Gigi de Beaupre
To dye or not to dye?
Brookside Baby
Showing posts with label Pablo A. Tariman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pablo A. Tariman. Show all posts
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Sunday, May 8, 2016
The times of Mommy's life
The best Mother's Day gift I received arrived in my email yesterday, a lengthy letter from my second-born daughter Ida detailing how her class of 21 nursery students prepared for their own tribute to moms. She clinched her letter with what I'd call an "Ida-ism": "happy mother's day, nanay! you make my eyes roll and you may not be my favourite person, but i love you."
Gliceria "Nene" Dula as a debutante in 1946
Holding her second-born child, my sister Evelyn Marie ("Embeng")
My own Mommy made my eyes roll not just a thousand times. Among my sisters we like to joke that of her physical traits, Mom bequeathed us her indio nose and her bunions that make closed shoes uncomfortable.
Our clashes were bitter wars of attrition with periods of peace, with the intercession of Daddy, during mealtimes and occasions like birthdays and Christmas. There was a period in adolescence when I opted to stay home rather than be seen with Mom and her growing brood (a devout Catholic, she followed papal edicts to the letter and refused artificial contraceptives). Alone I cherished the relief from her nagging and what I felt was her overbearing presence.
I longed for a mother who could be a friend and confidante the way my Lola Purang in Baguio was to her children and grandchildren, or the way Aunties Fe and Pacing (my father's sisters) were to my cousins. What I felt the Lord had burdened me with was a battleaxe in a slender and attractive package.
One of my sisters still has this image of Mom with a fly swatter ready to swat not just flies but any erring child. The fanny was her target. I have memories of Mom chasing a sister round and round the round dining table with a flyswatter in her right hand. We knew what kamay na bakal meant early on.
I was only able to say what was in my heart to my mother through a letter when I approached my 60s. The letter wasn't even penned by me. It was written for me by former Baguio Writers Group president Luchie Maranan when BWG had a commissioned handwritten letter campaign in February 2015. I supplied the ghost writer with the inputs on what I had been meaning to tell my mother, among which was how I appreciated her sacrifices for the eight children she bore even if this meant a lack of quality time for us since she and Daddy had to go out and work to provide for us. When I finally held Luchie's letter, the hair on my arms stood up. Her penmanship uncannily resembled Mom's, and my first thought was, "Why is Mommy writing me a letter through the BWG?"
Baguio still means happy memories to us. It was where our parents brought us in the summer, and it must have cost them a pretty penny to do so. Thank you, Dad and Mom!
The mellowing of Mom came with the coming of the grandchildren. Her oldest apo Carlo's Matchbox collection is courtesy of his Lola Mommy, who spoiled him to pieces.
This is what I mean by Mom's makuha ka sa tingin facial expression captured by poet Mila D. Aguilar during an intimate concert at Balay Kalinaw organized by Pablo A. Tariman.
Anyway, when Mom read "my" letter, she told my daughter and sisters that even late in the day, I had come to realize why she was the way she was--her sternness, her disciplinarian's ways. By becoming a mother myself, I have seen that motherhood is the toughest job in the world. And that the fretting over one's children and their well-being, even if they're already adults, never ever stops.
My mom was a proud and vain woman, ramrod straight in posture, always well turned out, fully made up whenever she left the house, whether for the office (she worked until her 70s) or a Legion of Mary meeting. An illness crept up on her late last year. Today she is a ghost of her former self, but to me she is even more beautiful as peace slowly descends on her. She mumbles in that state between wakefulness and sleep--I try to decode what she says in hopes I get clues to her past which she has always been reticent to share, except for the good times. Her knees buckle when she tries to stand with assistance from hefty adults.
But our faith teaches us hope--miracles are possible. If her body and mind don't heal fully, my siblings and I plus those who fondly call her Auntie/Tita Nene or Mommy Lolarga (from the streetsweepers she has befriended to the village security guards she sends merienda to) pray that her spirit does, ready to return to the source of Light and Love. And when Judgment Day comes, she will be restored to full glory. This we all believe.
Guess who has the biggest smile in a family picture from one Christmas in the 1990s? That's our Mom, vibrant in red and seated second from right.
My own Mommy made my eyes roll not just a thousand times. Among my sisters we like to joke that of her physical traits, Mom bequeathed us her indio nose and her bunions that make closed shoes uncomfortable.
Our clashes were bitter wars of attrition with periods of peace, with the intercession of Daddy, during mealtimes and occasions like birthdays and Christmas. There was a period in adolescence when I opted to stay home rather than be seen with Mom and her growing brood (a devout Catholic, she followed papal edicts to the letter and refused artificial contraceptives). Alone I cherished the relief from her nagging and what I felt was her overbearing presence.
I longed for a mother who could be a friend and confidante the way my Lola Purang in Baguio was to her children and grandchildren, or the way Aunties Fe and Pacing (my father's sisters) were to my cousins. What I felt the Lord had burdened me with was a battleaxe in a slender and attractive package.
One of my sisters still has this image of Mom with a fly swatter ready to swat not just flies but any erring child. The fanny was her target. I have memories of Mom chasing a sister round and round the round dining table with a flyswatter in her right hand. We knew what kamay na bakal meant early on.
I was only able to say what was in my heart to my mother through a letter when I approached my 60s. The letter wasn't even penned by me. It was written for me by former Baguio Writers Group president Luchie Maranan when BWG had a commissioned handwritten letter campaign in February 2015. I supplied the ghost writer with the inputs on what I had been meaning to tell my mother, among which was how I appreciated her sacrifices for the eight children she bore even if this meant a lack of quality time for us since she and Daddy had to go out and work to provide for us. When I finally held Luchie's letter, the hair on my arms stood up. Her penmanship uncannily resembled Mom's, and my first thought was, "Why is Mommy writing me a letter through the BWG?"
Anyway, when Mom read "my" letter, she told my daughter and sisters that even late in the day, I had come to realize why she was the way she was--her sternness, her disciplinarian's ways. By becoming a mother myself, I have seen that motherhood is the toughest job in the world. And that the fretting over one's children and their well-being, even if they're already adults, never ever stops.
My mom was a proud and vain woman, ramrod straight in posture, always well turned out, fully made up whenever she left the house, whether for the office (she worked until her 70s) or a Legion of Mary meeting. An illness crept up on her late last year. Today she is a ghost of her former self, but to me she is even more beautiful as peace slowly descends on her. She mumbles in that state between wakefulness and sleep--I try to decode what she says in hopes I get clues to her past which she has always been reticent to share, except for the good times. Her knees buckle when she tries to stand with assistance from hefty adults.
But our faith teaches us hope--miracles are possible. If her body and mind don't heal fully, my siblings and I plus those who fondly call her Auntie/Tita Nene or Mommy Lolarga (from the streetsweepers she has befriended to the village security guards she sends merienda to) pray that her spirit does, ready to return to the source of Light and Love. And when Judgment Day comes, she will be restored to full glory. This we all believe.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Adventures with Sister Suzy
Ellen Suzanne Lolarga is my number two sister (before her is Evelyn Marie or Embeng and after her are Genevieve Therese, Pinky for short, and Eugenia Celerina, just Gigi to all). I was five years old when Suzy was born.
I still remember seeing my mother going into labor. My Dad, yaya and I accompanied Mom to the University of the East-Ramon Magsaysay Medical Center. When Mom was wheeled into the delivery room on a gurney, she waved to Dad with instructions for the yaya to walk me home. That was my first memory of Su, as she was about to enter our lives.
My second memory of her was at Luneta Park in the early '60s (not Doroy Valencia's Rizal Park yet). We were near the breakwaters: Mom, the yaya, Suzy and me. I had the urge to pee. There were no portalets then. So Mom brought me to peepee by a bush, but I got bitten by ants on my buttocks, and I squealed like the piglet I can be sometimes. So Mom and yaya had to brush off the ants. Meanwhile, Suzy, a toddler by then, wandered away. When the adults realized she was amiss, it was Press the Panic Button time.
That must have been a weekend; there were just too many people (already!) then. Meanwhile, I remember being held by my hand tightly so I couldn't go astray either as Mom and yaya searched high and low for Suzy by which time, Mom being Mom, was in near hysterics. From the park we walked all the way to The Manila Hotel. It was already dark. As we approached the hotel, a car's headlights were switched on--and there was Suzy in the light, still dressed up like a doll with her bonnet and little handbag.
Whenever this story is recalled in family conversations, Gigi never fails to say that it was a sign of things to come. That is, Suzy would turn into a Merry Maller. On certain after-school days or weekends, that's what she does for exercise. Now and then she picks up a knickknack or three, most especially children's books from Book Sale that she can use for her Montessori class or to give to her grandnieces Max and Kai and grandnephew Jared.
The rest of the abubots are stashed in her aparador. Whenever there's a birthday, a wedding or similar festive occasions, she always has something ready. When we have no time to shop, we go to her and request for a suitable item when a friend or family member is having a thing (birthday or anniversary). Of course, we pay up.
This makes Suzy the perfect steward of our household budget now that Mom is retired from that. She settles the electric, phone, Wifi and water bills, does the groceries (the others contribute, too).
Every family needs a Suzy who is quiet, dependable, loves little children and lets them go to her for comfort and loving loving. And she is that silent patron of art and music, a cultural soldier, daresay I. She's gonna pinch me tonight (she's my roommate when I'm at Mom's).
Happy birth month, sis!
Last Saturday (March 21), her birthday, she spent the evening with me at the Ayala Museum. Tenor Nomher Nival dedicated the penultimate number in the Opera Gala recital called Donizetti and Friends "to Suzy."
Following is the English translation of the aria, Donizetti's "Una Furtiva Lagrima," from the Italian comic opera L'Elisir d'Amore (The Elixir of Love):
A single secret tear
from her eye did spring:
as if she envied all the youths
that laughingly passed her by.
What more searching need I do?
What more searching need I do?
She loves me! Yes, she loves me, I see it. I see it.
For just an instant the beating
of her beautiful heart I could feel!
As if my sighs were hers,
and her sighs were mine!
The beating, the beating of her heart I could feel,
to merge my sighs with hers...
Heavens! Yes, I could die!
I could ask for nothing more, nothing more.
Oh, heavens! Yes, I could, I could die!
I could ask for nothing more, nothing more.
Yes, I could die! Yes, I could die of love.
Thank you, Joseph Uy and Nomher, for making Suzy happy.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
No mistake
My good friend Pablo A. Tariman, who has covered the arts and music beat for several decades and doesn't look like he's slowing down (in fact, he has added the showbiz whirl of a world in his area of coverage/reportage), always likes to quote the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. "Without music, life would be a mistake"--this line is brought out in times of joy and disappointment to underline the importance of music in restoring his balance.
I, too, believe that one's life must have some kind of soundtrack playing. I can't write without music. Even if I don't have earphones and an iPhone with a shuffle list, something is playing in my head, especially when I'm caught in Metro Manila traffic or am particularly anxious about something. Music is my stabilizer; it is better and cheaper than doctor-prescribed tranquilizers.
He answers to both "Carlos!" and "Garch!", the marketing guy who's skilled in making the 89-year-old MSO highly visible in social media.
This brings me to Manila Symphony Orchestra's volunteer program where I found myself willingly recruited. Marketing director Carlos Garchitorena sent me a text if I wanted to volunteer for the orchestra's end-of-season concert, "The Late Romantics: Music by Strauss and Rachmaninov" at the Cultural Center Little Theater. Answer "Rachmaninov" if it's a yes; Strauss if it's a no. His come-on: free seating after the duties are done and a meal.
Pianist Aries Caces with his wife and baby Clara. I couldn't help saying the little one would grow up into another Clara Schumann, a pianist and composer also from the Romantic period.
Yes, I'm superficial sometimes (mababaw ang kaligayahan), but I'd do almost anything to hear Rachmaninov's Piano Concert No. 3 in D-mino, Op. 30 played live again, this time with Vienna-educated Aries Caces on the piano.
When early bird Nonon Padilla, the theater director, came for his reserved tickets, among my first words as a volunteer were if he could wait a bit as we still had to be briefed about our duties and the tickets were on their way. He thought I was pulling his leg when he learned I was an MSO volunteer.
Along with fellow volunteers Charm and Michael, I thought that staffing the ticket table and helping sell souvenir programs would be a breeze with the presence of Laura, the person in charge of the cash box (no box, just a long letter envelope). It turned out to be a sold-out show (standing room only wasn't allowed at the theater although there were those who were willing to stand during the two-hour performance). All's well that ends well. Garch was pleased how cool Charm, Michael and I remained despite some ticket buyers who demanded attention.
Benito Legarda (with the black bowtie) I found elegant in his outfit. Here he's chatting with Jeffrey Solares, MSO executive director. Maestro Solares is also a moving force behind the MSO Academy and the MSO Junior Orchestra, training ground for orchestra members of the future.
Up and coming pianist Gabby Paguirigan with Mr. Caces
One of Gabby's BFFs, Jan Briane Astrom (left), who knows more than a thing or two about the classics. I always look out for his recommended YouTube videos.
For a long-haired concert to be sold out--it means a job well done. Congratulations, Garch, Maestro Arturo Molina the conductor, the other MSO members (musicians, admin people, patrons). Let's not forget to acknowledge the classical music geeks like Jan Briane Fabie Astom, Adrian Lontoc, graduating piano major Gabby Paguirigan and groupies like this woman who's old enough to be their mom.
Garch flanks his three volunteers for the evening: the blogger, Charm and Michael. Until the next concert, guys!
I, too, believe that one's life must have some kind of soundtrack playing. I can't write without music. Even if I don't have earphones and an iPhone with a shuffle list, something is playing in my head, especially when I'm caught in Metro Manila traffic or am particularly anxious about something. Music is my stabilizer; it is better and cheaper than doctor-prescribed tranquilizers.
This brings me to Manila Symphony Orchestra's volunteer program where I found myself willingly recruited. Marketing director Carlos Garchitorena sent me a text if I wanted to volunteer for the orchestra's end-of-season concert, "The Late Romantics: Music by Strauss and Rachmaninov" at the Cultural Center Little Theater. Answer "Rachmaninov" if it's a yes; Strauss if it's a no. His come-on: free seating after the duties are done and a meal.
Yes, I'm superficial sometimes (mababaw ang kaligayahan), but I'd do almost anything to hear Rachmaninov's Piano Concert No. 3 in D-mino, Op. 30 played live again, this time with Vienna-educated Aries Caces on the piano.
When early bird Nonon Padilla, the theater director, came for his reserved tickets, among my first words as a volunteer were if he could wait a bit as we still had to be briefed about our duties and the tickets were on their way. He thought I was pulling his leg when he learned I was an MSO volunteer.
Along with fellow volunteers Charm and Michael, I thought that staffing the ticket table and helping sell souvenir programs would be a breeze with the presence of Laura, the person in charge of the cash box (no box, just a long letter envelope). It turned out to be a sold-out show (standing room only wasn't allowed at the theater although there were those who were willing to stand during the two-hour performance). All's well that ends well. Garch was pleased how cool Charm, Michael and I remained despite some ticket buyers who demanded attention.
For a long-haired concert to be sold out--it means a job well done. Congratulations, Garch, Maestro Arturo Molina the conductor, the other MSO members (musicians, admin people, patrons). Let's not forget to acknowledge the classical music geeks like Jan Briane Fabie Astom, Adrian Lontoc, graduating piano major Gabby Paguirigan and groupies like this woman who's old enough to be their mom.
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