Our poster girl for reading

Soon April comes and she will. She'll be called Literature Month as stipulated by law. I recently happened upon my Mom, our family's convalescent, reading from her bed with such concentration that I was able to snap a stolen shot without her noticing. Her concentration reminds me of that quote attributed to actor Charlie Chaplin: "Nothing is permanent in this world, not even your troubles." So relax and curl up with a book. It's summertime after all when the reading is easy. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

A Holy Tuesday prayer: To rest in you

Unveiled view from a restaurant cabana in Baguio

I subscribe to an e-newsletter called The Unveiled Wife. From the author Jennifer Smith I learn some new prayers that she has composed. She reaches out to all wives out there trying to cope with everyday and extraordinary problems.

Not that I've turned "preachy" all of a sudden. The week's solemnity dictates something of this sort.

"Thank You for today. Thank You for my heart and thank You for my family. Lately, the days have been running together and I am starting to run on empty. I need time to rest in You. I know I need to prioritize this time, but I need Your help. Please guide me each day as I seek to rest in You. I pray for peace to cover my mind and I pray for strength to fill my body and I pray for understanding and joy in Jesus’ name AMEN!"


Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Gentle Bruno

Photo by Babeth Lolarga

I am so homesick for my Baguio family that tonight I am counting my blessings instead and focusing on the living creatures here in in lowland Pasig. My eyes are on our quiet pug Bruno who shows his needs (mainly for food and water) by grunting or through hoarse barks.

Nothing fazes him. He's the epitome of coolness, the perfect foil to his easily agitated "brother" Bogart, a mini pin who's a guard dog par excellence. He can intimidate anyone with his fierce barking. Now and then he's been known to attack visitors (he nips at their shins) to the mortification of his owner, my sister Gigi.

But Bruno will have none of that "violence." He just gives you a look through those eyes that remind me of the philosopher Jean Paul Sartre, then moves away. Non-confrontational.

Those who care for him--bathe and groom him daily--lovingly call him "Bruns."

Good night, Bruns. May this love letter assuage the pinch in my heart.

How do you do, Little Girl?

I am fool enough to take any psychological test I happen upon online to learn a bit more about myself. I took one tonight and the results told me that I have a creative personality, but there's a big BUT.

The test that's supposed to show how my interpretation of the world influences my character showed that "at the moment you feel a lot of aggression inside. It's possible that recently you've been experiencing a lot of negative emotions and have the desire to finally resolve something that's been bugging you for a long time. You need to calm down and relax. The time has come to do something new. You have the ability to draw a huge amount of strength from yourself, whilst at the same time remaining a tender and loving person."

No wonder my host's dogs have become a source of comfort. Instinctively, they know I came here to their place not just for the haven of solitude it offered but for other issues I can only address by putting some distance (for objectivity) while I work out a resolution and solution.

In return, all the dogs like Peanut, Loofah and Little Girl ask from me is a pat on the head, especially in the morning. The exercise lightens my mood quickly. At the same time I feel some empathy for these dogs that are dependent on humans for their survival through humane acknowledgment.

This chihuahua named Little Girl looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

As a puppy, his owner said, this Tisoy sheep dog was almost as tiny as a peanut (slight exaggeration there) so he was named after the nut. Then he grew and became the biggest Peanut I've ever met. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

My Twitter pal from Greece

If you look close enough, there's some kind of watermark on the upper left side that gives the name of the photographer. Anna Papadopoulou sent me this via Twitter last night after I thanked her for her tweets, mainly images like this one, that I find solace in after a day's work. Twitter, like many popular social media platforms, can be noisy and busy. Once in awhile, I happen upon something as soothing as a girl in pink.

And this served as my thank-you "note" to Anna P of Corfu, Greece. Someday we will meet, and I hope it'll be in a Grecian isle. These pink, orange and yellow flowers grow abundantly in what once was my Dad's garden, now tended by Mom and my bro Dennis. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Colors of a morning

The neighbor had his/her old quilt dry in the sun and the sight of it brought to mind that quote about life: "Life is about using the whole box of crayons." I was just as filled with admiration with the person/s who made the quilt. In Baguio there used to be a quilting community (maybe a tradition passed on by the American colonial women). I'm not sure if there is still one with cheap comforters now available at the mall that's got it all.

Makes you wonder what the story is behind each square of cloth that went into this beauty. Photo 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.

My gorgeous Jorge

Theater artist Jorge V. Ledesma with Julian V. Araos's mother and child sculpture at the Araos home in Antipolo Photo by Babeth Lolarga

I vowed to myself, after seeing how well put together Jorge is everytime I see him (yearly since 2013 but before then more than a decade went by) that I would have my hair done like his after I let it grow another month. No, I won't color my crowing glory. Jorge actually finds the dusting of white hair on mine nice.

He is one of the rare friends I can just be comfortably quiet with. He is not only from a buena familia, he is more importantly bien educado y tan fino! Gentle Jorge, I shall miss you when you fly back to Colorado again. Be assured of my letters.

When cousins are friends

Cousin Henry with his retired man's pouch lends an ear to a niece.

To keep my sanity during this season's frenzy, I try to be selective about with whom to spend my time, with whom socializing isn't a strain (that is, I can be myself, especially where LOLs are concerned--hearty and uninhibited and damn Emily Post).

Every year, that's my December resolution, and so far I've managed to apply this with, I'm proud to say, some stick-to-it-tiveness. I've junked the Aunty Social stance--life's too short and too grand to be a grouchy hermit. The friends who I've managed to keep in the autumn of my life are way too precious for me to just email a Christmas letter to. If they're around and they'd appreciate my company, of course, I will run at the first summons. The same with family members who make up my first friends in life.

When balikbayan cousin Henry Romero (his nickname is also spelled Enri) called for a luncheon clan reunion, the turnout was good, although Baguio duties kept me away. Wala bang Take 2? Well, there was one open Saturday for a hurriedly organized reunion of absentees from that earlier reunion. Unless someone offers to host everything, the reunions of the Lolarga, Romero and Valdellon families are potluck affairs with no consultation, no declaration of what pot contents we will bring.

So we welcomed Henry again with homemade spaghetti, store-bought suman and sapin-sapin, siopao and siomai, ensaymada and oranges. Henry wolfed down two siopaos and half-laughingly told of how he brought his son Dino, who's returning to LA, on a nostalgic trip to Ma Mon Luk only for the younger man to complain that the food tasted like rags. I guess it's a generation thing.

It was good to see Henry talking, listening, giving advice, hoping aloud for another reunion even if it's 10 years down the road and our generation by then will be hard of hearing and of walking. He was natural in the role of family elder.

Meanwhile, we're grateful just to be together for a few hours with a December moon hovering over the snug condo where our niece Regina May de los Reyes had just moved in.

Blogging relative, Dino and Henry Romero, Regina May de los Reyes and Yonni Habulan

Gathered 'round the kitchen-cum-dining table with cousin Eileen Lolarga (third from left) and Yonni's fiance Lady (to Regina's right)

To be 90 and furiously writing

In one of his essays in his collection Why We Are Hungry, F. Sionil Jose, National Artist for Literature, wrote six years ago, "In a couple of days, I will be 84--a very old man. I have earned the privilege of saying what I please because now, I know so much--and yet, I also know so little. Indeed, the whole of living is a learning experience." On your 90th year today, Manong Frankie, I wish you a still hearty appetite for food, for life, for letters. Onto to next novel. Mabuhay! Photo 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

Momentarily still

"Wake me up when the sun is here na, ha?" That request has been made almost nightly when The Wee One, I think, was able to figure out that with sunrise comes getting up and getting ready for nursery school. We've had to put aside our dark glasses and hats until the weekend when we resume our morning walks. I can think of no more poetic line than her utterance. It brought to mind this compilation of meditative essays, The Other Walk, by Sven Birkerts, wherein he opens his book with these words: "This morning, going against all conventions, I turned right instead of left...Still, going against the grain of my usual track, seeing every single thing from the other side, was suddenly welcome." We'll try that other track, hopefully without hidden dangers or surprises.

Leaves on grass

Highland living, if you steer clear of the smoggy Central Business District, permits walks. I take them with company or alone. Alone I can pace myself, pause, take note of what I tend to overlook. The morning's discovery are these curling, drying leaves on green grass. Looking at them and the shadows cast by trees unseen in the picture makes my mind churn. The thought is this--if left alone (not swept into a pile and thrown in the biodegradable bin), these fallen leaves will be absorbed by the earth, will enrich it and allow for new growth. Nothing spectacularly original about that thought. This "dying" with a purpose reminds me of Wendell Berry's exhortation: "Practice resurrection." To fellow blogger Padma Perez I owe another discovery: poet Berry and his simple yet powerful words.

November skyscape

Hmmm...This question just occurred to me: What will my future self thank this present self for? Maybe the me of tomorrow will thank today's Ms. B for the way she has spent (or, to some others, "wasted") hours just looking, stilling her thoughts so she can teach her eyes to look again and remember that blue, that white, the not-too-distant mountains, the minutes when the sky was shaped this way, the way the pine trees and cones shared the stillness before the sun repainted the sky into a somber canvas of overripe oranges, deep yellows, deeper reds. November, you're moving too fast despite pictures that try to slow down your pace.

'By herself' with some assist

In-house resident of this blog, The Wee One, runs her finger on the bark of a pine tree

I haven't done passable research on this Noviembre activity in some parts of the blogging world. Its acronym is NaBloPoMo, short for National Blog Posting Month wherein bloggers commit themselves to post daily entries for the entire month. End result: 30 posts for those 30 days. I was remiss on Nov. 2 but tried to make up by posting two entries yesterday (it's my cheat sheet because these were virtually photo captions or extended captions).

Since I don't seem to run out of topics to blog about as far as the subject in residence on this space is concerned, I'd like to observe how she's teaching herself to connect that letters put together have meaning. Lately, she has been spelling out her short name "Kai" (and that of her Booboo and her mother Kimi) orally and in written form, whether on her mini-blackboard or any sheet of paper. When she sees spines of books, she singles out the letters "K", "A" and "I" wherever these can be found, including cookbooks.

She knows how a bee looks and sounds like. One day she encountered the word on a car plate in the neighborhood. She's getting there. "By herself" as she likes to claim these increments of achievement.

When car plate becomes a learning tool Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Framed

Unwittingly (accidentally, not deliberately, even serendipitously) framed--that's what happened to the sun in this picture one Baguio morning. It's as if that great orb of light is wearing a wig of pine! Maybe that's what The Wee One will say once she's able to figure out a wig from a toupée. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

In no rush

"...We are much more than we are told. We are much more beautiful." - Eduardo Galeano, author and journalist from Uruguay

If I told this strangely solitary ant what I thought of it, would it care? Or did I get the insect's name right? It may be something else though. I didn't linger long enough to see if it was making its way back to its colony. Or if it's a real loner.

The first to recognize the ant's presence was my grandchild during an afternoon walk when the sun was kind and the fog didn't blur everything else. The Wee One does pay attention sharply to the natural world, and I have become her tag-along documentation assistant, always emerging from that walk enriched by the keenness of her observations.

She's napping as I compose this, and I wonder what new things her practiced eyes will show me later or even tomorrow. This novice that is me is in no rush.

Unforgotten

"Ohana' means 'family.' 'Family' means 'no one gets left behind.' But if you want to leave, you can. I'll remember you though. [looking at her picture of her dead parents] I remember everyone that leaves." - Lilo

And I remember them all, even if the privacy of mourning prevents me from naming them. They were members of the family of humankind: a teacher of history and geography who brought the world closer to a bunch of sheltered high school colegialas; a cousin-in-law who articulated his thoughts well and sometimes mirrored them through the vigor of his piano playing; the mother of a trusted domestic help who fell from the height of a tree while picking fruits and is now in a space where pain cannot touch her anymore. They left this world while I and fellow survivors continue to do what must be done to take us from weekdays to weekends. Sundays allow me to pause before moving forward in hopes of a re-purposed life given how little time there is left. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

In praise of Bogart and his tiny shadow

Kuya Bogart

The boy on the left, a mini pinscher, is curious Bogart peeking out of our main gate on a sunny morning. He is the older brother to a pug named Bruno. Their surname is like mine: Lolarga.

I do believe that the pets we adopt or invite into our homes should also be considered family and be given humane (to mean human-like) treatment. Like us, they need to bathe, to eat, to drink, to take walks to clear their heads, to feel the warmth of the sun, to have their own "blankies" on cold, rainy nights.

My youngest sibling Gigi has shown by example that if you can't commit or love a pet fully to miss him/her enough when away on long trips, you are better off raising virtual pets in your cell phone or in your other social media platform.

I have a whole album of ponies, cats, kittens, baby elephants and their mommies, calves, chicks and hens, cubs and lionesses in my Pinterest account. By attending to them in this fashion, I am also saying I have my own form of fulfillment as the online master/mistress of these blessed beasts.

By whatever name you call it, it's a kind of loving. Good night, little boys!

The younger dawg who really lives up to his name and his looks: Bruno! Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Ms. B regrets she is unable to post much today

Morning shadows cast by leaves and a strange woman Photo by Babeth Lolarga

Due to deadlines unmet and more official work coming in for the coming days and weeks, I'll not be posting much on this space, except for occasional sightings of shadows.

One sometimes forgets that shadows also beautify or amplify the world. And there is no reason to even fear the encroachment of shadows late in one's life (but that's in a figurative sense already).

In my observation of the lives of musicians, actors, visual artists and those pithy creatures called writers, it's the shadow or dark side that has a way of, how shall I put it, "informing" their works and making them more interesting. By a strange twist and turn here and there, they emerge as angels in the end.

How come I'm thinking of Star Wars, angels and demons so early on this morning of a Monday? Ahhh, Monday, that dreaded day of days!

Here's the trigger or the writing prompt for today's blog. It's a quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, that character who, as portrayed by Benedict Cumberbatch in a hit TV series, embodies that struggle of darkness and light.

"It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it."