How the week was won

Guess how? Through the inevitable lunches with friends the most recent and undocumented of which was a meeting at Mary Grace Robinsons Galleria with old pal Jenny Llaguno. We exchanged stories, she gave me a book for my husband Rolly's collection and before we knew it two hours had passed. What a lift after the gray morning weather.

Earlier in the week, on a Monday, it was sunny and dry, perfect for the now yearly reunion of our unnamed group of amigas y amigos. The amigos, Pablo Tariman and Isah V. Red, were indisposed (subtext for rushing to meet writing deadlines). But I was just too glad to take a break from writing and editing and stretch my lumbering body a bit.

Meeting place was Cafe Juanita in Kapitolyo, Pasig, the kikay resto in my 'hood. I thought I'd make it ahead of everyone, but Joy Buensalido's car was parked outside--I recognized her driver. Next came Jingjing Romero who pulled a roll-on luggage behind her. She had just come from a staycation at Marco Polo Ortigas Manila with Margie T. Logarta. But where was Marge? She was still taking a shower when Jingjing checked out of the hotel.

Clockwise: Ester Dipasupil, Babeth, Joy Buensalido and Jingjing Romero

Our usual Do Re Mi picture. I like the "prints" on Margie's dress. She's standing at the bottom of the stairs (left).

Second to the last to arrive was Ester Dipasupil wearing what Margie described as a Dennis the Menace outfit (denim overalls with striped red and white tee underneath). We were almost done with lunch (ampalaya salad, puso ng saging sisig, beef ribs adobo, callos, fried fish whose exact name I've forgotten not being a fan of anything beyond bangus) when Margie strode in with her own bag on wheels.

Generous Joy had a bag of Maya goodies for everyone (Pablo, you still have to pick up yours at our house). She also had a printed voile blouse for Jingjing. But the latter was still in mourning for her mother so she didn't want to wear something so colorful. I claimed the blouse for myself when I saw how roomy it was. Sorry, too much girl talk and gestures.

Much of the content of our conversation deserves to be heard in a confessional box so I will fast forward to a Thursday lunch at Victorino's Restaurant on the intersection of Scout Rallos and 11th Jamboree streets, Kyusi. My reasons for going there was to interview Anton Juan and to meet up with another group of friends. And to wear, nay, flaunt the gift blouse from Joy and Jingjing.

With ageless enfant terrible Anton J. Photo by Niña Simunek

After we finished with official business, I was taken aback by Anton's question: "So, Babeth, did you ever marry?" My girlfriends, including his niece Niña Simunek, all burst out laughing. I put to rest his wrong impression, saying, "I am married and have two children and one grandchild."

He clung to his impression, adding that "you look pure and virginal. I cannot imagine you having that look of desire."

At this point, my girlfriends started agreeing with him, saying, "It's because you're hardly seen together with your husband."
Anton's Manang Jenny agreed and in all seriousness said, "It's because, Babeth, you never seem to be in a rush to hurry home to cook for anyone. But your nurturing side is very strong."

Well, after 35 years of marriage to Rolly, this is just about the second time someone like Anton mistook me for a singleton, much less a virgin (sabay ilag). The first ones who thought I was single, and this was only a few years ago, were Nympha Sano and her hubby Stef. I also had to correct their "misimpression."

Later, as we had our picture taken together, I told Anton pointedly, "My husband happens to be tall and handsome." His eyes grew wide. Somebody piped up, "He wears a beard, too, and he's a good provider."

I hope that settles that. Love you, Anton. Working on my follow-up questions but please get over your jet lag first.

Non-rainy Mondays never fail to perk me up

The last time we had a lengthy ladies' lunch like this at the same medium-size mall in Ortigas Center was when the host Yayay's mom was about to turn another leaf in her book of life in March this year.

This time, the same mom, who like a true writer, has the gift for listening and attention, sent out an SMS summoning the usual suspects to a lunch for no reason at all, except that her daughter, a geologist who loves clouds, wants to treat her mom's friends to lunch. Ain't that sweet?

So here the waiter of Banana Leaf caught us midway through a lunch of squid, chicken, fish, veggies and rice. Someone's clutching my slumbook (I earlier asked everyone to write into that book, but catching up left no one time to identify who her favorite Eraserhead is; besides, this is not a group that would be into Eraserheads or Rivermaya, except for the young geologist who'd rather potter with Harry any old day).

We always agree to have dessert and/or coffee afterwards. We walked towards Cinnabon but a member of the group hissed below normal volume, "Somebody got our couch!" We do feel proprietary about a certain couch there where we liked to sip our after-meal hot beverages and partake of sweets to add more sweetness to our lives and do all these within the time it took us to finish our lunch (an hour and a half).

We ended up at Terry where they have a marvelous Russian tart (not the waitress) that is sans rival in another language.

Inevitably, when the bill came, senior citizen ID cards were whipped out. Only the young geologist, her mom and I are not yet entitled to discounts, but this is not to say that her mom and I are not having senior moments already.

Often, we'd catch ourselves pausing in the midst of a narration because we couldn't recall the name, the year or where something happened, and we'd turn to the seatmate to see if her memory is sharper. We'd get the name, year or place right, but days later when we can only send an SMS stating, "Eto na nga yung cast of characters dun sa kuwento ko nung makalawa."

Nothing in our plans for the rest of the afternoon prepared us for this scene that met us at another mall which is known for DVDs and music CDs. I meant to look for a recording of Sibelius, but Fred the driver (I'm beginning to believe Fred is a generic name for chauffeurs the way Rolly is for money changers or men who know how to put away money for a proverbial rainy day)couldn't find a parking slot because Scene of the Crime Officers (SOCOs)
were crawling all over the place.

No one dared get off the vehicle to find out what was going on. This was unusual considering there were at least two full-time journalists behind me, including one who was a former police reporter. I begged off from usisera duty. I reasoned, "I have a cute grand-daughter. I still have something to live for."

Somebody espied, despite the distance, an orphaned shoe at the scene unfolding before us. That someone said it might be a fashion crime: Wrong shoe, right outfit?

Mang Fred maneuvered the car out of SOCO range, we got out, found our bearings and proceeded to scour the DVD outlets. I came away empty-handed: no Sibelius. Even the polka-dotted skirt marked down to P300 (Zara brand) was too short for me. I told Yayay, "Not the length I require. My varicose veins show in that skirt. Those are the factors your mother's friends need to consider." She giggled.

Eventually, it was time to return to our respective homes. The youngest woman in the group still had a dinner date with friends in Makati later in that already long day. Her mom's friends were dying to lay their heads gently on pillows for an afternoon nap.

There was an unofficial plan to have a DVD movie marathon-watching session at the home of the lady who brought the car. She said yes immediately, but voiced an afterthought: "Give me two months to fix my house." Audible collective groan from the rest of us.

When it was my turn to be dropped and the youngest among us saw where my mom's neighborhood was, she pointed at a spot where we could have a pool to ourselves, including water massage, the works.

I shan't say "Abangan." Because these outings are rare, I'd rather ask "Matutuloy ba?"