Eyeball to eyeball

Throwback: Kai as a baby in 2011 with firsttime grandma, Booboo Babeth

Sunrise, sunset

Jared wearing anti-glare glasses that make him look mature

Kai online with Satchi as saling aso

Max as Binibining Palitaw

They were the little boy and little girls I carried. And now they are testing the video and audio of their respective home computers as they attend the orientation week of their schools. Except for Machiko Susi, a.k.a. Max, who's still on an extended summer from the University of the Philippines Integrated School. Which is why she's holding up a plate of palitaw that she had prepared under the supervision of her Wowa Pinky Lolarga Susi and yaya Sherilyn.

My family is agreed that Jared Susi (first photo) looks like an ultra-young executive as he meets his classmates onscreen. Kai has a photo bomber in Satchi, the golden retriever, who's peeking through the window, curious about the girl's activity.

As I write this, I hear Kai and classmates saying "Hello" and "Hi" to one another at their post-recess resumption of classes. Kai is a wee shy about speaking up so she just types her remarks.

Earlier today, she kicked me awake at 7:30 a.m. for not rising earlier to help her prepare for breakfast and home school. I was just coming out of a dream where I saw photographers Ev Espiritu and Wig Tysmans in a bus headed for interior Cordillera. As I tried to sort out the dream's message, Rolly took over the morning supervisory duties--seeing to Kai's full breakfast and getting her ready for online class.

I hear the teacher asking "Are you ready now?" And the pupils answering, "We are ready!" I think there's something to this home schooling thingy--grandparents like me being passive/active listeners and ready to assist these young souls whom we are privileged to shepherd.

Paella bella

My tiredness from preparing and cooking today's lunch has dissipated after my grandchild Kai rated the paella I served a 9.5. Even the other picky eater, Rolly, was so pleased that he asked me to duplicate the dish on his 70th birthday early next month.

Daughter Kimi, who took the picture below, said I should issue a disclaimer saying that I was not responsible for the uneven cutting of the hard-boiled eggs. Kai was. Maybe that's why the dish's rating is point five short of perfect.

I owe the cooking knowledge for this particular paella to Des Bautista's wife Auring. Weeks ago she demonstrated how it was done and even gave me the Paellero seasoning (it's a brand) and saffron threads for the day when I would find the courage to inaugurate our paellera with this well-loved dish. The paellera had idly sat behind our oft-used pots and pans for years waiting for this day.

What went into this one-pot dish? Onions and garlic sauteed in olive oil, Chinese chorizo, bite-size pieces of chicken breast, green peas, green bell pepper and jasmine rice. I made sure there was also burnt rice (tutong) for Rolly to dig into.

Next time, if budget allows, we add prawns, mussels and squids for the truly decadent paella of his dreams. Rolly's message to Ernesto V Enrique: "Sayang hindi tayo magkapitbahay. Otherwise, you get half of this."

Kai and camera

Satchi, Kai's playmate, at rest

Grandmother caught dollying herself up even if she's just working from home

Selfie with Satchi's snout

Kai, the nine-year old in our house, has found an old Canon digicam to keep her busy. She snapped away but was careful to compose her shots of Satchi and me. She would immediately delete anything that didn't meet her standards.

I asked my husband Rolly where she learned all these things because I didn't go out of my way to teach her anything about how to use a point and shoot camera. He claimed that it was all his doing.

Kai perked up on hearing we were discussing her doings again. "No!" she said. It was her Tita Maria Klaridelle A Reyes who taught her how to work a real camera, not the toy dangling by her wrist.

Thanks, Kla, the fruits of Kai's apprenticeship are evident in these pictures. Why, I've even requested her to take photos of the books that I've lined up for reviewing.

A pot of mechado, a bottle of beer and thee

Indulge this Aling Kusinera for awhile. Mechado is special to me and my siblings. We associate it with our mother, the great cook Gliceria D. Lolarga, who lived (almost) to feed and care for us to a healthy adulthood. Her mechado wasn't special Sunday fare--it was served on a regular day with us fighting over the sauce and the meat.

That is, until I tasted the mechado of sculptor Jerry Araos that used the fat-marbled batok of the cow. The dish is served at Gourmet Gypsy Cafe, 28 Maginhawa St., Up Village, Qc, immortalized in the menu by his daughter Waya.

For today's lunch, I brought down a couple of beef shanks from the freezer last night to thaw out overnight in the chiller. After breakfast, I rubbed garlic salt on the meat, a tip I picked up from Chef Mike Tatung of the FB program Simpol. The salt helped speed up the tenderizing of the meat.

With Kai as my kitchen helper, we prepared the carrots, potatoes, garlic and onions while I nagged Rolly to look for a slender bottle of black olives to add further flavor to the dish. We had run out of bell peppers.

Pot of mechado simmering on the stove

Using my daughter Kimi's cast-iron pot, I sauteed what Chef Tatung called the aromatics together with overripe cherry tomatoes. The meat was fall-off-the-bones tender after almost 45 minutes of simmering in its marinade, water and tomato paste.

When it was time to serve my take on Mommy's mechado, Rolly said that all it lacked was a dash of red wine to enrich the sauce.
He rated our ulam for lunch and for tonight's dinner a "7.0." I didn't ask for Kai's opinion anymore. It was enough that she was part of the preparatory stage.

Another day in the life in the kitchen.

Sunday lunch

It has become a Sunday habit to just order our food and have it delivered. But not on this foggy and rainy day when the motorcycle rider might have a hard time looking for our house and navigating the zigzag road to our village.

After our champorado at dilis breakfast, prepared by Rolly, I checked the freezer to see what was going on there. There were pork ribs and chicken breast. Adobo! I thought. Merely thinking about this comfort dish already makes me salivate. But oftentimes, I get the cooking wrong due to too much soy.

So I researched in Chef Tatung's Simpol FB page for a simple procedure. I followed him to the letter and was careful about the amount of soy sauce I poured onto the sizzling meat. Also I wasn't used to cooking the mixture with water, but since the chef specified this liquid, I followed him.

I let the rest of the ingredients boil for half an hour. Meanwhile, Rolly and Kai were agitating for food since it was way past noon. He asked that yesterday's Dipasupil de recado longganisa be re-fried while she helped herself to another bowl of champorado.

The adobo was ready by 1:15 p.m., and I was the only one to partake of my cooking. Rolly and Kai said they'd have it for dinner.

And isn't that the beauty of an adobo? It keeps well and tastes better hours and days after it's cooked.

Dreaming of when it's over

Kai and Satchi

"What will this bleak time be called when it's all over?" ~ Tweet from Pamela Colloff

I'm afraid my grandchild Kai has recently developed some kind of insomnia. Every night it takes her later and later to fall asleep, and it's usually after midnight. No, she doesn't take an afternoon siesta. I'm beginning to worry that she's suffering from some anxiety that makes nodding off difficult for her.

She's active the whole day--playing with the dog Satchi, feeding her, giving her vitamin, chatting on FB Messenger with her cousin Machiko Susi in Antipolo, playing pretend with her miniature figurines and dolls, an hour of Netflix cartoons. You'd think that's already a full day for a child.

Yesterday she carefully wrote on two postcards and told her pen pals about how bored she was. And I quote: " Extreeeeeemely bored! Satchi is bored too waiting for me to go outside and play. Sometimes I am able to see a very pretty butterfly. Oh! And to go to parties!"

My Chocolate Kiss memories are made of these

Kai enjoying her Devil's Foodcake at Chocolate Kiss, UP Diliman

Oh boyoboyoboy! I lived for these cakes whenever I visited my old stomping grounds, the UP Diliman campus, right, Geraldine? Hoping The Chocolate Kiss Cafe will have a second reincarnation, maybe operate from the owners' house the way Estrel's Caramel Cakes does. Permanently closing it down sounds so final.

It was my late professor, Nieves Epistola, who introduced me to the campus cafe at the Bahay ng Alumni when I was scheduled to interview her on the occasion of her 75th birthday jubilee and 50th year of teaching for Daily Globe and Ang Pahayagang Malaya. She had a favorite table for two where she led and sat me and where we chatted over lunch, coffee and dessert for over an hour. The waiters knew her and took care of her every need.

My family of cake lovers, particularly daughter Ida and grandchild Kai, learned to love the cakes, too. Kai was partial to the Devil's Food Cake and has a picture somewhere with a moustache of white icing above her upper lip somewhere in her mother Kimi's phone camera. It would've illustrated my point well.

When I was a returning Fine Arts major in Diliman, the Kiss was where I'd hie off to meet up with Margarita Holmes and husband Jeremy or art prof Yasmin Almonte for friendly lunches. If I had enough allowance saved, I'd treat myself to breakfast there--coffee, daing na bangus with fried garlic rice, fried egg with the yolk well done and cake so early in the day.

During one of his fellowships with his Upsilonian brods, Rolly celebrated his birthday with a breakfast with Des Bautista, Guido Canero, Jo Salazar, Wawell Osorio. After we were done with our daing, Des, a Baguio restaurateur, called the waiter and asked him to collect the skin of the bangus left on our plates and to have them deep fried by the cook. The staff accommodated his request, and we enjoyed Des's version of bangus chicharon.

Reluctantly, I kiss the cafe goodbye!

Some like it sour

This pandemic has been kind to some small businesses, particularly the ones involving food delivery.

For the past two weeks, we've had different kinds of bread delivered to our door by the Baguio-based baker from Sweets and Greens. My daughter Kimi discovered the outfit through a Facebook ad and decided to try it out after being enticed by photos of its products.

It was love at first bite when Kai sliced and tasted the glazed lemon pound cake. She can easily finish half of it spread over a few hours between meals.

There's a variation of that bread, this time with herbs baked into it. It is just as good and lemony (sour, not sweet).

Sweets and Greens delivers to Baguio residents every Tuesday and Friday. This is not an ad. It is a full endorsement. Let's support our local bakers.

As for Rolly, he would like it better if the pound cake was heavily infused and aged with rum.

The art of improv

Yesterday was market day for Kimi as we were running low on supplies. Before she left, she brought down from the freezer a piece of chicken breast. I was to make chicken curry out of that one piece. And it wasn't even fat.

Midway as Kai and I prepared the ingredients, she quartering the potatoes, cutting the carrots and slicing the green and red bell peppers while I took care of the aromatics (garlic, onions, ginger and green chilies), I remembered my mother Gliceria D. Lolarga. When she was alive, she'd prepare a side dish of hard-boiled eggs to go with the curry.

It was the first time my husband Rolly heard of such. He surmised that it must be because Mom had to feed eight children so she needed extenders the way one put potatoes in an adobo dish.

I cut the chicken into several bite-size pieces. Kai timed the boiling of the eggs. I usually allow the eggs to boil for eight minutes to ensure the yolk isn't runny.

My grandchild was in a good mood--her mother and guardian was out, after all, and she could watch TV while having her lunch. Fishing for compliments, I asked her what the grade of our ulam was. From the living room she shouted: "Ten!"

I think the eggs did the magic.

With a lot of assist

Today's meal, Sweet and Sour Meatballs, I owe to Chef Mike Tatung of the FB page Simpol and the YouTube video of Panlasang Pinoy with a lot of gut feel and assist. My little kitchen assistant is Kai who can chop and quarter carrots with aplomb and can now slice bell peppers and remove the seeds with ease. She also peels and pounds the cloves of garlic.

Taking the cue from Tats Ernesto V Enrique who advised that I shouldn't cook when I'm tired as the tendency was to end up with a salty dish, I just placed a pinch of salt in the ground beef round but lots of black pepper and liquid seasoning. In went the whole carrot I grated, minced onions and leeks. I formed balls out of the meat, then my daughter Kimi Fernandez placed them in her air fryer but not without first drizzling them in olive oil so they didn't dry out.

The sauce came with sauteed garlic and onions. I threw in the carrots, which Kai chopped into tiny quarters (I still have to teach her to make florettes out of them), and the bell peppers. In went a little soy, a little vinegar, water with flour dissolved in it, two teaspoons of brown sugar and finally, the pineapple chunks with a little of the juice in the can they came in.

Kai gave the dish a rating of 4.5 over 10 which is still not passing. But the adults ate con gusto, and we planned on repeating the making of the sauce, this time to pour over fried lapu-lapu.

Rolly's role in all this? He efficiently washed the dishes.

Photo by Kimi

Some things I miss

On this throwback Thursday, I look back to the year 2015 when my family and I took eating out for granted. I also took for granted that the natural curls on my grandchild's head would stay there for good, but we enjoyed them for less than a year. The minute she had a haircut, the curls refused to grow back.

That was also the year I wore my "Mrs. E sunglasses" all over the place until one day at the UP Infirmary in Diliman, while I was distracted, I placed the pair down a side table and forgot about it.

Wearing Mrs. E (as in Epistola) sunglasses with curly-haired Kai behind me

Al fresco dining at Chaya Baguio

Matcha ice cream with red mongo

Baguio used to be known as a restaurant hub until COVID-19 put a stop to our frequent dining out. Although we're glad to learn that CHAYA Baguio remains open for take-out and delivery, my daughter Kimi, the expert on the subject, says Japanese food isn't quite as good as when you eat it in situ with all the elegant ceramic ware. The food doesn't travel well, and we live outside city limits.

What I terribly miss is the free after-meal matcha ice cream that Chaya serves in a mini bowl with a sliver of red mongo beans. Don't even say the word "sukiyaki" or else I will weep copious tears.

Aurora's Mananita

Auring Bautista sauteeing the meats and tomatoes

The paella is a staple fare when Rolly, my husband of 36 years, and I have a meal out. We are partial to the paella de marisco of Mario's Baguio and Alba’s Estancia, Capitol Commons.

Ever since I learned how to make Arroz a la Valenciana during the lockdown, I thought I could confidently make my own paella for family consumption. But from whom can I learn how it's properly done? There was no doubt about who should it be--birthday girl Aurora "Auring" Bautista. We've feasted on her table many times in our Baguio lives and her paella always hit the spot.

We arrived at the Bautista family home on Happy Glen Loop past 11 a.m. yesterday and the electric paellera was already steaming with olive oil and Auring cooking the pork and chicken cutlets to a nice brown. In between she annotated how her paella was learned firsthand from Maria Pedrosa, wife of Upsilonian Lito. The recipe has Catalan origins.

I noticed two whole unpeeled garlic bulbs were tucked on a side and remained there while the other ingredients (quartered tomatoes, onions, red bell peppers, eggplants) were mixed in. Then it was time to put in the uncooked jasmine rice (eight cups) followed by nine cups of water, the threads of saffron and a whole pack of seasoning labelled El Unico Paellero (available in better stores and delis like Mother Earth).

Waiting for the paella to boil

"How do you know when it is done?" went my ignorant query.
Auring patiently replied, "Cook it like you're cooking rice." And if you want that delicious burnt rice (tutong), let the rice simmer for a few minutes longer after it's done.

Meanwhile, my grandchild, the curious observer, inhaled the aromas wafting from the paellera and declared she was hungry. Later, she had two servings of the dish.

There's something else I learned from the making of the aioli sauce that we put on top of the paella. For the garlic to achieve a mushy quality so that it blends smoothly with the mayonnaise, mustard and sugar, pound the cloves with a tablespoon of salt. This adds to the sweet-salty flavor.

Garlic and salt being pounded to a fine mush

Portion of the cooked paella

As added viand to the already rich paella, there were fat prawns cooked hilabos style.

Need we say more?

All throughout, Auring smiled as if the effort in passing on her culinary knowledge was as easy as pie. It really was.

Let's play 'Pretend'

Give my apo Kai a cloth diaper or a newly washed bimpo, and she can cast all her other toys away. When she learned to tinker with her mother's cellphone, she has been applying all sorts of funny faces on whoever held it. Her grumpa was no sacred exemption. I like how she rendered Rolly Fernandez into a Charlie Chaplin of sorts, herself she depicted as Catgirl. In real life, she dressed up Satchi as Superdog.

Rolly Chaplin

Kai Catgirl

Satchi Superdog

In the beginning of the lockdown, I imagined I was part of the story and cast of The Diary of Anne Frank. There I was, hiding away in an alcove with my red leatherette-bound Mercury Drugstore diary which I would sneak out when everyone else was asleep or busy and where I would write entries to help make mere survival bearable. But the Frank family's enemy was a palpable one--the German Nazis. This one that we have is invisible and just as deadly.

Well, this was my way of coping in the early weeks of the lockdown--to pretend, maybe a way of denial of the harshness of COVID-19. I've taken refuge in the patched up videos of choirs and orchestras and vocal soloists.

I've also begun counting the riches still available to us.

Jamie Tworkowskie named them for us:

Conversations will not be cancelled.
Relationships will not be cancelled.
Love will not be cancelled.
Songs will not be cancelled.
Reading will not be cancelled.
Self-care will not be cancelled.
Hope will not be cancelled.
May we lean into the good stuff that remains.

Despite my family's distance in Baguio, they can still manage to smile for the phone camera and clown around. Only Satchi has, what I imagine to be, a thought bubble that reads, "Bah! These humans!"

Re-imagining Nutmeg

Kai cradling Nutmeg

I will proceed as if the disappointments and frustrations of yesterday never happened. I will carry on as some kind of knucklehead Nelly, the self-confessed cock-eyed optimist in the musical South Pacific.

Nothing pulls me out of my blue funk more than pictures of my grandchild romping with the family dog, in this case Nutmeg, a mixed breed who stayed with us for only a few months. So frisky was she that she bit Kai not once but twice. The first time was a shallow nip on the child's face, but it was enough to get us all worried and bring her to the doctor for an anti-rabies shot.

The second time Nutmeg bit Kai, this time on the leg, we knew we had to let the dog go. But how? The opportunity presented itself serendipitously when Kai's yaya bid goodbye to our family after serving for five years or just when the kid was about to enter Grade One. Kai needed to grow independently while Mackenzie had commitments to fulfill in Pangasinan, among them to marry her beau.

As Macky boarded the hired jeep that would take her back to her home province, my daughter Kimi pulled the leash tied on Nutmeg and told Macky, "Here, take her. She's yours. We cannot mind her anymore at the same time that we're taking care of Kai."

Kai was too numb from shock at the sudden parting--first, from Macky, then from Nutmeg.

But Macky and Nutmeg had always been best buddies. She followed her orders and kept still when she had to be bathed or her head of hair trimmed.

Sometimes at night, when I imagine that all hope had flown away, I wonder how Macky and Nutmeg are doing. Nutmeg likes the beach in La Union. I wonder if they ever visit the beach together or with Macky's new family.

Meanwhile, Kai found a new friend in the golden retriever named Satchi. All is not entirely lost.

Suddenly, she is 9

I woke up to Nash Tysmans' angry tweet: "Ang Amerika hindi rin preparado kasi ungas din ang Pangulo nila! #OUSTDUTERTENOW"

And to Pablo Tariman's angrier FB status, since then deleted, methinks, about the foul mouth of the Leader and how a janitor has more dignity than he who lives in Malacanang Palace. Nothing like a morning swim to calm Pablo down.

The malicious aspersions cast on Atty. Chel Diokno were causing me to roil and boil at 5:30 a.m., my usual time of waking. It wasn't a good way to start a Saturday, especially since today is special.

It is the ninth birthday of my granddaughter Kai. I bemoan that I am separated from her by 209 kilometers, and no bus is plying the Cubao to Baguio route so I can't be there to watch her blow an imaginary candle on a small birthday cake. Imaginary because blowing birthday candles is among the no-no's during the time of COVID-19. Small cake because she has no other guests beyond her mother Kimi, her grandpa Rolly Fernandez and our dogs Satchi and Boots.

She was up early, acknowledging text greetings from relatives here and abroad. Apart from "Thank you," she punched in the words, "Stay safe! God bless!" Then we teased her with a video call, singing the birthday song. My daughter Ida, phoning in from Los Angeles, CA, couldn't suppress the schoolteacher in her, asking Kai for the correct spelling of lumpiang Shanghai. In one of her communications, Kai wrote that "lumpiang Shang High" would be among the dishes served at her modest celebration.

Then we asked how she and her buddy Satchi, a golden retriever, were doing. As answer, she brought the phone outdoors to the Baguio balcony so we could see the dog sniffing out the birthday gal.

Baguio girl's carrot cake

A girl and her dog

Earlier in the week, she showed us a drawing of a slice of carrot cake, a manifestation of her heart's desire. She has remained cheery of disposition despite missing her lowland-based cousins and slew of grandaunts and granduncles, they who dote on her, her classmates, her play-date mates and her teachers.

Sadness over the quiet commemoration of her birthday is alien to her. As I write these words, the John Wilson Orchestra is performing Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue," and on this day divided by broiling political forces, I wish you, Kai, a rhapsody in yellow... as in sunshine, sunflowers and sunny smiles. And hope!

Missing the secret garden

(Take 2, after losing my original draft)

I've been revisiting photo files from the year 2015. The year was personally memorable because I was taken ill for quite a while and confined at length at The Medical City.

When I returned to the world that was still spinning at its usual pace despite my prolonged depressive episode, I wasn't allowed to go out of the house unless I was chaperoned. My usual companion and chokaran then was Macky, the yaya of my then four-year old grandchild Kai. (While Macky, short for Mackenzie, kept me company, my mother, who has since passed on, and my daughter Kimi minded Kai who was pulled out of school in Baguio to be with me.)

So being housebound or being under strict house arrest is nothing new to me. When I was allowed a little freedom of movement, Macky accompanied me to the lecture of balikbayan poet Luisa A. Igloria at De La Salle University. Not only was the lecture substantive that I was able to compose an article out of Dr. Igloria's lecture notes, the event was well organized by Shirley O. Lua of DLSU. I remember the savory adobo served.

So my new life, post-hospitalization, revolved around weekend trips to Baguio and weekdays spent correcting my students' papers, preparing lessons, chasing after story sources (life of a freelancer).

Rolly in a huddle with his UP Baguio colleagues Del Tolentino (partly hidden) and Rey Rimando

It was around this time when my husband Rolly Fernandez thought of converting an idle patch in our Baguio property into what we called "a secret garden" dedicated to Kai. He had a truck haul in the pebbles, which were scattered and arranged neatly on the ground. He tamed the wildness by planting shrubs and flowering bushes. Then he invited our friend Rey Rimando, a retired math prof at UP Baguio and full-time gardener in La Union, for a visit.

Rey being Rey, he had opinions on everything from the foot path to the watering system. He offered advice on what plants thrived in the shade and what liked the sun. Rolly nodded, but knowing him, I knew he was separating chaff from the grain.

Name that wildflower.

Since then, the garden became the final stop where Kai and I parked ourselves after our morning walks in the neighborhood. Her paternal grandparents presented her with a garden set complete with a parasol. While we chattered and took pictures of the flowers, Rolly would join us with his second or third mug of coffee. We had Baguio's immense blue, blue sky for our roof.

Kai stops to pose for a picture at a neighbor's garden.

I miss the little garden and the refuge it offered. As I encode these words, I'm pale from want of sun and Vitamin D. Once the lockdown is lifted, you know which direction I'm headed for: my true North.

Meanwhile, there is comfort in the verse of Nobel laureate Czeslaw Milosz:

My generation was lost. Cities too. And nations.
But all this a little later. Meanwhile, in the window, a swallow

#LockdownDiaries

Willful gladness

"In the darkest times, we are the most starved for delight – for the self-permission for delight." ~ Maria Popova

The title phrase is also Popova's. This is a tale of willful gladness in a woman's and a child's search for meaning during uncertain times.

My grandchild Kai and I Facetimed last night before she called it a day. She's based in Baguio, I'm trapped by the lockdown in Pasig. Worse,my eight-year old talk and text cell phone picked the wrong time to die on me. Can't go out to a shop or mall to look for a replacement. COVID-19 took care of all our best laid-out plans.

But thanks to Facebook Messenger, Kai remains in constant touch, complaining, like me, about nearly going out of her head looking for ways to fill up her time. She feels bereft of a gin rummy partner (me). We play a game of two or three nightly, our routine at home up there. I taught her the rudiments of the game, and she has been defeating me consistently. Not that I don't try hard enough in the only card game I know.

My daughter Kimi Fernandez recently got Kai out of her holiday languor by encouraging her to make Spam sushi rolls. Kai has odd tastebuds--between the sweetness of ice cream and the sourness of yogurt, she'll pick the latter in a heartbeat. Here she is a picture of concentration.

Then visiting friend Precious Leano was impressed when we once went to Hill Station on Upper Session Road, Baguio, and Kai straight away ordered the artichoke dip with Melba toast.

My sister Pinky Lolarga Susi once brought Kai and her cousins Machiko Skye and Jared Franco to an Asian grocery. While the other two kids bought popsicles and candies, my grandkid chose a packet of salty nori wrappers. I think this may be the same packet from which Kai is making the sushi.

As a baby, she also had a pronounced taste for certain types of viand. Martin Masadao noted, while observing her on her high chair feeding herself, that she knew the most delish part of daing na bangus--the belly!

She loves "stinky" cheese, and when the Christmas queso de bola is sufficiently aged come the New Year, she requests slivers of it cut and popped into the microwave oven for what she calls "cheese puffs." They're as salty as any Jack and Jill product.

Cheese is a standby in the house along with eggs. Should Kai not find the food served come mealtime to her liking, the go-to dish is a cheese omelette enriched with milk.

I don't know how her food likes and dislikes are doing these past days. Hoping that my husband, her grandfather Rolly Fernandez, and Kimi are inculcating the lesson of being grateful for every meal served. And I hope they all gather around the table for a shared repast.

Our not so little Kai is turning nine years old in two weeks. Apart from making pancakes and omelettes, she has now added Spam sushi rice or Supamu sushi meshi to her repertoire of recipes.

So you see, Kai, if you can feed yourself and feel good about it, you can also extend your hand to feed others. Happy birthday soon!

A girl and her dog

This morning Satchi, our golden retriever, came bounding up the stairs. I called out her name, and she entered our bedroom instead of heading for the balcony which is where she stays most of the day after her walks.

She slobbered all over my husband Rolly's face as he was snoozing. She refused the treat that my daughter Kimi was trying to entice her with.

This seven-month old golden is, most of all, Kai's best pal. Apart from walks, they chase one another or Kai talks to her in a commanding voice to make the dog obey. The latter doesn't seem to work yet because it provokes Satchi to get more excited and jump all over my apo. They're a happy sight to behold.

Last Saturday, as Kai and her father took Satchi for her morning walk, she loosened herself from her lease and ran all over the village park, the little girl giving chase and breaking into tears, thinking the dog might get lost.

Satchi found her way home alone and waited for the gate to open. Kai cried more tears of relief.

All in a day. With Satchi, our lives are complete.

Photo by KIMI FERNANDEZ

My Huckleberry friend

These are my Throwback Thursday thoughts and photos as I deal with another foggy and chilly day in my adopted city. Call this my intermission number while I take a break from line editing some manuscripts.

It's bonnet weather up here, but I've misplaced mine while Kai, now eight and in school (surprisingly, the school bus came by to pick her up and she was ready and warmly dressed as she boarded it), has outgrown hers. She now wears a hoodie.

Booboo Babeth and Kai wearing bonnets

Yesterday classes were suspended so she stayed by my side all day long while I faced the computer. She played with her dolls and stack-up toys. When she grew weary of them and while I was taking a siesta, I overheard her take over the YouTube shuffle list and listen to different versions of "Moon River," her current favorite. I let her be, secretly pleased was I that she liked the songs I liked.

After dinner, she brought out her blank notebook that she uses for her doodles.She asked me to dictate the lyrics of the theme song from Breakfast at Tiffany's while she carefully wrote them down on a page, mindful of her spelling and placement of apostrophes. Then she began to sing a capella. Over and over until I wanted to cry.

Here Cecile Licad skims over the poetry book of Marne Kilates while Booboo Babeth and her Kai look over her shoulder. Photo by Anna Leah Sarabia

Who would have thunk it--that the kid I used to carry in my arms to meet such personages like our goddess of music CL would fall for a Mancini ballad?

Kai, don't rush, don't age too fast. You'll have a long time being a grownup, but childhood is such a fleeting period.