The puppy had been up several times in the night; sick again. The fan on my computer had gone ballistic and begun channeling the sound of a cement mixer. My left eye that seems to take the brunt of mysterious allergies wouldn’t stop itching. Sleep deprived, worried about the dog, and infuriated by the computer’s drone I couldn’t seem to concentrate on the newspaper article I was trying to write. I couldn’t reach the vet to discuss Kayleigh’s condition either. I would have to drive over there yet again and spend another two hours waiting for them to examine her to the tune of canine torture emanating through those scary, steel doors. Waiting for them to prescribe new medications administered through tiny syringes almost impossible to get her to swallow that might or might not work to cure her intestinal problems.

“I could see peace instead of this,” today’s A Course in Miracle’s workbook lesson suggested. I wondered what he might be smoking.

The ego’s tirade had started a couple days ago, soon after reading that morning’s workbook lesson: “I have invented the world I see.” Although the Course teaches us the world is nothing more than an outer picture of the inner condition of buried guilt in the mind, I found its wisdom hard to absorb, and quickly forgot about it as I merged into the day’s many distractions and responsibilities.

My daughter had celebrated her 17^th birthday with a sleepover the night before. She and her friends lay jumbled on the floor of our rec room, limbs tangled like a three-dimensional Picasso. I tiptoed past them to the laundry room to discover my daughter had taken my half-dried load of clothes out of the dryer to accommodate her own. I switched them back. Upstairs my husband had begun cooking bacon, sausage, and waffles for the girls in the kitchen I had just cleaned up from the night before, even though it was almost 11 a.m. and they still showed no signs of stirring. On a right-minded day, I might have found it endearing. Instead I only worried about all those Thanksgiving vegetables I needed to prep for the crowd we were having. Now I wouldn’t be able to reclaim the kitchen for hours.

I took the dog into my office and decided to answer some work emails. But before I had even managed to open the first one, a slide show of grievances starring a diverse array of characters spontaneously launched itself on the screen of my brain. How could I teach A Course in Miracles when I couldn’t seem to stop projecting? When I couldn’t even remember the title of the day’s workbook lesson? When all I wanted to do was let someone (and it didn’t really seem to matter who) have it?

I am new to formally teaching the Course, and several of my students are completely new to studying it. I have tried to be as honest with them as possible about the Course’s take on this world we think we inhabit, within which we believe we interact with others, without scaring them away. But no matter how you spin it, it is not a pretty story.

A Course in Miracles is a spiritual psychology that explains the constant conflict humans find themselves mired in, and offers a solution for resolving it at the level of the true mind, the only place in which it can be truly resolved. According to the Course the world we think we navigate is really nothing more than an external projection of the mind’s inner experience of repressed guilt over believing it separated from and in the process destroyed the one love we are and have never really left.

We naturally feel guilty over the sin we think we pulled off and fear our creator’s retribution. This underlying fear motivates us to reenact on a personal level the ego’s original collective projection of an entire universe of fragmented, guilt-animated forms. Blaming others for our problems momentarily relieves the mind’s submerged torment, and, according to the ego, gets us off the hook with God. But quickly enough we feel guilty again and must start all over searching for a scapegoat onto whom we can cast our angry, frightened, guilty feelings. Even though none of it ever happened, the selves we think we are unconsciously believe it did and behave accordingly. I am trying to share with my students just how threatening the Course’s lessons designed to expose the concealed guilt in our mind can seem to these false selves fueled by an ego thought system intent on preventing us from ever recognizing the source of all our misperceptions.

The workbook lessons gently invite us to begin to question the meaning, purpose, and cause of our experience in this seeming world. They tell us we invented the world we see, that we could see peace instead of this parade of problems if we would learn to choose again for the part of our mind that does not take illusions seriously, the part of our mind that remembers our invulnerable unity. They encourage us to make no distinctions in our practice between inanimate objects, relationships, bodies, thoughts, traffic jams, bad hair days, sick dogs, computer glitches, wars, and natural disasters because all share the same purpose of concealing the repressed “sin” of separation. They ask us to observe a world of seemingly endless, differentiated symbols and entertain the possibility that returning to our one mind might result in something other than annihilation. To entertain the possibility that returning to the scene of the “crime” of taking the “tiny mad idea” of separation from love seriously might actually empower the decision maker to whom the author of the Course speaks. That chooser in our mind once chose to believe a lie but can just as easily choose again for the part of our mind that remembers the truth.

I know all this and yet, going through these workbook lessons again have once more forgotten the real cause of my seeming distress: the fear engendered by the suggestion that I hallucinated a world to cover my guilt, but could choose to see my mistaken projections through the lens of another teacher, a viewpoint that offers true comfort and release. I had felt so joyful teaching these early lessons the first few weeks and then suddenly hit a wall of resistance wherein I couldn’t remember the day’s lesson, let alone its  point, seemingly distracted by a stream of incoming annoyances. I had fallen into the trap of trying to demonstrate how happy and loving I am, rather than recognizing how difficult I find it to hold on to love and happiness.

I had fallen into the trap of believing I could judge my progress with this Course. Believing that days in which I couldn’t seem to stop projecting were somehow lesser than days in which I seemed to walk in an elongated holy instant. When, in truth, the workbook was working me, just as I had promised my students it would them if they sincerely applied it. Working to expose the underlying guilt we all share, the guilt we deny by projecting it outward and making it somebody else’s problem. The workbook teaches us to focus on those projections, to recognize how seriously we take them and how strongly we resist changing our mind about their purpose. But we can’t change our mind unless we first look outward, and we can’t see truly unless we ask for help from the part of our mind that can truly see.

This is a course in bringing our darkness to the light, not bringing the light into an illusory world based on a lie. But we can’t bring our darkness to the light if we don’t know it’s there. Jesus can’t help us use our lives as a classroom and our relationships as our curriculum if we won’t look with him at just how much we want to believe in a continual saga of unfair treatment at the hands of other people and situations seemingly beyond our control. We must turn to him for help in interpreting just how real we continue to make the error of separation even after years of practicing forgiveness and experiencing its mind-healing benefits. We must ask for his help again and again as we catch ourselves in the act of mindlessly projecting our fear outward. As if our lives depended on it, which, of course, the ego–unaware of a life beyond the false self it invented–believes they do.

As the “Light in the Dream” section of Chapter 18 of the text clearly explains:

“As the light comes nearer you will rush to darkness, shrinking from the truth, sometimes retreating to the lesser forms of fear, and sometimes to stark terror. But you will advance, because your goal is the advance from fear to truth. The goal you accepted is the goal of knowledge, for which you signified your willingness. Fear seems to live in darkness, and when you are afraid you have stepped back. Let us join quickly in an instant of light, and it will be enough to remind you that your goal is light.”

I had fallen into the trap of believing there was something out there intent on disrupting my plans, my pace, my peace, my practice, the spiritual makeup I apply to disguise how deeply ticked off I truly am by this whole state of affairs we call living, this fugitive identity my false self-accusation has erected. An identity that keeps me loveless and longing, seeking but never finding, frightened and exhausted.

But I could see peace instead of this. Workbook lesson 34 does not ask us to try to prove how peaceful and spiritual we are by projecting peaceful and spiritual images on our surroundings. It asks us to search our mind for what scares us, those people and situations that trigger us. It asks us to experience the painful emotions that surface as we do so and reassure ourselves as Jesus does that we could see peace instead of this if we will only look with him. Why? Because Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the part of our mind that holds the light of our eternal oneness illuminates and undoes our mistaken projection, healing our tormented mind and returning us in the holy instant to the peace of the one, indivisible love we are. Nothing outside the mind ever really changes because there is nothing outside the mind. But our burden lifts, our muscles relax. Our eyes and foreheads once more serene, we recognize our brother’s newly revealed innocence as our own.

“Peace of mind is clearly an internal matter. It must begin with your own thoughts, and then extend outward. It is from your peace of mind that a peaceful perception of the world arises.”

Notice that it says a peaceful perception, not a peaceful world. I could choose this.

Being back under your parents’ roof for Thanksgiving comes with a cornucopia of blessings, such as mom doing your laundry, shopping sprees and overeating until you actually consider braving the Black Friday crowds just to purchase a pair of jeans with an elastic waistband. However, being back under mom and dad’s watchful eye can be treacherous, as well.

This isn’t dorm life anymore. You can’t order Dominos at 2 a.m. and feed it to your late-night booty call in bed. That wasn’t OK in high school, and, believe me, it still won’t be appreciated by your parentals now. You may be a big, bad college student, but there are still some house rules that you must abide by.

That being said, here are some guidelines for navigating life at home for the Thanksgiving season:

Do enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with your entire extended family and celebrate with a glass of wine.

Don’t crush cans at the dinner table like you’re at a frat party. Because when asked what you’re thankful for this Thanksgiving, you’re great-aunt Susie won’t be laughing when you say “the morning after pill.”

Do have a few friends over for a Thanksgiving Eve pregame. There is nothing that my mom loves more than having my friends over to recap our lives over wine and snacks before she drives us to our night’s destination.

Don’t invite your entire Facebook friends list and set up a beer pong tournament on the kitchen table. Getting the family dog trashed may seem like a cool idea now, but the moment your parent’s feel it’s safe to come out of hiding in their bedroom, you’ll be getting an earful.

Do go out with friends and relive your high school glory days at a good ol’ fashioned house party.

Don’t attempt to use your fake I.D. at the local bar. There’s simply no good explanation a group of kids from various different states spanning the continental U.S. have gathered together to spend Thanksgiving in a small town in Jersey. It’s just not believable.

Do continue the search for a mate. High school boys do a lot of growing up in college; you never know what old crush or summer fling will need rekindling.

Don’t get drunk and sneak them into the basement. Experience has taught me that being awoken to breakfast-in-bed by mommy can turn quite ugly when a naked boy joins the party.

Do use protection.

Don’t ask your dad for it. He may agree, but it will most likely be a shotgun he brings out, not a condom.

You’ve been warned.

i have a lot to do this week, most of which is neither pleasant nor fun. but next week sees me boarding a plane for home… home, home, home! the operation date has been set, and i am worried and excited at the same time. how could going home be such a complicated affair?

i wrote on my alter ego blog about my hunt for the perfect birthday outfit, but external appearances are really not the only things on my mind when it comes to my birthday. my 30th birthday, to be exact.

birthdays are always a time for reflection, and mine happens to come on the heels of new year – more reason for obsessive “i should have…” and “i will…” sessions. more so, because i am turning thirty. not so much by virtue of the fact that i will be three decades old – it’s not as if i am going to get a new nose; but by virtue of the things that have happened in this, my 29th year of life… all the things that overwhelmed me for several months and left me rather incapacitated for a while.

i must say, i never really thought i would be single, unmarried, and unemployed at this age. perhaps one of the three, or even two… but all three? it never once crossed my mind. but here i am. and for a while, it mattered to me. it mattered horribly – this sense of being an underachiever, of having missed something important along the way (along the way to… what?). but perhaps it matters no more. i want it to matter no more.

i want the next ten years of my life to be golden and shiny and colorful, even if i never get the big things that are supposed to make a person happy forevermore.

Stats on medika mamba program  started the last day of May 2009

73 children has been admitted to the program

26 are currently receiving treatment

32 graduated from the program

12 died

3 were removed from the program (2 did not tolerate it well, 1 the family took her home before treatment was finished)

Medika Mamba graduates going home

 Renista Sept 09 20 pounds                going home Nov at 25 pounds

 Enel Sept lowest weight 17 pounds   going home in Nov at 21.5 pounds

Dieuvlet (one of the four boys in the picture)

           In July at 12 pounds         going home in Nov at 18 pounds

 Milora in  Oct at 23 pounds                going home in Nov at 26 pounds

Other kids in the RC going home

Fenold in July 08   at 22          going home in Nov 09 at 34 pounds

we finally found his dad after 1 year

Julienne in July at 11 pounds (her lowest)    going home in Nov at 17.5 pounds

Limene was burned along with her brother (who died later at the hospital) back in July

She is healed up and went home this week.  A few blog readers sent funds for her family.  We were able to send these funds home with the mother, she was very thankful for the extra help.

Three kids died this week, Titincil, Dounia and Jonald. 

John 20:29 (The Message)

 ²⁹Jesus said, “So, you believe because you’ve seen with your own eyes. Even better blessings are in store for those who believe without seeing.” 

On the road again

It isn’t true that you can’t go home again.

In the forty-one years since we moved to Tennessee, we have been back to Ann Arbor an average of three times per year, which makes one hundred and twenty-three times we have gone home. We have driven through the night, through fog, through storms, and Michigan being where it is, through snow. Lots of it. We’ve taken our children as babies and teenagers, and now we are taking our grandchildren. We’ve been for Christmas, birthdays, football games, funerals, on our way to or from vacations, and just because. During these nine hour driving marathons I have read, played car games with children, knitted, held dogs or cats on my lap, listened to music, slept, and sometimes I have even driven.

In October my husband and I drove to Michigan, the third trip for 2009. We had a great time, and the fall colors were at their peak. At the end of our visit, we packed the night before in order to leave very early in the morning to return to Tennessee. No kids or animals in the car, no snow, no fog, no threats of storms, not even any construction in Dayton. I decided to occupy my time by taking pictures of the landscape as we passed. At first thought, this may seem fairly simple. You sit in one place, and the scenery comes to you. Because it is passing you at 70 MPH, however, you have to be alert, and be ready to act fast!  Smashing the camera against the window as you try to pan without blurring, gets old faster than the landscape whizzing past you. The driver gets irritated when you try to take a picture on the left side of the road, or when you tell him to hurry and pass that eighteen wheeler that’s blocking your view on the right. Bumps on the road cause the camera to do an erratic little dance, and some part of the car seems to be in the way of every picture you try to take.  It’s a good thing that I love in-camera motion blur. I got my fill between Ann Arbor and Nashville!

Sunrise - south of Maumee, Ohio

I said we left early, and I meant it. We were already in Ohio when the sun came up. If I’d still been in bed, I would have missed this spectacular show!

Ohio farm

There aren’t a lot of hills in Ohio to block my view. I wonder if the people on this farm have finished their morning chores. Are they eating breakfast? Getting ready for church? I’m sure they could not imagine that someone in a passing car had just taken a picture of their lovely farm and field, with that deep blue early morning sky above them.

Trees dressed in yellow and orange

You can’t hold on to the beauty of fall when  you’re standing still. It’s even more fleeting when you pass it at seventy MPH.

Ohio field

The colors are beautiful, and I’m taking them home in my camera!

Ohio farm pond

I’m glad the furrows are distinct. I’m not sure how it happened, but I did have the camera on multiple shot and took several as we passed, hoping to get one where the rows were leading the eye straight to the pond. I can trash the discards later. No penalty.

Ohio barn

Someone told this farmer to shout his religion from the rooftop. And, he did!

A very weird juxtaposition of signs in Lima, Ohio

Mr. McGuire to Benjamin Braddock, “I want to say one word to you. Just one word.”

Another Ohio farm

It’s post card perfect, even at a 70 MPH blur.

Another Ohio barn

I cracked the car window pretty hard with the lens hood trying to get into position to take this one in time!

Birds in flight

It’s my turn to drive. What if I miss a picture as great as this?  I know better than to text and drive, but what if I had the camera set and just lifted it with one hand in the general direction, and snapped really fast? I might get a passable motion blur, at least. Just kidding.  Ha, ha.

The bridge over the Ohio in Cincinnati

Cincinnati! Half way home, and it isn’t even lunch time yet.

Beautiful Ohio, In dreams I dream of you

Time to sing Beautiful Ohio!

Florence, Y'all

OK, now I’ll drive. I’ve got the Florence, KY water tower. Stop at that last rest stop before we turn onto I-71 to Louisville and we can switch.

Rest stop trees in Kentucky.

Wow. These trees were all over the grounds of the rest stop. It was nice to take a picture while I, and the trees, were standing still. I didn’t have my land legs back, however, and this was a little out of focus. I used the Topaz Simplify filter to even out the color.  It works for me.

Home again

I drove until we were almost to Nashville, so there are no more pictures except for this capture of our beautiful city, which was like aiming for a keyhole when the bridge over the Cumberland opened up a view. So what if it’s out of focus? Think of the skill involved in avoiding the drivers’ head as I shot this out of the left side of the car from the right hand seat.

We’re going back to Michigan in a few weeks. The gorgeous fall colors will be gone, but I’ll still have my camera ready. I can take a picture of Nashville as we leave the city this time. And, I really want a shot of dinosaur world in Kentucky!

Over the previous four years when I have visited friends and family in Chicago, during short breaks from my job, the trips have often turned into stressful and psychologically draining experiences. These emotions have directly resulted from me having so little time in Chicago and too many people to see.

With my immediate family and many of my closest friends living in the area my days at home are always stretched to the max. This often leaves people feeling squeezed-in and short-changed during the time I am able to see them.

In the past I have completely understood my friends and family’s disappointment with the amount of time they’ve gotten to spend with me, but have always felt helpless and frustrated with how I could alter this unfortunate outcome.

While there’s no doubt that I love coming home, after my last visit in December of 2008 I had gotten to the point where I felt so terrible with how many people I disappointed or upset that the thought of not coming home during my next opportunity actually crossed my mind.

This regrettable consideration was the product of a situation that occurred when I came home for the three days leading up to Christmas last winter. During this visit my Mom became very hurt and upset as a consequence of feeling like I was trying to squeeze the family into my jam-packed schedule. We ended up talking things out and I vowed to never let my family feel slighted during one of my trips home ever again.

Since this week’s visit home was my first since that incident I was very concerned with how it would turn out. With only two and half days in Chicago I knew it would be a challenge to spend the time I wanted to with my friends, while making sure not to neglect my family in the process.

My stay in Chicago began with two of my best friends in the world Mikey and Alisa (Buddy) picking me up from the airport late Wednesday night before heading to Lincoln Park and catching up over a few beers.

I was able to spend time with my parents during the day on Thursday, culminating in the three of us having dinner at one of their favorite restaurants, Yolo, in downtown Skokie. After dinner Alisa picked me up and we had “Part II” of beers and hanging out in the city with Mikey until late that night.

Friday I spent some time alone with my Mom running errands before we grabbed my Dad for lunch at Panda Express. That night I belonged to my friend Jeff as we ate ourselves into a wonderful “food comma” at a trendy new downtown Italian restaurant called Nella.

After re-packing my black Samsonite carry-on bag my friend Jeff and I met up with my buddy Ryan for some awesome eats at a local whole-in-the-wall breakfast joint called Sarki’s.

Hell, my timing on this particular trip home was so exceptional that I happened to be flying out from Midway Airport at around the same time that my sister was arriving from Boston. Therefore, we were able to spend an hour sitting by baggage claim 7, chatting, before I had to bid her adieu and go through security.

While this visit was a lot of fun, and went off without a hitch, it was made easier by the fact that I didn’t have as many people to see, since several of my Chicago friends moved away at the end of last summer. Even though those friends were missed, having less people to see did ease my stress levels and the pressure I felt to make everyone I was in town visiting happy.

You see in the past, even though I’ve only been home for a couple of days, I’ve felt a sense of relief as I left because of the stress and accompanying feelings that I was letting people down. However, on this trip the only negative sentiment that crept into my mind when I was leaving to travel back to Fort Myers was the fact that I was saying goodbye to my friends, family and home much too soon.

Howdy People!

Forgive my absence, I have been traveling.  Specifically, I tortured myself for 10 hours in coach this week (never again!) to cross the seas and visit with my dear friend, Tailfeather.  Say hi, Feather..(Hi!)…she says hello.  We have a fantastic week planned, wherein we are doing a little tour of Europe, with culturally fulfilling stops in Belgium and The Netherlands as well as London.  The Netherlands I have been to before, but not Belgium.  London I haven’t been back to since I was a child, so it’s been fun hanging out here the last couple of days.

Earlier tonight, we went to the store to get some essentials (wine, very essential.  also chocolate.) and I found myself wandering the aisles in an nostalgic daze as I saw all the food stuffs of my youth.

The Bigga peas and Devonshire custard my mother used to have in the pantry when we lived in Ireland, the Pear soap and Fairy liquid my Nanna kept by the sink, the jars of Marmite and Bovril and bottles of Lucozade my Grandfather favored.  And don’t even get me started on the sweets!  Quality Street!  Crunchies!  MALTEASERS!!   (Contented sigh).  Ahh, memories, like the corners of my mind.  Tell me, what products remind you of your childhood?

*Oh, the food item above is NOT one of the fond childhood memories, it was just too bizarrely offensive not to share.

This has been a busy week at work, and I am grateful for it. It helps the day go by quicker. I also love being given design work. It’s so much fun. I don’t get to do it as often anymore, so I get excited anytime I get it.

The other marketing girl in the office and I went to Social Media Club of Dallas last night. It was great. The speaker, @twalk, was great. We’ve been to several social media seminars lately and the speakers say what we already know. We joke about how we could teach it. It was great to finally be learning something from one of these. There was also a product demonstration from @nomee. nomee is kind of like Tweetdeck…but much, much better. It includes Facebook and many others that I don’t use yet. nomee just made everything much more organized. It was like playing with all your social networks from a desktop application without having to access each website. They will be coming out with an iPhone app soon as well. nomee also bought everyone a drink afterward so that was great.

I’ve ate much better this week than last week. By that, I mean I haven’t ate as much and it’s been healthier stuff. I’ve done this because…I’m going HOME this weekend to Oklahoma! Going home means eating a ton of Mexican food at my favorite Mexican restaurant. They have the BEST fajitas, queso, and salsa. I haven’t ate there since I started Weight Watchers. I don’t want to limit myself though because I don’t get to eat there often. I will listen more to my body though, so I will actually stop when I’m full. I can always eat the leftovers later. I’m also going to get a ton of their queso to bring back to Texas.

I could wait until next weekend to go home, but I’m just ready to be there. I will be spending Thanksgiving here at my aunt’s house. I can’t wait to see my best girlfriend and my grandma. It’s been two months since I’ve seen them. I will be driving through Norman on my way home and that means…pineapple green tea with bobas! My favorite tea place is Tea Cafe in Norman. I’ve tried three boba tea places here, and they have not been anywhere near as great as Tea Cafe. I’m in Dallas – shouldn’t I have found something better? I’m just glad I will be having one of their teas tonight. TONIGHT! Amazing.

This is dorky, but I want to see New Moon. I will probably end up going to see it alone after work sometime next week. I’m trying to set up plans to watch it with a friend in Norman before I go home on Sunday, but I don’t know if she wants to see me. We still text occasionally, but we had a lot of problems right before I moved. I feel like I don’t have a lot of friends right now. I have my best girlfriend in my hometown, but we don’t even talk that much anymore. We always have a great time together though and I can talk to her about anything. I’ve made a few girl friends here in Texas, but I don’t go out that often. My boyfriend is my best friend, but he’s not interested in bargain hunting or watching dorky movies with me. I can’t blame him – I don’t want to play video games with him.

I’m supposed to be getting a workout buddy on Monday. We met through sparkpeople.com, which is a great website for weight loss encouragement.

I’ve discovered Weight Watchers shakes, and they are amazing. I think they only sell the shakes at meetings though. But they are only 3 points, and extremely filling. I’ve been having them for breakfast this week. I don’t get hungry until noon with these, and I typically get hungry at 11.

Yes, my posts are random.

Tomorrow afternoon the team flies out for our second road trip to open up the ‘09-‘10 college basketball season. Unlike the last trip when we headed north to play Michigan State in East Lansing, this time the team travels west to Texas and plays Prairie View A&M and Southern Methodist University (SMU).

While the trip begins in Houston against Prairie View, which pits two teams considered to be on the same level, it ends just down the road in Dallas where we play another “Guarantee Game” at SMU.

The staff has been diligently preparing for both games since before we left for Michigan last Thursday, and all agree that we have a great chance in both games to not only compete and improve but also win.

There will no doubt be excitement in the air when the team makes its way to the airport late tomorrow afternoon and boards a direct flight to Houston. Unfortunately, once the team makes it through security I will be saying good luck and parting ways.

This is due to the fact that airlines have stringent and inflexible rules about changing the names on plane tickets. I previously thought that this wouldn’t affect my traveling with the team this season since we book through a travel agency and they are able to change the name associated with a flight itinerary at pretty much any point. In fact, this is how we were able to switch an injured player’s ticket into my name for our last trip, and every other trip where air travel is involved for the rest of the season, except this one.

The problem with this particular trip is that it is the only one of our nine that we didn’t book through a travel agency. Therefore, due to those darn airlines and their stubborn rules, we were completely locked out from swapping my name onto a ticket for our injured player.

I’ll admit when I found this out yesterday I was definitely bummed since I was really looking forward to the trip. This was when the hamster on the wheel began jogging in my head, and the ideas about how reconcile this unfortunate situation started flowing. Immediately I had the idea that since the team would be gone from Wednesday evening until Sunday morning that I could use this time to go home.

Even though I was searching for flights to Chicago less than 48 hours before I wanted to leave I thought maybe this one time I could get lucky and find a fare that was reasonable.

Placing my fate in the hands of cheaptickets.com I began searching for flights.

Mr. Cheap Tickets may I please have the following “Round Trip” flight?

November 18^th, 2009

Depart: Fort Myers, FL

Arrive: Chicago, IL

November 21st, 2009

Depart: Chicago, IL

Arrive: Fort Myers, FL

(Searching)

Well, whadaya know…

Leave Fort Myers for Chicago at 6:55pm est on Wednesday, I can do that.

Return to Florida at precisely 11:34pm est, hmmm, you know what that’ll work too.

But how much?

What’s that you say Mr. Tickets, 94 bucks each way? Holy cannoli Batman they’re getting ripped off! I would have paid up to $250 for that flight!

What a sucker!

(Booking)

We’ll how do you like that? I guess I did get lucky after all. I suppose sometimes it’s all about how we react to life’s challenges, and whether we allow them to knock us on our ass or just temporarily faze us before we seek positive alternatives.

Even though I am still disappointed that I won’t be with the team, I understand why the circumstances went against me. In this situation I think the old adage rings true that if you stay the course, when one door closes there’s always the opportunity for another to open.

Fortunately for me I kept my head, allowed another situation to present itself, and when I step over the threshold of this open door tomorrow night I will be home with my friends and family, which is isn’t exactly Texas, but it’s a pretty fantastic alternative if you ask me.

UBEAUTY

Well…..Its Day 14 Monday morning so all in al I have been in Hospital for exactly 2 weeks and I want to go home so bad…I still need antibiotics after my wisdom teeth surgery flared up a chest infection but I feel I have done all the healing that I’m possibly going to be able to do laying in a Hospital bed…

This bloody niggly Tickly cough  I’ve had for the past 4 days  is still with me, and I’m at a lost to what’s causing this darn thing hopefully not some new kind of bug… The Niggly Tickly cough itself is not overly chesty but its really dry and every time I cough I feel like both my lungs and my ‘cheeks full of stitches’ are going to explode….

So Right now its about 9 am now and I have them putting through my 10 am Ceftazadime a bit earlier so maybe I can make my 9.30 Pulmonary Rehab class or maybe the tail end if it.

At this stage if all goes to plan sometime today I will be going home. The Doctors are charting up the meds I’m to go home with, whether or not they chart the right stuff is another matter as I have been under so many doctors this admission its been quite hard to get anything done in a timely matter or with any uniform, although one of the head doctors understudies Ella has been awesome.…I really need to look at changing Specialists at my CF clinic  because having a Doctor that’s constantly at conferences overseas (Korea this week) is not helping me get things done regarding my health..

So soon I will start packing up my room in hope that I will be going home, I can’t wait for my own bed, my own shower, my normal internet so I don’t have to be careful with everything I download….mmmmmmm Unlimited download garh..

Just after I wrote the above paragraph the doctors came in and we ran through everything. So It looks like I will be going home on Nebulised Tobramycin, Oral Cipro and pushingCeftazadime 2 gram twice a day via IV.

I still have to get my port deceased and recessed because it’s been a week old..so If I’m out of here by 4pm this arvo I’m gonna be doing well.

Looks like I probably won’t get to rehab now since everything is starting to come together quickly…..

Well it now 9.45am and I bet this blog has been really bloody exciting for you guys but at least you have been privy to the information as it happen because Pegson in the present is live on the air…

EDIT: I thought I would just update you..Got to Pulmonary Rehab, Absolutely knackered could barely do anything not sure if it was lung function or lack of energy or even fitness…pushed on through…Got my CF nurse John to do a lung function and it came back 48 percent. So I held me own during the hospital admission…

LEAVE COMMENT

PeGsOn
Pegson1986@hotmail.com

So that time of year is creeping up on us. The time when we must throw some clothes into duffel, fill the rest of the bag with dirty laundry, kiss our roommate and our bottle of vodka goodbye, and head home for fall break.

Yes, there are many up-sides to this little trip: we get a break from all the homework, we get to eat something other then cafeteria mystery meat for a change, and we get to curl up with Scruffy on the couch for a couple of days.

But with the comfort of being home comes a few downers as well. And I’m not talking about being woken up at 9am on a Saturday or having to empty the dishwasher. It’s those little comments from mom and dad that really get under your skin. And no matter how hard you try to be nice, you just can’t help but snap, say something mean and beeline to the car/airport (clean clothes and leftovers in hand, obvi) as soon as humanly possible.

Here are a few of the worst offenders:

“Honey, your pants look a little tight”
Yes mom, I realize that drinking 5 days out of the week and eating delivery pizza has done a number on my waistline. Am I happy about it? No. Do I know it is there? Yes. Is it helping that you pinch the muffin top and poke the underarm flab? Absolutely not!

“Have you found a nice boy yet?”
If by “nice” you mean “a tall pre-med student who considers hanging out in the library fun,” then no, dad, I have not found your ideal son-in-law quite yet. But I have hooked up with a couple of the guys on the football team who can barely form coherent sentences but have 8-pack stomachs you can bounce a quarter off of, if that counts for anything.

“Are you getting straight A’s?”
Don’t you think if I was acing every test I probably would’ve mentioned it to you in our weekly phone calls? It’s the fact that I am failing Bio miserably and barely ever making it to the 9 a.m. calculus lectures that has kept this topic out of our discussions. Maybe next semester. Keep praying, I know I am.

“We’re not just your ATM, you know.”
Ok, so they’re right about that, but between classes and everything else I’m doing on campus (napping?), I just don’t have the time to call and chat every day. Hell, they should be happy they hear from me at all.

“We saw your pictures on Facebook, you look like you are having…a lot of fun”
Get off Facebook! This is not a tool to stalk your children and befriend your old high school classmates and catch up. This is my website where I stalk my ex boyfriends and post sloppy pictures of myself, neither of which I would like you to monitor.

“Why can’t I see your Facebook pictures anymore?”
I have no idea, mom; Facebook must be crashing. It’s been having a lot of issues you know, giving people viruses and stuff. You should really terminate your account.

“We are still trying to plan that visit”
Oh goody. I can cancel all the party invitations for a 4-day weekend filled with quiet dinners, giving campus tours, and being yelled at for living in a pigsty. Wonderful. I’ll just pray you don’t find the handle of rum under my bed, or the textbooks still in their wrapping in the desk drawer.

What else do your parents pester you with over break that drives you crazy?

All of us experience some events and share lives that affect us more than others do.  I have had my share of family, community, Philippine and world events that made an impact — some were causes of celebration, some were tragedies.  Somehow, each of these events and people left a mark in my heart and in my psyche — marks (sometimes, scars) that helped shape what I am and how I think today.

***

Cover of the Yan Clan History, a book published a couple of years ago.

My father was my type of hero.  Strong, silent, unheralded.  He was not a world figure.  He was not known nor admired by anyone but his family.  He was not rich and famous — just an ordinary man living an ordinary life. The lessons he taught me were lessons learned through the examples he set — examples I strive to emulate, but have never been able to live up to.

Mariano “Menito” Yan was never blessed with wealth, comfort, or luxury.  We, his sons, did not inherit material wealth or goods.  But his whole life was spent trying to build up a nest egg he could leave behind for us.  He never succeeded, but he left a legacy for me whose value far transcends a peso (or dollar) sign.

I will never forget his zest for life, and the laughter that accompanied it. I will always treasure his commitment to family, a commitment that forced him to leave us behind and work overseas — Vietnam at the height of the Vietnam war, Malawi in Africa, and finally Oakland, California — for so many years, just to be able to provide for us.

He showed me how life should be lived, how adversity should be met, how failure should not defeat my spirit.

My heart will forever cry when I remember his words when Rica and I were finally together in the US in July of 1986.  ”Now I can die in peace — you are here and the family is whole again.”

For Thanksgiving Day in 1986, he and my Mom drove down to West Covina from their Hayward home to spend my first US Thanksgiving Day with us.  He never made it back to Hayward.

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, he and my Mom were supposed to drive back to Hayward.  He woke up feeling lost and disoriented.  We called 911, and the paramedics took him to Queen of the Valley hospital, where they diagnosed him as having a stroke.  In fact, he had died, but they resuscitated him.

He spent the next six months in a coma that he never awoke from, and died on March 13, 1987. My lifetime’s hero was gone, and I have never stopped crying.

Like him, I cry silently and alone.  Like him, I never show the tears of loss.  Like him, I never share the pain and emptiness I feel in my heart.  But they’re always there…the pain of loss, the sadness and emptiness, the tears mourning the time we never had together..

To me, in my mind and heart, in my pain and sorrow, my Dad lives…

Wait for me, Dad.  We’ll laugh together.  Take long walks together. Together we’ll make up for the time lost.  Share the dreams we never shared, the triumphs we never had, the glorious days of a son reveling in his father’s embrace, the warmth of your love, the resolve of your strength…  We’ll be together, Dad, with no more tears.

***

Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law on September 21, 1972.

On September 21, 1972, President Ferdinand Marcos, citing a national security emergency, declared martial law through Presidential Proclamation 1081.

In the beginning — and for many years — I believed in what martial law could do, if implemented with fairness, dignity, and integrity.  I believed in the need for discipline, and after so many years of “democracy,” I then believed the Filipino has begun to lose all sense of responsibility.  I also believed the Filipino studentry at that time had exceeded its moral limits, and the communist-inspired bombings, rallies and protests actually served the ends the communist element rather than the Filipino people.

The Sunday Express headline. The Express became a pro-Marcos newspaper after martial law was declared.

I still believe I was right — that the communist elements were the true benefactors of the lack of Filipino discipline.  What I was wrong to assume was that Marcos was the leader who would inspire and maintain dignity and integrity among the Filipino people.

After two or three years of laudable change immediately after he declared martial law, Marcos — through indifference, a lust for power, and greed — allowed, and even fostered, the growth and empowerment of an oligarchy with his cronies as the beneficiaries of his government’s policies.

Marcos would remain in power for 14 more years, until February 25, 1986.  The people finally took to the streets in a show of national defiance and, using what has now come to be known as People Power, forced Marcos and his family and close circle of supporters to leave Malacanang Palace for exile in the United States. It was the same pride I felt when Marcos declared martial law that I felt when he was overthrown.  It was a pride that stirred my heart, when he left.

I recognized then the value of the many lives that had been lost among those who fought the degenerative policies of the Marcos administration.  It took the deaths of two men for me to finally understand that no good end will ever be served by the destruction of human rights.

***

Benigno "Ninoy" Aquino: his assassination in 1983 marked the beginning of the end of the Marcos regime.

August 21, 1983 marked the actual end of the Marcos regime. Although Marcos remained in power for three more years, the assassination of Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, his most influential critic, sparked what was to become the People Power revolution. Ninoy was gunned down by Armed Forces soldiers as he alighted from a China Air flight that brought him home from Boston, Massachusetts.  Although the Marcos regime insisted that he had been shot in the head by rogue soldier Rolando Galman, no Filipino believed that neither Marcos nor wife Imelda did not have a hand in his murder.

The murder and funeral of Ninoy.

I will always remember sitting and staring at the TV as they played and replayed the last moments of Ninoy’s life.  From the moment soldiers boarded the China Air flight to the moment his dead body was ignominiously dragged and dumped into a waiting Armed Forces truck, the coverage was absolutely numbing.

To be sure, it was not truly unexpected, but the reality of what we, as a nation, had collectively feared was too much to absorb in one sitting.  So as one people, we all sat in our homes, watched, and prayed.  Prayed that somehow what we had witnessed was not real.

***

Edgar "Edjop" Jopson: the "grocer's son" became a major thorn in Marcos' side.

Ed Jopson was the president of the National Union of Students of the Philippines (NUSP) during his student days.  He was also my classmate, a dear friend with whom I had spent many childhood memories.

His parents owned Jopson’s Supermarket, and we would occasionally stay at his house while our parents went out together.  As president of the NUSP, he was more popularly known as “Edjop.”  He was also named one of the country’s “Ten Outstanding Young Men,” an award bestowed annually by the Philippine Jaycees — one of the most prestigious awards in the country at that time.

A career as a labor leader and union organizer led him into notoriety. He was a moderate, and even met with Marcos occasionally.  Then at one meeting Marcos said something that changed Edjop from a moderate oppositionist to an active member of the Communist Party, then headed by Jose Ma. Sison. At a Malacanang meeting, Edjop continually urged Marcos not to run for another term.  Marcos cut the discussion short by saying “Who are you to tell me what to do?  You’re only a grocer’s son.”

Eventually captured and tortured, he escaped and headed for the hills of Bataan to continue his struggle among his “brothers” in the CPP and NPA.  On September 21, 1982 — the tenth anniversary of the declaration of martial law, Edjop headed home from visiting NUSP friends.  Late that night, he heard noises, peeked out the window, awoke six other people in the house, then fled. He was gunned down and killed as he ran…

***

President John F. Kennedy visited the Berlin Wall on June 6, 1963.

August 1990 marked the start of the demolition of the Berlin Wall, the ignominious symbol of the “Iron Curtain” that divided the East and West during the Cold War, which lated for decades. The East German Republic (probably egged on by the Soviet Union), began the construction of the Berlin Wall in August of 1961.  It effectively cut off passage between East and West Berlin, and encircled West Berlin completely.

The Berlin Wall was made up of 96 mi (155 km) of barbed wire barricades and concrete walls with an average height of 11.8 ft (3.60 m). The Wall divided Berlin for 28 years.

"Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall." -- President Ronald Reagan, June 12, 1987

In June of 1987, President Reagan stood before the Wall at the Brandenburg Gate and challenged the Soviet Union with those famous words, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.” In an unexpected development, a press conference was held on November 9, 1981, where the SED government announced that travel restrictions for East Germans had been lifted.  That night people from East Berlin flooded into the western part of the city and hundreds of thousands celebrated throughout the city.

The Berlin Wall was demolished by the people of Berlin in 1989.

Soon thereafter, the infamous Wall that hundreds had died trying to cross came down.  The Cold War between the US and USSR thawed,and eventually ended.

On November 9, 2009, Berlin celebrated the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall with a “Festival of Freedom”, during which over 1,000 foam domino tiles over 8 feet tall were stacked along the former route of the wall in the city center and toppled.

***

John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963.

John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States.

On November 22, 1963, I was walking home from SLU.  As I turned right on Session Road from Assumption Road, I was surprised by the scattered newspapers fluttering in the wind on Session Road.  I picked one up and as I read the red headline, my heart sank. “Kennedy Assassinated.”

The words rang through my mind and for a brief moment, I went numb. The next 24 hours were spent watching TV coverage and reading newspaper accounts of the assassination, the swearing in of Vice President Lyndon Johnson, the capture and killing of Lee Harvey Oswald, and the Walter Cronkite announcement of JFK’s death.

I did not feel that the world was right, and I silently mourned JFK’s death.

On ______, Robert Kennedy suffered the same fate as his brother John.

I did not feel the same deep sadness again until years later, when JFK’s brother Robert, who was on his way to becoming President of the US, suffered the same fate in a hotel in Los Angeles after winning the California Democratic primary.

The Kennedy legacy — many called the Kennedy years “Camelot” — ended when youngest brother Ted died in 2009 from cancer of the brain.

Jackie Kennedy moments before JFK was shot and assassinated.

But to me, Camelot ended with the death of Jackie Kennedy Onassis, JFK’s widow, on May 19, 1994.  To my mind, Ted Kennedy took a leftist path that his brothers John and Robert would not have followed. Today, the Kennedy era is dead…never to be forgotten, but never again to be relived in all its glory, splendor, hope, inspiration, and faith.

***

US newspaper the day US astronaut Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

July 21, 1969.  On this day, man first stepped on the moon.  US NASA astronaut Neil Armstrong took that first step, and uttered those now-famous words, “One small step for man, one giant step for mankind.”

(Ironically, it was the same day that Ted Kennedy was charged in the drowning death of Mary Jo Kopechne.  See article on lower left of the front page of the newspaper.)

This was the culmination of John Kennedy’s commitment in his inaugural address:

“Many years ago the great British explorer George Mallory, who was to die on Mount Everest, was asked why did he want to climb it.  He said, “Because it is there.”  Well, space is there, and we’re going to climb it, and the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there.  And, therefore, as we set sail we ask God’s blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.” Within ten years, as JFK had promised, man was on the moon.

***

]]> http://pcyjourneyhome.wordpress.com/2009/11/14/share/ Sat, 14 Nov 2009 09:34:37 +0000 Philip Yan http://pcyjourneyhome.wordpress.com/2009/11/14/share/

In my sophomore year in college, “reforestation” was the buzz-word.

It was 1966, and I had begun to make a name for myself then.  Member of SLU’s student body government.  Consistent first-place winner (since high school) of the national PRISAA annual competition in debating and extemporaneous speaking.  Guest lecturer of the SCA in schools all over the country.  PMT officer (assistant corps commander).  Stage actor (“The Lion in Winter” at UP Baguio and “Butterflies Are Free” with the Army-Navy Club).  Editor of the SLU high school “Echo.”  Laman kalye of Session Road.

It was then that I met Narciso “Nars” Padilla who was, at that time, a photographer and civic activist.  He later became councilor of Baguio City, I am told. (Does anyone know where he is and where I can find him?)

We began having coffee everyday at Session Cafe, discussing Baguio politics.  Eventually, we got around to discussing the youth of Baguio, and what project we might collaborate on.  He would know because (as I forgot to mention earlier) he was also a Boy Scout leader.

We decided to focus on reforestation, to start.  At that time, extra-curricular activities for the youth had to have the approval of schools.  So we jumped through the hoops of SLU, St. Theresa’s College, University of Baguio, and Baguio City High.

Mt. Santo Tomas was the highest peak in and around Baguio.

After acquiring school approvals, we began organizing for one project — the reforestation of Mt. Santo Tomas.  Mt. Santo Tomas is the highest peak in and around Baguio City.  It is topped by radar antennas that serve the different radio and TV stations, as well as Camp John Hay, when it was still a US Air Force Base.  The peak of Mt. Santo Tomas offered unparalleled 360° views.  On one side, the mountain overlooked the city, easily 15 kilometers away.  On the other side, one could see La Union and its beaches, part of Naguilian Road (one of the two access roads to Baguio), and part of Pangasinan — about a hundred kilometers away. Yes, it was that high and the skies used to be that clear.

We were not prepared for the resounding response to our invitation. Male and female students from SLU and UB high schools, girls from St. Theresa’s College, City High students — our first meeting had almost 200 attendees!  And the group didn’t even have a name yet!

Pressed for time just minutes before the meeting started, we had to find a name.  We wanted a name that was inclusive…that didn’t distinguish members by school or social status.  We chose “SHARE” as an acronym of the name…but as an acronym for what?

“Welcome to the first meeting of SHARE,” Mang Nars started.  ”The Self-Help Arm for Reformed Existence.”  Shocked, I could do nothing but seemingly agree, smilingly.  Now, in hindsight, 40 or so years later, I think the name sucked.  Fortunately, “SHARE” stuck, and people soon forgot the whole name.

***

Aside: I remember the time when Baguio was surrounded by green hills and mountains.  It had the “small town” feeling then, where everyone knew each other and everyone cared for each other.

One reason we chose Mt. Santo Tomas was its sides were getting brown.  For what reason, we didn’t know.  Other mountains around were still lush and green.  I remember, for example, climbing Carabao Mountain. It was on the road to Trinidad Valley, and was not too high that it would knock you out if you climbed it.  I took the climb with friends from St. Louis — Rhime Basbas, Tony Tomas, and Sammy Flores — and our favorite teacher, Florentino Hornedo.

There was no bottled water then; we filled GI canteens, and packed hot dogs and bread in our backpacks.  Aside from an extra jacket each, we didn’t bring much.

There were no houses, no roads — it was totally green with pine trees and wild flowering shrubs.

Today, a friend, Ric Maniquis, showed me a picture of Carabao Mountain.  He had taken it, apparently, from an armed forces  helicopter, along with countless other airborne shots of Baguio as it is today.

Goodbye Carabao Mountain. It seems like squatters' shanties now grow on the mountainside, instead of pine trees and flowering shrubs.

See the mountain rising in the background? That’s Carabao Mountain, now covered with shanties and hovels.

My thanks to Ric Maniquis for this “after” picture.

***

Back to SHARE…

The first project, like I said earlier, was the reforestation of a part of Mt. Santo Tomas — the side that faced the city.

We outfitted each participant with a red sweatshirt with the SHARE logo printed on the front — sweatshirts courtesy of  several department stores in the city.  We loaded 10,000 pine tree seedlings onto dump trucks, seedlings courtesy of the Bureau of Plant Industry and trucks courtesy of the Baguio City Mayor. We packed medical supplies, first aid kits, and K-rations courtesy of the Base Commander of John Hay Air Force Base.  We piled into jeepneys for the trips to and from the mountain, courtesy of the Baguio Jeepney Owners and Drivers Association.  We brought cases of Coke, courtesy of the Coca-Cola plant in La Union.  And each day, a team of participants made the trip to the city to buy fresh food from the public market to cook for our meals (oftentimes, shop owners donated the food and didn’t let us pay for it).  There were no cell phones then, so we depended on two-way radios lent to us by John Hay, and we maintained contact with the city through the base’s communications center and the city’s police department radios.

We began each morning with a group prayer — we weren’t even politically-correct enough to ask the religion of each participant.  And nobody cared.  We just prayed together.

We ended each night with a group bonfire after dinner, shivering in the cold mountain air, almost always wrapped in blankets to keep our body warmth in as we joked and told stories and shared our lives with each other, until the last participant drifted away into his or her classroom to sleep.

It was a simpler time then.  The world was right, and we were in tune with it.

By the end of the week, we had replanted all 10,000 seedlings and we all felt a rush of accomplishment and pride.  We came home tired but happy, met at the fire station in Burnham Park by the parents of the 250 or so young men and women who had just given seven days of their lives to the concept of doing good — of leaving a legacy.

I don’t know if any of those trees are still standing.  But I know that for the next few years, I would look at the Santo Tomas mountainside and see a swatch of green where the dry brown earth once showed.

***

I was done for that summer.  I said goodbye and thank you to all the parents, donors, and contributors of the project.  Mang Nars and I went back to our coffee klatch in Session Cafe.

Or so I thought…

Less than a week later, I was receiving phone calls from parents, from SHARE members, from the Baguio City Midland Courier, from the Commanding Officer of Camp John Hay.  ”Congratulations,” they said. And, most heartwarmingly, “When’s the next project?”

A year later, by City Council resolution and invitation of the Mayor, I was named Council Member for Youth Affairs.

I just completed a post on my other blog, Filipinos in America, about Tagaytay and Pagsanjan, Paete, and Pakil in Laguna.  Please go there so I don’t have to rewrite anything.  In this post, I feel like concentrating on Pinoy food — not as a culinary adventure, but as simple, ordinary food that I enjoy and, in general, miss.

This feeling of wanting to talk about food began when I was writing about Tagaytay.  I remember that off the ridge highway, Tagaytay had a public market that featured fresh beef, Tagaytay being a beef-growing area.  Obviously, demand for the beef they sold evolved into demand for cooked food…some sort of “specialty” that people would flock there for.  What better “specialty” than bulalo?

Bulalo: beef and beef marrow soup with assorted vegetables. Served with patis and calamansi on the side.

Bulalo!  Here in the States, sometimes referred to as a member of the “KMS” food family.  The “Killing Me Softly” family of fine foods includes, among others, lechon and lechon kawali, piniritong pork chop Pinoy style (with the skin on, deep-fried) and chicharon.  Oh, what the heck.  My father-in-law always said “Walang ganito sa Loyola,” ignoring the admonitions of my mother-in-law and his children.  Imagine steaming bulalo on a cold night, the bone marrow melting soothingly on your palate.  What could be better?  Certainly not any of the Campbell or Progresso soups.

About three weekends ago, we went to visit my Ate Eden, a cousin who’s a retired veterinarian who lives in Fountain Valley.  We went specifically to have lunch at Mami King, which is a Pinoy restaurant serving Chinese dishes, the most popular of which is mami’t siopao supposedly like the original Ma Mon Luk.

Ma Mon Luk in Cubao: I never found out if they really included cat meat in the siopao.

Remembering Ma Mon Luk in Cubao always brings back memories; I can still remember that row of stores across the street from Stella Maris in Cubao. Commander Drug (there was always one within a few steps of Mercury Drug), Mercury Drug, Manila COD, Robina roasted chicken, Little Quiapo, a Chinese-owned watch and jewelry store, and Aguinaldo’s department store.  (The Aguinaldo’s spot was eventually taken over by the first McDonald’s in the Philippines.)

I remember visiting Ma Mon Luk or Ferino’s Bibingka after shows (now known as “concerts”) in Araneta Coliseum, or after playing mini-golf in Green Acres next to the Coliseum.  It was in Araneta Coliseum that American performers…uhhhmmm…performed.

Bibingka at Ferino's was to be enjoyed whole year 'round...not only at Christmas.

Ma Mon Luk was mami and siopao territory.

Ferino’s was “my spot” for bibingka.  Served hot and steaming, margarine (never butter!) sprinkled with sugar dripping from the sides, grated coconut piled high, kesong puti covering the top — all sitting in banana leaf wrap.  Ma Mon Luk, on the other hand, was “home base” for the Chinese noodle soup called mami, served with siopao, meat-filled buns.

Pinoy pork barbecue -- the best.

I always had bakya taste.  Everyone told me that.  I preferred pork barbecue from Baclaran’s Barbecue Plaza over kebobs at the Hyatt or some other five-star hotel.  I bought kropeck from roving popcorn/kropeck/cotton candy stands in Dewey Boulevard (now Roxas Boulevard).  I bought taho and penoy from itinerant vendors.  I ate lumpia sariwa on the sidewalks of Divisoria.  I savored tilapia and dalag from the makeshift restaurants of

Dalag: my favorite freshwater fish. It usually came from the esteros of Binondo.

Estero.  I preferred talangka to the rich man’s crab and lobster.  I loved (and still do) tuyo and daing — even the US version of daing called Jeprox.  I made special trips to the front of FEU hospital (then) to buy turon, bananaque, camoteque and adobong mani.  Yes, I was bakya.  I still am.

I even miss Pinoy treats, snacks and holiday dishes.  Hopia from Polland (yes…double “L” — not the country).  Champoy from Bee Tin.  Chinese ham from Echague.  Taho.  Halo-halo from Little Quiapo. Melon (cantaloupe strings in iced melon juice).  Lumpiang sariwa from the sidewalks of Divisoria.  Even sundot kulangot from Baguio.

Remember all these goodies...

Yes…bakya food is good food….

If you remember other stuff you’d like to share, let me know…

Baguio...gateway to the Banaue rice terraces.

Baguio was then the gateway to Banaue and its well-known rice terraces.  These were plots carved out of the mountainsides where the Igorots of old would plant rice.  There was no irrigation, just the normal rainfall.  There was no cement or concrete, just rocks and mud.  And yet the terraces spanned miles and miles of mountainside.  This was the engineering genius of the mountain people at work. At that time, there was only one bus company that served the rugged land.  Dangwa Tranco buses parked in their terminal close to the public market.  To get to the inner mountains, there were no tourist buses.  It was not uncommon to see adventurous white youth traveling in groups to see the mountainsides. Banaue and Sagada were a journey then, a trip to the past, into a world filled with stories of anitos and headhunters.  Barely any “lowlander” visited these mountain villages, which dotted the upper reaches of the unexplored-by-tourists world of the Cordillera mountains.

I loved Baguio in June.  The smell of the coming rainy season lingered in the air.  The change of season was generally marked by the June 12 holiday, when the independence day parade would be held.  Parade participants marched down Session Road, then moved to Burnham Park.

The PMA cadets.

The Philippine Military Academy cadets were always the highlight, at least for me.  There, they would continue their “performance” by showing off their drill skills using their rifles, twirling and spinning them to a silent count in their heads.  No words, no commands, no drums — just the swish of rifles twirling, rifle butts hitting the ground.

That was also the time of year we would begin to buy and store firewood — pinewood that smelled so intensely incense-like when burned in a fireplace.  A smell of the mountainside, and the feeling of warmth and security would waft through the house.  I could sit there for hours, staring at the flames, imagining how clean the world would be after the rains, and after the last log had been burned for the year.  Fire and water — two opposite elements that cleansed the world for me.

TO BE CONTINUED

Jonas came in Aug of 2009 at 30 pounds.  He was suffering from kwashiorkor.  After being on the medika mamba program he lost some of his water weight and then gained some weight back.  He went home at 33 pounds.

Louvens came to the RC in December of 2008.  He was 7 months old and wed 9 pounds.  He went home this week at 22 pounds. 

Vierlgela was burned on her hand and it healed up nicely.  She went home this past week.

Mirlande came to the clinic in Sept of 2009.  She was suffering from kwashiorkor and weighed 26 pounds.  She was started on the medika mamba program.  She went home this week at 32 pounds.

Rakendy came to the clinic in March of 2009.  He weighed 16 pounds 12 ounces.  We have been searching for his family for several months now.  They came this week.  He went home at 26.5 pounds.

Notha came to the clinic in August with a huge infection on her leg.  She has been doing daily dressing changes and staying at the RC.  She is healed up and went home this week.

Notha after her food was cleaned up                        going home

Ronelson has been in the RC since April of 2009.  He weighed 15 pounds 12 ounces.  He went home this week at 24 pounds.

Psalm 104

 ^1-14 O my soul, bless God! God, my God, how great you are!
      beautifully, gloriously robed,
   Dressed up in sunshine,
      and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
   You built your palace on the ocean deeps,
      made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings.
   You commandeered winds as messengers,
      appointed fire and flame as ambassadors.
   You set earth on a firm foundation
      so that nothing can shake it, ever.
   You blanketed earth with ocean,
      covered the mountains with deep waters;
   Then you roared and the water ran away—
      your thunder crash put it to flight.
   Mountains pushed up, valleys spread out
      in the places you assigned them.
   You set boundaries between earth and sea;
      never again will earth be flooded.
   You started the springs and rivers,
      sent them flowing among the hills.
   All the wild animals now drink their fill,
      wild donkeys quench their thirst.
   Along the riverbanks the birds build nests,
      ravens make their voices heard.
   You water the mountains from your heavenly cisterns;
      earth is supplied with plenty of water.
   You make grass grow for the livestock,
      hay for the animals that plow the ground