Here's looking at you, Bogart

He would've turned 14 years old in human years on June 16 this year. But when his mistresses Gigi Lolarga, my youngest sibling, and Ruth Taleon Terania, returned from their US trip in December last year, he was in the grip of a cancer in his mouth area.

He put up a good fight. When the family debated if we would have him put down as a kinder way of dealing with the ailment instead of letting him bear the pain, Gigi and Ruth decided to continue a holistic approach to his treatment and they changed his diet upon the vet's advice.They went to the extent of integrating turmeric paste to his soft diet. They had to stop the lugaw or rice porridge because the cancer cells would only feed on the rice. Commercial dog food was stopped.

Bogart put up an uncomplaining fight. It meant more medical expenses underwritten by my sisters.

He was our fierce guard dog whose favorite spot outside the house was the gate where he'd bark at the postal worker, the food and water delivery persons and anyone who came close to his territory. He bit the manicurist who did home service on her shin. He never recognized the scent of the cleaning woman who dropped by the house weekly. He barked and barked until he was shushed.

Unlike the other dog in our family, Bruno, Bogart wasn't the least bit gentle. He didn't sidle up for caresses on his body. But in the last few weeks of his life, he'd rub his frail, small body on my leg. I'd pet him and talk to him aloud. He seemed to understand that it was just a matter of time before the pain would finally go away.

Gigi was the most affected, almost questioning the Universe for the burden of care-giving during the holiday season (our mother was also ill during the Christmas period of 2015). Gigi took leaves from work to keep the stoic Bogart company. When she couldn't be with him all day, our physician brother Dennis Lolarga took over some of the watching hours.

In mid-January, he wrote in our family group chat this announcement that had me in tears: "Our beloved guard dog Bogart, the mini-doberman pinscher, succumbed from his terminal illness at approximately 11 a.m. today, and is now with Shintaro the Japanese spitz, Queenie, Omar Sharif the cat, Billy the kid goat, Sequester, Balky, Pipoy, Mimay, Pipay, Bambam in a heavenly place." All of those are the names of the pets who had been with us in different times in our lives.

Nerisa Del Carmen Guevara and Grace Banez, who have also lost beloved pets, speak of a rainbow bridge which these pets cross when they leave us. I am imagining Bogart prancing on that bridge and adding his barks to the heavenly choir.

Dog day afternoon

The humans of our home in Pasig took a back seat as Bruno Lancelot Lolarga, our pet pug, celebrated his 12th year with a party yesterday. This was the second of its kind (he also marked his 7th year in similar fashion), and it came on the heels of the death of Bogart, our mini pinscher of 13 years, from cancer. Rather than mourn the departed, my sister Gigi Lolarga and Ruth Taleon Terania planned something special for our surviving and furry family member. Just the same we remember Bogart with deep fondness, and we miss him.

There were party hats, a streamer declaring "Happy birthday" and dogs from far and near. Bruno had his own cake shared with Oreo the golden retriever of the family of Pinky Lolarga Susi who drove from Antipolo, and Chase, the shih tzu poodle of Jannica Jorge-Susi's son Jared who came from Las Pinas.

Our dogs are not just pets. They are so integrated in family milestones that Bruno was named one of the godfathers when Pinky's first grandchild was born. When my granddaughter Kai came into this world and was baptized, Bogart was listed as one of her ninongs.

We won't have it any other way. Once again, happy 12, Bruno!

In dog years, he's a senior citizen already. But to our minds, he's our baby.

Spot how many dogs and hoomans!

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

A daughter's worthy tribute to an exceptional father

"...we should not grieve for those who have gone from us in the primes of their lives after happy and fruitful years of activity, and who have been privileged to accomplish in full measure their task in life.

"Something there is that can refresh and revivify older people: joy in the activities of the younger generation — a joy, to be sure, that is clouded by dark forebodings in these unsettled times. And yet, as always, the springtime sun brings forth new life, and we may rejoice because of this new life and contribute to its unfolding; and Mozart remains as beautiful and tender as he always was and always will be. There is, after all, something eternal that lies beyond the hand of fate and of all human delusions." ~ Albert Einstein

There is something about the rich full life of Rolando Pena, scientist and revolutionary, that makes prolonged grieving for his untimely death no longer worth a hill of beans in this crazy world.

In early August this year, his daughter, the physician and medical activist Sibyl Jade Peña, asked if I could help her put together what was then conceived as a booklet of her father's writings and tributes heaped on him after his demise. I never shirk from a challenge, and although we were clearly pressed for time, we surged ahead, with the help of Patricia Louise Yambao and book designer Jennifer Patricia A. Cariño. Sibyl showed her belief in an all-women's team there and then although there were male designers who were expressing interest in involving themselves in this rush project.

Sibyl's concerned friends in FB warned her not to compromise the quality of the book in the shaping in keeping with her father's high standards. We had Rol's spirit to guide us and at every turn when we faced a challenge in the editing of the manuscript and we waited for other comrades to turn in their writings, he was there to steady our hand.

Cover of the book

Rol and Sibyl

Crossings: Portrait of a Revolutionary by Rolando E. Peña was launched Nov. 30 after an 10 a.m. Mass at the UP Diliman Hotel.

If anything, I consider the book a loving daughter's tribute to a much-missed father. You did well, Sibyl. Thank you for the honor of asking me to join the ragtag editorial team.

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.

Textures and patterns

There was a time I brought my Canon digicam everywhere I went and trained my eye on anything interesting I saw. Such were these photos I took while we were having a bienvenida lunch with old friends Myriam and Steve Benito, now based in New Zealand.

Friends used to ask how I kept myself busy in Baguio. Well, here's evidence from years past--not yet erased by the need to create more gigabyte space in the computer.

Location: Iggy's Inn and Bonuan Seafood Restaurant

Myriam and Steve Benito, plus Del Tolentino and Babeth at Iggy's Inn and Bonuan Seafood Restaurant

Except for the last picture, all photos by Babeth

My Huckleberry friend

These are my Throwback Thursday thoughts and photos as I deal with another foggy and chilly day in my adopted city. Call this my intermission number while I take a break from line editing some manuscripts.

It's bonnet weather up here, but I've misplaced mine while Kai, now eight and in school (surprisingly, the school bus came by to pick her up and she was ready and warmly dressed as she boarded it), has outgrown hers. She now wears a hoodie.

Booboo Babeth and Kai wearing bonnets

Yesterday classes were suspended so she stayed by my side all day long while I faced the computer. She played with her dolls and stack-up toys. When she grew weary of them and while I was taking a siesta, I overheard her take over the YouTube shuffle list and listen to different versions of "Moon River," her current favorite. I let her be, secretly pleased was I that she liked the songs I liked.

After dinner, she brought out her blank notebook that she uses for her doodles.She asked me to dictate the lyrics of the theme song from Breakfast at Tiffany's while she carefully wrote them down on a page, mindful of her spelling and placement of apostrophes. Then she began to sing a capella. Over and over until I wanted to cry.

Here Cecile Licad skims over the poetry book of Marne Kilates while Booboo Babeth and her Kai look over her shoulder. Photo by Anna Leah Sarabia

Who would have thunk it--that the kid I used to carry in my arms to meet such personages like our goddess of music CL would fall for a Mancini ballad?

Kai, don't rush, don't age too fast. You'll have a long time being a grownup, but childhood is such a fleeting period.