Future diarist

Kai Mykonos, the Not So Little One, is growing so fast like a weed that I often am breathless at her development. A week ago, while the rains poured non-stop outside the window, I stopped from what I was handwriting in my notebook and noticed her scribbling also in her own notebook on my husband's bed. She looked like a little old lady with legs bent and covered with a blanket. I snapped this picture of her.

Later, she handed me the page where she had written her short composition. I am quoting it in full without any editing. It's the sort of thing that makes a grandma's heart swell.

Here is Kai's voice:

My lola always love to write about the things that happened last time. So I decided I will have a go. So I tried it and it struck me to a diary. I loved it so mutch that I wanted to do when it is Saturday afternoon. When I grow up I wish to learn how to write diary's with cursive. Then learn to draw things that are also wonderful. So thank you dear lola, to make me your granddaughter. Love Kai

Another picture of the diarist, this time with her hand-drawn stationery line

Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Scraps from a rainy day

Yesterday's and the other day's strong afternoon downpour succeeded in keeping us indoors and drenching plans of going boating on Burnham Lake (a child's simple request this summer, but it still has to happen). This situation was aggravated by short power outages, no cable, no Internet, dead landline.

Our resident Mary Poppins took this opportunity to go through the detritus of 30 years of her sister's conjugal life. She cleaned and filed, set aside what still looked useful and threw away what must long ago have been discarded if someone like me had a knack for good housekeeping.

Last of the April rains that made May flowers possible. This rain is gentle compared to what's now hitting southern and northeastern US.

Among the finds was a bag full of documents (SSS, BIR and Pag-ibig membership numbers--can't lose or misplace those as I approach 60), UP Diliman class cards from '73-'77 with encircled final grades, pay slips from various employers, a media ID card that allowed me to cover John Paul II's first Philippine visit, Christmas cards and the inevitable stash of precious letters. Two stood out: a postcard from Beijing from my journalism professor, the late Raul R. Ingles, and a letter composed on an electric typewriter from a friend in Chicago who I've lost track of.

There's the thread of a story from all these finds, but I'm not predisposed to draft one. I'm just happy for throwback moments like these.

The elegant penmanship of Raul R. Ingles

I still have to encounter an email that reads as good as this typewritten letter from Ogot Sumulong dating back to Jan. 20, 1982. Photos by Babeth Lolarga