Manny Chaves again

While chewing my half of a whole burger that Rolly divided between the two of us, I remembered how a hamburger figured in my history with the late art director Manuel Garcia Chaves. One time lunch caught us unprepared after a meeting at the old Hiraya Gallery on UN Avenue, Ermita. Nobody brought baon so everyone, especially curator Bobi Valenzuela, was listing what they would order from the restaurants nearby. We had our respective orders picked up by messenger-janitor-handyman Roger Abesto. Roger was behind the precise installation of artworks on the gallery walls. Meanwhile, Manny or Manoling, two nicknames we called him, disappeared and came back a few minutes later. "Where have you been? What's your food order?" we asked. He grinned and said he was just at the McDonald's branch on the same street. "That's why there is such a thing as fast food." I've never forgotten that incident for although he may lean towards the arts and sometimes have an artistic temperament, Manny was the practical sort. I miss him, especially today, on what would have been another birthday if death had not cut his life in October last year. I used to tease him that he shared the same birthday as singer Joan Baez and writer Simone de Beauvoir. People of quality. I miss his impeccable taste for music--he gifted me with a vinyl record of Sarah Vaughan singing the compositions of Michel Legrand. Careless me I have forgotten where I placed that valuable piece of music. I miss chatting with him on anything and everything. Before my family relocated to Baguio in 1992, he and Bobi entrusted Rolly and me to their friend, retired UP Baguio professor Delfin Tolentino Jr. He said, "Remember that when you're with Del, it's like you're with us, too." And indeed Del is widely steeped in art, literature, music. Whence cometh another like Manny? Here in the first picture he is shown with me at my silver wedding jubilee celebrated at Cafe Juanita in Pasig. In the second photo, same occasion, he is seen with the Tirols (Vic and Lorna) and Gou de Jesus. If it's possible to art direct the look and sound of the astral world, I suspect Manny is doing that. Happy birthday!

Missing Linc

Lincoln Rex Q. Drilon with his guitar Photo from the Facebook of Chit Drilon

Already the sting of his sudden departure--dying peacefully in his sleep yesterday morning--is beginning to sink in. I'm writing this as fast as I can to catch the whirl of memories Linc left behind while it's still fresh.

Lincoln Rex Quimpo Drilon was more than a friend and extended family member. He was companion and troubadour to many of life's milestones. He sang "My Foolish Heart," the theme song of my parents, at Mom's 75th birthday, bringing her to tears. At Rolly Fernandez's and my silver wedding jubilee in 2009 he emceed the program of songs and piano music, sitting beside writer Pablo Tariman so the latter could get through the song "Some Enchanted Evening." At my daughter Kimi Fernandez's baby shower in 2011, Linc was there to croon "Moon River" to the infant still in the mother's womb.

But Linc was many other splendored things besides being a fine emcee and crooner. He was a terrific fundraiser for quixotic causes, whether it's for an ailing friend or for keeping the environment clean and green. He was there, ready with the mic or his guitar. He even had a short-lived project called Club Nostalgia where like-minded individuals with a yen for singing old songs gathered for a drink and a turn at the mic.

Rolly recalls how Linc and his best friend-sidekick Rey Maceda, a geologist, camped for many weeks at the then uninhabited Potipot Island in Candelaria, Zambales. The island's owners, Nany and Nancy Fernandez, tasked Linc and Rey with listing down the flora and fauna of the place. This meant literally counting even the coconut trees. They took their work seriously. The occasional visitor would feel surprised to see numbers on tree trunks.

After a hard day's work, the two settled down to drink. For pulutan Linc skillfully filleted and deboned fish which he turned into sashimi. Whatta layp it was!

One of the few things I am proud of is introducing Linc to the great photographer of the Cordillera, Tommy Hafalla, another of my favorite guys. The two struck up a unique friendship while climbing mountains in the Cordi on a Museum of Man project.

His devotion to wife Maria Esperanza P. Drilon, nicknamed Chit, is the stuff of legend among us. If memory serves, during a marital spat, he wooed her back in Lincoln fashion. In a restaurant or club in Cubao, he "conspired" with Bobi Valenzuela to have "Seventh Dawn," apparently the couple's theme song, played over and over in the sound system as Linc danced a slow drag with Chit. That paved the way for a reconciliation.

You haven't really lived until you've heard Linc do a heartfelt rendition of "Seventh Dawn," a song made famous by The Lettermen. The voice is gone, but I hear it still.

Those berry good friends

The mood I'm in has a lot to do with a friend's recent passing. I've told myself as far as the remainder of this year is concerned, wakes and burials will be removed from my calendar should another passage to eternity occur. Meanwhile, I'm looking at old albums and sending good vibes to friends near and far or even those I've not seen or heard from in years. These photos were taken in the 1990s at the old Hiraya Gallery in Ermita, Manila.

That's Gigi Escalante in an orange top. Nobody quite sings like her. I imagine she's enjoying grandparenthood like I do. If memory serves, this occasion was Bobi Valenzuela's birthday.

Shoko Mafune, whose very feminine, whimsical stoneware is exhibited now and then at Galleria Duemila when she comes visiting from Australia which she now calls home. Her chicken salad is acutely missed.

Teddy bear images from www.mistyalighthouse.com

Reason for the season

The blog's title is from a concert that I missed; the UP Concert Chorus had its Christmas handog concert yesterday (Dec. 11) at Abelardo Hall. I decided to spend the afternoon and the rest of the evening resting at home, eating mini Ponkan oranges and drinking pitchers of warm to room-temperature water to keep my colds from getting more severe.

Knowing how the common cold I catch has a way of lingering and malingering and dampening my plans, I have to lick this one, not only because I am one of four authors (the others are Manong Ed Maranan, Mookie Katigbak and Dean Alfar)assigned to talk tomorrow at the Philippine PEN's "Meet the Authors" event at the NBS Bestsellers store, Robinson's Galleria, but also because I so look forward to another trip to Baguio before the weekend to be with Miss Adorable, my grandchild Butones. I don't want her to catch this cold virus that has been going around our Pasig household when I get to hold and cuddle her again.

In my desire to get well ASAP, I asked painter Mario de Rivera, who's a superb cook, baker and believer in herbal medicine, by the way, for his anti-cold and cough remedy that is better than any over-the-counter nasal decongestant. Artists are generally generous, and in the spirit of the season, here is Mario sharing his "Fusion":

"Boil two cups of shredded ginger, one cup of tamarind leaves or pounded fruit with three cups water for about 30 minutes. Strain, then boil again with two cups muscovado sugar till syrupy for another 30 minutes. Add a half cup of calamansi juice. Take a shot of this to relieve you as often as needed. If you have brandy, add a dash and enjoy before going to bed. Get well before Tuesday. :)"

This can also be taken as a tea. Just add hot water to a few teaspoons of the syrup, stir, sip and relax.

It's Monday, and I intend to subsist on this liquid diet to starve my cold while trying to meet another deadline.

Another of my Monday surprises is from Angie Valenzuela Velasco, kid sister of my late kumpadre Bobi Valenzuela whose death anniversary falls today.Bobi was a thoughtful guy, capable of surprising his friends and getting a laugh out of them. Angie apparently has that gift, too. In Facebook, she tagged me with these three photos of Butones with her grand folks. In short, she had just custom-made our family's Christmas card FREE! These e-cards remind me how another babe was the reason for a season as beautiful as Christmas.

Thank you, Mario and Angie, for riches beyond measure.

The Demanding Mr. Valenzu

Bobi Valenzuela, curator par excellence (or prestigious curator as we used to kid him) had been lingering in the pre-departure area since his second massive stroke in 2005. For three years until his death on Dec. 12, he was bedridden, his food had to be processed to a fine pulp, he could neither speak—for someone who was gregarious, voluble and pointedly critical—nor walk until his body atrophied.
It was a condition that we knew he abhorred. At the peak of his health, when we would encounter aging or crippled persons, he would wish aloud he would never find himself in the same state. He even asked me to be part of an assisted suicide pact should he ever lose control of his faculties.
Yes, he was a proud person, of the annoying kind who would admit no wrong and consider himself always right. Before his second stroke, this trait estranged once dear friends from him., including myself. He could show displeasure with his infamous eyebrow rising up to the 13th floor. He was already confined to a hospital bed in his family’s home in BF Paranaque when we reconciled one emotional, tear-filled afternoon.
Angie, his sister and main care-giver, told us how he refused to cooperate with his physical therapist. Many times she would send distressing text messages describing his deteriorating health.
One of our friends, Gigi Custodio, called Bobi “The Star of Our Lives,” and he was for close to two decades, the ties forged at the old Hiraya Gallery in the waning Marcos years. Bobi organized courageous exhibitions showcasing the works of the social realists that pierced the veneer of normalcy.
He enjoyed being given importance to—friends called it pagpupugay when they went up the mezzanine of the gallery and paid their respects to him. Birthdays were particularly special as he kept mental tab of those who remembered to call. Even after his first stroke, Noel Cuizon and I were on a neck-and-neck race as to how many times a week we called Bobi to report on the goings-on in our lives. He was great at keeping score and keeping grudges. The last, I suspect, was what triggered the debilitating third stroke.
If he was a good curator, he was even a better friend. Bobi once wondered why so many young and veteran artists came to him with their personal problems. Manny Chaves told him, “Kasi naman, Bobi, tingin nila sa iyo isa kang malaking tenga.”
However, if you were expecting a sympathetic listener, Bobi could be brutal in his frankness and tell the person off, especially if that person did not heed his advice the first time around. If you overstayed your welcome in his premises, he could pointedly remind you, “Di ba may appointment ka pang pupuntahan?”
And of course his appetite for the fine things in life defined him, too. The first stroke made him give up his chain-smoking and his 36 cups of coffee. But diet-wise, he backslided, openly enjoying fatty foods like lechon kawali and kare-kare in the company of people he called “kindred spirits.”
Tonight is a gathering of kindred spirits. I am sorry I cannot join you in this last sendoff for Bobi. I will be in Baguio feeding VCDs of “Camelot” and “The Sound of Music” in our videocorder. I do not exaggerate when I say Bobi can hum and sing in his wonderful tenor all the songs in those two musicals from the overture to the finale. Auf weidersen, Herr Bobi. Long may your music play!