My mom and step-dad are here. (fosteronfilm and I engaged in a manic fit of scrubbing and cleaning and vacuuming yesterday, so the house is presentable.) They didn’t sleep well last night, waking up at the ungodly hour of 4AM, so we had an early night today. We ordered some Chinese delivery (don’t ask me why my folks insist on eating Chinese food when they travel to the states) and hung out at the house.
They continue to be both enchanted by and somewhat trepidatious about Hobkin. They stood around watching him eat dinner, which undoubtedly discomfited him a bit. And my mom thumped him on the head when he was napping (she thinks his ears are cute) and pulled on his legs (ditto cute paws), and he put up with it with remarkable forbearance. I think the women in my family have some sort of animal zen. It’s the only thing that explains it. If anyone else had taken such liberties with him, there would’ve been blood.
And my folks brought prezzies! They got me a three-volume set of Journey to the West, the story of the Monkey King and assorted folktales associated thereof.
My step-dad engaged in some traditional storytelling as I was oohing and aahing over the books they’d lugged for me all the way from China, telling how the mythological Journey to the West is based upon some real events, people, and places. We discussed the Lady of the Moon, Chang’er, and the origins of the Monkey King. He’s into Chinese mythology. Is that not totally cool or what?
I haven’t had mooncake since I was a little girl. I wrote several Chinese folktales concerning the Spring Festival and the Lady in the Moon, and ever since I’ve been craving them something fierce. fosteronfilm had never had mooncake before, so we split one. (For anyone who hasn’t experienced them, it’s not sensible nor wise to eat a mooncake all by yourself. They’re quite rich.) These ones have a sweet green filling, not as sweet as red bean paste. I think it’s lotus seed paste. Yumf! Now, I am full of mooncake. Happiness.
Received a 65-day personal reject from Sheila Williams of Asimov’s. She thought it was “charming,” but not for her. She did invite me to try them again.