A Visit From An Old Friend

A few days ago Steve noticed a cat on our porch.
The cat would leave as soon as it saw someone but would return once the porch was empty.
Then Kika came home one night at and gave it water and food and so it was no longer afraid of us.
He came right up to us and sat on our laps when we sat out in the porch. (it was unseasonably warm this week)
The cat wanted to come inside our house.

But we didn't let it in because of our dog, rabbit, gerbil and also because we wanted the cat to be able to go back to its home.
The cat didn't have a collar,  but he certainly did not act like a stray.
When the girls asked if we could keep the him if we could not find the owners, Steve was adamant.
He said, "I'm not a cat person" and Kika is allergic. (which she is.)
However, for some strange reason, despite Kika's cuddling with this cat, it was not making her eyes swell up.
Anyhow, we set out to find the owners.
I posted pictures on Facebook and on the local neighborhood website.
Then Kika and I took the cat to the vet to have him scanned for an identification microchip.
The cat did have a chip but when the vet called the chip company, the phone number attached to the chip was disconnected.
But the company said that the chip was bought and implanted by the Animal Rescue League in 2002.
We were so surprised to find out that he was over 16 years old.
And, the date it was implanted was December 3rd, which happens to be my birthday.
I called the ARL and gave them the microchip number but they too came up with a dead end for the owner.
I sent them photos of the cat and all of my information.
Meanwhile, the ARL told me to bring the cat in and they would find it a new home.
The prospect of taking a 16+ year old cat to the animal shelter did not appeal to us.
Steve suddenly had a mysterious change of heart.
Somehow this cat nuzzled his way into our life.
We decided that the only way he was leaving us was if we found his owners.
We bought supplies "cat people" buy.

We got a collar and a tag with his new name "Wendell" and my cell phone number listed on the other side.
We loved him for an entire day.
Until the Animal Rescue League called me back telling me that they found Wendell's owner.
Wendell's real name is Ben.
Ben was reunited with his owners today, February 23rd.
I found out that Ben walked two miles and crossed an extremely busy main road to meet me and my family.
February 23rd is the birthday of my best friend Elaine.
Elaine died in a car accident and was an avid cat lover.
She had a cat named Tabby that looked exactly like Ben.
February 23rd is also significant because after Elaine died, it is the date I found out that I was pregnant with Kika even if I thought I could not have children.
This cat was microchipped on my birthday so that in case he was ever lost he would be found.
This cat was found by his owners on Elaine's birthday so that just in case I ever doubted, I would be strengthened.

PHOTOS

A Burial with Full Military Honors Was An Absolutely Beautiful Way To Say Goodbye

But the highlight of my father-in-law's burial was the miracle of Jamie.

Our nephew Jamie has autism.
He has an incredible memory.
He remembers faces, names, streets and maps.
He can tell you when a Disney movie was released. When he was three he could identify every car he saw.
Well now Jamie is twelve years old.
His autism is noticeable because he has certain impulses that can attract attention.
He utters words like "cutie" or "stupid" or a hybrid of both when he meets people.
Then he bursts out in laughter.
Sometimes he has the urge to topple over chairs, or fling things.
Because of his condition, he was the only grandson that was unable to be a pall bearer.


I think he gets an idea in his head of how something should look.
So, he closes things that are ajar or opens things that are shut.
Needless to say, I was nervous about how Jamie would react when he saw his grandfather laid out in a casket.

Jamie's parents are very admirable.
They calmly manage their son with consistency, patience, and good old screen time. (Jamie loves his Ipad)
It is clear that they prepared their son extremely well for what to expect because Jamie (and his two younger siblings) were composed throughout both days of the viewing.

The funeral mass though, I thought would pose a different challenge.
Due to the assigned order of processing into church, Jamie  became separated from both his mom and his dad.
He somehow ended up in a pew in between Gabi and me.
When I saw what had happened, I felt an internal panic.
I did not know how to "manage" him.
I feared a scene or an outburst of some sort.
I think I uttered a "Oh Lord" under my breath--but I don't think I was praying.

The mass was beautifully concelebrated by two priests that knew my father-in-law.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Jamie was sitting without fidgeting.
I thought, it was odd and so I wondered if he had his Ipad.  I saw that he was empty handed.
I quickly looked away for fear of jinxing the serenity.
I closed my eyes and this time said a prayer of thanks and urged God to keep doing whatever it was He was doing.
The liturgical service was not short, yet through it all, Jamie remained still and appropriately responsive.
In all my years of knowing Jamie, I had never heard him respond properly nor sit quietly for church.
At the end of the mass, everyone processed out in the same order,  and I was expecting Jamie to break lose to try to join either his mom or dad.
He did not.
He walked out solemnly in between Gabi and me with his arms linked through ours,  escorting us.

At the grave site, the Honor guard was waiting motionless.
With very sharp, crisp and precise movements,
they carried my father-in-law's casket draped in the flag of the United States.
They performed a march and a salute.
I was absolutely mesmerized by the flag folding.
It was a sight to behold.
The playing of Taps and the three volley salute took the sting out of having to say good bye to a great man.
The folded flag and three shell casings, for Duty, Honor and Country--were presented to my mother-in-law with a steadfast and unflinching gaze.
You had to be there.
It was one of the most solemn and beautiful ceremonies I have ever witnessed in my life.
And, through it all--yes even with the succession of shots fired--Jamie too, remained steadfast and unflinching.
A burial with full military honors is  a perfect send off.
And so is Jamie.
Despite how "wild" and locked into his own world Jamie usually is, (and was right after we left the cemetery)  I can see how he is thriving because of his parents' love.

There are two things that I am sure happened during my father-in-law's funeral last March 13th.
The first is, I know without a doubt that a Jamie miracle happened, and the second is,
I know that he made his Papa proud.

The Mission (A Very Long Post)

For any visitor new to my blog, I must mention that I have not always been wired this way.
By 'this way' I am referring to how about 7 years ago, I started developing a mild travel phobia.
It started innocuously enough, but not really enough to actually stop me from going anywhere.
However, one day, without realizing it, my affliction metamorphosed into a full-on habit of completely dreading vacations due to extreme anxiety.
I would brace myself for all trips and then would start obsessively dwelling on my fear of the unknown.
And then because of the gargantuan effort (an act) I put into making sure that everyone had a great time, I would be emotionally and physically drained after a trip.
A very vicious and messy cycle.

But that was before I started making changes in my life.
Ever since I incorporated a healthier lifestyle
(prayer, meditation, exercise and a better diet),
I am sensing that part of me is in the process of being healed.
So in the continuing effort to rewire myself,  I decided a few months ago to practice pushing myself to say yes to life. (The caveat being it must be a healthy choice)

This is how I ended up in Kingston for 6 days last week.
With 48 high school girls.

Let me backtrack.
I was asked by Kika if I would chaperone the junior and senior girls on a mission trip to Kingston, Jamaica.
Kingston is the nontouristy (no beach) side of Jamaica.
I was born and raised in a nontouristy part of the Philippines.
I knew exactly what to expect.
A foreign mission trip's goal aside from helping others, is to allow people to immerse themselves in an unfamiliar culture, stripping them of their comfort in order to either commune better with the people being served and if it is a Christian/Catholic led mission trip--then ultimately,  it is so people get closer to God.
Meanwhile, I had been praying for help with my difficult relationship with Kika.
Imagine my shock when she, who up until this point seemed to actively despise me, actually chose to invite me. (!!?!?)
So, in an effort to practice a faith of action,
I went against the raw desire of my core that wanted to decline this "honor," and said YES.

As the trip approached, I practiced my "don't dread, don't dwell" strategy.
I literally decided not to expect anything. I didn't even allow my brain to think about the pending week. Every time it would enter my mind I would tell myself:
"Live in the now. We are not there yet."

I did not dwell on the fact that this mission trip conflicted with a family vacation planned and that Steve and Gabi were going to proceed to Florida with family friends (JB's) without us.

So, while these two were away at a beach,

Kika and I went on a mission trip.

Nothing about this trip was easy.
It started first thing in the morning when I made a game day decision not to drive to the airport. (Steve was already gone)
My friend DZ drove us to a nearby bus stop so Kika and I could catch the public bus to the airport.
While I loved not having to drive in icy, unpredictable traffic and airport parking conditions,
Kika hated it:

So if my singular mission for going was to improve my relationship with her,
we were off to a rocky start.

Some PHOTOGRAPHABLE moments.

I photographed many parts of this trip except our visits to the Jamaica National Children's Home (JNCH) and Tegwyn Unit.

JNCH is an orphanage  and across the street is the Tegwn Special Unit.
Tegwyn is a facility for mentally and physically disabled orphaned children and young adults.
I went to Tegwyn.
Having almost zero exposure to people with disabilities, my first day there was rough.
I could not bond with anyone.
Incapable of communicating with the residents, I was so unsure of how to interact with them.
Initially,  I felt sick to my stomach at the severity of their conditions.
It was somewhat shocking to see such a concentration of, what I perceived to be, imperfect and broken people.
It felt so artificially forced to reach out and feed and hold and wipe and smile and sing and pray.
(I felt like a politician.)
Don't get me wrong--everyone on this trip could choose whether they wanted to visit  Tegwyn.
No one was forced to.
Except me.
I forced myself to stay.
Yet, although I stayed, I could not bring myself to feel love for them, which is ironic--considering it was Valentine's Day.

I was secretly counting the minutes and seconds until it was time to get back on the 90 minute long and bumpy bus ride back to our accommodations.

As we drove away from the Tegwyn Special Unit, I sat in silence questioning God.
I pondered the fairness of the Tegwyn residents' lives, seemingly, stuck in a torturous purgatory.
Guessing that most of the orphans had, among a host of physical deformities and complications, autism, and cerebral palsy.
I am ashamed to admit that I pondered whether death for these individuals would be or would have been a blessing.
It was a troubling feeling.
And so I started to pray.
I prayed not only for them but for myself.
I prayed for peace.
Suddenly, amidst the smell of diesel and the zigzag mountainous roads, I had a revelation.
I thought about that part of the Bible that reads,

"But who are you, my friend to talk back to God? 
a clay pot does not ask the man who made it, 'why did you make me like this?' 
After all, the man who makes the pots  has the right to use the clay as he wishes, 
and to make two pots from the same lump of clay, 
one for special occasions and the other for ordinary use."
~Romans 9:20

I recalled how startlingly impressed I was with the high school girls that chose to visit Tegwn.
They were so natural, loving and selflessly giving to all the residents.
As to whom God was using for special occasions in this instance, and who was for ordinary use, I don't know--as the actions of the teens were not ordinary.
All present were special.
Bear in mind that up until this point of the trip, I was merely tolerating the high school girls.
(a manifestation of my personal struggle with my own daughter.)
My epiphany continued.
I realized that we are all connected in sharing the goal of glorifying God--in whatever capacity given to us. No one more important than the other.

"Jesus answered, 'his blindness has nothing to do with his sins or his parents' sins.  He is blind so that God's power might be seen at work in him."
John 9:3 

I remembered the kind and lovely workers at Tegwyn.
How none of them seemed impatient nor burdened with the amount of work and care that needed to be done.
How very evident that God's love was being expressed by the caregivers.
Everyone embodied the word: authentic.
Then, I called to mind one of my favorite verses in the Bible that says,

"Do not conform yourselves to the standards of this world, but let God transform you inwardly by a complete change of your mind.  Then you will be able to know the will of God-what is good and is pleasing to him and is perfect."
~Romans 12:2

Before our bus even arrived at our living quarters, I knew that I was not done with Tegwyn.
So, even if our small group was not scheduled to go back there, L (another mom) and I asked our mission trip director if our group could return.
D accommodated our request.



"May you be filled with loving-kindness.
May you be well in body and mind.
May you be safe from all things physical and mental,
May you be truly happy and free."
~A Loving-kindness meditation



On our fifth day in Jamaica, two of our groups went back to the orphanage.

This time,  I was ready.

The moment I got there, I started visiting with as many residents as I could.
One 27-year-old woman named  Nikki, I could not ignore.
When I saw her the first time we visited, she was slumped in a wheelchair but had no use of any of her limbs.
She was non-verbal with zero mobility.
I think I was drawn to her because her face, although with a vacant expression, had normal features that did not seem to belong to her misshapen and diminutive body.
And then there were her eyes.
She had a piercing stare that seemed to look right into your soul.
It was during our second visit that I noticed that she was beautiful.
This time she was not in a wheelchair but rather placed on a large thick gym mat on the floor.
In an effort to get down to her level, I ended up lying down beside her in order to hold her hand while I whispered my prayers for her.
Her continued expressionless countenance prodded me to imagine what it would feel like to be trapped in my body with a stranger in my face, without the ability to express myself.
I didn't stay beside her much longer for fear of irritating her.

I made the rounds with other residents sitting with them, interacting, hand holding, and back-rubbing when suddenly I noticed a young man (who looked to be about 20 years old) looking at me.
Roy, whose face had a stolid quality to it, seemed to actually see me.
I turned to him and asked (I think, rhetorically)
"What can I do for you?"

What happened next I will try to express, but I am afraid words can not do it justice because the experience was somewhat indescribable.

I sensed Roy was trying to communicate with me.
He ambled laboriously towards me with the help of his walker.
Also non-verbal (not a sound) and with minimal use of his hands,
he seemed to telepathically, for lack of a better word, get me to understand that he wanted to go for a walk in the grassy area outside of their covered  and fenced in porch.
I had to fit his walker sideways through a narrow gate, then go back in for him to lead him to his walker.
And in what seemed to take forever and yet in an instant--
We were understanding each other with very minimal cues.
We walked side by side until he stopped at a spot he seemed to like.
Then, in a curious turn of events--he parked his walker and then took my arm to use me as his walker--and led me back to the porch.
Now we were walking fast.
His body language was urgent.
As we headed back to where we came from, I glanced back at the walker we left behind,  wondering what we were doing.
Back in the porch, he decisively led me to a 17-year-old girl in a wheelchair.
Still using me as his walker, Roy took my left hand and placed it on the left handle of the girl's wheelchair.
My right hand he positioned on the right handle of the wheelchair.
I understood.
As I wheeled her towards the narrow gate, he somehow indicated a latch I had not noticed before, to make the opening wider to fit her wheelchair.
And we were off.
Pushing the girl's wheelchair, Roy hanging on my arm--I made our way back to the walker.
Once we got there, Roy made me park her wheelchair beside him while he sat on the cushioned bench of his walker.
He was clearly satisfied.
Facing them, I stared quizzically.
Then it suddenly dawned on me.
"Wait a minute," I said.
"I think I know what is going on here. I think we have a love connection."
Roy's face remained unchanged.
But the girl, without being able to focus her gaze on me (I was not sure if she could see) broke into a huge grin.
I was unable to pronounce that girl's name--which is why I don't remember it--but I will never forget her look of pure joy.

After my interaction with Roy and the girl, something mysterious shifted in me, and I suddenly felt like I could understand the unspoken language of the facility.
A 12 year old boy approached me and I was able to play ball with him and other children.
When we left that day, I felt an overwhelming love for each and every resident of the
Tegwyn Special Unit in Kingston, Jamaica. (<--please help)

Processing this now weeks later, this is what I know.

I know that the little bit of connection at Tegwyn made my heart crack open.
I am also aware that when I had no love in me towards them, they felt it and were not interested in interacting. But, when I returned with a peaceful heart and a desire to love, the Tegwyn residents became receptive and in turn, allowed me briefly into their lives.

In the beginning of this post, I mentioned how physically and mentally exhausted I become after going on any trip.
Strangely enough, this journey, while quite difficult due to
-the sporadic and weak, cold-water showers, non-flushing toilets, the absence of evening quiet and privacy,  the garbage-strewn landscape, the dead dog we walked by as we visited a few invalids in a poverty-stricken neighborhood,
the long stretches of the helter-skelter commute from where we slept to where we worked-
--all of these aspects, surprisingly did not drain me.

The shared goal of service with an incredibly lovely team of 60 selfless people,
the simple but delicious meals coupled with the discipline of focusing on the now,
made me return home energized.
(Plus our Moms' Evening Tabata Workouts and
our 'Rose, Thorn, Bud' sessions definitely enriched.)

And, if my sole purpose for going was to improve my relationship with my daughter, then I will say that we've taken a step in the right direction.

Facial Recognition/Age Progression

I just finished watching the latest episode of Homeland--

One of the characters featured briefly was this guy ^

William R. Moses.
His character on Homeland was the US Ambassador to Berlin who gets fired.

He appeared for less than a minute, an insignificant role really, yet I was gripped.

Not by his acting but because I recognized him. ('tis my gift)

Last time I saw him was in the 80's. 

Back then he was Cole from Falcon Crest.

I think I had a crush on him.

I know I've already mentioned this but I have this uncanny ability to remember and recognize faces.

It is a talent that has no commercial value.

Late Night Run Home From Wild Card Baseball Game

note: only DZ (in jeans) and I ran. The men rode a car like normal people.

Open

I did not know that the word Cacophony is pronounced:
Kuh-cough-uh-nee.
Up until today I pronounced it: Kako-Phoney.

Whenever I discover that I've mispronounced a word, I get embarrassed.
I know that the embarrassment comes from my ego.
I associate mispronouncing words or grammatical errors with being not very bright.
This is a flawed way of thinking--as linguistic intelligence is only one part of the multiple intelligence theory.  Not to mention often times, it is a matter of accents and regional variations. Throw in mother tongue and intonations, one must realize that this is not a good measure of intelligence.

When I stop being critical of other people's grammar and/or manner  of speech,
then I will cease to be afraid of making mistakes of my own.
Much more learning happens when we keep ourselves open.
In short, we learn faster and better in the absence of ego.
Not just in language but in life.

Claudine

Late last June I got a Facebook friend request from Claudine, a friend from college whom I had not seen in over twenty years. We were actually friends-in-law--I knew her through Augie, a close friend of mine.

Me, Augie and Claudine, Los Angeles, Ca. 1993.

I accepted the friend request but was unable to exchange messages with her right away.
It was the end of July before I remembered to write to her before leaving for our family vacation.
(On my list of things to do before leaving: stop the mail, contact the dog sitter, clean the bathrooms, write to Claudine)
When she responded, she told me that she was having health problems.
Serious ones.  The type with the stages.
By the time our correspondence continued,  I was already in Florida-- but because of the nature of her personal news,  I did not mention that I was on vacation.
I think I withheld that information because it felt out of place in a conversation about chemotherapy.
Claudine mentioned that Augie was going to visit her from Texas in a few days.
I was happy for her. I even requested that they take pictures of Augie's visit.
Before I signed off, I told her that I was going to pray for her. And I did.
That evening, I told Steve about my friend's condition and he confirmed that it was grave.
~~~~~
While I was in Florida, I made a conscious decision not to post pictures online.
I was trying to be present, and in the moment--instead of focusing on the perfectly staged shot to share with friends.  I stuck to this decision until six days into the trip I felt the urge to post this photo of Steve on Facebook.  (Something about the beauty of the double rainbows and the symbol of God’s promise)

The picture posted together with our location: TopGolf, Tampa Florida.
Suddenly I received a message from Claudine:
“Are you in Tampa?” she inquired.
I said, "yes, I've been here since Saturday. Tomorrow is our last full day here. We leave Saturday morning. Why?"
She said, "Augie is here with me, and she said that you posted a picture saying that you are here too."
I was so confused.
All this while I thought that Claudine still lived in Los Angeles.
I had no idea that while we were chatting earlier in the week--that we were already in the same city.  Claudine was excited that I was in town, but because she had chemotherapy scheduled for the next morning, she wanted Augie to be able to see me. She offered that Augie drive her car while she was at her session.
I told her that I would go to see them, because I wanted to see her.

It was past midnight on Thursday, but right away I asked Steve if he could drive me first thing in the morning about 45 minutes away.  I wanted to get there before Claudine left for the hospital.
I asked Steve because I don’t drive well in unfamiliar cities or at all.
Steve agreed to take me, (which in itself is a miracle as Steve is not a morning person)
~~~~~
The next morning, although we hit traffic and sudden torrential rain, we got to Claudine’s house on time.  The moment I stepped in,  for some reason, Claudine, Augie and I started laughing about one
thing after another.  Our time together was brief but filled with so much joy.

me, Claudine, her sister Melina, Augie: Tampa, Florida 7/31/2015

Perhaps our giddiness was brought on by the serendipitous nature of finding ourselves all together in one place.  (I had not seen Augie in eight years, and Claud’s sister Melina who now lives in Tacoma,  I don’t think I’ve seen since our college days)
We chatted, laughed and teased each other non-stop until Claudine excused herself to get ready for her appointment.
While Claudine was in the shower, out-of-the-blue Augie suddenly asked me,
“What made you come?”
I asked, "you mean here for vacation?”
She said--“no, here,  this morning.”
I looked at her and said: “I wanted to pray for her.”
Augie’s already large eyes got even larger as she said, "Chesca. This is why I decided to come too.”
"I wanted to pray with her because  “When two or more are gathered...” Augie started to say...
I interrupted her:
“...There I am in their midst.”  (-Matt 18:20)
~~~~~
I don’t know how to put into words the experience of praying with Claudine and Augie that morning, amidst the mist and steam of Claudine’s after-shower bathroom.
(It was the only private place we had as Steve, Claudine’s family and guests were in the living room)
The three of us held each other praying for healing, with uncontrollable tears streaming down our faces.
By the time we were done praying--there was a serenely peaceful look on Claudine’s face that I shall
never forget.

7/31/2015

~~~~~
Last week,  I made the 300 mile drive to visit my mother for her birthday.
Right before I pulled out of my driveway, I got a message from Augie telling me that Claudine needed prayers.
I spent the next 5 hours of my drive, praying for Claudine.
I was unsure of exactly what to pray for.
I prayed for miraculous healing, but I also prayed for God’s Will for her and that if she was to go, that she transitioned peacefully without suffering.
I wish that this is the part where I report a miracle, that Claudine defied all medical prognosis and is well today.
But that is not the case.
A few hours later, as I was in the middle of planting a huge flowering Chrysanthemum plant for my mom in honor of her 85th birthday, I got the message from Augie telling me that Claudine had passed away.
She was 45 years old.
~~~~~
I’ve been pondering, processing and trying to figure out what that whole experience was all about.
What I do know is that, although I was not close to Claudine, being drawn to contact her and see her 41 days before her death has left me with an unmistakeable gift that I hope I never forget.
The peace, joy and confidence I saw in her eyes gave me so much comfort.
It somehow reminded me that a lot of what makes me crazy on a daily basis, does not really matter.
While this may sound like I am giving up on life, on the contrary, I feel compelled to keep doing my best but to do so while surrendering the outcome.
I hope that I become as calm as her when I near the end of my life...or at the very least in my life today as I live through the experience of parenting teenagers.
Seeing Claudine smile ever so sweetly as she was dealing with her terminal illness has pushed me to assess my approach to each day.
I am grateful that my Claudine Experience is encouraging me to:
1. Give up worry.
2. Forgive
3. Do my best in all I do, but let go of all expectations.
4. Stop wrestling with life.
5. Live fearlessly and with great faith in God.
6. Have only good intentions in all I do
7. Let go of my ego
8. Keep my mind and heart open
9. Love
10. Just do it.

(For my friend Claudine:  1/19/1970-9/10/2015)

First Post Of 2015

I did not know that I enjoy biscotti.

But apparently I do. 

I am not worried since I have been exercising everyday since the new year began.

Everyday.

My friend SL informed me that everything we do on the first of the year must be something we want to be able to do through out the rest of the year.

So on January 1st, I made the effort to stay away from my biscotti stash.

Also I set goals for myself and exercising everyday was one of them.

I don't mean a full blown daily work out. 

Some days it's a 30 to 45 minute run or a 20 minute walk or just 10 crunches. 

Everything counts when it comes to making exercising a habit. 

I have discovered that I need exercise in order to stay upright.

I have been meditating and praying every single day.

I've also been clearing my home of unnecessary belongings.

My goal is to donate items every single week.

The moment I pick out a donation item, I move it to my porch to await pick up by the Veterans.

I am trying to shed my practical nature of saving something I might potentially want in the future.

I am trying to live in the present moment.

The act of sorting through and letting go of material possessions is very therapeutic by the way.

For each bag or box I am able to give away, there seems to be a release of emotional baggage as well.

~~~~~

In less than a month Steve is turning 50.
The process of trying to clear out my home has, alas, turned it upside down and inside out.
The expression, sometimes you have to break something in order to fix it is quite true.
Unfortunately, Steve's milestone is not going to wait for me to finish my house overhaul, and so amidst all this, I am planning a party for him.
The problem is, I have not thrown a party in years. I am rusty.
I am focusing on not giving in to feelings of overwhelm.
I know that if I were to act remotely taxed or stressed, then that would not feel good for Steve.
So I just keep daily small goals:
-Dechristmasing the house completely (yesterday, I put away the decorations at the property and this morning, I took down the last of the outside lights and garlands of our home here).
-Researching food and drink options.
-Texting invites, etc.
-Clearing out stuff, including polishing off the last of the biscotti.

~~~~~
We made an unplanned visit to our property yesterday.
Just a day trip.
The girls were interested in searching for a frozen pond to skate on, while Steve wanted all of us to hike through the snow in search of a dead bear we had heard about.
I had been feeling slightly off recently and in an effort to do something
"as a family," we decided to jump into the car and go.
We found both, a patch of frozen in the woods that the girls skated on, and the dead bear.
Natural ice rink, lovely.
Dead bear, not too lovely.

~~~~~
A few days ago, I found out that the little girl I had been praying for since last month, died in her mother's arms.
I was heartbroken.
So in an effort to stay mentally healthy, I decided to just keep on cleaning out my house.
When prayer or exercise is not enough, occupational therapy is good.

While sorting through the bowels of this house I bumped into old photos, which gave me the idea to start a 50th birthday picture collage.
It was while I was looking through Steve's old photos that I found this:

A picture of him as a four year old boy standing to the right of that red feather Christmas tree.

There was something about the death of the little girl and finding this particular photo of Steve that switched something in me.
First, I realize how precious life is and that is a gift to be able to celebrate 50 years (especially for Steve, who as a young boy was not given a good prognosis due to kidney disease)
And then second, yesterday, when I was putting away the Christmas decorations at the hunting place, I found myself not just tolerating the red feather Christmas tree, but loving it.
Loving it.
Somehow, seeing this red tree survive life reassures me that some things are just meant to be.

Praying for "Silly" Things

I recently had a conversation about answered prayers because during the thanksgiving weekend, there were lost and found things that I credited to God.
Then someone said something along the lines of, 'people should pray for only important things.'
I disagreed.
I said that you can pray for anything.
(but you can't pray for bad things...I mean you can, but I can't imagine you will get it.)

Do I consider praying about my recent development of becoming allergic to eye-makeup silly?
No.
From a purely vain standpoint it could be,
but if you knew how dependent I am on makeup, you would understand.
I look ill when I don't have eye makeup on.
While I know that it isn't cancer or my litany of worse things in life, it reminds me of a story.
Maybe even two stories.
~~~~~~~~~~
When I was in college, I always wore make up to school.

1986. Photo credit: J. Abella 

In fact, my trademark look was dark blue mascara on my eyelashes.
I applied it oh-so-carefully every single day before heading out the door.
I felt quite cute.
There was this guy at school. I normally have a very good memory for names, but this guy's name escapes me--and I think it is because of what happened with him.
We were just starting to get to know each other and it was clear that he thought that I was cute. (must have been the mascara)
He must have been so interested that he asked a common friend where I lived.
One saturday afternoon, I heard someone at the door.
I was surprised to see the guy standing outside my house.
I opened my mouth to say hello as he looked right at my face and spoke to me in tagalog:
"Nan dyan ba si Chesca?" (Is Chesca there?)
I said, "wala!!!" (She isn't here!)
Then I shut the door.
I was so embarrassed that he did not recognize my face without makeup that I distinctly remember leaning behind the closed door with my hand on my chest.
(I also realized that he thought I was a housekeeper, because most English-speaking filipinos address service people in tagalog) <---not there's anything wrong with being hired help.
Anyway just like that I decided that I could not go out with a guy that could not recognize
my face au naturel.
The next monday, he sought me out at school.
He said, "hey, I stopped in to see you last saturday"
I acted like I did not know what he was talking about.
I think I was also unfriendly.
And from that day on I avoided him.
And I conveniently forgot his name too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A couple of years after Steve and I were married, I was here in my house minding my own business, sans makeup when someone knocked on the door.
I opened the door to a man who was looking for Steve.
He said that he had an appointment to see "the good doctor."
Well, Steve forgot to tell me (not unusual) and so I asked politely if he could tell me what it was
about.
The man (who was there to sell life insurance) said to me,
"I don't know how that is any of your business."
So, even if I would have let him sit in my living room while waiting for Steve, I then said to him--
"okay, then you can wait for my husband out on the porch."
The expression on his face confirmed what I had suspected.
He thought that I was Steve's foreign housekeeper. <--not that there's anything wrong with being hired help.
He did not ever get to sell us life insurance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And that my friends, is why I never step out of the house without eye make-up.
And that is why my recent allergic reaction to mascara is not something I am taking lightly.
(yes, I have even prayed about it!)
I've tried switching brands, but each time I end up tearing up and wanting to scratch my eyes raw.
I've not exhausted all brands yet, and I ain't giving up that easy.
Tomorrow I shall post two pictures of myself.
A Before and After.
I am going to do this to help me get over my complex about going out without makeup.
After all, it is the face I was born with exactly 48 years ago.

Steve said: "I hope you never become allergic to shampoo"

I Have Other Back Stories To Finish Writing About But First Things First:

Yesterday was Sunday.
Before heading out for more volleyball (G's team made it to the playoffs), we went to church at  11 AM at the Oratory.
The chapel was full--standing room only--and it is a small chapel--it seats about 100 people.
The priest was standing in the back waiting to march down the aisle.
His position was creating a bit of a human quagmire for the rest of us standing near him.
One woman seemed particularly anxious to get around me--but I could not move until the priest processed.
She kind of bumped me, not meanly, but clearly intent on getting somewhere.
It sort of reminded me of being in a mall in Manila.
As soon as the priest started moving forward, I was able to get out of the woman's way.
She scurried and scooched herself into a pew.
"Ah." I said to myself.
"She had her eye on a spot and was determined to nab it."
"No wonder she was bulldozing anything in her path."
Just as I was getting ready to launch a full blown irritated thought attack directed at the woman, a funny thing happened.
The woman suddenly turned around to face me and motioned for me to sit beside her.
(she actually somewhat bump-slid the people in her pew with her butt to make room for me. I smiled at her and declined.)

I was taken aback.
First of all, I didn't even know that she was aware of me--
and secondly, her gesturing to me and thoughtfully making more space stopped my negative thinking instantly and allowed me to focus on the mass.

This morning I was pondering that interesting experience and realized a couple of things.

1. I've read numerous times that what we see in others is a reflection of ourselves.
And that everyone we meet is our mirror. That the traits that we don't care for in others is usually something we don't like about ourselves. (there are exceptions to this of course: animal torture, child abuse, murder, etc...I am pretty sure do not fall under this heading)
The good news is, supposedly the fact that we get annoyed is a sign that this buried down trait has bubbled to the surface and is ready to be healed. And it can be healed if we are honest about it and ready to let go of that trait.
So here I am accepting that I have a personality trait that can bulldoze things in my path to get what I want. I am hoping that I won't be that way anymore.

2. Our thoughts are all very connected. I am pretty sure that I was not the only person the woman bumped to get to where she was going--however, perhaps I was the only one that got irritated.
That she singled me out and offered me a seat makes me remember just how powerful thoughts and vibes are. Thoughts are our prayers. This is why we should think kindly.  The universe hears our thoughts and responds accordingly. God is in everyone, yes even in annoying people.

Yesterday

My friend DZ and I ran 3 miles.
Shortly before getting back to my house--we noticed a black backpack in the bushes.
It was clear that it was stolen and then pitched.
So we took it home to try and trace its owner.

Upon further examination, we realized that the bag belonged to a parole officer.
There were addresses and information on people that had some serious offenses,
surveillance logs, DNA testing training manuals etc.
So we googled his name and found that he had just been married a few months ago at a church about 29 miles away.
We called the church and asked the woman that answered the phone to help us get in touch with the owner of the bag.

When the parole officer came to retrieve his bag he told me that his bag was stolen out of his car trunk the previous day.
Get this--after he reported it stolen to the police and to his boss--he prayed that his bag would be somehow returned.
And then he got a call from the church, telling him that his backpack was found.
I instructed him to tell people about his answered prayer.

When I told Steve the story, he said that the parole officer must now:
"Pray it forward."
When I told DZ what Steve said, she came back with, "it's a pray on words."

G

A random Lady Gaga day

Singing for a crowd.

In a dress she made out of duct tape and wore to a school dance.

There is a price to pay for this kind of wiring.

Last night I was settling in for bed when G called out:

"nanay, (that's mom in tagalog)...I accidentally pierced my ear."

She had always wanted a third ear piercing.

Steve said he would take her but just never got the chance to do it.

So she took matters into her own hands and used an old earring from those ear piercing places at the mall--and gave herself a third hole.

I guess when she said "accidentally" she meant, she didn't think that she would be successful--

and not that she tripped and fell onto an earring that pierced her ear.

I felt a bit queasy after I heard what she did. (I kind of freaked out)

I asked her if by chance she happened to disinfect that earring before she decided to pierce herself, and she said: "noooooo."

Then with a straight face she said that she was going to pray that her new self inflicted hole would not get infected.

I agreed but added that in tandem with prayer, she should keep the freshly pierced area clean with alcohol.

She asked me, "with vodka!?"

With clenched teeth I responded, "No, Isopropyl Alcohol."

K comforted me: "Nanay, do not act as if it is already infected. We don't know if it will happen. Calm down."

About My Neck

I had an appointment to see someone else for my neck problems today.

Not another "Tor Eckman" but an Orthopedic M.D.

The problem was, I forgot to ask Steve the name of the doc I was seeing. (poor planing on my part)

(He made the appointment for me. I think he was worried that I could not turn my head to look over my shoulder to check my blind spot while driving)

When I texted him, he could not respond because he was in the lab.

But a nurse picked up, but somehow the chain of messages got me bad information.

I ended up in three different doctors' offices an hour south of my home to get to the correct place.

Although I arrived on time, 

I was verrrry frazzled.

Faulty brakes, no GPS, sketchy information and a stiff neck can do that to a person.

I texted Steve as soon as I got to the second office and told him that I was one incident away from a nervous breakdown.

And then when I found out that I was still in the wrong office, I texted him again.

He instructed me not to have a breakdown.

The doc took one look at me and where my pain was and then after asking about my physical activities, inquired about why I run.

I told him that I needed to,  for mental health.

Not unkindly, he diagnosed my neck problems to be due to poor running form.

Then he recommended that I alternate running with recumbent cycling.

I told him that not only do I not own a recumbent bike nor have access to one-- but that I did not like to look like a weirdo on one.

He then told me that he uses a recumbent bike.

The Odds

What are the odds that I would be looking for an old tooth brush to scrub the stubborn dirt in the grout of my bathroom?

What are the odds of my finding anything in our haystack of a bathroom closet? (it is too awful that I can't even post a picture)

Yet I stumbled upon a lost wedding ring while trying to find a tool to help me with a task that I don't normally do.

The odd thing is, I found this ring today after a slightly ugly exchange I had with Steve last night.
We had a bit of a dispute regarding "policies and procedures."

I told him that my one wish for my family was that we would become closer to each other and become God-centered.
(okay that was two.)
And then not two minutes later I told him to "eff off."

What on earth!!??
Clearly I had misplaced the Holy Spirit.
It happens.
Just like his misplaced wedding ring.

When he thought he lost it a few weeks ago at the property, I handed him his original wedding ring from 20 years ago. (nice try)

I told him that since I loved those rings we bought at an arts festival, that I would pray that it will turn up. 

Again, as always--he doubted we would see it again.

We made up before sleeping last night but when I woke up,  I felt lousy as I was replaying that exchange.
So lousy that I kinda cried about it to my friend SL, before I decided to keep praying and scrubbing my bathroom.
You can only imagine my pleasant surprise when I accidentally stumbled upon the ring that Steve was convinced was lost in the woods 90 miles away.

Not only was this ring under a heap of rags, cleaning supplies, plastic bags, a vomit bucket, a mop, a toilet plunger and other odds and ends but it was also sitting IN an empty soap dish!
(meaning it did not roll in, or get kicked in accidentally after slipping off his finger)

What are the odds that I would find a symbol of unity after last night?
As Steve likes to say: "one in three."

The Eagles

All our bicycles tires were flat and had not been tested out for 2014.
So I got Steve a bicycle pump for Father's day.
On Sunday, after Steve made use of his "present," he suggested a family bike ride.
The destination: to see The Eagles.
Not the band but the eagles that have made their home near a bike trail 6+ miles away.
The girls grumbled about going for a bike ride.
We assured them that it would be a neat thing.
G whined about having viewed the eagle web cam every. single. day. during the school year because her homeroom teacher was obsessed with them.

We all wore helmets, they grumbled some more about having to wear helmets.
We biked amidst the grumbling.
3 miles into the trip G's bike seat started twisting and turning until it sank as low as it could get.
We did not have the tools to tighten it back up to its correct position.
This would not have been a problem except she had grown about three inches since the last time she biked.
So her unadjustable seat made her bike now fit for a 10 year old.

Do you know how hard it is to climb hills in a bike too small for you?
I don't.
But K does because she switched bikes with G.
We biked 3 more miles until we saw the eagles.
While Steve and I admired the soaring sight, the girls grumbled a little bit more, not about biking but about having to view eagles they were not remotely interested in.

In total K ended up biking 9.5 miles in the small bike with a wiggly seat just so G would not have a hard time.
Do you know how ridiculously funny a 5'7 tall, 15 year old girl looks biking in a tiny bike?
(I will post a picture if she will let me.)
Yet she did it anyway without being asked to, nor complaining.

I often write about the challenges and anguish I endure while raising teenagers, yet today
I write this post in praise of my 15 year old daughter, K.
While biking 12.5 miles as a family to see some eagles was a fulfilling activity (for us parents, not for our daughters) seeing K in a selfless act towards her sister G was downright heartwarming.
I will remember this the next time I feel like strangling her.

"Tor Eckman" The Cranio-Sacral Therapy Guy

The therapist came highly recommended.

CK had been suggesting that Steve go see "Tor" to cure his various ailments and  occasional back pains. But Steve would have none of it.

Since my neck (and brain) had been bothering me lately,

I decided to go and check him out myself, all for the sake of science--albeit the alternative kind.

If I had not been prepared by CK for the setting, I would have bolted.
No sane part of me drives 20+ miles to receive unfamiliar "treatment,"  let alone treatment that is administered behind an unmarked office door located across the hallway from a closed storage rental office.

I arrived 10 minutes early for my appointment.
The parking lot was empty.
The building was open so I went in and up a flight of steps.
I found 2C to be locked.
I felt a bit odd, and had to shake the "Clarice Starling in Silence of The Lambs" feeling off me.

After 10 minutes (my actual appointment time) I called the phone number I had, but I could hear the phone ringing through the locked door.
I thought that perhaps I had the wrong date.
I was not sure how long to wait but I was not about to give up that easily--after all, I drove waaaay out of my radius.
So I waited 10 more minutes.

At the exact second I decided to leave, I got up from sitting on the floor of the deserted hallway, but then suddenly got a call from an unknown cell number. .
It was from "Tor."  He said that he was on his way. (!!!?!)
So I waited an additional 10 more minutes.
I heard the office building open and heard him meticulously wiping his shoes on the door mat at the bottom of the steps.
Like an extra 45 seconds of wiping!
(as if he had just come from burying his previous client)
But, I pushed that thought and my mild irritation at his tardiness out of my mind and made the choice to stay completely neutral. 

"Tor" (a nondescript man that seemed to be about my age) did not mention that he was late.
He merely apologized for not taping a note to the door to inform me that he would be back.
He said this while he was filing his fingernails. (I felt like I was being punked)
Then he washed his hands and then shook my hand.

N E U T R A L,  I remained.

He asked me what was ailing me.
I asked him what the LMT after his name stood for.
After a few more questions, the therapy began.
He asked me to remove my running shoes.
My long sleeved t-shirt, loose linen shorts and my socks stayed on.

The session was mostly Cranio-Sacral therapy,  (CST)
with a mixture of Acupressure, Physical Therapy and a peppering of voodoo.
He started with my feet and legs and worked his way up.
It was not a "typical massage" as CST is defined as a gentle form of manual therapy using light touch to release tensions throughout the body.

At first I was a bit freaked out.
Actually, it never fully went away--
While CK had warned me that a treatment took as long as FOUR hours,
she did not warn me that some moves in this type of therapy would involve areas that seemed dangerously close to my tailbone and groin.
The only thing that kept me on the table was the knowledge that CK trusted this guy, not only for herself, but also for her own mother and her son!

But I digress.
Because I was uncomfortable to begin with, I kept my eyes shut while praying, the entire time.
Then I started breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth in order to relax myself.
I wanted CST to work, and I did not want any negative vibes to get in the way.

N E U T R A L

About an hour into it,
just when I was getting into my meditative "Our Father" zone, suddenly my sinuses started swelling for no apparent reason.
I didn't say anything. I just started breathing in and out through my mouth.
After a half hour of mouth breathing, he asked about my sinuses.
I said that I didn't know what happened but that I seemed to be having an allergic reaction to something.
He said that as he was "releasing tension" in my lower body, my head was getting tighter.
(like squeezing a tube of toothpaste from the bottom up but with the cap still on.)
He assured me that once he released the rest of me, my sinuses would open up again.
I sat up and asked for tissues and blew my nose violently.
I tried to open it up myself but got nothing.
So I settled back down to experience the rest of my "releasing."

Breathing through my mouth, I prayed.
I prayed when he pressed near my bladder.
I prayed when he tapped the top of my head (Steve said, "Hello? Anybody home? Think McFly!")
I prayed when he had his hand covering part of my face and in my eye socket.
I prayed when he had his finger IN MY EAR. (not just one time but twice as he did my other ear too.)
I prayed, actually no, I surrendered when he had his hand on my throat.
The entire time, I kept my eyes closed.

I prayed until the next two and a half hours later, my sinuses were open again--and I was apparently all released.

~~~~~~~

Even if CST can supposedly also help with depression, I never told "Tor" that I had just recovered from a bout of it.
I figured that if it was going to be effective for my neck pain, that it would also work on my mental health.
(Like spraying for mosquitos ends up killing fleas as well.)
I was on the recovery swing by the time I went in for my neck but somehow I have a feeling that "Tor" may have squeezed the last of my depression out of me and stored it in the Storage Facility 20+ miles away.

Would I ever recommend that Steve try CST? Absolutely not.

Was I glad that I went?
Yes, because I think that anytime you step out of your comfort zone--you train your heart to remain open to life.

Would I go for treatment again?
I would, because I think as with anything in life--knowing exactly what to expect next time around would eliminate the Hannibal Lecter quality to the session and promote healing.
Besides, my neck is still sore.

The Mind and Body Connection

My toenails have not healed yet from running that half-marathon last month.

I have blood clots on both big toes.

And then last thursday,  I almost lost a finger.

I was shaping bushes with an electric
hedge trimmer when I accidentally clipped myself.

Just a few minutes before it happened, I was marveling about its ability to cut through thick branches.

And then suddenly. It. Happened.

It was not excruciatingly painful, but the staggering amount of blood and the idea that I would need stitches made me feel very light-headed. 

I fought to stay conscious as I watched the scene unfold as if it were being projected through a slow motion tunnel. My hearing became muffled. I had what's called a vasovagal reaction to my mishap.
There's that mind-body connection again.

Fortunately, I was not alone. as K was gardening with me.

In order to raise pocket money for a mission trip she was going on,  I decided to

hire her to do some serious grunt work.  She hauled and spread 10 sacks of mulch, planted flowers and picked up all the yard trimmings, thankfully, that did not include my thumb too.

She was very calm when she saw my bloody hand.

She tried to urge me to go to the ER but I did not respond. (I told you, I couldn't hear)

So instead she led me to the sink where she gently cleaned and bandaged my wound.

I ended up not ever going to the hospital.
I opted instead to go the self-healing route,  cleaning and changing the dressing regularly so as to prevent an infection.
With my carefully bandaged thumb, we went back to gardening for the rest of the day.
My thumb and I also volunteered to serve at the middle school graduation last Friday.
On Saturday "we" gardened some more and then attended the tail end of a fundraising pub crawl in the evening.
"We" said good bye to K as she left for her mission trip on Sunday and attended JB's son's confirmation also on Sunday.
Today, instead of worrying about K in NYC, "we" planted more flowers.

Did you know that gardening is healing?
I did not know this. (No wonder my sister Charissa does this all the time)

My mental clouds from May are definitely clearing up, but as my friend JB points out that , just like the blood clots on my toenails and my healing thumb--sometimes, we just have to give it time.

Lured In By Must See TV: Live ER

We had a visit last night from a fishing lure.
It came attached to our friend's son's hand.
The meaty portion of the hand where the muscle can really give hooks something to tenaciously cling on to.
Once we got the call, we sprung out of bed to gather supplies for our make shift OR.
Coincidentally, our niece had just arrived to stay with us for a few weeks to shadow Steve at the hospital for a pre-med requirement.
Steve called out to her, "Carly!! get down here. Your shadowing rotation is about to start right now."

Dustin, (with the hooked hand in his mid 20's), his 15 year old brother and his mom N arrived and I welcomed them wearing Steve's lab coat with a stethoscope hanging around my neck.
(I may not be a doctor, but I play one on TV)

It was not the simplest of procedures.
Not with the pliers and a wire cutter (the non-sterile kind)
The kitchen (again, did I mention non-sterile?)
And a shot of Jack Daniels for the patient.

The scene was ugly, but it did not deter G from
whipping out little ice cream cones from the freezer and passing it out to spectators.
I had one too.

You had to have been there.
There was blood.
There was Betadine all over the place.
There was wincing and a bit of yelling.
A few F-bombs that the spectators clearly enjoyed.
At some point during the ordeal, Dustin asked for something to bite down on and I handed him an apple.
An apple!!!!

The spectators all started laughing rather hysterically. I shushed them.

He declined the apple and directed my attention to a hand towel on the counter.
(he had no idea how unsterile the towel he was asking for was)
So I quickly got him a freshly laundered one to stuff in his mouth.

With laser focus, Steve never looked up from his work.
While N held Dustin in place,  Steve cut the ends of the hooks off in order to do the least amount of damage to the flesh as he worked the metal carefully out of Dustin's hand.
Hooks were flying all over the place.
One silenced G by hitting her on the forehead.

That made the spectators step back.

Finally Steve said: "The operation was a success, but the patient is dead."
G said, "but what about this cut on my forehead?"
Steve said, "that is called collateral damage."

You had to have been there.

May The Fourth Be With You: Part II

At 5 pm, we took Kika to CMU to practice high jump for a meet she has tomorrow.
While Kika was putting on her track shoes, Steve decided to jump.
He made it look so easy--
So of course I decided to try jumping too.

It is not easy.

I landed on the practice stretchy crossbar and ended up making both base stands that were holding it in place, collapse.

Steve instinctively stepped on the base to "right" it and in doing so-the pole part of the stand ended up smacking him in the nose.
And that is how he ended up with an extremely bloody face and a broken nose.








(photo taken and posted with his permission)

So instead of Kika getting to practice, we ended up leaving immediately to take him to Urgent care.
As we were walking out--Steve was holding a balled up sweatshirt to catch the blood streaming down his face--
He said to Kika:
"note for next time, let's not bring your mother to high jump practice."