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!

Walk proud, Ida gurl

The little girl I used to carry at a Halloween party at a friend's home in UP Village in 1990 before our family moved up to Baguio

"Definition of good, emotionally-adept parenting: that the child grows up with no wish whatever to become a writer."

"Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet."

Two quotes, all attributed to Alain de Botton, make me think of my two daughters who're beyond physical reach, except through their FB, Twitter or Instagram updates. The sisters are bonding in parts elsewhere while their mother reflects on times gone by and how swift the hands of time are moving to close that circle chuva la di la.

Maria Popova, another great curator of ideas like de Botton, shared through her blog, brainpickings.org, a letter that the poet Maya Angelou wrote to her younger self. Re-reading it for the fifth time today, I am struck at how her words have a force of truth that only mothers of daughters can relate to. I quote the letter in full by way of wishing  my younger of two girls all the best on her special day today:

You’re itching to be on your own. You don’t want anybody telling you what time you have to be in at night or how to raise your baby. You’re going to leave your mother’s big comfortable house and she won’t stop you, because she knows you too well.

But listen to what she says:

When you walk out of my door, don’t let anybody raise you — you’ve been raised.

You know right from wrong.

In every relationship you make, you’ll have to show readiness to adjust and make adaptations.

Remember, you can always come home.

You will go home again when the world knocks you down — or when you fall down in full view of the world. But only for two or three weeks at a time. Your mother will pamper you and feed you your favorite meal of red beans and rice. You’ll make a practice of going home so she can liberate you again — one of the greatest gifts, along with nurturing your courage, that she will give you.

Be courageous, but not foolhardy.

Walk proud as you are, 
Maya

And the girl whose fallback meal was Oreos dunked in a glass of milk when my home-cooked ones were wanting can now adjust to assorted situations in her new life. Ride 'em, cowgirl!