Days like these...

...you wish you have your own fishbowl. Of course one that can fit you and me. The heat is on!

These are photos from my first, and in all probability my last, trip to Batanes in March 1998, the Centennial Year of the Philippine Republic. I was with a group of scholars (Del Tolentino, Ben Tapang, Weng Boquiren, Nela Florendo, and Rolly Fernandez when he was still actively teaching and not gardening).

I did get around to having these panoramic photos printed to illustrate an article in Chato Garcellano's Travel page in the Inquirer. It's among the selected essays included in my collection Catholic and Emancipated (UST Publishing House). Call that previous sentence an outright plug. (Copies are still available at better bookstores.)

The next time the pictures were printed was when old friend Jerry Araos, who founded the artists' guild Salakai, organized "Alay sa Kawani," simultaneous exhibitions of the members, including this wanna-be photog, at the GSIS Museum on Roxas Blvd.

I called my photo show that included poetry "Lost in Batanes." Jerry wanted to do an on-the-spot translation of my poem with the same title in Filipino while he was choosing the photos that would be enlarged by a friend of his who lived in Forbes Park, Makati. But we were in the thick of preparations. I even had to frame my photos with help from Jerry and Melen's daughter Roja who did the matting. How's that for hands-on training?

Call these the pinagpilian or the outtakes. Some I have also been given away as mementos to friends who were interested in them.

Okay, since my blog has had over 230,000 views, I'm giving the rest of these pictures away to the readers who happen by. Just write to me in the comments section, leave your email, and I shall find a way to reach you and mail the pics. These are my thank-you gifts to you, dearest reader, for sticking with Brookside Baby. The first eight who comment receive a photo each.

These are the only prints left. The negatives are lost to Forever and a Day.

Game!

All photos by Babeth Lolarga

My incredible week in review

Waya Araos-Wijangco, Jerry and Melen's eldest daughter, with her niece and everyone's fave little girl, the sociable Amarra Araos Encabo

Old ties renewed: Host Doc Melen, writer Gemma Corotan-Kolb stand behind Nympha Saño, who Odette Alcantara used to call "Nymphette", and a blogger who has adopted the babushka look (coming soon, when her budget finally allows, peasant blouses)

The week of July 7 to 10 will be recorded in great detail in my personal diary as a very full one--the jingle lang ang pahinga kind of week that has taken a toll on a bum knee. The Sunday began with a visit to the Araos family, a hi and a ho to remember Jerry by. He would've been 70, a milestone year.

While I was there, Melen and youngest son Julian brought out some bubble-wrapped paintings that are bound for Florida, the US of A (not Florida Bus Lines). These were gifts to Jerry when he was hale, hearty and the biggest "encourager", after my husband Rolly, when I returned to art school. He saw to it that I would exhibit with his art guild Salakai in one of the biggest simultaneous art show events at the old SM Megamall Art Walk in May 2007 (them were the days when the SM chain of malls still had a veneer of credibility). These works haven't been exhibited; they were personal gifts to JVA's family. Now Jerry and Melen's youngest daughter Mira, who's infanticipating, will hang them in her nursery.

It just occurred to me now that these works remain untitled. So, Mira, it is with extreme pleasure that I give them the "names" they need for after all, they are the babies of my mind, heart and hands. Dear Mira, these are all the "authentication papers" you'll need.

"C Is for Crabs, C Is for the Cancer-borns" (Jerry, Mira and I are all born under the zodiac sign of Cancer.)

"Tea Time for Stones and Two Jars"

"Cubes, Ovals and a Ripe Orange"

After Jerry died, Melen said when she met my grand-daughter again two years after she delivered Kai/Butones that she hoped Amarra and Kai would become friends. This is to continue the deep ties of the Araoses and Lolargas--what Jerry had written in the past about how our families are intertwined. But due to geographical reasons, it may be Amarra and my grand-niece Machiko Skye Lolarga Susi (right) who'll hit it off. Max, as the family calls her, is, like Amarra, an Antipolo resident.

Monday, the seventh of July, was Maestro Darrell Ang day. When he arrived at NAIA the day before, Joseph Uy, consultant of the Manila Chamber Orchestra Foundation, who was there to welcome him, texted immediately: "Ma'am, Darrell is now here. He's gorgeous. You'll like him."

I texted back: "Baka naman himatayin ako!"

Joseph: "Don't worry, Ma'am, I'll catch you."

That's what I love about Joseph. He has this deadpan humor, and he doesn't add cheesy smiley emoticons on his messages the way I always do.

I had to give up a ladies' lunch (postponed for the nth time) for this coverage for Vera Files. I always am thankful for good, kind cab drivers, even the talkative ones, who bring me to my destination and back to the house without incident. I can't tip them anymore, but if there's an anti-hypoglycemia pack of sugar-free anything (mints, candies, cookies), this goes to the driver of the moment. Better than a tip because their faces light up when they say: "Mommy, solved na merienda ko." With the babushka look, they initially speak in English and ask from what country I am. Naks! I'm inclined to say Greece or Ukraine, but I don't want the discussion to get political and complicated so I quickly confess I'm Pinay and I have a pangit haircut to hide which is true. The barber (yes, barbers are cheaper than salon hair stylists) is still alive, by the way.

Group shot around Maestro Ang (seated second from right between classical music blogger Andrian Lontoc and a babushka) at the Makati Sports Club. Others in photo are Jasmine Cruz (bending left) of BusinessWorld, Baltazar Endriga, chairman of the board of the MCO Foundation, Ellen Tordesillas of VERA Files, Malaya and Abante, and Allan Pastrana, contributing writer of Philippine Daily Inquirer and a teacher at Miriam College. I told Mr. Endriga it must be nice to called Chairman of the Board like Frank Sinatra. His quick reply: "But he was Sinatra, and his friends in the Rat Pack were all millionaires! I'm not."

Tuesday I filed my story only to learn that the Vera Files site had been spammed and hacked.

Wednesday was teaching day--the first time I went to school accompanied by a yaya, my mom's. Never, not even in my nursery and kindergarten years, was I ever accompanied by a yaya to school. But this time, someone had to help me carry my students' notebooks (the equivalent of theme notebooks in my high school years), other teaching materials, my umbrella and backpack of personal stuff.

Should I also be grateful for over-frank students who ask for my exact age, what the matter was with me and if I'll be due for retirement soon because of disability? One asked, "If you're sixty by next year, will you have to go? And if you do, will they dissolve CW (creative writing)?"

My answer was diplomatic: "When the time comes for me to leave school, someone will take over. No one is indispensable in any organization."

Thursday, oh my! It was La Gilda Day, her vernissage at Silverlens Galleries in Makati, but I'll reserve a full-length account of that wild evening for another outlet. I wanna share this precious pic of funny girl Chit Roces Santos who's always Not Quite There and her babushka pal. I asked what did she come as. She said, "Masahistang bulag!" We sat together for a bit by the registration table at the entrance, and I said, "If people ask, you're my caregiver. Class ako ngayon--tisay ang yaya ko!"

Chit and blogger

Don't even talk of Friday because from the moment I woke up with my husband by my side (a rarity when I'm in Manila), I was in a go-go-go mood. His idea of a treat was to cover all meals in one blow--yes, a luncheon buffet that started at 11:30 a.m., ended at 2 p.m., 15 minutes before all the stations closed. He seemed insatiable and steadily ate through plates of sushi, sashimi, chorizos, three flavors of green ice cream, halo-halo with just the sangkap, not the ice and milk, buko pandan, mango sago, all downed with beer. I was waiting for him to turn comatose before my eyes, but it was I who got sleepy from just two plates of sushi.

What woke me up was when the waiters started singing table to table where a birthday celebrator was seated. They were a threesome: guitarist, a maracas and a tambourine player. One of them carried a portable sound system. I envied the tables that had a celebrator each so when our neighbors enjoyed the birthday song plus another pop hit, I asked if anniversaries were counted (our 30th was coming up in a few days). Yup, they "performed" anniversaries, too. A waiter proceeded to fetch this huge tarpaulin with "Happy Anniversary" writ large. When the singing started, I felt an instant shot of adrenalin. It was my cue to rise with my cane, sit on Rolly's left leg and do a lap dance. Guess who walked with a limp after? And the song we were serenaded with? "Kahit Maputi Na ang Buhok Ko!"

Old couple marking their Pearl Anniversary with a cheerful photo bomber behind them. I'm pretty sure that if I die ahead of him, Rolly will miss me acutely because of moments like this one and thus forgive my past transgressions.

Hubby and I capped date night at the Mostly Mozart 2014 Festival. Knowing what a screeching, shameless fan girl I am when the gods and goddesses descend from Music's Olympus, Rolly kindly took my photo by the grand piano with an Adonis, Maestro Darrell Ang.

As if all those activities weren't enough, I met some of my CW students yesterday, a Saturday afternoon, at the entrance of the Ayala Museum for a field trip. They not only visited the permanent diorama and the Fernando Zobel retrospective, they were present for Dr. May Jurilla's lecture-presentation on "Romancing the Book." My instruction to the kids was to listen well so they could ask one well thought out question each. In the end, only three overcame their shyness to raise their hands during the open forum.

One, two, three: Hashtag Ayala Museum!

Photos by Angel Reyes Nacino, Babeth and Suzy Lolarga, Maite de la Rosa, Rolly Fernandez and others like another restaurant customer

Do the Jerry

Already in the end stage of his complications from diabetes in November 2012, Jerry makes as though he's about to lift his work called "Tungtungan."

In my middle childhood years (that should be the mid-1960s), there was this dance hit called "Do the Jerry" popularized by a band called...hmmm. I forget. It may have been Gary and the Playboys, but I can't find the darn song in the online sources. I'm quite sure there was such as song, and it began with upbeat lyrics: "See the happy feet / dancing to the beat / of the Jerry."

I'm composing this for Jerry, old pal Jerusalino V. Araos who would have been 70 years old on this fifth of July. I must've written reams about him as artist and man when he was alive and another ream when he passed on. My third poetry collection, Big Mama Sez: Poems Old & New, is dedicated to his memory and also to my living beloveds (Rolly, Kimi, Ida and Kai Fernandez).

I'm kinda getting weary of my voice. Earlier today I re-read my exchange of emails with another old pal, Jorge V. Ledesma, who is also part of the Araos's extended family. He was in wintry Colorado when I broke the news of Jerry's death in December 2012.

Excerpts from Jorge's letter about our master Jerry who we also addressed as Ama. He was, after all, our artistic father.

These missives bring a salve that I seem to need as the sun sets...

It is the twenty fifth after all, and as the turkey roasts in the oven, so do the images of the journeys with Jerry, both the literal and the dreams--Ama driving at a steady twenty five on our way to the garden and our not-so-far fetched meanderings of possibilities for the child, Julian, and his future as President of the Republic--waft into everything I touch...

He so effortlessly went against the grain. Never, in that trip to Antipolo at rush hour, did we stop in ungodly traffic. He had found the rhythm of the turtle to the chagrin of other drivers that would pass us only to stop in spurts, and yet our conversations took the flight of the fastest jets. I had just lost my father when I first met Jerry and in my fevered myth making, asked him to be mine. He paused and quietly agreed to the full import of the request and so began a deep relationship of kindred spirits that spanned the time and continents of my heart.

Jerry and his muse, Melen, in their Antipolo garden on April 3, 2011. Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Melen, ever the lady, whose quiet strength tamed the fire, was his muse and inspiration. A truer partnership I have not seen the likes of since. And the children who so adored their father had for their normal the exacting exigencies of excellence. Small wonder then that each has achieved in their lives the soul of living Life as Art--painful, exhilarating, wonderful in its recognized ebb and plenty, and always True. Waya, the warrior. Jemil, the miracle. Liwa the heart. Roja, the eye. Mira, the light. Julian, the promise.

I shall conjure more in time...

Ingat ka.

Nagmamahal,

Jorge

Postscript and erratum from Babeth: I ran into Nympha Saño today, a blog reader, who immediately corrected me that the song I couldn't find in online sources like YouTube and Wikipedia was no other than "Do the FREDDIE" by Freddie and the Dreamers. No wonder I couldn't locate it. Oh boy, did we have a big laugh over my booboo there (no wonder I'm Booboo Babeth). Yes, I admit, age has stolen parts of my early memory. Thanks, Nymphette.

Letting in joy slowly

"In a way grief is sticky like that, and when you have opened the can it’s as if you have to keep going until you reach the bottom, until there is nothing left and your teaspoon hits metal and the sound lets you know there isn’t any more."- Luisa A. Igloria, "By Ear," http://www.vianegativa.us/, Jan. 12, 2014

Twenty-two years have gone since Dad died on Jan. 12. "Expired" was the word the orderly used at the Philippine Heart Center when I reached the Intensive Care Unit to find him gone. He visits me in dreams now and then, but I am aware that it is not him. It's more of what he represented to me. When I look at his picture or just leaf through the diary he had left my eldest child Kimi, the hot tears fill my eyes rapidly. I recover just as fast and remind myself to hold on to the good the way he did with all his imperfections.

It's the same with friends who had leaped out of their bodies too soon, too soon for us who hold them dear. But no use hanging on because it would delay their upward journey.

On Dad's anniversary of rebirth to eternal life, my siblings, nephews, nieces, etc., spent some hours at Loyola Memorial Park Marikina that cool Sunday. I observed, in my own way, Dad's anniversary and Jerry Araos's babang luksa (the latter's departure date was Dec. 23, 2012).

Melen, Jerry's widow, invited me to take a walk on a traffic-free avenue with her grandkids, she holding on to the hand of Amarra, I bringing along my small camera to record some moments.

The rest of the day was unplanned and relaxed, as every Sunday ought to be observed and celebrated. The next day I shared a photo of Jerry and Melen taken at their former home at the UP Diliman campus. She said it was their last picture together.

I thanked her in writing, and she wrote back to say she loved how we closed Ama's (Jerry's) anniversary through a leisurely walk, enjoying his favorite lechon lugaw and pancit molo, and "Ravel'ling," a reference to a YouTube video featuring the great Maya Plisetskaya, then 50 years old, dancing to Ravel's "Bolero." Jerry had his own choreography of "Bolero" that a graceful daughter used to dance for visitors in the 1980s.

Someone once told the bereft not to impede a soul's journey by clinging on to the deceased. But thinking and speaking of them fondly help their pilgrim souls' progress.

Lalu (for Lola) Melen with grandchildren Alejandro and Amarra in the car that brought us to the safe walking and running zone

The family visiting one of the spots developed by Jerry, the passionate gardener

Night comes and Amarra continues to admire her Tita Mira Araos-Mariano's Christmas card while another Lola looks on.

Photos by Melen Araos and Babeth Lolarga

A year ago today, JVA checked out of 'this giant, raucous hotel'

"…[O]ne hits at some point in middle age the Great Reversal, where we see clearly that the way ahead is shorter than the way behind, and that it is only luck or chance that we are still eating, talking, taking out the trash and doing the laundry as if nothing particular were happening. This realization creates a revolution in the brain. One sees that life really is an incessant conversation between the living and the dead – and what one writer called 'the tyranny of the living,' 'the small, arrogant oligarchy of those who happen to be walking around' is a shortsighted view. Nothing we touch, think, feel, or love is other than a gift from those who came before us, passing on literature, painting, domesticated cats, architecture, silver spoons, flush toilets, witty sayings, lullabies, chocolate éclairs, systems of government, habits of kindness before they, too, close the door of their room and, one by one, check out of this giant, raucous hotel." -Cynthia Haven

When the garden was young: Jerry Araos, wife Melen and their youngest children Mira and Julian. They are flanked by SV and Nieves Epistola, their backs turned and looking like angelic sentinels.

We'll be looking at the moon, and we'll be seeing you. Thank you for the gift of your life that remains evergreen in our hearts and minds. Till we meet again, oh, Little Prince! Labyu!

Standing on the broad shoulders of his father

An unseen but very much felt presence at last night's vernissage of Julian Araos "Usbong" was his late father Jerry. It was as though the older man was giving him a boost. Even the thunderstorm and traffic that prevented other guests from coming to The Crucible Gallery at SM Megamall couldn't dampen the expectation that here is a sculptor to watch very, very closely.

Julian's Inay, Dr. Melen Araos, remembers her youngest child as "full of energy, so adventurous and candid, so much like his father. In spite of being the youngest who was rather overly protected by me, he was street smart. Unlike the other siblings though, he was more playful, not so serious with school. He likes to tinker around more than sit down to read a book. After a stormy newborn period, he coped very well with no special treatment. It is a wonder how he has grown."

Although he likes to say "I'm just beginning to sprout," Julian has already burned a path to put him ahead of any competitor. He has had past solo shows of nature photography and functional sculptures (computer chair and table, upuan bisaya, easels) and the advantage of being under the tutelage of Jerry to prepare him for a newly born fascination with figurative sculpture. It won't be long before the stooped figures that reflect a mood of grieving will raise themselves proudly in forthcoming shows. 

Meanwhile, congratulations, Julian. 

Sculptor Julian Araos

Julian addresses family and friends.

"Mag-ama"

Another view of "Mag-ama"

"Bisig"  Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Julian Araos explores new sculptural horizon | Vera Files

Julian Araos explores new sculptural horizon | Vera Files

You Are Braver Than You Know

- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster.

--Elizabeth Bishop

This is the Hour of Lead-
Remembered, if outlived,
As freezing persons,
recollect the Snow-
First-Chill-then Stupor-
then the letting go---

--Emily Dickinson

In their daily life, all are braver than they know.--Henry David Thoreau

 to the memory of jerry yet again

& for mira araos & jorge v. ledesma who mourn for him from a great distance

i agree that we are not just

bereft but humbled

by our great father's

departure

sure, the doctors

from the capitol

may have given him

several chances

to continue loving

life till eternity

but who wants to live

& love to eternity in

a shell that is 

withering

before our eyes?

it is just as well

that we will & force

ourselves 

to fill our time

with work & daily worries

concentrate on

the details of living

despite the absent luster

the trill of notes in 

his laughter

the songs that gush

naturally out of him

all these we can still hear

in morning bird songs

in the rush of water

as we cry along

in the shower

in the song of wind

that moves the green force

of tree branches

he would dislike

our hot tears

& whip the wimp

out of us

oh man,

where's the discipline?

he'd shout at us

beyond my window

the sun is up

i can already imagine

him shout-singing

"i've got a lot of livin'

got a lot of livin'

got a lot of livin'

to doooooo!"

--Babeth Lolarga

Jan. 3, 2013

6:40 a.m.

Photo of Jerry and Melen in Antipolo taken by Babeth, April 3, 2011

Jerry Araos, finis; the garden lives

Melen and Jerry

Jerry solo

Photos by Babeth Lolarga
November 2012

Near But Remote

"This is my letter to the world, /That never wrote to me..."--Emily Dickinson

"Erika Scheurer in her essay : Near, but Remote: Emily Dickinson's Epistolary Voice tells us that while Dickinson did not value writing over speech, she did value dialogic writing and speech over monologic writing and speech. A letter is also a more durable document than a spoken statement.'"-- from http://www.squidoo.com/poetry-analysis-emily-dickinsons-this-is-my-letter-to-the-world-analysis

An artist's interpretation of the reclusive poet Emily Dickinson in the World Wide Web

Do you get that google.com message "I feel lucky" when you're entering a name, phrase or word in the search engine? 

Well, I've been getting that feeling a lot this week since I received two letters (my gosh! two! that's plenty!) this week from friends Arlene Esperida in Tokyo, Japan, and Mira Araos-Mariano from Florida, USA. 

Some weeks back Giselle Goloy sent a postcard from Australia taken from her stash of mementos from her last visit to Romania "where Dracula was born--or at least his inspiration (Vlad Tepes)." Giselle's card shows a photo of the Holy Trinity Fresco where the Holy Spirit is pictured as a woman. As the expression goes, "O, di ba?"

Mira's envelope was heavy from some photos she inserted  showing her and new husband Dino at their Grand Canyon trip ("Our many trips together have really made us closer"). 

The other picture shows them at the Cirque de Soleil's show "O" which included a sculpture exhibit of Richard McDonald. The young couple likes visiting museums. Now that is happy news to this blogger, who's their tita, and Mira's parents, Jerry and Melen.

Arlene's letters are always a treat--from the heavily textured envelope, stamps selected, drawings, rubber stamp markings, doodles to what she puts inside, e.g., pages of balita and enclosures (artist's trading cards, a subject I will blog about later).

My 10-year-old niece Bianca Susi and I were on-and-off pen pals when I was studying and living in Baguio. When she first received a letter from me, she asked her mom Pinky what those little rectangular "stickers" on the upper right-hand corner of the envelope were for. Pinky, a stamp collector, explained their purpose.

By the way, I was at the Makati Post Office yesterday morning to mail, oh, seven or eight letters that I had written the night before, and I saw this big tarp announcing that Christmas parcels and cards must be mailed by this month if they are to get to the addressees by December. So bring out your pen and start writing!

I love the convenience and ease of email and the availability of the Internet, especially when I'm composing an article. But my personal love lies in handwriting letters on cards and stationery that I've selected myself. I have a full box of stationery sheets in Pasig and another in Baguio that I inherited from my Singapore-based daughter Ida. Before she left, Ida said I should leave some pads and cards for her niece Kai who's only all of one year and seven months today. Never too early to make her scribble.

Arlene's last missive inspired me to tell my creative writing students at our next meeting to refresh their skills in something old-fashioned, letter writing using stamps, a very worthy activity  for keeping in touch from wherever they are in the summer of 2013.

Photos by Babeth Lolarga