We were rained on and blown on by Fay last week, making us feel like we were home in our beloved Manila at the height of a typhoon, sans the flooded streets, long lines for buses, jeepneys, and tricycles, and butt-numbing traffic.
My life these days seems to be about cleaning both at work and at home. It's been my biggest adjustment - life without my maid - but I seem to be getting good at it. All I need is a pretty pair of dishwashing gloves.
An ice cream truck drives around our apartment complex in the afternoon while playing really loud, ice cream truck music. Kind of like the Pied Piper I guess. Kids are supposed to come running out of their homes as music and truck roll by. It reminds me of an ice cream truck from a year in my childhood when we lived in Vancouver, WA. Our house was at the end of a long cul-de-sac but my sharp six year-old ears could hear the truck a block away. Ever since moving in, I have been wanting to complete the memory by stopping the truck and buying myself a cold treat. I finally did. It tasted just like the banana-chocolate ice cream from my youth.
posted while watching anthony bourdain's no reservations in egypt