Ladies who lunch

There's this Stephen Sondheim song "The Ladies Who Lunch" from the musical Company. Its lyrics rewind in my mind whenever I'm out with my gang of girls (yes, we revert to girlish ways). The girls write, edit, do public relations and overall work with words. Cleo Laine, Carol Burnett, Patti Lupone, even Barbra Streisand have versions of the same song, each worth listening to.

I like to be early for these lunches and watch the girls come in one by one or two by two--usually Angge Goloy comes in second, this time with her Australia-based geologist daughter Yayay (here for her St. Scholastica's College high school silver jubilee, among other reasons).

Then what Angge calls "the advance party" of a "schoolbus" sub-group, Chato Garcellano, my editor for many years, follows with the more leisurely walkers Ester Dipasupil and Corito Llamas a few minutes behind her. Missing was Lynett AdVillariba who had wifely duties.

What I love about our group: the huge smiles, hugs and cheek-to-cheek kisses with which we greet each other before we settle down for a huge lunch and almost simultaneous talking. I like to lean back, listen and watch them make happy talk about life, work, family.

Ladies who lunch transform into "bag" ladies at the stroke of 2 p.m. (from left): Giselle Amanda Goloy, a.k.a. Yayay, Chato Garcellano, Ester Dipasupil with me behind her, Nini Yarte, Corito Llamas, Angge Goloy and Joy Buensalido

We make time to get together at least four times in a year. It seems time is never enough. SOP is lunch, followed by coffee and dessert elsewhere.

This time Angge and Yayay picked out Nikkei Peruvian Resto-Bar at The Podium in Ortigas Center. Portions were conservative but delish. I came out satisfied with my salmon teriyaki--crisp outside, tender in the inside with a sauce a tad sweetish for this diabetic.

Interiors of Nikkei at The Podium. Love the shafts of light on the heads of the customers

Inevitably, there is always someone having a birthday in the group so we each whip out our presents for the young Yayay who swears by improvements in her health because of the Keto diet. I gave her a copy of my book of essays Catholic and Emancipated (published by UST Publishing House in 2011) which her mom says will make good reading as Yayay prepares for her class' 25th anniversary. In turn she gave her titas who lunch a box each of Australian tea leaves.

Yayay and her Tita Babeth lean on each other

Latecomer Nini Yarte's only excuse as she arrived while we were all finished with lunch was: "I was made for dinner!" And she handed to Yayay the quaintest gift of all, a Himalayan lamp, I think.

At Ca Va Cafe where we enjoyed our coffee with bibingka crepe. Clockwise: Babeth, Ester Dipasupil, Nini Yarte, Joy Buensalido, Angge Goloy, Corito Llamas, Chato Garcellano and Giselle Amanda Goloy

Lovely decorative touches within Ca Va-- dried flowers, birdcages and lanterns

The excitement over seeing one another hadn't died down so we moved over to the cafe called Ca Va for cappuccinos for some, lattes for the others and one bibingka crepe for sharing among the eight of us.

When I got home, thanks to the "schoolbus" of Corito, I sighed deeply and thanked the universe for the gift of friendship.

Photos from the cameras of Giselle Amanda Goloy and Joy Buensalido

3 birthdays in 1 day

Ate Raya and her kid bro Dakila

Girlie Sarabia with a whole cake to herself

The blogger Jennie Moraitis likes to encourage followers to "find magic in little things."

This past Sunday I was looking for those little things that would restore me. I found one in a joint birthday celebration of Dakila and Raya, children of Sinag De Leon, all born in January, and of Girlie Francisco Sarabia.

Daki and Raya's nana (lola) Anna Leah Sarabia and Sinag chose Pigar X Pigar on the Sikatuna Village side of Maginhawa Street in Quezon City as venue for the get-together. With us also were Kaya, outfitted like a Parisian girl complete with black beret, and her mom Leonor Mae Tomelden-de Leon.

I've always liked attending children's, rather than grown-ups', birthday celebration. Food and chat are so uncomplicated.

Reminded me of Rickee Baluyut's birthday celebration some years ago when he was just a boy in his family's former Mandaluyong home. His pop Alex Baluyut prepared an unforgettable chili con carne (there were other dishes but the chili continues to stand out in my memory).

When I heard we were gonna eat at a pigar-pigar place, the first of its kind in Manila according to the owners, I was thrown back to a public market in Dagupan, Pangasinan, where husband Rolly Fernandez took me to try it. The meat was tough and chewy. The initiation was memorable because of the meat's toughness.

On this latest pigar-pigar tasting, I was anxious that I would have to grind the meat hard before I could swallow it. My brittle teeth might not be up to the task. I was proven wrong

The pigar-pigar made from carabeef was so tender; what was more, the meat came sauteed with onions and lots of cabbage. Although most of Anna's family members are pescarians or vegetarians, they sampled the meat dish. Girlie, a pianist, hummed softly, sounding pleased.

Pigar-pigar with sliced onions and cabbage

Binagoongang rice

Grilled bangus

Steamed okra

Pinakbet of Pangasinan comes with camote.

Pinakbet of Pangasinan comes with camote.

The serving plate was wiped clean; the same went for the plates of binagoongang rice, steamed okra, grilled bangus and that staple of the North, pinakbet. What made this Pangasinan pakbet different from what I've sampled was the chunks of white camote in it.

The management knew there were three birthday celebrators in our group and brought out patupat (another Northern delicacy) but served a la mode!

As I took shots of our meal, Sinag suggested I make future still life painting subjects out of them. Sige, Sinag, thanks!

So pleasured was I that I thought of suggesting to my family in Baguio that we sample Pangasinan food again but in situ. A way of escaping the Panagbenga crowd. With the good roads going up and down Baguio, this may be a capital idea that can turn a day into something magical.

Happy birthday again, Girlie, Dakila and Raya!

Cursively yours

The artist Abbey Sy just reminded me through her latest post that it's #nationalhandwritingday .

In grade school at St. Paul College of Quezon City, Penmanship with a tall "P" was a required but minor subject. An older cousin and my godmother Jane Pearl Server Banzhaf, since deceased, remarkably retained the light and dark strokes that were the hallmark of Paulinian penmanship right through her 60s.

A page from a 2017 diary

In the course of conducting interviews as a journalist, I lost those strokes while doing my own shorthand. I keep a diary, but most times I'm also in a great rush to finish the day's entry. The results are all the words, phrases and sentences are rendered in one even heavy stroke.

But I have a high regard for people who still do cursive and have not totally succumbed to the conveniences of the digital age.

Julie Miller, a historian in the Library of Congress Manuscript Division, and Victoria Van Hyning, a senior innovation specialist in the division, wrote that "the digital age has transformed us from people who read and write by hand to people who type and read on a screen, from letter-writers to emailers, texters and tweeters."

See link here: https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2019/01/crowdsourcing-helps-to-unlock-the-mystery-of-cursive/?loclr=twloc

I still consider myself fortunate than those much younger than I am because I went through the phases of learning the proper Paulinian way of shaping the alphabet from capital "A" to small "a" all the way to "Z" from Grades One to Four. The lessons are not lost on me, Sisters Gemma, Scholastica, Richard and Eugenie!

If one loves to hand-write stuff, the next obvious things one loves, and can get attached to, are random pieces of paper, cards, postcards, notebooks and yes, I hear you, Joseph Uy, fountain pens.

Just a short hour spent with these objects to compose a life through diary-keeping and letter writing is a splash of sanity and serenity in a madding world.

Moon outside our window

No sky could hold
so much light–
and here comes the brimming,
the flooding and streaming
out of the clouds
and into the leaves...
~ from "Harvest Moon" by Mary Oliver

No sight makes me more excited to be alive and awake than the moon glowing bright at past 4 a.m. on another morning when I am wakened by the urge to pee. Facebook is flooded with images of this dazzling orb, red in some parts of the world, a luminous white in mine.

Up to 6 a.m. this Wednesday, the full moon was still setting, framed by the branches of pine trees outside our bedroom window. My grandchild Kai did a moon dance while I got ready to dress her up for school.

Would I had a child's courage and strength to hop and skip and do a dance as a gesture of thankfulness for the free gifts of Nature.

But I am only a half-mute witness to this godly hour, and the camera phone I borrowed from my husband Rolly Fernandez, who mumbled from the depths of his slumber that yes, I could borrow his gadget, cannot adequately capture this glory be moment.

Enough said, now back to workaday deadlines!

Old friends (reprising an old title for a blog post)

Mariano Garchitorena calls our group Good People of Hiraya after the gallery on United Nations Ave., Ermita, where we used to converge and connect in the 1990s. Missing in this post-Christmas reunion was ceramicist Shoko Mafune, now based in Australia. Miss you like crazy, Shoko!

That Sunday we came from different parts of Mega Manila--Karen Ocampo Flores and her children Aya Justiniani and Adoy from Las Pinas City, Noel Soler Cuizon from Manila, myself from Antipolo and Garch from Makati.

We chose Rockwell Power Plant Mall as assembly point. From there we decided whether we'd walk towards Poblacion, Makati, in search of Thai food at a place called Crying (?) or Crouching (?) Tiger. Or not. Garch, a mountaineer, would have found the walk easy peasy lemon squeezy. But there were Noel, whose leg was all achey and who was using an umbrella to prop himself up, and myself, certified PWD with osteoarthritis of both knees and with a cane to keep my balance.

Posing at our table, me holding up the rear and a bottle of brown Sheaffer Skrip found at a Noteworthy sale. Clockwise: Garch, Adoy, Noel, Aya and Karen

The mall was Garch's territory since he lives and works nearby. He decided for us--let's go to The Grid. The fried chicken and mashed potatoes came highly recommended--I had that as I was in no mood anymore to decide on what I was gonna eat. Noel had chicken, too, but with French fries, not mashed potatoes. Adoy's Mexican fare looked tantalizing but too late to change my mind.

Studying the cholesterol content, Nuks?

Yes, you dipped the boneless chicken in gravy, the mashed potatoes in more gravy. Bliss!

Mid-meal who should stride in but scriptwriter-director-actor-"almost tocaya" Bibeth Orteza and friends? There was time for a brief "Hi" and "Hello" before she told me of her schedule of appearance in all the performances of the play "Silent Sky" where, according to the Repertory Philippines press release, she will play "the brilliant and exacting astronomer Annie Cannon." (The play runs from Feb. 1 to 10 at the Carlos Romulo Auditorium, RCBC Plaza, Makati.)

I learned a new word--"smocket"--for smoking pockets which the mall had outside for the ones who couldn't break the habit (I won't disclose who among the good people still indulged in an after-meal stick).

Selfie by Garch as we rested our feet before walking to our dessert destination

Group-fie with me photobombing Garch and Karen

We followed the leader Garch to Wildflour for apres-dinner coffee and tea, plus slices of coconut pie, carrot cake and chocolate cake. I was so full from dinner (no leftovers is my new motto) that I could only partake a portion of the sweets. Not that I was watching my diabetes. When I'm with friends, I hang loose.

And hang loose we did until it was time to kiss and hug one another good night and to pray for a very good year that would bring us together again.

Like hearts

“Tulips are like hearts.” ~ Simeon Dumdum Jr.

Not only are they like hearts, they seem to be edible, too, and can replace onions in some recipes, so the magazine Country Living tells me, the gardening idiot but full-blown admirer of these flowers that were endemic to Asia before The Netherlands claimed them as their own

My family once tried growing them in pots. The bulbs were gifts from a friend who had just visited Europe. We thought that Baguio weather from January to early March would sustain them, but as soon as they flowered in glorious coral, pink and orange, wild birds swooped down, attracted to the visual candy on our balcony. They pecked at the tulips until only the stalks and leaves remained. Well, the fact that they’re edible must be a reason why the birds fed on them. My daughter tried covering the tulips with nets to no avail.

exotic expensive extraordinarily
pretty, dear tulips now breaking out
of a glass vase, your perfectly symmetrical
petals and buds are the opposite
of my asymmetrical life

your beauty also feeds
physical hunger but enough
that my one famished soul
had you for companions

Photos of tulips grown through indoor aquaphonics by Junic Lolarga

Sunday at Steve's

Farmer Steve Salonga

The trip to Sampaloc, Tanay, wasn't exactly planned. What was was my visit to Dr. Melendre Araos, a yearly ritual that was a month delayed because of our full December schedules.

After we exchanged gifts on the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, I sat down for another tradition--eating the Araos pancit molo, a Christmas fare without which my year was incomplete. With us eating Cunanan ensaymada were Chef Waya Araos-Wijangco and hubby Ernie who called the special pastry a real brioche.

I always had this simple-minded idea that sculptor-farmer Julian Araos had a workplace in Tanay that was just a "kembot" or one or two zigzags away from their Antipolo home.

I couldn't be more wrong. Amara, the daughter of Roja Encabo and Melen's granddaughter, once went to Steve B. Salonga's farm and counted 64 zigzags that the car passed through to get to the roadside farmers' market. Easily an hour's drive to get there.

The view from Ka Teban's farmer's market at El Refugio Sampaloc, Tanay

The view was scenic--rural Philippines at its best. We climbed higher and higher. My ears started popping, something that happened only when I was ascending, or descending from, Marcos Highway in Baguio.

Steve calls his farm El Refugio Sampaloc. The farmland sits below the highway market. You won't miss the sign "Ka Teban's" (yes, that's the term of endearment for the farmer-informal trader).

It was towards noon already so most of the fresh vegetables that weren't drenched by the Christmas rains were sold. Melen bought some mushrooms and tinapa, Waya a bagful of fresh arugula leaves that she was going to turn into pesto for supper, tree-plucked papaya and a plant whose name escapes me now. I bought three bags of organic mushroom chicharon as gifts for a friend's children.

Freshly plucked arugula

Cuchinta with ricotta cheese on top

Golden tinapa

Red lettuce

Romaine lettuce

Steve and wife Girlie invited us for coffee and cuchinta in the shaded area. The cuchinta had that special nuttiness of flavor and was deliciously chewy. Ernie had the bright idea of putting fresh ricotta cheese on top of it for an extra kick.

Then it drizzled a bit and the fog and cold rolled in. Julian wrapped his mother Melen with a jacket and prepared piping hot tarragon tea for us. He threw in sprigs of lemon mint as an afterthought.

As I sipped my tea, I thought, despite everything, life's good!

Pompom, the Salonga family's pet, in his Sunday pose

Except for Steve's portrait from his FB photo collection, all photos by Babeth

Lakwatsa with Gilda

It was the day after Peculiar People's Day which is celebrated on Jan. 10, according to illustrator-cartoonist Sandra Boynton. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the residual of that day than with friend and mentor Gilda Cordero Fernando, the woman writer who defies categorization because she's in a class of her own.

I knew that at this stage in her long life, she loved stepping out even if her legs were unwilling to bring her out of her house. Her will is too strong to acknowledge the weaknesses the flesh is heir to.

So we met in the dark of her boudoir where she was all dressed and made up while seated on her wheelchair. "Halika na," she said as I caught my breath upon arriving. She allowed me to inhale exhale for a few minutes as I told her about a harrowing time spent in the hospital for a thorough breast examination and shared the findings of my doctor regarding my arthritic knees.

"Di bale na," she waved her hand. "Maganda ka pa rin, Babeth!"

Three rings on the bell to summon Michelle, the tall, willowy caregiver who was to push Gilda's wheelchair and keep her steady while she boarded her car or stepped out of it when we reached Via Mare on Timog Ave, Quezon City, a few kilometers from her house.

Gilda Cordero Fernando with her preferred drink of distinction and a plateful of Oysters Rockefeller three-fourths of which she ravished

There she immediately zeroed in on what she wanted for appetizers. She pointed her forefinger and tapped it on the menu picture of Oysters Rockefeller. When the waitress said the order would take 20 minutes to prepare since the oysters still had to be baked, Gilda shook her head vigorously but said she'd wait.

Her order arrived at the same time as mine (arroz a la cubana). She said her household kitchen made a better version of it. I said I missed her cook Veni's cooking, but according to Michelle, her employer would rather eat out seven days a week. This meant dressing her up every day, applying makeup on her smooth face (to which she credits Pond's), putting on her accessories (she wore one of her many pairs of hoop earrings that afternoon) and her sneakers that matched her outfit. Is it any wonder that she has always been the Best-Dressed Writer in my book?

I asked her what she did the day before. She nudged Michelle who, along with the other caregiver Aiko, have become her memory bank. Michelle said Gilda went to visit her old friend, Inquirer founding publisher Eugenia D. Apostol, in the latter's house in Dasmarinas Village, Makati.

Prior appointment had been made so Tita Eggie looked forward to the visit, but when Gilda arrived, the former said, "Matalik kong kaibigan si Gilda. Hindi ikaw 'yon." To which Gilda replied, "Babatukan kita na dyan."

Tita Eggie repeated her remark, denying Gilda's presence before her. Again Gilda said, "Babatukan kita na talaga!"

After lunch, the car made a U-turn to drop me off Popular Bookstore where I bought a copy of Elmer A. Ordonez's Father's Doppelganger. Back in the car, Gilda took a cursory look at the book, then handed it back to me.

I asked her if she still enjoyed reading. She nodded, but said she couldn't remember anything anymore after she finished reading something, whether it's a newspaper or a book. She circled her hands round the sides of her head. "Magulo na," she said, seemingly aware of the ravages of time inside of her.

I asked what her friend and neurologist Joven Cuanang said about her condition. She smiled broadly, declaring, "Mahal na mahal niya ako!"

Gilda with the blogger, Xoce Luna Dalena and his grandma

Three generations almost but only two are blood relations (Xoce and Lola Julie)

She wasn't ready to go home. I said I wanted to visit Julie Lluch whose blood pressure had been elevated for the past two days and thus couldn't visit Gilda as originally planned. So off we went to Julie's house, but Gilda, being the generous soul that she is, remembered that we needed to stop over a place where we could buy pasalubong for the ailing sculptor.

We drove down Maginhawa Street until I spotted Friulli Trattoria where Michelle and I got off to order Margarita pizza and mozzarella sticks for takeout.

At Julie's who should be first to say hello to us but her grandson Xoce Luna Dalena and Aba Lluch Dalena who was on her way out on an errand? Aba stopped in her tracks to pull out her cell phone to take a photo ("proof of life," as Nash Tysmans would call it) of her Tita Gilda and herself.

We didn't go inside the house as there were steps that the older woman didn't want to negotiate so we spent the hour at the car port, with the electric fan turned to full blast. GCF continued to cuddle and admire chubby Xoce, son of Julie's daughter Kiri Dalena.

(NOTE: I can't believe I've gone this far and that particular afternoon isn't over yet. Trust Gilda to make the day long and memorable.)

When she rolled her head again, Julie and I took it as cue that she wanted to go to another place. Michelle recommended an ukay-ukay emporium (for that was what it was) on Aurora Blvd. near the corner of Anonas Road.

We bid Julie goodbye. The writer and the sculptor exchanged "I love you's" and tight hugs.

I don't have a picture documentation of Gilda among the racks of ukay-ukay where she almost lost one of her earrings which got caught in a blouse. She found one to her liking--a black top with tiny floral accents. I found a white eyelet dress perfect for lowland summer for P150 and a pair of khaki pants for the same price, all in tiptop condition.

Gilda shouted from her seat her observation of the people who patronized the place, "Very democratic!" And I did notice that all the customers who finished paying up at the counter left the Janco Fashion Trading with a big smile.

I went home also with a smile in my heart for I had spent a full afternoon that stretched to evening with a literary and style icon whom we are lucky to have very much around us still.

'Tao Po' in Baguio

Death and life in a day, plus a nightingale comes home

If it's Wednesday, the 9th of January, it must be Manila with all its traffic woes and attention on the Feast of the Black Nazarene.

My husband Rolly Fernandez and I arrive at the Cubao terminal of JoyBus at 5:30 a.m., but hustler cab drivers are ready to pounce on two senior citizens shaking off the weariness of travel. Finally, after three tries we find a cabbie willing to take us and our baggage in at only the cost of what's stated in the meter.

Dr. Florentino "Jun" Martin a.k.a. Kentucky

Where we head at that hour is for a future story. What brings us to the lowlands is the death of our brother-in-law Florentino Martin, husband to Rolly's elder sister Thelma. She and Kuya Jun, as we called the late urologist, are American citizens who had long decided to pour their savings into the Philippines by settling in Puerto Princesa City, Palawan, and building a modest hotel. Already in his 80s, KJ (shorthand for Kuya Jun) continued to practice medicine there.

Also known as Kentucky because he loved to bet at the Kentucky Derby and he practiced his profession in that state, KJ suffered a heart attack on the fourth day of the New Year. He had told relatives earlier, who had quizzed him if he had a life plan, that he wasn't all that ready to go. He wanted to die at age 94. But at age 88, his wish wasn't heeded. And so he went.

So Rolly, myself and my sister Suzy Ellen Suzanne D. Lolarga find ourselves the first visitors of Kentucky at 10 a.m. on a hectic Wednesday as he gloriously lay in state in a white coffin at the St. Alphonsus Chapel in Magallanes Village, Makati.

We say our prayers for his soul's repose quietly, and at a quarter to 3 p.m., Suzy and I take our leave to avoid the EDSA carmageddon exacerbated by the rerouting of vehicles due to the Quiapo feast.

By 4:30 p.m. friend and fellow music lover Joseph Uy is texting me, urging me to come to Oriental Pearl Kapitolyo where "tito is already waiting." Tito is Pablo Tariman, and the occasion of our reunion is a belated celebration of his 70th orbit.

Shall we call them the usual suspects as far as eating well is concerned? Here we are still awaiting our orders. Thank you for hosting, Joseph!

Joseph is just a few years younger than me, but he enjoys addressing me as his "tita." I don't know if it's because of the dust of white hair on my head or the cane I use to assist me when I stand or walk.

What I think is merienda rapidly segues to a simple lauriat dinner (no meat dish as we are groaning from it from the holidays) of birthday noodles, shrimp balls, mushrooms, cold cuts, fish fillet with veggies and Yang Chow flied lice. :-)

The stories are uncorked like bottled champagne and plans for intimate concerts in the New Year are laid.

The blogger and soprano Myramae Meneses

Joseph always has a surprise up his sleeve. A little before 6 p.m. who should walk in but soprano Myramae Tapia Meneses, back from her two years of studies at Guildhall School of Music & Drama, looking trimmer and smiling sweetly as we last remembered her.

No, she doesn't sing an aria for her Tito Pablo, but she does something better. She commits to an outreach concert in Baguio details of which will be written later when everything is ironed out, including a program that's guaranteed to make the most stoic and most hardhearted swoon in delight.

Wednesday isn't so bad. God allowed me to glimpse death (Kentucky's) and a celebration of a life (Pablo's) in a day.

May your Thursday be as meaningful!

Cultural work

Clockwise: Frank Cimatu, Mae Paner, the blogger, Edna Aquino, Kervin Calabias and Kelly Ramos

Yesterday marked my first official meeting for 2019. Meaning, this was no longer socializing and meeting holiday obligations. This was defining a project, setting realistic goals, assigning duties, sourcing possible funds.

It helped that convening the meeting were cultural activists Mae P. Paner, a.k.a. Juana Change, and Edna Aquino. After initial sips of coffee or tea, we buckled down to work at a long table at Hill Station. The January afternoon weather was kind, not bitterly cold, so it was conducive to agreements and agreements to disagree. With us were fellow writers Frank Cimatu, Kelly Ramos and Kervin Calabias.

The project is the mounting of, hope I can announce it now, guys, "Tao Po," described as a a monologue for four characters on extra-judicial killings by Ms. Paner on Feb. 8 at the University of the Cordilleras (time and specific venue at UC to be finalized).

The next day, Feb. 9, Ms. Paner will conduct a theater workshop for Baguio youth to raise their awareness of human rights. The all-day workshop will culminate in a showcase of the participants' output. Venue is still the UC.

The organizers of these twin events, which are part of the Commission on Human Rights (CHR)-led "Artists for Human Rights / Luzon Project," are Let's Organize for Democracy and Integrity (LODI), Dap-ayan ti Kultura iti Kordilyera (DKK), the UC, HUDYAT (Artists for Human Dignity) and the Baguio Writers Group led by newly elected president Kelly Ramos.

Expect that in the next couple of weeks, we will be making some social media noise about "Tao Po" and the theater workshop--two avenues for promoting, at the risk of repeating myself, human rights. Mabuhay!

Human bonding

No, the season ain't over till it's over, to quote legendary Yankee catcher Yogi Berra. Just when I thought I could tighten my belt bit by bit by going on intermittent fasts and yes, dieting to take the weight off my aching knees, who should text to announce they were in town and would like a reunion of friends?

It was the Big J herself, as her husband and sports writer-editor Al Mendoza refers to Soly Ferro Juvida, our colleague in the Women Writers in Media Now, Marcosian years. It's always a pleasure to meet up with Al and Sol and their son Dayong Mendoza from whom I pick up painting tips.

Baguio art patrons Des Bautista and wife Auring hosted early dinner at Iggy's Inn: kilaweng kambing, goat caldereta, fish sinigang, nilasing na hipon, lechon kawali with kangkong, etc.

Before the evening was over, chess grandmaster Eugene Torre strode in with wife Marlene, she with the pixie salt and pepper haircut that we admired. Marlene has earned the nickname "My love" because of the endearment with which she calls Eugene, even in public.

The chess whiz brought out a black handsome box marked "Lakan"; it contained an elegantly packaged bottle of lambanog (coconut wine) which the men proceeded to drink apart from their red wine. Rolly Fernandez being the designated driver, he just sipped water and later, hot hibiscus tea.

Here we are, pausing from our merriment to preserve a different kind of family get-together for posterity.

Photo courtesy of Dayong Mendoza

Wallflower at a party

"It’s been a long year and it’s gone by in a flash…If you feel what I mean. Endless yet fleeting. Is it just me? I don’t think so." ~ Jane Fonda in her blog

Bebeth Timbol's camera caught me glum and unsmiling at The Peninsula Manila's celebration of "35 Years of Christmas Concert at the Pen." There was no reason to be the wallflower at the orgy, to quote the title of an early Nora Ephron book. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

I was in mourning for a friend who had just died and at the back of my talkative head, there was a voice nagging me about financial concerns (being a freelancer, I always have trouble collecting payables at the end of the year, but obligations had to be met).

Trust Mariano Garchitorena, the Pen's affable and indefatigable PR guy and Garch to all, to shoo such thoughts away. Even if my sister Ellen Suzanne D. Lolarga and I reserved our concert seats just a day before the show, there was space created by him for us. But he forewarned us to come early before the 5 p.m. start of the program to ensure we didn't lose those precious seats.

We did at 3 p.m. As we alighted our Grab car, who should I run into but Cecile Licad about to check in at The Pen? Here's the thing about her. Her smile was so contagious that I couldn't help but put on one on my unmade-up, gloom and doom face.

We chatted a bit, and I introduced my kid sister Suzy to her. She extended her hand enthusiastically and cried, "Oh! Your sister! Hello!" Then we went inside after having our bags checked by the security guards. She queued up quietly at the front desk, amazing my sister who thought a VIP like this world-class pianist should be spared lining up.

Suzy and I repaired to the Pen's Escolta restaurant for a late lunch. She had a humongous turkey sandwich which she thought was light, I had the reliable pancit luglug with a can of cold Coke. Soon I was feeling lighter and ready for the afternoon ahead.

When the University of Santo Tomas Singers, with tenor Arman Ferrer, sang "Ode to Joy" from Beethoven's Symphony No. 9, I realized that the certain sadness would be there, but it would write "finis" one day soon.

I let myself be carried away by other voices like those of guest soloist Christine Allado who sang, among others, "Never Enough" from the film The Greatest Showman (our New Year theme song, Joseph Uy?) and "Jingle Bells."

How could I remain the wallflower the rest of that evening that swept past me as I downed one flute glass of Moet & Chandon champagne after another.

Thank you, Garch, thank you, The Pen, for upholding a beloved tradition. May happiness grab us in unexpected places and moments in this young year of 2019!