Of Padded Butts, Bras and Beauty

My previous post brought me to the subject of beauty when
I was recently asked by a friend about being called "beautiful" in the comments section and asked whether it is hard to live up to that.

So I decided to share a little nugget about myself:

I appreciate the compliments, especially considering that
where I am from, I was not considered beautiful, except by my mother of course.
It is the culture.

(To learn more, read my SIL Gigi's post relating to beauty in Manila)

This did not get me down.
I have always had friends based on who I was and not how I looked.
I was comfortable with it.

Through out high school, I was used to the fact that my guy friends
(hello Raffy Barreiro!)
would always count on me to "bridge the gap" between them and my girl friends
(hello Nikki Lopez, Vinia Buenaventura, Alaine Lopez etc)

Luckily the standards of beauty have broadened to include me but that does not mean that it is what defines me.
This is why I feel no pressure to live up to it.

(well except on occasion when I've padded certain parts of me, chari, remember the fake puet I bought in the tiangge? It has come in handy! and I admit to owning a pair of removable silicone cutlets)

The people in my life know who I am and seem to like me, as is.
The fact that I clean up well is considered kind of funny and endearing I guess.

So thank you, but know that I have been reminded by the same one that called my outfit risque,
that I probably have just six more good years left.
Eight, tops.
My head is firmly screwed onto my shoulders.

A Random Story

One morning I was scouring the classifieds unsuccessfully for a job when something else caught my eye:

Jesus Christ Superstar Auditions.
Prepare a song, preferably from the musical.
Bring sheet Music.
I thought "perfect!"
I turned to my husband-of-four-months and asked:
"Can you drive me to this audition?"
(At the ripe old age of 27, I had yet to learn how to drive a car)
He replied rather incredulously,
"Sure--but have you done this before???"

I had always wanted to be on stage.
I never auditioned because I feared that someone I knew would scoff at my temerity.
Although I can carry a tune, I don't sing very well. (and I am not being modest either)
And I had never acted either--but that was beside the point.

I said,
"No, but since I am new to this city and nobody knows me..."
He said,
"yeah I'll drive you...but if you think that I am watching this audition, you are wrong--I am going to wait outside"
And I said, "If you think for a second that I would even consider letting you watch me you are wrong...you are absolutely waiting outside!"

On the day of the auditions Steve drove me and stayed outside as promised.
My heart was beating a thousand beats per minute in my ears.
As each actor stepped up they handed the pianist their sheet music and told them what key they were singing in.
I had no sheet music.
Since I did not know how to read music anyway there would have been no point.
I felt ill.
When my name was called I walked up to the pianist
(just to look normal).
My knees where shaking so hard as I wailed in my best
Yvonne Elliman.
Then after having to do a few improvisational exercises
(while truly wishing I could be swallowed up by my puet), I was done.
Outside the theatre I jumped into our car and as if fleeing the scene of a crime I barked out,
"Just Drive!"
However a few seconds later I said, "Pull Over!"
As I opened the car door to vomit, Steve said,
"Well, I'd say we should definitely do this more often."


Opening Night Note: 4/1994

__________________________________

Thank you Clayton Lowe, Beaman, Wanderlustscarlett and AnitoKid .
Your tags took me back to this interesting time of my life.
With this story I was able to share the following
8 Random Facts about me:

1. I vomit when I am nervous.
2. I can't read notes and yet I can play the piano.
3. I can carry a tune.
4. I moved to the US when I was 27.
5. I learned how to drive when I was 28.
6. I was in Jesus Christ Superstar.
7. Steve is very supportive of me.
8. Despite how much fun I had, that is the first and last play I ever did.


This was the best group of actors and actresses to work with.
Gary Baczewski moved on and was in "The Break up"-- the Jennifer Anniston Movie.
Brett Kitko is a director and actor in a group called Dionysian Actors in North Carolina.
Megan Hilty moved on to Broadway.
Marc Hewlett owns a bar in Ohio.

Jody Kozenko may have hung up the costume in favor of her life as an Optometrist Ophthalmologist in Richmond Virginia.
Leah Akins I have yet to find. She was extremely talented, focused and driven towards theater.
Then that's me in the superstar costume.
Jennifer Higgins, who is an architect, moved to Philly and married an Episcopalian Minister. They have three children.

L->R: Matt Stocke, Marla Degenhardt, Anthony Marino and Me.

Anthony Marino moved to a Brooklyn based performing group.
Matt Stocke definitely moved on to bigger and better things.
Although he is now sans hair, he is still a very talented guy.
I was watching the Tony Awards one night on television when this guy Matt jumped up on the stage promoting the Full Monty on Broadway!
For a guy who once told Steve that he had to choose between being a pro baseball player and the theatre, I'd say he chose wisely.

Rewriter or Writer

I just finished reading this book: (Did I borrow this from you, Carole?)
And I wish I could talk about it with someone who has read it.


When Jo Slater, one of the grandest of New York's grande dames and great patron of the arts, befriends a young French countess, trouble begins. Ignoring warnings from friends, Jo abruptly discovers the truth about her mysterious guest. But it is too late. Jo is knocked off her pedestal and the young woman takes her place in society. Dethroned and dispossessed in the world where she once reigned, she sets out to recoup her fortune and reclaim her throne. Using her knowledge of the eighteenth century, she concocts an ingenious scheme based on the greatest historical swindle of all time, a true story involving Marie Antoinette. In order for the scheme to work, however, she must resort to the most desperate of all measures: murder.
(synopsis from the publisher)

Next book I want to read is:


This is an inherently dramatic conflict between two sisters. One sister's intention to gloss over the hard truths of the past vs. the other sister's determination to harp on the past.

I find this interesting.
I believe that there is a difference between re-written history and history.
Re-writers alter their memories to serve them better.
Historians on the other hand, enjoy digging into the past in order to understand the present better.
The important thing is to acknowledged it as history and
as no longer the present.
(thanks kar for differentiating that for me)

Given the choice between re-written history
or a regular angry editorial on history
I choose neither.
I just want the chance to move on.

Interview with the Exskindiver

Thank You Annamanila for interviewing me.

1. Where do YOU stand in the reunification of the unmated sock?
I used have drawers full of unmatched socks (in the hopes that they will somehow be reunited--hopeless romantic, I know) until I stumbled upon tip # 6 for living well:purge all that is unnecessary in your life, get organized etc. These days I save unmated socks until I use it for mopping up dog urine and other spills. If the mate finds it partner before my dog has another accident, then its a happy ending.

2. How do you reconcile the sublimity of most of your blogposts with your PPP entries?

Unlike smarter bloggers out there who actually get paid to blog with PPP (pay per post)
--I am not selling anything. On the contrary, with my blog --I am buying.

With my blog I buy time for me.

By nature I am a social being and blogging allows me to connect.
I learn as I blog--about myself, others and the world.
I blog because I want to remember.
I blog because I have a story to tell.

not to mention, this paperweight

I got as a prize from Bobbarama is not a bad perk either.
Bob is a very entertaining writer/blogger from California.
He picked my commentsurate* word for his fictionary contest.
(*a comment on a blog that is as long --or longer than the blog post itself.)

3.Are there other life adventures you'd have wanted to engage in but haven't yet? What's keeping you?

See Africa, Australia and the rest of the world. Although I do not consider my children to be "keeping me from doing it" it is their ages that I consider. I would like to travel with them.
But I want them to be older.
I want them to long for it and I do not want them to take travel for granted.
This is because I believe that if you get something you've waited for--you taste it better.
Like I said before when I wrote about my cushionless bed--
Life is better when you allow life's treats to unfold slowly.

4. Has that "you're beautiful inside" quip of your daughter liberated you in a lasting way?

As a 40 yr old still constantly trying to fight pimples, wrinkles and a sagging set of...
uhm...no.


5. "Hitler went to heaven simply because there's no other place to go."
Your take please.
For the record, he is a great writer but I am not a Neale Donald Walsch disciple.
My take?
Judge not and be not judged.
________________________________________
Do YOU want to be interviewed?

Interview rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Chain Letter

Dear Kailani,
Thank you for sending me this chain letter.
You asked me what songs I knew the words to and instead of telling you, I decided to show you.

Check out these performances by: Jose Rizal, Gigi , Jude,and Second Born
I wonder what songs
Mayden, and HipcoolMomma know by heart.

PS. Kailani, here is the rest of the meme:

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.

Mom of 2 and Wife of 1
BlondeMomBlog
Holly’s Corner
An Island Life
Skindiving

What were you doing 10 years ago?

* I had about 60 children--that I considered my own when I still worked at a school. (I am still in contact with some of them.)

What were you doing 1 year ago?

* Full swing into wamming.

Five Snacks You Enjoy

* Chocolate
* Popcorn
* Pork Rinds (chicharon)
* Watermelon
* Cucumbers

Five Songs That You Know All The Lyrics To

* You got me all over him by the Jets
* Dancing Queen by Abba
* I've Never Been to Me by Charlene
* Last Dance by Donna Summer
* Heto Na Naman by Gary V.

Five Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire

* Help
* Help some more
* Get a cleaning service
* Get a massage everyday
* Hire a personal chauffeur

Five Bad Habits

* Procrastination
(I'll get back to you on the other four)

Five Things You Like To Do

* Be a mother
* Write
* Paint
* Eat
* Sleep

Five Things You Would Never Wear Again

* Leggings
* Shoulder Pads
* Super long nails
* Very Short Hair
* A Wedding Gown

Five Favorite Toys

*A car to take me places
*A computer for "research"
*A phone to keep connected
*A camera to document memories
*A comfortable bed to recharge myself.

Now it’s your turn!

Magdalena

Puerto Galera May 1980

My sisters and I had just come back from hiking on other side of the mountain.
As we approached our camp I was surprised to see my mother and the woman sitting side by side.
Together, they were enjoying sliced green mango--dipping it in a savory shrimp paste.
While this may seem like a common scene from a Puerto Galera post card, this was far from ordinary.
I was dumbfounded.
My God fearing, Rosary toting, Puritan mother was actually breaking bread (well fruit actually) with Mimi-- a prostitute who was on vacation with her German customer.
Taking our cue from our mother, we became friendly to Mimi.
On Mimi's last day,
I remember standing by the shore waving to her until her banka was but a dot on the horizon.

Twelve years later, Steve was visiting me in Manila.
Gil Acuna, Elaine, Steve and I ended up in a pool hall on
infamous M.H.del Pilar Street.
That night, I spotted Ruth. She was sitting alone on a bar stool.
It was a slow night.
When our eyes met, she lowered her gaze immediately and pretended to be interested in the coke she was sipping very slowly.
I waited for her to look at me again and then I smiled at her.
I asked her if she wanted to join us.
She looked behind her to see if I was addressing someone else.
When she realized I was speaking to her, she said yes.

We had fun playing pool amidst drinks, food and camaraderie.
When we parted that night, Ruth said to me:
"Iba ka." (You are different)

My mother does not know this, but her treatment of Mimi in 1980 was a defining moment of my life.
It taught me to be accepting of different kinds of people.
To pause judgement and give benefits of the doubt.

Thank you, mom.
And Happy Mother's Day.


yep, that's me in my mother's arms

Law and Order

Ever wonder who actually watches those various versions of
Law and Order re-runs?
I am one of them.
I never tire of courtroom drama.
My fantasy about being a trial attorney stems from my father's profession.

I've always loved how this photo of him snapped in court--captures the very essence of his flair for the dramatic.
Whether he is playing the guitar, the piano or singing with his eyes closed with tears streaming down his cheeks for emphasis...he is always entertaining.

Almost two years ago, it took him FOUR months to recover from quadruple by-pass surgery. When my father-in-law took only four DAYS to recover from the same surgery, my father sent word:
"Please tell your father-in-law to quit recovering so quickly...its making me look bad."

My dad turns 78 today.
With the help of my mother (Law and Order: Special Diet Unit),
he has been eating much healthier.
Keep it up, Dad-- may you continue to fill our lives with joy.

Happy Birthday.


Lolo with the girls 4/2004

History Repeating Itself

Super Glue Corporation has a patch material that can be used with practically any household material, plastic, metal, rubber, wood and fiberglass. This patch material is an adhesive patch that cures with sunlight or quicker with a cure lamp. You simply clean the area where the patch is to be installed and peel the adhesive cover off and press it into place. This patch would be handy to repair a hole in a gutter, or a garage door or even a skylight. The patch is a 6x3 inch sheet that retails for approximately $8.00. If your home improvement center or hardware store does not carry this brand there are other similar products on the market. Just read the label and make sure it is suitable for your intended application.


At some point in her life my mother learned how to fix a toilet and climb a roof to check on clogged gutters.
(where I am from, this is considered unwomanly)

Yesterday I was on our roof putting a fiber-glass patch on a gutter seam which had a slight leak.
(thank you Carole, for diagnosing the problem)
My across-the-street neighbor Orrie, called out:
"Whadda ya' think yer doing?"

After I hollered out my plan of action, he shook his head and yelled:
"And you can't wait for Steve to do that?"
(apparently, he considered it unwomanly too)

I have to say, fixing the leak gave me an extreme sense of accomplishment.
Not to mention seeing the girls, happily snacking on chocolates while watching me on a safer perch, made it more satisfying.
Hopefully the lesson they take from seeing me do roof repair--
they should never let their gender stop them from anything.

Blind Date

we agreed we would meet at a trendy coffee shop at 10.
i got there a few minutes early ( i admit i was more than excited)
plus, i wanted to get my coffee in private.
determined to impress him, i was not about to let my chocolatey coffee choice count against me.
(black coffee=cerebral; flavored coffee=?)
i sat there trying to look pleasant with my "open" look.
every gentleman that entered got my most perky smile.
most of them politely looked away.
unfortunately i had forgotten to ask how my date looked.
8 minutes past 10 i started getting nervous.
the man seated to my left i startled with an, "are you *jake?" query.
(*name changed to protect his privacy)
the man to my right got the same question.
i promenaded around the coffee shop perusing all the lone men.
there was a man seated at the very last corner table, head bent down working on his taxes.
i figured that if he were jake, he should have had an "open" face as well.
but even so, i asked him anyway.
tax time does not a friendly make.
in total i had approached 5 men.
when i returned to my table, guy on the right asked me: "still no jake?"
at this point i whip out my cell phone to call my agent.
and then he walks in. he is not carrying a rose (like meg ryan did in sleepless in seattle)
instead he has a magazine.

FLASHBACK:
the other evening, C told me that she had referred my little blog to a magazine publisher.
the magazine publisher sent me an email to see if i was interested in writing for his magazine. was i interested??? to say i was interested is an understatement to say the least.
but i responded with a brief--sure why not type of message.
we agreed to meet yesterday at 10 am.
but before the meeting, i did some research on the magazine, which looked good except i did not recall ever reading it. hhmm. that could be a problem. with the help of ambien, i did not lose sleep over it.

BACK TO THE PRESENT:
after apologizing profusely for his delay he lays the magazine down on the table.

he : "have you read this before?"
me: "yes."
he: "where?"
me: "at the doctor's office"

this was truly one of those moments where my toes were curled, butt cheeks squeezed tightly,
and my sphincter muscle active.
you see, whereas i did not recall being aquainted with the magazine when i first pulled it up online, the moment i saw it face to face i realized that i had in fact read the magazine.
many times.
except it was at a shrink's office.
and i was not about to tell him that on our first date.

( would like to say thank you to my agent, for believing in me...will let you know how this goes)

Out of the Box

Yesterday was K's first confession (in preparation for the First Holy Communion).
The children had the choice between doing the traditional tell-all (with the screen in between)
or the more progressive face-to-face type.
She told her dad that she wanted to do the face-to-face because she believed that
"it is how it should be done."

Confession is an interesting thing.
A lot of malarkey perhaps,
but there is something to be said about unloading one's dark dire secrets onto someone who is bound by tradition to keep mum about it.

Reminds me of a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless)
She was what was considered a "good girl."
She feared eternal damnation.
She did not engage.
One day she did.
She was torn up about it, losing many nights of sleep.
"damned to hell," she self-proselytized.
She decided to take matters into her own hands and follow church doctrine
(go in peace and commit all acts of debauchery-- the sacrament of penance is good for something).

To remain incognito she travelled for hours in search of the perfect venue.
She found a church in a remote town.
She approached the priest after mass and inquired about scheduled confessions.
The priest replied,
"I can listen to your confession now."
"Here? Now? Don't you have a box or something?" she asked incredulously.
(She had never had a face-to-face confession with a priest and was not sure she was ready for one now that she was about to unload The Big One.)
"I have time right now" he replied.
( pehaps the logistics of a very small town did not permit scheduled confessions or honest ones for that matter.)
So after taking a deep breath she dropped her bomb.

Priest: "How many times?"
She: "That night?"

Perhaps the in-the-box confessional would have allowed for the surreptitious wiping of nervous perspiration.
The priest, after all, is fallible.

The Circle of Life

We almost did not have children.
Not by choice, but because I could not get pregnant.
We went to fertility clinics.
Did Ovulation kits, thermometer readings, clomid, sperm counts, post coital headstands, boxer briefs, perfectly synchronized 'O's , etc.
I had a hysterosalpingogram done
which was more than uncomfortable, btw
--it caused me to have a vasovagal episode in the lobby of the hospital
--which lead Steve (who embarasses easily) to tell me:
"go pass out in the ladies room"("!??#%?", said I)
But I digress.
When Elaine Henson died in December 1997, I had gone to Manila for her funeral.
My barren state widely publicized, the old ladies at the wake declared with full certainty:
"now that Elaine is gone, you will get pregnant"
-spawned out of Philippine belief that when one life passes, another is to replace it--
Throughout this constant soothsaying my thought balloon was:
How the he** does my best friend's death have anything to do with my infertility??
(of course I did not say that, it being a funeral and all)
When I got back here,
Steve condoled by surprising me with a male brindle boxer pup.
(my favorite pet reincarnated )
Immersing myself in the care of the puppy, I remained childless.
Soon after, I am not sure what had even prompted me to do it
(dog pee, perhaps?)--I was drawn to a home pregnancy test
I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I saw that the test was positive.
After five years of waiting, I was finally pregnant.
The pregnancy test date?
February 23, 1998. Elaine's Birthday.

Of Santo Ninos, Nazarenos and Ceramic Hair Straighteners

I know she hates me.
And I don't blame her either because I was being stupid.
Unintentionally stupid, but stupid nevertheless.
I was engaged in coiffure drivel with a friend-in-law
(you know, a friend of a friend).
I carelessly stated that I straightened my hair so I would not look like a "hispanic saint"

The friend-in-law was from Puerto Rico.
She became noticeably less enthused with me.
I explained that statues of the Black Nazarene in the Philippines had curly hair. (a gift from Spanish colonization)
--all she heard was my negative use of the word "hispanic."
I had used an ethnonym to describe something I did not care for.
It was very insensitive.
And stupid.

I know that I am speaking out of both sides of my mouth.
On the one hand I think we should stop being hyper-sensitive with the exaggeratedly careful attempts at being politically correct--
On the other hand, would it hurt to shut our mouth every time we are about to use an ethnic label negatively?

And I hate to say this but some Filipinos are the worst offenders
(there I go again).
When I first moved here, Steve almost had a heart attack when I nonchalantly
described my high school crush as being "chinky eyed."
This is an acceptable adjective in the Philippines.
Imagine all the debriefing that a filipino immigrant has to go through,
when there are some that think that the proper english translation of 'pass gas' is fart. Or that the english word for gay is fa*.
Or that the N-word is the American-English term for the word negro.

A filipino friend of mine, lets call her 'K', was making small talk with her bald electrician. She called him a 'skinhead' (she meant bald). K's husband hastily explained that she was referring to the hairstyle and was not assuming that the electrician was a nazi sympathizer--

The word puti means white.
Filipinos will casually ask the question, "Puti ba?" (was the person white?)
At a shindig in New York, an elderly filipino woman was holding court on the evils of being married to a puti.
I cleared my throat and informed her that I was married to a puti.
She recovered with a smooth:
"Op kors der ees da excepsyon to da roll"
(Of course there is the exception to the rule.)

Often times it is ignorance (well also stupidity) that causes such small minded thoughts.
I believe that if we call people on it, it is a habit that can be broken.
I lost a friendship opportunity--talking about my hair,
but I did gain wisdom in the process.

"Qui tacet consentire videtur."
(He who keeps silent is understood to consent.)

Armor of Hope

A tombstone in St. Paul’s Chapel/cemetery located across the street from Ground Zero. The church miraculously untouched by the firestorm, is where George Washington prayed before he was sworn in, as the first President of the United States. (photo taken 10/28/06)

Chesca,
Guess what? WE are going to Chicago on Saturday Jan.

This is an email I get from my mother.
So I call her. Her voice trembling, she tells me that her hands are clammy and that she is flustered.

In the process of patting herself on the back with an email to me,
she was proudly reporting that on a split second decision (a feat), she went online (another feat) and purchased roundtrip train tickets for herself and my father to travel to Chicago (yet another feat).
In the middle of composing the email, she looked at the calendar and realized that the tickets she bought were not for Saturday, the 27th of January, but for Wednesday, the 24th of January- the day she was writing to me (hence the cryptic email)
By the time I called her, she had managed to straighten everything out, but not before she was worse for wear.

This is my wiring. (The family of fainting goats according to Steve) There is no escaping it either, because my father is even worse.
Every movement he pre-labels as a pag-aaralan natin
(let's study the situation).
As a result, I am a nervous nelly and an extremely cautious person.
A white knuckling driver.
( driving is an accomplishment since my mother has never driven a car)
I am inspired that my mother, at age 76, is able to perform outside of her comfort zone.
That she is able to act on impulse to attend grandparents day 600+ mi. away impresses me.
There is hope.

The Art of Listening

After my best friend Elaine died 9 years ago, my friend Kay trepidly asked:
"now that Elaine is gone, is my friendship status upgraded?"

When we were younger, much to Kay's chagrin, I had to keep phone calls to a minimum due to the size of my family.
I would talk a mile a minute. Before Kay could get a word in,
I would have to say good bye due to the simple fact that...my time was up.
Now that I am an adult, I am learning.
My tutor and upgraded friend Kay, so patiently puts up with trying to improve on my listening skills.
With all the holiday festivities, family bonding and un-bonding,
(my sister's visit winding down to the last 4 days before she heads home to the Philippines
--my father-in-law's by-pass surgery and the housing of 10 hospital visitors),
a 600 mi road trip, house repairs and letters to Santa,
Kay leaves nothing to chance and interrupts my writing with a phone call.
She wants to make sure that I am able to greet her today, on her birthday.
She understands that I have been busy.
She knows that I will feel crappy if I forget.
She is a true friend.
She stood by me when I needed her twelve days ago as I hurdled yet another emotional wall.

To my dear friend Kay,
who was never in need of a "friend upgrade".
That term best friend,
was really just a monicker carried over from young life when the need to possess and declare ownership was important.
Thank goodness for evolution and maturity--our friendships today no longer need titles for it to be valuable.

Happy Birthday.

Bloggage for a C-Note

In the mid 1800's $100.00 could have bought 4 horses.
It is now 2006.
For $100.00 -- a psychotherapist told me that social ailments, struggles, and personalities are acted out due to "actions of our ancestors".

I am a by-product of an ancestral extra-marital affair.
A Portuguese ancestor ran off with her sister's English husband.
The Englishman, left his wife and children for his sister-in-law.
They fled to the Philippines with their one
love-child.
The love-child was my grandmother.

Theoretically, if it were not for the actions of my great-grandparents, my family would not have had to deal with an abundance of issues.
Betrayal, promiscuity, insecurity, abandonment, lack of parental instincts, stress from travelling, etc can be directly correlated to ancestral dysfunction.
When the man left his wife for her sister, there was betrayal and abandonment.
When the woman took her sister's husband, there was sibling betrayal and promiscuity.
When the father left his children forever, there was abandonment, insecurity and rather questionable parental instincts.
When the couple had to travel to a different country to flee the shame of their union, there was travel-induced stress.

The $100.00 cost included getting a group of people to stand in the place of my ancestors.
The idea was for me to be able to get closure from the visual of them owning their own burden.
Sort of like a seance (if you will)
I have to admit, at the time it felt pretty bogus.
However, if its purpose was for me to be relieved of someone else's yoke and to understand that this inherited load was something I could actually pass up on--I have to say it has worked.
It is called family constellation work.

In 1850 4 horses cost $100.00
Today the same 4 horses would cost $8000.00
I wonder if family constellation work will cost $8000.00 in 100 years.
Our children's children will have to pay somehow for our crap of today.

My Bed

Pope John Paul II was in the Philippines in 1981. (also in 1995)
My parents, my sisters and I joined millions at the central park of Manila to see him.
Admission to the event was free, but sections closer to the stage had barriers. Apparently people from affluent neighborhoods were able to gain access to these cordoned areas with
"free special tickets" from their parishes.
The entrepreneurs selling totus tuus foam peace signs, the displaced middle-class such as my family and the masses-had to be content to be on the periphery of the papal event.
We saw Sue from a distance. She was one of my sister's classmates.
There was a barricade between us.
Sue excitedly yelled out hello, she was happy to see us.
Confused, she candidly asked,
"why are you there?"
(how does one answer that question?)
Then with a quick recover, she said:
"at least you are here."

A confluence of three roads is where our house stood.
We were not really part of any neighborhood.
Hence, iffy parish membership and the inability to scalp papal tickets.
But this is how life was anyway.
We were never sure of where we belonged.
We went to the best private schools money we did not have, could buy.
We were schooled with the richest people in town--presidential children and grandchildren--the class lists read like a who's who of Manila.
And then there was us,
with a house with a leaking roof and a car that only started if the gas pedal was given a patented "big toe wiggle".
In first grade, some girls from school came over for a playdate.
One girl having seen my wooden bed exclaimed
"ay no cushion?!!"
How could I explain to her that being the youngest of nine children, it was not yet my turn to get a mattress?
I was only six yet I recall that day so vividly.
I remember thinking that the girl was impolite to point out what I did not have.
This morning as I was snuggling with my 8 year old I told her the story of
"the mattress disdainer".
Her first reaction was, "How rude!"
Her second response: "wasn't that bed uncomfortable?"
I was not all that uncomfortable, but I do remember being happy to get a mattress a year later.
I have since learned that:
Life is better when luxuries are allowed to unfold slowly.

Electroconvulsive Therapy

Today is October 26th.
The birthday of yet another sibling of mine.
For him I offer this.
Being the youngest of nine children, the music I listened to
(or could not help listening to) had a pretty wide range .
As an 8 yr old, I knew the Dark Side of the Moon album had "Us and Them".
There weren't many 10 yr olds like me, singing Santana's "She's not There" and "Spooky".
There was no escaping the blaring music that the walls of our house could not mute.
And then Peter got an electric guitar.
With a wah-fuzz pedal.
Which brings me to the conclusion that the sound of the wah-fuzz pedal must have served as electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) for me.
This is because despite certain circumstances--I had a happy childhood.
I remained happy up until my mid-twenties, right about the same time that the wah-fuzz pedal moved to Australia with my brother.
Life just hasn't been the same.
So instead of watching Grey's Anatomy tonight, I am about to undergo another kind of therapy .
To straighten out kinks left behind by life already lived.
But that is for another post.
For today I wish Peter a happy birthday.
Thank you for the years of non-elective ECT.

Maggot Debridement Therapy

Wounds can be psychological or physical.
Wounds are healed when there is absence of pain and discomfort.
I am told that for real healing to occur, one must immerse in and not avoid the trigger of the chronic pain.
Interacting with the person that has caused you pain, sounds very much like the medieval practice of wound healing.

In the sixteenth century, common medical practices included the use of maggots and leeches as part of the healing process. It was believed that leeches and maggots could remove harmful body tissue, which were perceived as the cause of illness. Thankfully, medical technology has progressed in the four centuries since then, however, some of today’s doctors have returned to this ancient practice. Using maggots in a procedure called Maggot Debridement Therapy (MDT) has proved useful for managing certain kinds of wounds.

If I were to psychoanalytically follow this protocol, this would mean that people would have to break bread with the very maggots that have caused them pain and suffering, in order to hasten the healing process.

This seems to go against all talk and self-help books that preach removal of any and all that is toxic.
Like the 'local paper writer'. She is on a "guantanamo bay alert"
--she's got a man on the wall--
sniping at would be assailants to her well being.
It is working for her.

I offer my services as a lab rat, for the sake of science and recovery.
The two therapies: 'Maggot Debridement' and the 'Guantanamo Bay Alert' approach.
I hope I find the answer. I hope I don't end up in the Cuckoo's Nest.
Either way, I'll blog about it.

The Perfect Set-up

There is an art to the perfect set-up.
Unfortunately, I had to learn this the hard way.
It was the eighties and I had big hair.
I was set-up on a blind date by my friend Augie.
The problem: She described me as being a Julia Roberts look-alike.
The result: the blind date was disappointed with filipino Julia
The Lesson: When setting up for a set-up, being negative is best.
_______________________________________

Kay Uranza, my friend since grade school is a successful lawyer.
She had a good life.
But like all marrieds that annoyingly think that singles (which she was) should be saved from a life of non-stop socials, choice, and not hearing the sound of someone else's snoring--I was constantly in search of a man for her.
My father, a lawyer in Rochester,NY- had a young friend, Joe
(young compared to my dad), who is also a lawyer.
Perfect Match,
1. both lawyers.
2. both devout Catholics.
3. both looking.
So after an initial email introducing them, they wrote to each other.
Joe and Kay, liked what they read.
Back and forth they dated with words and wit.
When they asked me how the other looked, I shared my Julia Roberts Story.
I said that in the face of a blind date, it is always best to expect the worst. Perhaps it was the existing attraction they had for each other's minds that made them go with it, because for the next 12 months they wrote back and forth before ever exchanging pictures.
By the time they decided to meet a year later at St. Patrick's Cathedral in NYC, it was pretty much a done deal.
They married two years later and now live happily ever after.

Pinch Hitting for the Other Team

Meet Aureaus.

This talented guy was a friend of mine in college.
Totally into drama at the ripe old age of 17, he was destined for the theatre.
When not vogue-ing like Madonna,
he moved like Bob Fosse.
Long before it was considered cool, he spoke with a European accent.
Clearly, we were playing on the same team.
Imagine my confusion (and probably his) when 20 years ago, after this picture was taken,
he said to me: "would you please give that to your sister?"
He said that he was interested in my sister.

This is the effect my sister Peggy has on people.
I am not sure if it is her intelligence
(she is an award-winning published writer),
her quiet demeanor, or her all around kindness.
Did I mention that she was always referred to as the pretty one?
Well, look at her.

I've always looked up to her. She's been a sounding board and a highly influential person in my life.
Some say: WWJD?
I say: WWPD?

When we were younger and clothing options were scarce, she would generously let me borrow her special things:
ie: jazzy blouse, red clogs, motorcross shirt she inherited from another brother...
and then when we were older, she clothed me for all my job interviews.
(She wasn't voted "Best Dressed Teacher" at the university for nothing)
Even today, whenever I see her, I think:
"hmm I wonder what I can spirit away from the chicagoan"
Did I mention that I am proud of her?

Conversations with her cover parenting, wife-ing, life, kidney beans and fashion (not necessarily in that order).
The thing about us is, despite the fact that we are nothing like each other,
we understand each other. And, when we don't understand each other, we know it is because we are nothing like each other.
Did I mention that I love her?

I never did give this picture to her and I believe that Aureaus Solito, successful director that he is now, is more comfortable with the team he plays on (not that there is anything wrong with that).
Anyhow, since I've somehow managed to resurrect it from my boxes of stuff, I thought she should have it today, on her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Peg.

P.S. thank you for the bubble gum you gave me in exchange for my walking around in that clown suit...and for always interrupting my pathetic renditions of 'the greatest love of all' on karaoke...
At the risk of angering the others, you are my best friend.