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

Without gutters

Ordinarily, homeowners take advantage of summer to have the months' accumulated debris and dry leaves removed, rain gutters repaired and holes sealed, all set for the monsoon. But when your unconventional homeowner/builder insists on no gutters to catch the tear-shaped drops, you know he had this in mind when tikbalang weather occurs (according to Philippine mythology, when rain falls and startlingly bright sun shines at the same time, tikbalangs are being wed)--all family members, friends, friends of friends, the passersby get to experience this. Keep the front door open, Alejandro, so we can watch till the last of the peter-patter-down-no-gutters stops. Then hear in your mind "Soon It's Gonna Rain," replayed from The Fantasticks.

On closer inspection the raindrops on sleeves of green look almost as solid as pearls when frozen in a picture. Think Dickinson: "I died for Beauty, but was scarce." Photos of a Sunday in Antipolo by Babeth Lolarga

My gorgeous Jorge

Theater artist Jorge V. Ledesma with Julian V. Araos's mother and child sculpture at the Araos home in Antipolo Photo by Babeth Lolarga

I vowed to myself, after seeing how well put together Jorge is everytime I see him (yearly since 2013 but before then more than a decade went by) that I would have my hair done like his after I let it grow another month. No, I won't color my crowing glory. Jorge actually finds the dusting of white hair on mine nice.

He is one of the rare friends I can just be comfortably quiet with. He is not only from a buena familia, he is more importantly bien educado y tan fino! Gentle Jorge, I shall miss you when you fly back to Colorado again. Be assured of my letters.

A piece of work

Crouched under a wide leaf, the camera and I seized this view of the sky one cool morning a month ago in Antipolo. What a humbling piece of work is Nature! Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Take back Sunday

Are you one of those persons who watches out for signs to tell you that a particular today is going to be a good day? I am one of those. 

The anticipation heightens when I am out on a jaunt to meet kindred spirits whom I haven't see in a while. Make that years!

I step out of a  tricycle that takes me out of the village and walk towards that train that will take me north of the metro. I cut through the park of Greenfield District in Mandaluyong, appreciative of the developers for having the good sense to turn a concrete parking lot into an expanse of green. I see park benches half wrapped around young trees. Underneath one, I notice that some visitors, perhaps from the night before, had left empty soft drink bottles, a carton that held  McDonald's fries. 

I remember my partner who never fails to vehemently say, when he sees the trail of litterbugs or drivers who lack courtesy, "It shows their upbringing! Training in good behavior starts when you're young."

Back to the signs, yes. I board the MRT's first carriage where all the women, the elderly and the disabled can be assured of safety. It is semi-full, but a skinny girl in jeans, tees and a denim vest gets up to ask me to take her seat. I ask if she's getting off at the next stop. She says she isn't, but she wants me to have it. I thank her, and think, "It's a sign!" 

I turn to my right and look at a child about as old as my grandchild seated on what may very well be her mother's lap. A guy in a Yankee cap covering his head of white, who might very well  be the child's grandpa, is standing, steadily holding on to a pole. At almost every stop, he tickles the flesh under the child's chin. Good sign.

The day is set; it presents no challenge, even if my lunch companions arrive a little late. They give me that window of time to window shop, glide from one aisle of a bookstore to another, until I tire a bit, sit down at nearby Mary Grace cafe where I order a long drink--peppermint ice tea mixed with fruits and served on a highly tactile mosaic table. I admire the crocheted coaster, remember a lost grandmother who used to crochet and embroider and do crazy-quilt bed covers. In short, expertly turn houses into homes.

The two lovelies arrive, each carrying a long-stemmed flower. I receive an extra one.

Sometime after the happy, two-hour-long chatty exchange over Japanese food, someone longs to walk underneath the Diliman campus trees, another hankers for a siesta. I suggest traveling by train and jeepney to Antipolo to visit another woman friend and stroll through a garden. One is game, the other will yield to her body's demand for a nap.

Down to two, friend in yellow and I take another train where we exit and walk towards a terminal of Antipolo-bound jeeps. Midway, she asks, "How far is it? Will it cost us P500 or more if we get a cab to get there?" I shake my head, saying, "It's Sunday, we can get there fast without traffic."

In the spirit of we only live once and let's be kind to our aging bodies but youthful souls, we take a cab where, in air-conditioned comfort, we continue our conversation on love, life, loss and the surety of healing.

We happily spill out of the cab and into the arms of another friend. We share a meal with her and her family that is blessed with a Lemurian prayer and take a slow walk in the adjacent garden.

Photos by Babeth Lolarga

And even if those exercises in serendipity and signs and symbols have turned into yesterday, it doesn't mean that today promises to be any less lovely. Today, I open my cell phone to read this quote, nay, this prayer, from poet Juan Jose "Jolico" Cuadra, a voice from the beyond:

"To make a songfest of one's soul journey! To maintain and sustain it, and not deviate from it, not to give an inch. To burn with ardency, with fervor, sacrificing even one's own life, just to attain and triumph for the greater glory of the soul's victory over the follies and frailties of life."

Now it feels like everyday Sunday!

If I Had Been Told

If I were told:

By evening you will die,
so what will you do until then?
I would look at my wristwatch,
I'd drink a glass of juice,
bite an apple,
contemplate at length an ant that has found its food,
then look at my wristwatch:

…

Then I'd comb my hair and throw away the poem . . .
this poem, in the trash,
and put on the latest fashion in Italian shirts,
parade myself in an entourage of Spanish violins,
and walk to the grave!

--Mahmoud Darwish, "Remainder of a Life"

Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah

For Jerry Araos

and especially for his family as they prepare for his memorial program

if i had been told

your mortal struggle

& time on this accursed plain

was up

i would've

put on ravel's "bolero"

in my cd player

then raised my arms

towards the moon that rivered

your ears to mancini's tunes

i would've called out

to the moon the stars

the sun that shone

in an opposite hemisphere

the planets circling indifferently

around that grand globule of fire

& told them

here here

receive your honored guest 

he is no longer ours

he is now starry dust

if i had been told

your leave-taking

would happen

two nights before

the christ child's birth

i shouldn't even have

put up the tree

asked my own beloved

to fill the cupboards

with signs of plenty

to put on the table

more signs of prosperity

the cheese

the grapes

the oranges

the chestnuts

who eats ashes for breakfast anyway?

i felt them on my tongue

in my mouth

i felt them

sliding down my throat

along with the hot

choco that my stoic spouse

had prepared

as i sat on a monday seat

too stunned to let

tears fall into my cup

if i had been told

--Babeth Lolarga

Dec. 27, 2012

7:46 a.m.

 Photos of Araos garden in Antipolo and ginger flower inside the Araos residence taken by Babeth Lolarga, November 10, 2012