Space of my own

I was in Mega Manila for 10 days and came back to my Baguio room and adjusted to the new changes my husband Rolly Fernandez made on our shared space. We used to have a small table between our single beds and shared a lamp for night reading between us.

Now he moved my work table between our beds and put my growing pile of books half-read, unread and intended to be read on our grandchild's table. (Wait till we hear what she has to say about this when she herself arrives from her Manila summer break.)

This is where all the writing action takes place. The blue comb is there for the purpose of running through my hair to help me think.

I like where he shoved my old bed--nearer to the window where I can have more natural light while reading or writing in my journal. As for the work table's new space, I now have windows with a view of the neighbors' greenery. I can take 20-minute breaks from computer chores and rest my eyes on said neighbors' green roofs, the pine trees and plants whose green colors are sharpened by the rain.

That he doesn't ask my permission to move things around in our room I don't mind. Rolly knows best--whether it's housekeeping, drawing up a menu, picking out items to put in the grocery cart or gardening.

As you can see, I'm not good for anything in terms of decorating space. Gosh, he even fixed my table where everything is now in place and there's a place for everything.

Grateful Wednesday!

Poem from a gentle soul

Of the many anniversary greetings Rolly and I received last month, none touched me more than Bimboy Peñaranda's. His note went: "All I can offer you and Rolly is a poem I completed today (see attachment). You're on the road to recovery and more discoveries. Warmst regards to Rolly. Sige, Bimboy"

I asked permission to quote from it, but I'm running it in its glory-be fullness. He said he'd read it to Rolly and me and our friends someday. This is as good as reading it to all out there. Maraming salamat, Bimboy!

Rolly at dinner with Jo and Bimboy Peñaranda in Dauis, Bohol, in September last year. We had just come from the successful launch of Bimboy's poetry collection Lucid Lightning at the Divine Word College. Photos by Babeth Lolarga




GOOD MORNING

I feel like a window possessed by sparrows,
The perfect stranger who walks the distance
To a waiting trance, who drinks sunlight
From a cup made silver by imagination.

I step out into the garden to greet
The monsoon breeze, like a flag unfurled,
Ready to welcome and embrace an anthem
Emerging from a pond of silence.

I set the dogs loose, clean up their mess
After pee, poop and unabashed play.
The turtle can stroll later on the lawn
To impart lessons on careful attention.

I turn earthbound, loosen the soil:
Allow the roots of plants to breathe
The color of sky, hear the news from bees,
Affirm the presence of lightning in storms.

I’m inclined to meet certain deadlines,
Fulfill basic elements beyond the mysterious:
Payment of bills, weekly groceries, house repairs
To relax the tense walls of our existence.

I’m a detective of unexplained laws of nature.
I investigate why the universe is the body of god,
Why we never yield the flower of hidden bliss
To the passion of each passing revolution.

My wife thinks we are seeds of light
Casting shadows on each other at home,
Performing duties without reservation.
We bloom while listening to our children.


Victor Peñaranda
July 27. 2015
Las Piñas

The skies over Bohol's Chocolate Hills one morning in the last year

Be of good cheer

Excerpt from the pathologist's report

My attending surgeon, Anthony Venadero, greeted me with a huge smile and one word when I stepped into his clinic yesterday: "Benign!"

As an adjective, it can mean I'm kindly, friendly, warm, approachable, tenderhearted. Which I think I am in real life. But then that's a personal opinion.

In medical terms, "benign" is also good news: "(of a disease) not harmful in effect: in particular, (of a tumor) not malignant.
synonyms: harmless, nonmalignant, noncancerous; benignant
"a benign tumor"

Well, that's that. I'm moving on, thankful, grateful, appreciative, relieved and with a song in my heart to praise the Big Guy who decided to give me another chance: "Thank you, Lord!"

Yesterday at 4 p.m., alone in the house, I toyed with the camera to see what selfies I could bring out given that hour's soft lighting.

Here they are depicting the subject before, during and after the report (of course, this is what's known as a reenactment).

Pre-operative state: worried but trying to be brave about everything

Recovery period: still a trace of anxiety but confident in her faith

Happy to emerge from the darkness of body and soul Selfies by Babeth Lolarga

Gracious goodbye, November

November, the month that goes by so fast, ends at midnight. What follows is holiday frenzy. The invitation to cinnamon tea and squash pie couldn't be ignored. It was our chance to pause and be grateful for everyday blessings like a spate of good weather and recovered health. Toottee Chanco Pacis set up this vignette of a turkey figurine flanked by two balls of squash harvested from her vegetable patch as if to say that the Americans don't have a monopoly on Thanksgiving. Thank you for that shared afternoon. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Meanwhile, on the shore of the living

"Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces."
--Matthew 7:6

"Pearls don’t lie on the seashore. If you want one, you must dive for it."
--Chinese proverb

Some things keep me awake longer than usual at night. Among them is the origin of expressions. One is "Do not feed your pearls to swine."

And on the matter of pearls, why do we use the phrase "pearls of wisdom?"

It may sound silly, I know, these nocturnal activities of mine. In the morning, the brooding has fled after six to eight hours of quality sleep.

Meanwhile, I've stored this image of a piglet in red boots in my hard drive for several months now, waiting for that moment when I can trot it out like taking a pet for a walk.

A woman from Corfu, Greece, Anna Papadopoulou, who I follow in Twitter, shared this. She likes to post her gathered treasures of photos and videos around the time I'm about to take dinner or should be turning in for the night. When I thank her with a photo I've taken, she responds in the same manner. While I'm already calling it a day, she is just getting warm after breakfast. We've had this relationship for months now.

It's a nice feeling--to know that I'm not alone in learning to dive deeper and deeper into myself, to rise up, then share my own little pearls here and there (for want of a better word, I use "pearls"). And Ms. P, I suppose, is also doing the same.

Here's to you, Ms. Papadopoulou, wherever you are. Mabuhay and good morning from where I am.

Thank you, Teach

Teacher Appreciation Week, which falls this week, must be an American celebration. It doesn't fall within the Philippine academic schoolyear because teachers and students are still on their summer break here (for university studes, it's one heck of a long summer).

Nevertheless, I want to share a short note from a former student (let's call him G) who was with me in the creative writing enrichment course offered by the Community of Learners Foundation in San Juan. He stayed in that one-hour, weekly class for four consecutive years (that's 16 quarters of a schoolyear).

He is a highly functioning special child. There usually is a separate rating system for kids in this category. But as time went on, I considered him among the regular students and evaluated him as one because he always turned in consistently good work, was prompt in doing so, and his absences could be counted with one hand. He may have sounded makulit sometimes, but I knew that he just wanted assurance that he got my writing instructions right. So neat was his penmanship you'd think it came from a sans serif family of fonts.

I will miss G, but I have this note to read and re-read when I feel tired and need refreshing from going through another batch of students' compositions in the coming schoolyear.

How often does a teacher hear a "thank you" from a student? We live for those rare moments.

"Good afternoon po, Teach. I read the message you sent me. I already graduated from COLF, and I applied at Kalayaan College. I'm also working out at the gym with my brother every morning and on weekends. I have gained my strength and confidence again, especially when I can lift the barbell. All my works in Creative Writing I typed them into my computer. The best and wonderful works I love and appreciate most, those are the ones I typed and saved. Teacher Ruth also felt so happy that I gave her a print-out of one of my Creative Writing works. She told me that I can type and save my other Creative Writing works so that I'll have a remembrance of what I've learned from COLF and especially from you. Thank you."

The magi

"Another present of the Wise Men was that of letting go. I am such a control freak. I could not accept anything without giving something in return when it came to presents and favors or invitations. Was it insecurity about being beholden to anyone who might then have power over one? But now I finally learned how to accept and just say thank you." - Gilda Cordero Fernando in her column today, "Gifts of the Magi," in Philippine Daily Inquirer

I don't idealize or feel any nostalgia for poverty. But I will say "thank you" to those years of want (when having a little something put away enabled me to buy a coveted book or an art trinket) and to the Holy Spirit's gift of discernment that continues to enable me to distinguish who're the "friendly users" and "user friendlies" in my life and to continue to rub my nose when I smell a phony (this comes from having The Catcher in the Rye high on "favorited" books). The gift has enabled me to know when it's time to pack up and leave the friendlies again and again in the cellar of my fecund mind.

The thing is to stay intact like the close, tight weaves on this pasiking.

On the Feast of Epiphany, with O. Henry's "Gift of the Magi," Cordero Fernando's own essay and J.D. Salinger's novel to guide us, this blogger, who wants to keep on chugging along like Thomas the train, wishes every all an attitude of gratitude, the kind of gift that allows us to keep on giving. Don't give up on us, baby, as David Soul wisely sang.

"The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi." - O. Henry

Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Thank you

Brookside bibi & famille say thanks for the follow

"To be strong yet vulnerable--this is how we live on this earth. A big embrace."--New Year SMS from poet Marj Evasco 

Blood was no typo on your part
For in your words I recognize a life force
Where I find
The solace
That these days collect
Like impossible raindrops
In the frozen snow
Outside the window of this
My winter's discontent.

--Jorge V. Ledesma, writing from his Colorado isolation

With a bib tucked in her shirt, the blogger is ready for another Yuletide repast.

On our favorite couch by the Christmas tree at Mario's

Blurry photo of Lolarga-Fernandez family with house guests Sinag de Leon and Raya Amado. Sinag's son Dakila couldn't keep still and decided to play with Kai's toy car.

At the beginning of this year, I must say that our happily dysfunctional family has managed to stay intact through the decades. 

 

Has it been that long since Rolly and I decided to hitch our lives to a star and gamble (it does seem like a roll of the dice), take a chance on what Simone de Beauvoir called "an obscene institution"?  This year just past, I learned something new--that your chances of coming out a winner from a casino range from 30 to 40 per cent.

Ida Fernandez with her Tatay and her niece Kai holding the figurine of a lighted angel

Chit Roces and Vergel Santos, colleagues in writing and journalism, drop by for coffee and chat.

Hmmm. Call us Mr. and Mrs. Lucky Us then! And many a time it was our kids, Kimi and Ida, and now our granddaughter, who have helped keep the union intact. Add to that, the fellowship of friends and an extended family of children and grandchildren of our own co-parents.

In a country where Christmas is celebrated the longest, the Lolarga and Fernandez families wish to thank those who've stayed with us. The blogger, channeling Meryl Streep, also thanks her 21 ++ followers who saw her through her ups and downs, enjoyed the roller-coaster of life with her and screamed along with her, with arms and hands held high, as the ride swooped down.

Here's to more and more of the same!

Shall we dance after this meal at that Baguio classic, Cafe by the Ruins?

Source of topmost photo: "Here's the Thing," an online column by Ben Patterson

Photos taken by Suzy and Babeth Lolarga, Rolly Fernandez and an anonymous waiter