Mary Grace-ing once too often

It seems Mary Grace is the bakery-restaurant of choice among friends who agree to meet at either Greenbelt Makati or Trinoma, the Ayala mall in Quezon City. When I'm early and waiting for my lunch companions, I like reading the little handwritten stuff under the glass-topped tables. I've often wondered if those are real notes addressed to real persons or they were just made up to add to the place's homey ambience.

While looking at these photos, the first taken sometime August, the other just at the close of this past month, I noticed how I ballooned and grew in heft. Well, you caught me there--enjoying once too often Mary Grace's deceitfully lightweight ensaymada and cheese roll!

With Pablo Tariman, Vergel Santos and Chit Roces Santos

Even Althea Sarmenta seems to say of Mary Grace, "I love you this much!" Others in picture are former colleagues and lifetime friends Bob Navarro, Amadis Ma. Guerrero, Cynthia Alberto Diaz and Althea's dad Joel.

I spoke too soon or more Friends from Season 57

I spoke too soon because not long after I blogged about my old drinking mates, they showed up, most of them anyway, at the book launching of Amadis Ma. Guerrero Tuesday night. Clockwise: freelance writer-researcher Bob Navarro, Francis, whose surname I still can't recall but who remains affable and steady despite the fifth bottle of beer, our favorite diplomat Alejandrino "Al" Vicente, who has served in war-torn countries and can't wait to retire so he can finally write a long-postponed novel, the blogger looking not yet inebriated, Rolly, good old Rustie Otico and his nephew Edmund (Rustie wondered aloud at the book selling table if there was a senior citizen discount!), and the author who, in true character, announced to all, even before we could drink to everyone's health, that he had only P300 in his pocket so we should all go Dutch on the bill. Rightly so for this happy bunch of genteel paupers.

Author Amadis , whose latest book is Tanghalang Pilipino:Celebrating 25 years of Philippine Theater, is also godfather to my youngest of two daughters, Ida. He informally invited me to the launch at the Cultural Center Little Theater lobby via SMS, saying, in his laconic, self-effacing manner that he has this de luxe book coming out, but he was just the hired hand so could I come as moral support? Of course, we did, Rolly and I. Rolly happened to be in town for some Inquirer seminar, and he surprised his kumpadre by showing up. He and I didn't plan our color motif (we came from different parts of town). What is it they say about sharing same wavelength? That evening we all did. Even Amadis is wearing a tunic.

Some friends and I refer to Tessie Jose (in red) as the real National Artist. It's mainly because she has made the writing life possible for Manong Frankie, a diabetic but seen here holding a glass of sweetened ice tea. Amadis is wearing a solid gold pendant with an image of his patron, the Virgin Mother, a legacy from his father who died tragically in the last war when Amadis was still an infant. The pendant from the older Guerrero (named Tristan, if I'm accurate) was from his first communion which must have happened in the late 1800s. What I like about Manong Frankie is his support of writers, aging and emerging. He always turns up at our launches. If he can't, he tells you to leave copies of your book "at the shop," his Solidaridad Bookstore, so Tessie and her staff can take care of sellling them. My poetry books all sold out, and when Solidaridad requested replenishment of stock, I could not give them more (poetry is printed in very small editions).

Proceeds from a Long Laughing Break

Upon learning that I was spending half of summer in seething Manila, Cynthia Alberto Diaz, my ex-colleague at the now defunct Raya Media Services Inc., rounded up the usual suspects for a long overdue luncheon reunion yesterday at Pot and Noodle Restaurant on the fourth floor of SM Megamall. The others who confirmed attendance were our drinking mates at John Michael's, a restaurant at the original EDSA Central.

Few wanted to try out another ex-Raya officemate Joel Sarmenta's place on Morato Avenue, Quezon City, which they found too far (he is now in the marketing department of a food chain after a colorful career as history teacher at the Philippine High School for the Arts, University of Asia and the Pacific, St. Paul College, then onto more marketing duties for an insurance firm, a motorcycle manufacturer, among others).

It is not for anything that my life partner likes to call me and my friends put together "Baltic and Company."

My first stop once the glass doors of the mall opened at 10 a.m. was at the Pain and Rehab Care for my fifth physical therapy session to lessen the tenderness in my sprained left ankle and the shooting pains in my right knew joint (signs of wear and tear or degenerative conditions as I move ever farther from five-oh and closer to 60). As the therapist counted while I wrote the alphabet in the air with my pointed left toes, my cell phone pinged. Pablo Tariman announced that he was at the Chinese resto already, waiting. Give me a few minutes, I told him, to wind up my rehab session. He texted back: "In that case, I shall do my yoga."

I managed to walk with a cane to the fourth floor where Cynthia and painter Grace de Jesus Sievert, former Raya graphic artist, were already seated by a long table. Fellow freelancer Pablo was sipping hot tea, an image I still find incongruous to this minute, at a separate table. Apparently, they failed to recognize each other--that was how long they hadn't seen one another.

I ordered the jellyfish with century eggs and a bottle of San Mig Lite for Pablo and me. He didn't need to be persuaded to change his drink.

We weren't done knocking off our second bottle when the hooting and laughing began. Amadis Ma. Guerrero waltzed in, barely catching his breath to say, "I only have five hundred pesos in my wallet. Two hundred is my share for this lunch. Two hundred for the Aeta children. Leave me one hundred so I can have transportation money to collect my contributor's fee from Inquirer and go home." (A few days before the reunion, I had asked my friends to bring donations of old/unused children's clothes, old/new children's books, toiletries like shampoo, soap and toothpaste for 38 Aeta school kids in Dinalupihan, Bataan, where I am set to go to do outreach work with a friend and our daughters, but that's another story.) Forthwith, I fished out P100 from my wallet and handed it to Amadis. His P500 went to Jo Ladisla, the efficient executive assistant from our Raya days, who was appointed treasurer for that afternoon.

Then in came Bob Navarro, Joel and finally Rustie Otico. By this time the noise emanating from our table was making heads turn, especially when Pablo let out his signature laughter which we could only blame on natural exuberance.

Finally when the bill arrived after that long, lingering meal and drinking, there was enough change added to the common pot. Before I knew it, we managed to raise in one afternoon P1,460 for the Aeta children's cause.

Amadis quickly advised me to spend the money not on something "luxurious" like shampoo but on a basic staple like food...or maybe soap. He approved of the last item. And off to the supermarket I went late that afternoon for some serious shopping with the memory of friends having that long overdue "laughing break." This kind of break, I'm proud to say, I instituted at the old Raya office in Paranaque. Whenever I felt stressed out from pounding on my typewriter in the early 1980s, I'd go to the table of our circulation manager Jose "Ping" de la Paz, who'd cheer me up with one corny joke after another until a joke found its mark, and I'd be filled with an incredible lightness of being.

Next outreach is scheduled on June 12 . Please reach out to the children of Dinalupihan. Drop-off points for donations are these addresses: 3 Santa Clara Street, Barangay Kapitolyo, Pasig City, or 47 Mahabagin Street, Teachers Village East, Quezon City.