Sticking Together

“It could have been fatal had you waited another 8 hours to bring your brother in.”

This was the statement given by the attending physician as he went through the initial medical tests of my dear cousin, T.

For close to three weeks, T was confined in the ICU.  Oxygen and dextrose lines, heart and BP monitoring devices were attached to him.  He could hardly move and breathing was difficult.  His family kept a tight watch over him.   Without much ado, whatever differences they had with each other was quickly set aside just as quickly as the deadly bacteria took hold of my cousin. They shared one prayer—T be given the grace to get well again. During those uncertain days, love was the only force that gave the family the fortitude to take each day as it came.

It's In The Blood

“Why do farmers farm, given their economic adversities on top of the many frustrations and difficulties normal to farming? And always the answer is: "Love. They must do it for love." Farmers farm for the love of farming.” 
― Wendell Berry

My maternal grandparents were farmers. They knew everything about the earth and very little of the world.   ( click Family Beginnings)

The Return

My sister, G, and her husband were ecstatic. 

Their “hijo unico”, P,  was on a one-month long vacation from his US base job.  And they made sure to pull out all the stops to guarantee the best ever one month visit for P.

Travels to the provinces were their favorite form of bonding as a family.  And travel they did.  It was like old times:  my brother-in-law’s keen interest on 4-wheel driving, my nephew’s love for photography and my sister’s adventurous spirit made for the perfect vacation and bonding experience. 

Naturally, Cebu made it in their bucket list.  My nephew had to check out the whale sharks of Oslob (a first for him), had to get his fill on steamed fried rice (his all-time Cebu craving), and  had to give my mother a tight hug (or else!). 

Be Cool: A Story in Three-Parts

Part Two

9AM.

The alarm rings.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I glance at my daughter as she continues to sleep through the noise.

I killed the alarm, stretch, said a silent prayer of gratitude for a good night’s rest. 

I peeked through the blinds to check out the activities on the street outside my daughter’s apartment.  Kids were already playing as a puto vendor tooted his horn to announce his presence: put-o, put-o, put-u.

Beep beep. Text alert.

The Quest

The annual visit of my mother to the States always includes visits to her doctor for the once-a-year routine check-up.   She used to confidently manage these visits on her own with a sibling offering to drive her for the appointments.  But a year ago, she needed to be accompanied to these visits.  We took charge in filling out the usual questionnaire given out and sat with her as she met with her doctors.  (Still Mommy)

Maybe, we reasoned, it was because she was getting on in years.  Slower, more careful with her steps; quieter, more introspective.  On the other hand, she was easily agitated in unfamiliar surroundings; and quick to declare, “I cannot!” 

Friendship Across the Miles Series: Best Friends in Florida (BFF)

My nephew, P, had finally found work in Orlando, Florida.   It had been an emotional parting for my sister, G, and her husband.  Their only child was off to conquer the world on his own.  But as fate would have it, he was not totally alone.  A very close cousin, C, had graciously taken P into her wings. 

And when a couple of months passed, my sister, G, decided to take a vacation and visit her son.  Not to let the opportunity pass, the rest of us felt we needed to visit as well.  Besides, it was finally time to accept my cousin’s long standing invitation to visit.

After five hours of air travel, our party of seven (my mom, my niece, brother-in-law and sisters: G, J, M plus me) had finally arrived at the Orlando airport.  My brother and his wife would follow two days after.  That’s how much we take family visits seriously. 

To most travelers, Orlando means a visit to the happiest place on earth: Disney World.  To my sister, it was a chance to be with a sorely missed son.  And to our group, it meant a grand reunion among cousins who were a part of our very happy childhood.

Daddy can you hear me?

Hi Daddy,

Remember how stressed out you were when you got a phone call that I had bit off my tongue as a result of being side swept by a provincial bus? Do you still remember the relief that went through you when the doctor told you that I would be alright?  Did you laugh to learn that it was not my tongue I bit off but it was the hotdog I had been eating at the time I crossed the street?

Free to Be

I celebrated Independence Day with my kiddos.

My son had been living on his own for 10 years now while my daughter is a newbie and is still learning the ropes of living on her own.  When I hear them talk and compare notes about water and electric bills, I get nostalgic. Was it not only yesterday, when they were chasing each other around the house—with water pistols?!?!

“What do you feel like eating?”, my daughter asked.

It was mid-morning and we had time to kill before my son joined us for a late lunch.

“How’s about a visit to a pastry shop where we can have good bread and sit around?”, I countered.

Guided by a magazine article on out-of-the-way eateries on the edge of the business district, she declared,  “I think I know the perfect spot.”

When the Living is Easy

The sea was very close to where I grew up in Cebu.  So close was the pier to our house I could hear the deep and lonely blast of a ship’s horn late at night as it got ready to leave port.  If I imagined hard enough, I could hear the ship’s porter’s warning call, “pwera besita, pwera besita”.

With such close proximity, it was only natural for my parents to bring us to the popular public black sand beaches of Talisay (famous for pinasugbo- bananas dipped in dark and thick sugar glaze) or brown sand beaches of Liloan (famous for whirlpools and rosquillos- a round, scalloped edge sweet biscuit) in the summer. 






 In the 1970s, when barges made it possible to cross over, the white sand beaches of Mactan Island became our favorite summer playground. 

Tree Stories (part 3)

I have been observing the tall Narra tree in my tiny front garden for some time.  It has been almost twenty years since I planted it.  I bought it at a nearby government tree nursery and without a second thought of how huge it could become, planted it on the side of my tiny front lawn.  

A Voice from the Past

“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.”

 

Never had I dreamed that I would hear her voice again.  She had been my daughter’s dedicated yaya from the time my daughter was born until my daughter turned twelve.  She had become part of our family.  Our worries were hers and her worries were ours.

Just as my daughter had started to test her young wings, her Yaya Nita thought it time to spread her own wings and decided to marry.  It was a sad day when Yaya Nita packed her bags and we reluctantly said our good-byes.

That Friday

November 8, Friday.  I was in Cebu City the day that Typhoon Yolanda came.  I was in my sister’s house baby sitting my 7-year old niece.  I had brought my mother from her hill-top house to stay and weather the storm with us.

The morning started out with a light drizzle.  The sky was grey and did not have a hint of what was to come. By mid-morning, the rain was coming down in sheets and the wind was blowing hard—enough to bend the bamboo lining my sister’s fence almost halfway to the ground. Every now and then my mother would get up from the book she was reading and pace the floor.   My niece and I kept ourselves busy creating a diorama of a family inside a house out of a shoe box. At one point as the wind howled outside, she exclaimed, “I’m too young to die.” 

I assured her that no such harm will come to her and shifted her attention back to our project.   By lunchtime, the wind had died down and an eerie calm settled around. We had come through with hardly any damage to the house.  But what about the rest?

With electricity and phone line cut off and my celphone battery running on low,  I started texting my siblings and my daughter that we were alright.  With no contact with the outside world, we settled in for the night. I was confident that everything would be put to right the next day. 

We woke up to see a weak sun trying to break through grey clouds.   

Leaves littered the outside and there still was no electricity.  With still no news about the extent of the damage caused by the typhoon, we happily left the house for the airport to pick-up my sister. My niece was happy and relieved that her mother was finally coming home.  My mother was happy with the thought of returning back to her house.  Everything seemed right in our little world.

How very wrong we were.  Upon reaching my mother’s house, her house helpers asked permission to leave.  They live in the northern part of Cebu which was also in the path of the typhoon.  They had received text messages that the roofs of their homes were blown off.  Without hesitation, my mother let them go.  As fate would have it, I had postponed my departure and would be around to keep my mother company.

With electricity restored by late afternoon, we started to receive heart-wrenching news on teevee about the terrible damage caused to life and property.  What made matters even worse was the fact that my mother could not reach any of her brothers or sisters in Leyte.  All communication lines were down.I tried to console my mother by telling her "No news, is good news". 

By Sunday, my mother was able to get sketchy news from some relatives and friends who had managed to return back to Cebu from Ormoc, Leyte. So far, our relatives were alright but extensive damage had been caused to their homes and farms. 

What used to be miles and miles of coconut trees, now just poles sticking up in the air (pic courtesy of RC)

I have since returned back to my own home in Manila.  Everything is exactly as how I left it.  But I feel that I am not the same person.   I am now bothered by the thought that although I have given assistance,  it is not enough. And even if I continue to do so, it will never be enough.

V: Living in the Now

V is the youngest of seven siblings. Many thought she was a miracle baby having been born a little over a year after my mother was ligated. A rarity then as it is now, my mother never tired of telling how a well-known doctor cut off a ligament because he was busy talking instead of focusing on the procedure.

V was always anxious about going to school. On the drive to school, my father would gently have her repeat the following quotation. “I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today.”

Still Mommy

“Must not worry.”

I found some comfort from repeating this mantra to myself.   

It all started so unceremoniously. A forgotten name, a story repeated more than twice in a short span of time,  a misplaced list.  So easily and lightheartedly brushed aside and attributed as part of the aging process.

There was a debate on whether a medical explanation should be sought.  But we were all in denial. For really, what was the point.  There still is no cure for memory loss. 

And so it was for my mother.  And for us, her children.   We laughed.  We cried.  We moved on as we left matters up to time.

Then that time came and my mother herself realized she needed to face this memory eating monster head-on.   And we, her children, planned with her, stood by her and held her hand as we moved forward.

Moving forward, my mother has recently completed  the necessary medical rounds— tests and scans.

The jury is still out on her case.  In the meantime, I should take in the positive and must not worry. She is still mommy.

---xoxoxox---

While visiting with my sisters, M and V, I had the opportunity to watch our mother cook up meals for us. again  She started to apologize for her forgetfulness and hesitated. She felt she would mess things up.  But these negative thoughts vanished as everything came together so naturally.  A chopping board, a sharp knife, a good pan and her confidence was back. 

She outdid herself with her Sotanghon Pancit (recipe here) , Chicken Asado (recipe here) and Pork Sinigang (recipe here).   She also did a green peppers and beans with ground beef dish.  This was something new and delicious for me. I quickly took notes so I won't forget.  And thought it worth passing on to you.

Mom’s Sauted Green Peppers and Beans with Ground Beef

1/2 k ground beef
3 strips of bacon, sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, chopped
1 green pepper, cored and sliced into strips
A handful of green beans (about a cup), string removed and chopped diagonally
Splash of worchestershire, perrins, or soy sauce—whatever you have on hand
Salt and pepper

Place the bacon in a pan and render the oil.  Remove the bacon and set aside. In the bacon oil, saute the garlic and onions then add the beef.  When beef is done, return the bacon and throw in the peppers and beans.  Stir quickly and season with seasoning sauce, salt and pepper.  Remember: Do not overcook or your veggies will be mushy.

Goes very well with steamed rice.

Forever Daughters, Forever Sisters

The signs were there. The yelping of the dogs as the car parked into the garage. The welcome smiles of our loyal house helpers as we surrendered our bags to them. The strong smell of tsokolate.  Slippers and house dusters laid out and ready.

Mail Bonding

I got another one a week ago.  It was a postcard with a picture of a road sign that read, “Kangaroos Next 50km”.

Priceless

I learned from my daughter that her Serbian dorm mate receives regular mailed packages of spices from her mother to keep homesickness at bay. What a swell idea!  So I thought I’d do the same by mailing out an item that was uniquely from home. 

After much thought on what exactly could that item be, keeping in mind postal regulations, my daughter asked if I could mail her some tablea (local unsweetened chocolate tablets).   

slightly bigger and thicker than a P5 coin

Always on a Sunday

Sundays at our house means a hearty lunch—sometimes the main course can take a while to make and sometimes the dish is a family tradition.  But always special. 

And I was in trouble.  The bananas I bought at the supermarket were not ripe enough to put into the Pochero- a ginger-flavored soup made up of beef shank, saba bananas, potatoes, cabbage or pechay tagalog.   More often than not, Pochero is the main dish for our Sunday lunches. No bananas. No can do.

I did not relish the effort of going out early in the morning for one ingredient.  But this was just the reason I needed to visit one of the Sunday markets in the City.  The market used to be located inside the Lung Center of the Philippines compound but had since relocated about two years ago to a bigger location closer to the main thoroughfare—EDSA. 

  

Daddy Cool

A postcard with a picture of the famous Stonehenge ( giant rocks arranged in a circle in the UK) arrived in the mail three days ago. 

It was my daughter’s Father’s Day greeting for my hubby.  “You rock!”, she scribbled on the back of the picture. 

I smiled at her attempt to capture in just two words what her dad is to her.  This in turn lead me to think about my own dad.  What sort of a father was he and what he meant to me.

My father has been gone for more than 30 years and I go back to that time when he was a very big part of my life.

Reflections

“Mirror, mirror on the wall

   Is that you mommy

   Looking back at me?”

Growing up, you could say that my relationship with my mother conformed to the usual phases that most girls go through: 

Up to age 11-  I looked up to my mother.  She knew everything.  I wanted to grow up and be like her. Specially the part about baking goodies for my children.