Happy nights with GCF

I no longer remember the year we met for a trip to Jetro Rafael's Van Gogh Is Bipolar on Maginhawa street, Sikatuna Village. Trips like this one have always been an initiative of Gilda Cordero Fernando, she who we consider our life coach, guru, role model.

Gilda with her son from maybe a former life, Jetro Rosales

Twin souls Jetro and Gilda

I dare you to sit on Marilyn Monroe's face.

Teapots and a lamp

Long-playing record spinning

Collectors' item

Curiouser and curiouser

Her Royal Highnesses

It was enough for Nash Tysmans and her mother Carole to meet at GCF's boudoir where we could perhaps play with her brushes and watercolors, then relish her kitchen's caper-studded pasta, but the hostess was restless. So off we went to one of her favorite spots in the city for dinner.

Strange but I don't have the slightest recollection of what we ate. I remember the drinks because I have pictures of full teacups and a pitcher of juice. What stuck in my mind was when the chef patron Jethro asked us at the end of the meal to pick a headdress for our parting photo. I chose one that made me feel like the Queen Mother--heavy and sedate.

I recall, too, the long-playing vinyl record that played French music. We could have very well been at a bistro in the old quarter of Paris. But this was Jethro's special place, with each item rich in history. No wonder Gilda wanted to leap, if that were possible, from the confines of her already art-filled house.

I wonder now how Gilda is coping with the lockdown. I hope she has enough DVDs of her favorite films to view and re-view--I remember sitting through The King and I with her and humming along every time Deborah Kerr as Anna broke into song. I hope she has conversation partners when she sips her hot chocolate with fresh pinipig. I hope she has tamed her restlessness for the time being and is turning inward and enjoying meditative moments.

My wish for her is this--a line from Proust: "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

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!

Lakwatsa with Gilda

It was the day after Peculiar People's Day which is celebrated on Jan. 10, according to illustrator-cartoonist Sandra Boynton. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the residual of that day than with friend and mentor Gilda Cordero Fernando, the woman writer who defies categorization because she's in a class of her own.

I knew that at this stage in her long life, she loved stepping out even if her legs were unwilling to bring her out of her house. Her will is too strong to acknowledge the weaknesses the flesh is heir to.

So we met in the dark of her boudoir where she was all dressed and made up while seated on her wheelchair. "Halika na," she said as I caught my breath upon arriving. She allowed me to inhale exhale for a few minutes as I told her about a harrowing time spent in the hospital for a thorough breast examination and shared the findings of my doctor regarding my arthritic knees.

"Di bale na," she waved her hand. "Maganda ka pa rin, Babeth!"

Three rings on the bell to summon Michelle, the tall, willowy caregiver who was to push Gilda's wheelchair and keep her steady while she boarded her car or stepped out of it when we reached Via Mare on Timog Ave, Quezon City, a few kilometers from her house.

Gilda Cordero Fernando with her preferred drink of distinction and a plateful of Oysters Rockefeller three-fourths of which she ravished

There she immediately zeroed in on what she wanted for appetizers. She pointed her forefinger and tapped it on the menu picture of Oysters Rockefeller. When the waitress said the order would take 20 minutes to prepare since the oysters still had to be baked, Gilda shook her head vigorously but said she'd wait.

Her order arrived at the same time as mine (arroz a la cubana). She said her household kitchen made a better version of it. I said I missed her cook Veni's cooking, but according to Michelle, her employer would rather eat out seven days a week. This meant dressing her up every day, applying makeup on her smooth face (to which she credits Pond's), putting on her accessories (she wore one of her many pairs of hoop earrings that afternoon) and her sneakers that matched her outfit. Is it any wonder that she has always been the Best-Dressed Writer in my book?

I asked her what she did the day before. She nudged Michelle who, along with the other caregiver Aiko, have become her memory bank. Michelle said Gilda went to visit her old friend, Inquirer founding publisher Eugenia D. Apostol, in the latter's house in Dasmarinas Village, Makati.

Prior appointment had been made so Tita Eggie looked forward to the visit, but when Gilda arrived, the former said, "Matalik kong kaibigan si Gilda. Hindi ikaw 'yon." To which Gilda replied, "Babatukan kita na dyan."

Tita Eggie repeated her remark, denying Gilda's presence before her. Again Gilda said, "Babatukan kita na talaga!"

After lunch, the car made a U-turn to drop me off Popular Bookstore where I bought a copy of Elmer A. Ordonez's Father's Doppelganger. Back in the car, Gilda took a cursory look at the book, then handed it back to me.

I asked her if she still enjoyed reading. She nodded, but said she couldn't remember anything anymore after she finished reading something, whether it's a newspaper or a book. She circled her hands round the sides of her head. "Magulo na," she said, seemingly aware of the ravages of time inside of her.

I asked what her friend and neurologist Joven Cuanang said about her condition. She smiled broadly, declaring, "Mahal na mahal niya ako!"

Gilda with the blogger, Xoce Luna Dalena and his grandma

Three generations almost but only two are blood relations (Xoce and Lola Julie)

She wasn't ready to go home. I said I wanted to visit Julie Lluch whose blood pressure had been elevated for the past two days and thus couldn't visit Gilda as originally planned. So off we went to Julie's house, but Gilda, being the generous soul that she is, remembered that we needed to stop over a place where we could buy pasalubong for the ailing sculptor.

We drove down Maginhawa Street until I spotted Friulli Trattoria where Michelle and I got off to order Margarita pizza and mozzarella sticks for takeout.

At Julie's who should be first to say hello to us but her grandson Xoce Luna Dalena and Aba Lluch Dalena who was on her way out on an errand? Aba stopped in her tracks to pull out her cell phone to take a photo ("proof of life," as Nash Tysmans would call it) of her Tita Gilda and herself.

We didn't go inside the house as there were steps that the older woman didn't want to negotiate so we spent the hour at the car port, with the electric fan turned to full blast. GCF continued to cuddle and admire chubby Xoce, son of Julie's daughter Kiri Dalena.

(NOTE: I can't believe I've gone this far and that particular afternoon isn't over yet. Trust Gilda to make the day long and memorable.)

When she rolled her head again, Julie and I took it as cue that she wanted to go to another place. Michelle recommended an ukay-ukay emporium (for that was what it was) on Aurora Blvd. near the corner of Anonas Road.

We bid Julie goodbye. The writer and the sculptor exchanged "I love you's" and tight hugs.

I don't have a picture documentation of Gilda among the racks of ukay-ukay where she almost lost one of her earrings which got caught in a blouse. She found one to her liking--a black top with tiny floral accents. I found a white eyelet dress perfect for lowland summer for P150 and a pair of khaki pants for the same price, all in tiptop condition.

Gilda shouted from her seat her observation of the people who patronized the place, "Very democratic!" And I did notice that all the customers who finished paying up at the counter left the Janco Fashion Trading with a big smile.

I went home also with a smile in my heart for I had spent a full afternoon that stretched to evening with a literary and style icon whom we are lucky to have very much around us still.

Mood-altering dinner

"We're all dressed up with nowhere to go," Gilda Cordero Fernando said yesterday afternoon as I sipped hot chocolate and scooped warm fresh pinipig from the same cup in her bedroom slash work room. To me being with her, listening to her reminisce and opine made enough of a destination for the day. She'd have none of that--she was determined to leave the premises of her abode with her cane and wheelchair which she calls her kariton. The movie we had wanted to go out and watch, The Dressmaker, wasn't showing anymore.

She booked us for an early supper at Van Gogh Is Bipolar on Maginhawa Street, Sikatuna Village. She prodded me to think of persons we could go out with and have a relaxing dinner. "At short notice?" I asked, incredulous.

On top of me is a Tunisian hat, a fake crown on King Jetro, a copy of the Miss Universe crown on Carole, something from Mongolia on Nash and a muffin hairband with the word "Happy" on perennially happy Gilda.

But young writer Nash Tysmans and her mother Carole were available. So that was how we found ourselves at a subdued Mad Hatters' Party at Van Gogh with a pastor serving as our waiter and owner-chef Jetro Rafael by our tableside, keeping up a running commentary on the dishes served and the restaurant's new daytime thrust as a mood-altering tea sanctuary.

Jetro and Nash show different ways of pouring tea. Nash takes hers seriously. She went all the way to Darjeeling district in India to study tea and got thoroughly sunburned during her apprenticeship there.

My turmeric tea with honey came from the uppermost pot and was served encased in elegantly filigreed silver. You'd surmise that food and drinks served this well would up the cost of the bill, but no. Van Gogh Is Bipolar has Quezon City rates, meaning, highly affordable for writers, especially poets, scholars, artists and similar vagabond spirits.

The beauty of choice for post-prandial tea: You get to choose from Jetro's collection of teapots. Unlike other art and knickknack collectors who keep their collections for their private enjoyment only, Jetro enjoys sharing his. Nothing in his home restaurant is only for show. Everything is meant to be used.

While more commercial cafes and tea salons would practically shoo you off if you're just availing of the free Wifi and have consumed your minimum one cup of coffee or tea, Van Gogh seeks to attract souls in need of silence and healing in the daytime hours of 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. You can avail of the Wifi but better if you take a break from the use of electronic gadgets by lying on a hammock reading from the book swap library, sipping tea that will address any negative mood at the moment (confusion, anger, panic, depression), doing art (art materials are provided free) or just wandering in the pocket garden.

There truly is something about the way Jetro prepares his meals that calms you down. He described the meat as "free range," the fish "wild." And I, like the fox in The Little Prince, felt tamed. All these things happened in a venue that has been named by a network or an international magazine as one of the coolest homes in Asia.

Enhancing the already rich ambience was the auditory pleasure of listening to chansons by Charles Aznavour and Jacques Brel spinned from an old long-playing record player with an antique case picked up from Jetro's European travels. They threw me back to Thursdays in my youth in the '70s.

Against all odds we made it to our 31st year

My husband Rolly and I made it to our pearl anniversary last year, and I did a Beatles gig on this space, rewriting Lennon and McCartney's "When I'm 64." Philstar's Millet Martinez Mananquil took note of it and appreciated that blog entry, and she ran it on a Sunday issue of her Life section. Sure! I said. Rolly, I felt, needed more affirmation how kainis guwapo he is.

On our 30th, we treated ourselves to a yoga and wellness retreat organized by poet Marj Evasco in her home province of Bohol. Rolly was open to the idea--that was triumph enough when I asked if he'd like to join us. I told Marj he would join the healthy meals, Bimboy Peñaranda's book launch and talk on disaster preparedness and a different spiritual view on how to get ready and not be in panic mode. But I couldn't guarantee if Rolly would be there for all yoga sessions with our teacher, Ajita Reyes.

Damn right the missus was, but he looked quite relaxed from that look weekend. I have these pictures to remind me of that rare couple holiday that we enjoyed.

Rolly admires the Chocolate Hills of Carmen, Bohol. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Ajita Reyes, yoga teacher (middle), is flanked by her students Babeth and Marj Evasco. Photo by Rolly Fernandez

Now that we made it to our 31st year, radical changes are being made here and there, one of which is reaffirming a commitment to one another (walang iwanan muna) in the spirit of our Roman Catholic vows of "for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part."

We affirmed not to make promises of obedience to either one as coached by our Life Coach Gilda Cordero Fernando when she hosted a tsokolate't pinipig afternoon following the lunch Rolly treated us to at Alab by Chef Tatung on Scout Rallos, Quezon City. Love, honor, yes, but "obey"? Only dogs go to obedience school, no slur aimed at dogs. Our witnesses this time included Gou de Jesus and her Ernie (Ernesto Enriquez), Gilda Cordero, Bobbie Malay and Nash Tysmans.

Gilda made us switch roles for the "wedding picture" with Rolly seated and I standing with Bobbie's face reflected on the mirror. Bobbie's Dad Armando was our July 26, 1984, wedding sponsor. All wedding sponsors are dead. Of the two women who signed their names on our marriage certificate, Nieves B. Epistola is especially missed during the month of July. (She had a birthday the other day.)

Our wedding photog in 1984 was Jerry Araos. When we celebrated our 31st jubilee in advance on July 23 this year, Nash Tysmans, Wig and Carole's daughter (herself a skilled photographer, writer, educator--a woman wearing many berets) did the photo documentation duty. The luncheon was as intimate as our wedding dinner in '84 at Nielsen Tower was.

And on the seventh day, the God we recognize rested. We two are resting, too, he in Baguio, I in Pasig.

What's new, pussycat? Sing it to me, Rolly!

Writers' minds, hearts, hands at work

My painter friend, Corazon Patarata, who has retired from the foreign service, reminded me in an SMS yesterday, after she learned that I was recovering from surgery, to "go easy muna. There is a time for writing with passion again. Let it wait awhile, you will have new perspectives."

I surmise this is why we have friends apart from blood kin. We can ignore the kin's reminders to guard our health but not our friends'. I noticed many changes after the surgery to remove a tumor that turned out to be benign. Since the incision cut through the leftmost side of my face and neck (that brought about jokes before my hospital confinement that I was disappearing from the world temporarily for a face-lift or cosmetic surgery), there is still numbness and a dull, throbbing ache.

I can't chew without exerting much effort so I now prefer soups, soupy oatmeal, soupy champorado, soft breads with melted butter and cheese, viands that have broth like sinigang with veggies softened. Crunchy stuff like tortilla chips cause great discomfort and a loud ringing in my left ear, no matter how I crave for salty and meaty food. I can no longer, hope this is temporary, put the entire spoon in my mouth. Suddenly, I have to eat daintily!

My way of coping--which is what I do with my other ailments--is to keep my mind, heart and fingers busy. Just what Pope Francis recommended: use our minds, hearts and hands, think, feel and do. For God's glory.

Well, Cora, if I stop, I feel the spirit that moves me to write even a blog entry will be the one to take leave of me. I do appreciate friends' concerns.

Lissa Romero de Guia promises to bump and grind to the song "Let Me Entertain You" from the musical Gypsy. Her program includes Broadway and jazz favorites.

Ian Paolo Acosta, guitarist, singer and composer

But February is looking to be a busy month for this cultural worker. On Feb. 6, the Baguio Writers Group is mounting a pre-Valentine dinner concert, "Fever: A Night of Love Songs and Poetry," at Hill Station, Casa Vallejo, Baguio City. Featured are Lissa Romero de Guia and jazz-blues guitarist Ian Paolo Acosta, all Baguio-based talents, apart from our resident poets who'll outdo one another in passionately reading or performing their love poems.

As if pushing a concert ain't enough alongside selling tickets (only P850 each inclusive of a full-course dinner with a Moroccan theme plus a drink), the BWG "think tank" also thought of a sidelight (side show?) to our concert: a booth for "Love (Letters) for Sale."
To paraphrase new member Nash Tysmans, the BWG members blessed with good to fine penmanship will serve as Cyrano de Bergeracs to help the timid, receding or inarticulate to express their feelings for real Roxanes. But these letters can also be love letters to parents, children, pets. We can't guarantee a "Yes" to romantic proposals, and we won't accept break-up letters.

The letters don't end there. They come with a heart-shaped rum cake with semi-fondant icing baked and packaged by everyone's favorite mamita and BWG senior member, Toottee Chanco-Pacis. We know her for her to-die-for brownies, lemon squares and now, rum cake!

A Google document form has already been set up where those keen on tapping the services of eloquent love letter writers can write their specifications. Just copy and paste to another tab or window the link that follows:

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yMt_SqJa1yXYpZpramYWTqUcyaYyGDHzB6ub5O5eCUU/viewform?c=0&w=1

Truly, the world I live in will not slow down to wait for the full restoration of my senses. I'm off antibiotics and pain-killers, the doctor pronounced me fit to work (does that include "to socialize", too?). Since my outer ear is numb and only parts of it will recover feeling in due time, I was told by him, half-kiddingly, that I can have it pierced in several spots and wear all the studs and earrings I want. Which may be the right accessories for a Moroccan pre-Valentine party!

Some of the BWG members at their planning meeting (from left): Merci Javier Dulawan, Nonnette Bennett, Toottee Chanco Pacis, the blogger with her grandchild, Junley Lazaga, Frank Cimatu, Ben Tapang, Padma Perez, Lissa and Jenny Cariño.