags are packed. Well, they're mostly boxes. Thirteen packages. In a little while, the bus driver will tell me that's way too many for the overnight ride to Tokyo. But I'll grin like a dumb gaijin and he'll wave me along so he doesn't have to make sentences in English.
10.20 PM Yoshi and Junko show up to say goodbye. Their hugs are staccato but I know they're sincere. I wonder if I'll miss them. They showed me curry shops and jazz bars and took me to Metro, a nightclub by the subway and the river. Four years later I'll bump into Junko at a San Francisco career fair for bilinguals, both of us in navy suits.
12.20 AM I pull aside the beige pleated curtain and watch wooden gates and clipped trees slip by. This time I'm not looking through my camera's viewframe, but a sterile rectangle of window. No one is in the seat next to me. I put in a J-pop mix tape. Beyond the reflection of my face, old houses segue into grass plots and glass storefronts. Out here, Kyoto's streets are even more quiet than last night's snowfall.
6.04 AM I retrieve a shawl from one of my boxes. This takes some time, as none of the packages are labeled. But I have time. I wish I could fall asleep here, right here among my worldly possessions. These amount to a couple of clothes and a bunch of notebooks. There aren't very many people at the station, but I know skyscrapers are nearby. Kyoto is far. Already, my mind is empty of her. In a half-hour, Akira will come 'round with his mom's car.
Posted by Dipika at 6:12 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 27, 2005
Then and Now
Wow, Death Cab for Cutie is in Raleigh today.
D: What is Disco Rodeo?
A: Some new place, sounds like. Maybe they redid that place we saw the Genesis tribute band.
D: Really? That was really far from everything.
A: Everything in Raleigh is far from everything else, Dちゃん.
I found out about the Death Cab gig from a newsfeed from Independent Weekly, the paper we used to read back in the day. This picture is one I took for their Front Porch section. Butterfly museum, Durham.
Neat to read a band from here is going to my hometown. A small surprise, but a welcome one, to see then and now intersect.
Posted by Dipika at 5:20 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 16, 2005
Reminisces of West Cork
So today I meet someone who gets me thinking all about Ireland again.
The way it's normal to rent a house that comes furnished. Christmas. Lent. Long sleeves in the summer. Walks with A at sunset. Rounds and more rounds. Stars everywhere. Cows. Yachts. Gourmet cheese and fusion food at the restaurant in Glandore. Dancing lessons. Failed attempts to launch my kite at the beach where they race horses.
"How was Ireland?," the stranger asks, with no intent to care.
Posted by Dipika at 6:29 PM | Comments (0)
August 14, 2005
One Day
Two guys speaking in a language that's maybe Hebrew sit down on my left. The bench is worn and initialed and overlooks Elliott Bay. They begin lighting cigars, and pause midpuff for a photo. A navy-clad brunette snaps the camera. Resumes her place by the railing with another woman. They're watching boats. Smoking slim cigarettes. Freeway traffic drowns the words and salt interlaced in the air.
Posted by Dipika at 9:47 AM
July 28, 2005
TodayFM
My headphones started magically working today, after a series of failed troubleshooting attempts. So I plug into TodayFM, this Irish station I used to listen to a lot over there. I really like Tom Dunne's Pet Sounds, this show that comes on at a time there that works out to be office ours here.
So this afternoon these guys are talking about tape. Measuring tape, you know, which they called "rolly tape." I love that kind of description. That stuff is awesome.
I forgot to mention the reason they got on to talking about measuring tape in the first place was 'cause of this guy who called in, worried about his girlfriend who was going to her best friend's hen party where there would be a stripper.
Posted by Dipika at 3:43 PM | Comments (0)
July 26, 2005
Blue
Jewels were in my dream yesterday, little pellets of sparkly diamonds and pearls.
They were floating in water, a blue-plate kind of water like pools in the rice fields of Kyushu.
Posted by Dipika at 6:47 AM | Comments (0)
May 11, 2005
Soft rain
Like anyone else who lives here, I'm delighted when we get sunny days. After three years in Ireland I've learned to really appreciate any peek of sun.
"Lovely day, isn't it?" people on Skibbereen's Main Street would say.
A nod in reply, and the standard, "Grand altogether." Always returned with a smile on truly pretty days.
With rain, which is most of the time, it goes like this.
"Fierce miserable weather, isn't it?"
"Desperate, like," comes the volley. But no one really cares if it's raining, that's the thing.
So for a few days now we've gotten a good wash in Seattle. This weekend there was a soft, misty rain that really brought me back to West Cork. The kind that makes forty shades of green. It's calming to see it again, even nicer to walk about and let it drizzle upon the skin.
Posted by Dipika at 9:51 PM | Comments (0)
May 10, 2005
Why I left Old Skibbereen
A friend of ours from France (hi Eric!) sent us a link to his crazy collection of pictures from Ireland, and it got me thinking about the how and why of my whereabouts. You see, it's been exactly one year since I arrived to Seattle from the hills of Skibbereen. It's been a good year, definitely, but there has been a lot of adjusting for sure.
The farmers, cows and sheep that roam on the roads, the pubs where people sing and talk to strangers as if they are part of a family, the ever-changing sky and lights on the green hills... West Cork was every bit strange and foreign to me, yet something in the place really spoke to me, like I'd known it all along. Something in me still misses it.
So why did I leave? Well, it was a matter of putting an end to what I had always known would end sometime. I was not from Ireland, and I had no Irish in me -- there was no way I was going to settle there. As wonderful as the culture of Ireland is, it's also very, how shall I put it, Irish. I was just a hired hand in a small enterprise, and sadly there was nothing to tie me to the place, after three years.
Is it any different here? Maybe not. I am not American (yet), and I still haven't really found my niche here. But in the city, you are not alone 'not belonging' anywhere - it's more a matter of fact, a byproduct of the lifestyle. I guess I am more of a city rat.
I do love the expansiveness of the Northwest. The perspective it gives me, of the mountains and oceans afar, skyscrapers and old buildings near. In Tokyo, you have no sense of space. Everything and everyone is constantly in your face.
You could say I choose the middle ground, a sort of a compromise. This city has a lot of influences from the East, and there are lots of perks to being one of the closest port from Tokyo. The weather and landscape is reminiscent of Ireland (to me). I get to eat well, live close to everything, but there's still a sort of small-town feel left. It's a good place to live, and I am pretty content so far in it.
Of course, it helps that I actually do like the rain. Gives me all the excuse I need to stay home and read!
Posted by Akira at 8:52 PM | Comments (0)