'Tis the season for frozen margaritas

From left: Vergel, Rolly, Chit and the blogger Photo by Kai Mykonos

We had dinner a few nights ago at The Manor's Le Chef restaurant with our journalism confreres from Manila, Vergel Santos and wife Chit Roces. It's almost an annual tradition for them to come up to Baguio for a whiff of our rarefied air in the few forested parts of the city.

Rolly Fernandez and Vergel have a history -- they worked together at the post-EDSA 1986 Manila Times and Manila Chronicle. They never run out of subjects to talk about when they see each other which is yearly. So their conversation goes on and on from the appetizers to post-prandial coffee and on and on until the waiters are already preparing the tables for the next day's buffet breakfast.

What are the waiting wives to do? Drinking ourselves blind is out of the question because we were still under the vigilant eyes of our partners. Chit has a history of passing out when under the influence while I tend to be a rabble rouser once the alcohol kicks in.

Lightheaded Chit

We settle for a strawberry flavored frozen margarita, a huge one, enough to be shared with Chit's son Tex and his wife. We each take turns scraping the mountain of ice and tequila with our respective teaspoons. Soon I complain about brain freeze quickly creeping from the front lobe of my brain to the back of my neck. Soon Chit is lightheaded with laughter. Vergel's eyes just grow bigger. Rolly is as usual silent.

Chit and I decide to quit early and leave the young couple to finish the rest of the margarita.

The guys get the hint. At close to midnight, very late by Baguio standards, we break up our little party, they to return to their rooms, we to drive home.

Pause from the world's capers

Table centerpiece arranged by Baguio's Martha Stewart, Toottee Chanco Pacis Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Because of the ring-a-ling-ling in the air, I haven't had time to read the newspapers in earnest. So I'm clueless Alice in Wonderland, wondering what all the stink is about a Purisima or the Binay family. I promise to catch up on current events so I can be an informed citizen and consumer in 2015.

In the meantime, I've been calibrating my socializing by going to select Christmas parties or reunions one after the other or one event at a time so I don't weary or suffer from indigestion.

First was the "Greenhouse" Christian Fellowship's Saturday celebration of the Yule season hosted by Oscar and Toottee Pacis at their Happy Homes greenhouse. My grandchild attended without showing signs of boredom or a "May I flee?" look. She actually listened to Manong Oscar extol the life of Abram/Abraham and his compliance to God's will. She peered at the small letters of The Bible and would sometimes ask what verse we were reading ("Are you here already?" or "Where are you on this page?").

Sunday evening was dedicated to the annual book exchange and eat-drink till you're stuffed party, of the Baguio Writers Group under Jenny Cariño at the about-to-be-closed Mandarin Restaurant on the corner of Assumption and Session Roads. Depending on the members' state of inebriation, the night ends with an impromptu poetry reading.

And last night a dinner punctuated with so much reminiscing and gallons of laughter with Chit Roces Santos and doodler husband Vergel at Billy King's Le Chef at The Manor, Camp John Hay. I I couldn't resist the richness of cheesy French onion soup, juicy medium-rare steaf, lobster and creme brulee with an aperitif of strawberry juice (the berries are in season, folks).

It's beginning to look like a good Christmas and the year 2014's last days are unfolding gently and happily.

My family's Christmas mascot in the company of the Christian community in Happy Homes, including her manangs

That's only half of BWG's membership. Jenny is seated farthest to the right.

Santa Claus sees that we've been nice this year and pauses by our table for a group pic.

Vergel sketched Rolly and me as we looked or glowed last night. Doesn't the missus look like a gypsy here while the mister is a dead ringer for Jose Rizal?

Let us continue to praise the halo-halo

The mood darkened a little this morning upon my learning that the great phenomenal woman and poet that was Maya Angelou had departed yesterday--"flung up to heaven," as President Obama wrote in a statement on her passing.

Later, I perked up at the prospect of a reunion lunch (actually an excuse to enjoy halo-halo) with Chit Roces Santos, her Vergel, her tall-for-her-age grand-daughter Mona, who's missing a couple of front teeth, and the master of guffaws (he should patent them), Pablo Tariman.

Summer spells Milky Way halo-halo. My glass before it was emptied in, oh, 10 minutes.

Pablo and I like to listen to VOS expound on what's happening in the political arena, the lapses of media in reporting on what's truly going on (Pablo observes that there hasn't been a Woodward-Bernstein type of investigative reporting as far as the Napoles and other issues are concerned).

After we tucked in a healthy fish and veggie lunch, we proceeded to attack our glasses of summer's ice-cold jewels, the halo-halo. Chit though tried to fool herself into believing that going rice-less and ordering mais con hielo meant lower calories. Mona had a strawberry shake and wore a white moustache briefly that I wasn't able to capture on my camera.

Chit and I agree with our idol, Gilda Cordero Fernando, who wrote recently in her Sunday Inquirer column: "The queen of the coolers is, of course, the halo-halo. Whoever said it originated from the Japanese mongo con hielo must be deluded. Only a Filipino could have dreamed up a jeepney or a halo-halo."

Our smiles (especially Mona's and mine) read: "Orange you glad you traveled more than a mile for your halo-halo?" Not in orange are Vergel, Chit and Pablo.

Look for the sign.

#PeopleWhoMadeMyYearGood

My coffee mate said yesterday only newspapers do year-enders; in other words, what right have I to issue an e-mail with the subject head "year-end report"?

This is my personal thank you in words and photos for those who made the year 2013 good to me. A la Rod McKuen, I'm singin that song while I post the pics:

I call this my Baguio coffee mate Rolly Fernandez's Albert Einstein look. Here he is enjoying his mug of Benguet beans brewed to his liking--no sugar, no cream, just a dash of cinnamon to decrease his blood sugar level.

Mamay Kimi and Nanay B on Christmas Day

The butones herself, Kai, with her Booboo

My girls, Kimi, Ida and Kai, before Ida left for her new job in Sg.

Headed by The Matriarch "Mommy" Lolarga, the Lolargas of Pasig, Antipolo, Quezon City and Calgary, CA, in their look-up pose

I call this photo "Third Movement, Humoresque Concerto for Eight Hands." The players are: Chit Roces, Pablo Tariman, Vergel Santos and the girl with the brown lenses.

A lot of girls, gays and similar hipsters go to Gilda Cordero Fernando for life, light, love lessons. She never fails to deliver. Take it from Anna Leah Sarabia, Lorna Kalaw Tirol and Neni Sta. Romana Cruz, she's the best guru who doesn't like to be called one.

Perla Macapinlac, ICM, is Gilda's St. Theresa's College contemporary. She continues to run the ICM House of Prayer in Baguio where she conducts retreats. Her instruction is simple: dive deep, emerge whole, and don't be afraid of the monsters you see.

This is the first batch of participants at "Journey to Self: A Creative Journal Workshop," a project of the Baguio Writers Group, that pushed through despite super-typhoon Yolanda's visit to the South the weekend before. For facilitators Baboo Mondoñedo, Merci Javier Dulawan and myself, junior facilitator Jenny Cariño and secretariat head Sacha Weygan, the workshop was a fulfilling experience. We all came away enriched through the many encounters and shared experiences. Mabuhay!

Lalu Melen Araos with grand-daughter Amarra Araos Encabo host breakfast for their first-time visitor to their home and garden in Antipolo.

The spirit of artist Jerry Araos continues to live in his children like his son Jemil, here seen with daughter Widsy and Tita B. Jemil has an ongoing solo exhibit of sculpture and furniture at the University of the Philippines Los Baños Alumni Center at the UPLB campus in Laguna.

Jazz singer Annie Brazil can still croon, carry a tune at 80. Now and then she'd pause to sip water (or is it brandy?) or spray something into her mouth (asthma?), but the audience doesn't mind because she is truly funny, her spiels unscripted. As for Boots Anson Roa, I must thank her as a subject of an interview for Planet Philippines--I worked there briefly in the early 2000s. I re-posted the interview onto my blog. That entry has received one of the highest hits in this blog's history. Her second-time-around love story touches old hearts and farts like me.

Another funny girl is Jacqui Magno. Inevitable that Anna Leah and me clown around beside her. I never tire of telling Jacqui, "Thank you for the music."

When Anna went up to Renee Olstead to congratulate her on her performance in a tribute to Annie Brazil, she said, "You're an orchestra in one person." Renee's voice can sometimes sound like an oboe, a clarinet. She doesn't need to shout or make birit, I'm tellin' ya.

Bert Robledo, host of DZFE's Bravo Filipino, was once a choir member, too, during the time when soprano Evelyn Mandac was in her prime. Myramae Meneses, who cultural organizer Joseph Uy describes as "small but terrible," is, yes, princess of high C's. And she's just getting warm.

Prof. Rayben Maigue is the cool cat of the UP Jazz Ensemble.

Someone's supra-happy to be addressed "Tita Babeth" by tenor Arthur Espiritu in his normal speaking voice.

Yah, as Kai would put it, I saved this photo for last. The great Cecile Licad leafs through Marne Kilates' award-winning book of poems while a fan girl carries her grandchild. Kai sometimes forgets her manners; she failed to thank Ms. Licad for the vanilla ice cream treat.

This old fart with lotsa heart thanks everyone, even The One who sent a killer quake and typhoon, for enabling us to remember 2013 as one of the most memorable in anyone's life. For those who us who survived the year, the girls of Lincoln Park have this advice worth heeding anytime and everywhere.

Image from www.thegirlsoflincolnpark.com