Manny Chaves again

While chewing my half of a whole burger that Rolly divided between the two of us, I remembered how a hamburger figured in my history with the late art director Manuel Garcia Chaves. One time lunch caught us unprepared after a meeting at the old Hiraya Gallery on UN Avenue, Ermita. Nobody brought baon so everyone, especially curator Bobi Valenzuela, was listing what they would order from the restaurants nearby. We had our respective orders picked up by messenger-janitor-handyman Roger Abesto. Roger was behind the precise installation of artworks on the gallery walls. Meanwhile, Manny or Manoling, two nicknames we called him, disappeared and came back a few minutes later. "Where have you been? What's your food order?" we asked. He grinned and said he was just at the McDonald's branch on the same street. "That's why there is such a thing as fast food." I've never forgotten that incident for although he may lean towards the arts and sometimes have an artistic temperament, Manny was the practical sort. I miss him, especially today, on what would have been another birthday if death had not cut his life in October last year. I used to tease him that he shared the same birthday as singer Joan Baez and writer Simone de Beauvoir. People of quality. I miss his impeccable taste for music--he gifted me with a vinyl record of Sarah Vaughan singing the compositions of Michel Legrand. Careless me I have forgotten where I placed that valuable piece of music. I miss chatting with him on anything and everything. Before my family relocated to Baguio in 1992, he and Bobi entrusted Rolly and me to their friend, retired UP Baguio professor Delfin Tolentino Jr. He said, "Remember that when you're with Del, it's like you're with us, too." And indeed Del is widely steeped in art, literature, music. Whence cometh another like Manny? Here in the first picture he is shown with me at my silver wedding jubilee celebrated at Cafe Juanita in Pasig. In the second photo, same occasion, he is seen with the Tirols (Vic and Lorna) and Gou de Jesus. If it's possible to art direct the look and sound of the astral world, I suspect Manny is doing that. Happy birthday!

Postal mail resumes

All collages by Ogot Sumulong

A hint of normality returned to my life when my daughter Kimi brought up to Baguio from our house in Pasig some letters addressed to me. They all came from one source: Ogot Sumulong of Chicago, Illinois.

Ever since we reconnected a few years ago, he and I have been exchanging postcards and letters apart from emailed messages. Although he's in FB as Agu Sumulong, for some reason we can't be friends here. Besides, I'm too analog to want FB communication with him.

Ogot is highly skilled in making collages from anything, including a Twinings herbal tea label, a picture of Martin Luther, among others. I don't know if his use of the Andy Warhol picture of actress Elizabeth Taylor is a play on my name. What matters is he allows himself to be playful in his retirement years and during this pandemic.

He confessed in his letter dated April 22 this year that he had "really nothing to share." I beg to disagree, dear O. You don't know how your mailed collages have given my spirit a huge boost.

Will reply to you soon as I go around the ruling that disallows senior citizens from leaving the house.

Pocketful of mercies

Like many of the members of my generation, she was my Lamaze teacher as I got ready to birth my firstborn child Kimi Fernandez. When I was pregnant with my second two years later, Mercy Fabros gave me pointers to remember the breathing and relaxation exercises we had studied before that saw me through a quick labor and delivery.

She was also my breastfeeding coach along with members of the Gabay at Kalinga ng mga Ina (fellow Paulinians Meran Daza Umali, Connie Estrada Calimon). Such was her commitment to the Our Bodies Ourselves movement that I was so infected with wanting to give my daughters nothing but breast milk in their early years. I practiced tandem nursing. I weaned each child from the breast at age three. It got to the point that Gilda Cordero Fernando asked me, "What else are you doing when you're not busy being a cow?" Mercy was in that phase of my life quietly supportive.

As she was when it was Kimi's turn to carry her child Kai to full term. After an uneventful birth, Mercy and I referred to Kai by the possessive OUR apo. It was at this point nine years ago when we became closer. She was a regular paying supporter of Pablo Tariman's intimate concert series at the former Kiss the Cook Gourmet on Maginhawa Street and later at Balay Kalinaw, UP Diliman. At the end of each event, she'd inquire, again in that concerned way of hers, if the concert organizer broke even. Most times, he didn't, but he'd reassure her, "Life is beautiful."

She became part of what I called the opera barkada, a group of retired and semi-retired friends that enjoyed the classics, mostly performed at the Ayala Museum lobby. Usually coming from the Diliman campus, she took the MRT to SM Makati, then walked towards the museum. Or she'd take the Point to Point bus to and fro. Such was her enviable stamina--this woman who was part of a walking group also around the UP Oval.

At the end of the Mario Lanza recital produced by Joseph Uy and Al Andres Andres at Ayala Museum. Seated is soprano Stephanie Anne Gastrock Aguilar. Standing from left: the two Jennys, Jenny Juan and Jenny Llaguno, Marne Kilates, Babeth, Nympha Sano, Mercedes Fabros, Grace Banez, Melendre Araos and Gabriel Allan Ferros Paguirigan. At the back is tenor Mher U. Nival.

At the closing rites of Dame Nelly Miricioiu-Kirk 2015 masterclass at the Ayala Museum. From left: Mercedes Fabros, Jenny Juan, Nelly and Babeth trying the open back position earlier demonstrated by the diva.

Fortieth day following the death of sculptor Jerry Araos at the Garden of Two Dragons in Antipolo City. Seated: Babeth, Bani Lansang and Princess Nemenzo. Standing are Stef Sano, Steve B. Salonga, Victor Corpus, Pablo Tariman and Mercedes Fabros.

That rare occasion when Mercy Fabros wore eye shadow as a nod to the costume party/ball that marked the vernissage of Gilda Cordero Fernando's 2014 show "Same Difference: Ganon pa din ang diperensya" at Silverlens Galleries. From left: Anna Leah Sarabia, Mercedes Fabros, Babeth and Rolly Fernandez

Mercedes Fabros (right) could be counted on to turn up at friends' milestones, in this case Sinag De Leon's and Babeth's joint art exhibit in November 2018 at Gourmet Gypsy Art Cafe. From left: Anna Leah Sarabia, Sheila Nicolas, Bobbie Malay, Virginia Moreno, Melendre Araos, Fe Mangahas, Barbara Mae Dacanay, Jenny Juan, Sinag and Mercy.

Post-intimate concert at Balay Kalinaw. Mercedes Fabros lent her presence again. From left are Lorna Kalaw Tiro, Anna Leah Sarabia, Neni Sta Romana Cruz, Ivi Avellana Cosio, Maria Karina Africa Bolasco and Sheila Coronel. I am seated with Mercy's eldest grandchild Alon.

From March 9 to 11 of 2015, we sat together at an Ayala Museum function room as Romanian-British diva Nelly Miricioiu-Kirk conducted a masterclass for Filipino singers. Mercy explained, over lunch at Dulcinea's to which she treated me, why she was present for consecutive days after seeing Dame Nelly already perform at the Meralco Theater, "This is my birthday gift to myself." We both believed Nelly was not just an excellent vocal coach but a practical life coach for people like us.

Furthermore, we witnessed with our eyes and ears the big difference the singers made once they went through the hands of Nelly.

Mercy's death is still weighing a ton on me, a mere mortal who can't be brave in the face of loss. The tears I cried earlier have stopped, but the mourning hasn't. The months April and May have been personally cruel as one friend after another was stricken and called home. Home to where "mercies are new every morning."

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."

The quieter she becomes

Photo of Gilda Cordero Fernando courtesy of Tonnette Jacinto

In the recent months whenever I visit Gilda Cordero Fernando, I am reminded of that Zen proverb: "The quieter you become, the more you can hear."

Unlike, say, five or more years ago when we could converse and she would astonish me with her memory for the slightest detail, these days all we do is exchange high five's or knock our fists together or clasp hands. If I can get a sentence out of her, I am transported to the heights of happiness.

During the last convening of the GCF Fans Club at her abode last month, she was again colorfully garbed with deliberately mismatched earrings from Japan. Her caregiver rolled her to the sala on her wheelchair that used to have jeepney signs (Cubao-Quiapo) appended to it. Only Gilda can think of that as decor for such a practical equipment like a wheelchair.

She has let her hair go white after years of coloring it. It's a fine match to her mien that is only beginning to betray the eighth going on ninth decade she is situated in. When she marks her 90th year in June, she is going to be the youthful-looking nonagenarian in my list.

I don't know why I am moved to write this, knowing she is not in Facebook or any form of social media. I learned from her help that even her email account is already inactive. I continue to send her postal mail which the help acknowledges but which Gilda doesn't recall.

Maybe because it's almost Valentine already, and I just need to tell you, Gilda of my heart, how much you are admired and loved. And I am keeping my promise of a few years ago that no matter what state of mind you are in, even as you retreat into silence, I will continue to visit...and in fact, accompany fans who never tire of basking in your presence.

Tres Marias, tres Paulinas

Lulu Camello Pasamba, Marissa Ileto and I have known one another since we were in kindergarten--that's 58 years of involvement in things of childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, midlife and now, the autumn of our lives. But throughout our individual and distinctive journeys, we never lost our girlish giggles honed from years of shared fun at the campus of St. Paul College of Quezon City (now a university).

Since 2017, we've had yearly get-togethers to catch up on one another's life and doings, to air our hopes and frustrations in between nibbles of the best of the Christmas season from jamon serrano to slivers of Marca Piña cheese downed with coffee or something stiffer.

On Dec. 26, we decided on a leftover party. I brought the leftover Ponkan oranges from home, plus bars of Amparo's Apothecary soap for each of them. Speaking for myself, I think that warm baths with handmade soap are the ultimate luxury that is simple to achieve. So I've been handing out soap bars this season, to my blood sisters and to my chosen sisters like Marissa and Lulu.

From Marissa, I learned a new way to serve fried Spam. Just marinate in sugar before cooking, then the sugar provides a honeyed glaze. You can dip the meat in vinegar the way you would with tocino. For her fluffy omelette, she broke six eggs and threw in cheese, tomatoes and onions.

Lulu practically brought the contents of her fridge: potato soup, raisin bread, chicken inasal, banana loaf.

As the yearly hostess Marissa brought out the Lanelle Abueva Fernando bowls and plates and her best silverware, I realized that this was an exercise in graceful abundant living. Marissa gave each of us a lip balm. Lulu, a family medicine practitioner, brought out her acupuncture kit and offered half an hour's relaxation as she inserted needles in my knees and in Marissa's upper leg and ankle.

Before we parted, Lawin Ileto, Marissa's eldest child, took our pictures sober and drunken with merriment and the pleasure of each other's company in the house that is a chock-full of arts and crafts.

In Marissa Ileto's art-filled home, three Paulinians return. The hostess is the lady seated in the middle.

The lighter side of three professionals on the threshold of retirement

Merry me, marry me

"We come from the earth, we return to the earth and in between we garden." - Anonymous

Or in between we gather, we sup, we make merry, we even marry when the occasion demands it. I have been silent on this space for many many days. That means I'm either backsliding and losing it or the season's requirements pushed blogging aside. A combination of both, I must say, with that in between sloth overcoming me during the lull between Christmas and New Year.

But not today. I assembled some pictures that I was resourceful enough to capture to help my memory along. From late November to December I've been to a total of six reunions, all indicative of a successful conquering of that anti-social streak in my personality. The temptation to remain a recluse and do my "socializing" through the comfort of the home and from the Internet remains ever-present, but let me not be the Grinch that spoils anyone's Christmas.

Here's to all of you, you who smiled for my camera, sang and put a lilt in my heart, you who reunited and married, you the dearly departed whose absence this season is a palpable stinging pinch on the flesh, you who I may have crossed or hurt. A cousin (thank you, Eileen Lolarga) reminded me to be less Babeth and more Christlike so love love love to all!

After I thanked Dr. Boots Camagay (center) and Jenny Juan (right) for coming to the intimate reunion lunch for my balikbayan cousin and their college buddy Rosemarie Romero, Boots replied, "It is a privilege that comes with genuine friendship." Jenny recalled the several "tender moments" we had laughing about relationships, laughing in the face of death and mourning (Boots is a new widow), in the face of setbacks financial and psychic.

Rose's reason for coming home after 12 long years of residence in Windsor, Canada, is the wedding of her only son Yonni Habulan (about to march down the middle of the aisle) to Lady Ngo.

The bride dramatically silhouetted against the open doors of the San Antonio de Padua Church in Silang, Cavite

Why the tears, beautiful bride? I wanted to ask Lady as she marched down the aisle. Her and Yonni's love and back story covers nearly two decades before it was blessed at the altar--from college sweethearts to new graduates to young architect and designer building up their own business to winning awards for their works before deciding to be man and wife.

The wedding was occasion for an impromptu Lolarga-Romero-Delos Reyes reunion as my sisters, cousins and niece tried to catch up on one another's lives. Seated at the Ville Sommet events place are Rose Romero, Suzy Lolarga and Eileen. Standing are my sister Pinky Lolarga Susi, a for-once-decently-dressed blogger and niece Regina de los Reyes.

Yonni serenades the lady of his heart and soul. I'm a sucker for gestures like this one. I teared up one too many times that evening. Good thing there was lechon and roast beef to distract me. Most photos by Babeth Lolarga

They in my life, me in theirs

"Trappings and charm wear off… Let people see you. They see your upper arms are beautiful, soft and clean and warm, and then they will see this about their own, some of the time. It’s called having friends, choosing each other, getting found, being fished out of the rubble. It blows you away, how this wonderful event ever happened — me in your life, you in mine." - Anne Lamott, Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace

Crayons for toddler hands Photo by Babeth Lolarga

It just came to me while thinking through my gratitude list how friends, to include family members like cousins I grew up with, have sustained me in my nearly six decades on this blessed Earth. From whom did I learn how to make and keep friends?

One of the reassuring sounds I hear daily in my Pasig home is my mother chatting with one of her Legion of Mary sisters. It's a conversation punctuated with girlish giggles (she's 87) even if one of their favorite topics is the ache and discomfort of old age, how limited their movements and activities have become.

And then I remember my father, too, a doctor who made house calls and whose weakness or strength, depending on how you look at it, is not charging his patients whether they're well off or not. He'd say in Filipino, "Hindi ko kailangan ng pera, kaibigan ang kailangan ko (I don't need money much; I need friends.)" It came to pass that at his burial, legions came, including a truck full of workers.

The friends who've blessed my life are as varied as the colors in my grandchild's crayon basket. I wouldn't have them any other way.

The unsaid quality

"You are not an artist simply because you paint or sculpt or make pots that cannot be used. An artist is a poet in his or her own medium. And when an artist produces a good piece, that work has mystery, an unsaid quality; it is alive."- Toshiko Takaezu, American ceramic artist and painter

In her everyday life, friend Toottee Chanco Pacis is a poet. The eye for beauty and wonder is unfailing; her self-deprecating humor feels like a breath of Baguio air, air that is unmixed with diesel fumes.

On the afternoon two days after the Epiphany and before I returned to Manila, we had a chance to reconnect. She greeted me at her door with a rueful but warm, "Hello, stranger!" It had been that long since the two of us sat down for girl talk.

When it was parting time, I took pictures of her home and garden to remind me how to furnish not just a physical space but the mind, heart and spirit. Thank you, Toottee Fruitti. Until the next cuppa tea and talk.

Prickly but easy on the eyes

Terracotta guardian by the fireplace

Music box with glass removed and featuring the nativity scene

Copper pan

Mini Christmas tree lighted front and back

Blue and whites Photos by Babeth Lolarga