Simple joys...

...for a simpleton such as I. Yes, I am that. I never quite shook off the 10-year old in me. The thing with retaining that child is getting to a state of happiness is easy-peasy.

Mababaw ang kaligayahan ko. Easy to please, can adjust to any situation with a sense that it's a new adventure, can seek out friends like they were playmates even if they live in a far part of town because, well, play, when you're almost 59 and he is 75, can take the form of verbal jousts (we can't play hit the can anymore or climb trees to gaze at the view, our bodies have turned traitors as far as physical exertions are concerned). Right, Rustie?

Rustie hasn't aged a bit; he hasn't mellowed either. He remains belligerently bull-headed about certain adult themes. Here we are on the 10th of December lunch. His apres-lunch companion has accepted she can't coffee anymore with him but can sip a frap, and, dear barista, please don't be stingy with the cream! After this picture was taken in Imus, Cavite, I had to run off to UP Diliman for the jampacked Handel's Messiah, a story in itself. He waved me off with, "I wish I can go with you, but I will listen to Handel as though I were there with you."

A certain reporter-reviewer I know, who has the initials PAT and organizes concerts now and then, is portrayed in his tux. He's singing, accompanied by a music goddess. Spike-haired companion sings second voice. Doodled the night before Dec. 9.

If you haven't seen the Dustin Hoffmann-directed film Quartet, please do. It features folks like these who live in separate realities of their own, guided by private musical soundtracks. Thank you, Chit Roces Santos, for more pointers on social graces so I can try to be less of a social disaster. All doodles by Vergel O. Santos

I guess I'm this 10-year old who, like Peter Pan, refuses adamantly to be in the exalted ranks of mature persons who own property, hold steadfastly to jobs, have a car or maybe two or three parked in their carports in exclusive villages, buy the latest accoutrements that begin with a small "i" and other similar adult ways--the very thought of them, aray! a pain in my fat ass. Maybe 'tis the reason I can't live with a materialist or pragmatic philosophy but only agree on the analysis of the great social divides. Where does that put outsiders, i.e., kids like me?

Sometimes that can be dangerous, a playmate in my autumn years warned me. Because once a child is crossed, s/he reacts with the fury of a child, too.

Korek siya dyan!

But since this is that wonderful time of the year, I'm gonna let many things pass, forgive myself as I forgive others. Christmas and Easter tide are the best times for those.

Here's to ice cream man Jojo who has made the Kapitolyo-Pineda barangays in Pasig his work area. Every afternoon he pushes a stainless steel cart. Inside are pools of ube and cheese ice cream. The flavors change daily. Here's to milky and sunny days ahead! Life with love is beautiful.

Jojo, the ice cream man who brings joy to the children of public schools in Barangay Pineda and to one person in adjacent Kapitolyo. See you again, Jojo who evokes pictures of Clausy Ho! Ho! Ho! whenever I hear his bell tinkle in mid-afternoon.

Ice cream man's, ice cream cans, glass of ice cream photos by lactose-intolerant but defiant Babeth

Dining with self and another

On the road back to Quezon City, while the bus was rolling along Scitex yesterday, I received an SMS from a news organization where I freelance for that my check was ready. Needless to say, I got off on EDSA not too far from Vera Files' West Avenue office which it will vacate soon for what I suppose be a better site (old office is on the fourth floor of a building where the elevator hadn't been operating in months). I was able to encash the modest amount, and I headed next to Cubao Gateway where I had three hours to kill before dinner with Rustie old boy, my dear pensionado, retired newsman pal Mr. Otico.

First things first: I bought refills for two refillable sign pens in blue and black ink at the nearest National Bookstore. When I later dropped by Fully Booked and checked out its office supplies, I was dismayed to find that all they were selling were disposable ballpoint pens. And I thought Fully Booked was a more progressive store (they carried Haribon ballpoint pens) than NBS.

The long, five-hour journey from home and not having a proper lunch stoked my hunger pangs so I ducked into what I thought was a familiar sign: Cafe Adriatico. 

Cafe Adriatico's chandelier decked with Christmas lanterns.

I have many good memories of its mother branch that started the whole chi-chi cafe business in the Adriatico Cicle in Manila. So many after-work evenings when a newspaper issue was laid to bed were spent there.

I found a quiet corner and didn't have to study the menu. I have the favorites memorized by heart: pancit palabok to be followed by grilled ensaymada with queso de bola. What I was served did not disappoint. I could've shed a tear from tasting those comfort food after a long spell.

Pancit palabok, perfect comfort food for the hungry traveler

What was left of my grilled ensaymada after I remembered to take a picture of it

While waiting for them to be served, I had time to scribble in my journal to test my renewed sign pens. Solitary dining is a rare pleasure. I live part of the time with my original family--unmarried siblings and mom. The rest of the time I am in Baguio where I share family meals with spouse, daughter, grandchild and our efficient kasambahay Mackenzie. So the times I am by myself, relishing a meal and observing the people and the interiors of a place, are blissful to mind, heart and belly. 

Later, when I had tired myself from window-shopping, which, I must confess, I don't enjoy, I treated myself to a mani-pedi at this Gateway salon called Menage. Meanwhile, Rustie texted that he was stuck in a traffic snarl in Imus, Cavite, and would I mind waiting for another hour? Would I mind if my feet were being massaged and toes thoroughly cleaned?

Then off again to Cibo to reserve our table for three. At 7:30 p.m. exactly, Rustie, to use our common friend Amadis Ma. Guerrero's favorite verb, "sashayed" into the restaurant, aided by his nephew Edmund who will soon enter medical school. Rustie, who had quit the newsman's vice of smoking after his stroke episode over a year ago, confessed that he was so relieved to get off the MRT in time for our dinner appointment that he went outdoors to sneak a puff. Tut tut tut.

Gentle Rustie turned out to be a returning Cibo regular. He knew the waiters by their names, and Thor attended to us, pouring us wine and refreshing Rustie's memory about his favorite pasta dish--linguine with tuna, capers, olives. Hold the chilies, please. 

Cibo's tiramisu, yummylicious to the last crunch

I was happy to see Rustie up and about and going on an "excursion" like last night's. He took his sweet time to sip his glass of red wine before we parted so he and Edmund could catch the last bus to Dasma, Cavite.  I hope to see more of him when the holidays sashay in.

Three satisfied diners: Edmund and Rustie Otico and the grinning blogger

Food photos by Babeth Lolarga

Old friends

Dario checks out my two panoramic shots of a Batanes seashore dating back to '98. He now has them in his collection.

Rustie lets out a hearty guffaw

Ahhh, I wil not let this month end without claiming a semblance of poetry on this space. Too tired from the heat and the constant composing and correcting of manuscripts, I've decided to just let balladeer Michael Feinstein sing "Old Friend" while I post pictures of the people I spent Sunday with, a pleasurable company of persons with whom I've had a history: Rustie Otico, Cynthia Alberto Diaz, Dario Noche and Alejandrino "Al" Vicente. 

Al explains why Anne Proulx's short story "Brokeback Mountain" is notches better than the film version and brings out Rustie's copy of the O. Henry reader of prize-winning short stories as evidence.

Until gentler winds bring us all together again. Meanwhile, this is for all of you, old pals. There are several songs with the same title of "Old Friend", but this by far says it all for me as I go over traces of an afternoon of shared laughter, the clinking of glasses of red wine, one faux pas after another whenever memory faltered. And that was often.  My four traveling companions to Cavite are true friends--not even decades of being apart diminished the warmth when we clasped hands with Al who has traveled the world, including hot spots in the Arab world, as a diplomat but who has remained the articulate literatteur and cineaste of old.

Love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

Every time I lost another lover
I call up my old friend
And I say let's get together
I'm under the weather
Another love has come to an end

And she listens as I tell her my sad story
And wonders at my taste in friends
And we ponder why I do it
And the pain of getting through it
And she laughs and says, "You'll do it again"

But we sit in a bar and talk till two
'Bout life and love as old friends do
And tell each other what we've been through
Our love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

And I ask her if her life is ever lonely
And if she ever feels despair
And she says she's learned to love it
'Cause that's really all part of it
And it helps her feel the good times when they're there

Yes, we sit in a bar and talk till two
About life and love as old friends do
And tell each other what we've been through
Our love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

And we wonder if I live with any lovers
Or spend my life alone
And the bartender is dozing
And it's getting time for closing
So we figured that I'll go out on my own

But we'll meet the year was '62
And travel the world as old friends do
And tell each other what we've been through
Our love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

Love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change
Old friend


Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtABADNJnT4

Cynthia always seems to carry a bag, not a barrel, of laughs, in a manner of speaking.

Rustie studies Cynthia's camera while we suggest that he consider taking up a new interest like photography and journaling after decades of being an unsung copy editor. He insists on regaining his strength first before venturing into anything new.

During the supposedly best hour for taking pictures (4 p.m.), Rustie led us to his fence where we peeked over the edge and gazed at his neighbor's orchids. That he finally has time again to admire flowers is a personal cause for rejoicing and thanksgiving.

 Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Not rusticating, our Rustie

he just needs a little help from his friends

Proceeds from a Long Laughing Break

Upon learning that I was spending half of summer in seething Manila, Cynthia Alberto Diaz, my ex-colleague at the now defunct Raya Media Services Inc., rounded up the usual suspects for a long overdue luncheon reunion yesterday at Pot and Noodle Restaurant on the fourth floor of SM Megamall. The others who confirmed attendance were our drinking mates at John Michael's, a restaurant at the original EDSA Central.

Few wanted to try out another ex-Raya officemate Joel Sarmenta's place on Morato Avenue, Quezon City, which they found too far (he is now in the marketing department of a food chain after a colorful career as history teacher at the Philippine High School for the Arts, University of Asia and the Pacific, St. Paul College, then onto more marketing duties for an insurance firm, a motorcycle manufacturer, among others).

It is not for anything that my life partner likes to call me and my friends put together "Baltic and Company."

My first stop once the glass doors of the mall opened at 10 a.m. was at the Pain and Rehab Care for my fifth physical therapy session to lessen the tenderness in my sprained left ankle and the shooting pains in my right knew joint (signs of wear and tear or degenerative conditions as I move ever farther from five-oh and closer to 60). As the therapist counted while I wrote the alphabet in the air with my pointed left toes, my cell phone pinged. Pablo Tariman announced that he was at the Chinese resto already, waiting. Give me a few minutes, I told him, to wind up my rehab session. He texted back: "In that case, I shall do my yoga."

I managed to walk with a cane to the fourth floor where Cynthia and painter Grace de Jesus Sievert, former Raya graphic artist, were already seated by a long table. Fellow freelancer Pablo was sipping hot tea, an image I still find incongruous to this minute, at a separate table. Apparently, they failed to recognize each other--that was how long they hadn't seen one another.

I ordered the jellyfish with century eggs and a bottle of San Mig Lite for Pablo and me. He didn't need to be persuaded to change his drink.

We weren't done knocking off our second bottle when the hooting and laughing began. Amadis Ma. Guerrero waltzed in, barely catching his breath to say, "I only have five hundred pesos in my wallet. Two hundred is my share for this lunch. Two hundred for the Aeta children. Leave me one hundred so I can have transportation money to collect my contributor's fee from Inquirer and go home." (A few days before the reunion, I had asked my friends to bring donations of old/unused children's clothes, old/new children's books, toiletries like shampoo, soap and toothpaste for 38 Aeta school kids in Dinalupihan, Bataan, where I am set to go to do outreach work with a friend and our daughters, but that's another story.) Forthwith, I fished out P100 from my wallet and handed it to Amadis. His P500 went to Jo Ladisla, the efficient executive assistant from our Raya days, who was appointed treasurer for that afternoon.

Then in came Bob Navarro, Joel and finally Rustie Otico. By this time the noise emanating from our table was making heads turn, especially when Pablo let out his signature laughter which we could only blame on natural exuberance.

Finally when the bill arrived after that long, lingering meal and drinking, there was enough change added to the common pot. Before I knew it, we managed to raise in one afternoon P1,460 for the Aeta children's cause.

Amadis quickly advised me to spend the money not on something "luxurious" like shampoo but on a basic staple like food...or maybe soap. He approved of the last item. And off to the supermarket I went late that afternoon for some serious shopping with the memory of friends having that long overdue "laughing break." This kind of break, I'm proud to say, I instituted at the old Raya office in Paranaque. Whenever I felt stressed out from pounding on my typewriter in the early 1980s, I'd go to the table of our circulation manager Jose "Ping" de la Paz, who'd cheer me up with one corny joke after another until a joke found its mark, and I'd be filled with an incredible lightness of being.

Next outreach is scheduled on June 12 . Please reach out to the children of Dinalupihan. Drop-off points for donations are these addresses: 3 Santa Clara Street, Barangay Kapitolyo, Pasig City, or 47 Mahabagin Street, Teachers Village East, Quezon City.