Thank you, the heart is full.

Red Velvet Cake

Rose-pink Bouquet

@ Tablo Kitchen Cafe

Received a wonderful surprise on my birthday, from my daughters: balloons, a rose pink bouquet, a red velvet velvety cake, and that delightful mouthwatering and filling chicken lasagna! My dining den turned convivial, my stomach full.

The day was supposed to be two trips: one to renew my driver’s license and two, to secure another senior citizen’s card that seems to get lost every time. Talk about surprises that work like magic, my heart did feel warm and wonderful. Thank you, Jean and Tish, for making my 62nd happy.

Deeply grateful also to my forever zestful high school classmates, cousin Malou and god-child Audrey, nephew Nathaniel, college mate Lily, my thoughtful friend Perlie (the blouse fits perfect), kababata Emi and artist daughter Rochelle, and my sweet sister Grace, for remembering me. Your warm wishes made the brittle bones somersault.

Thank you, God, for the privilege of being alive.

Postscript:

Had a thanksgiving lunch at a posh cafe in the Scout Area. It was a blast.

A little harvest from my yard.

Good to have a vegetable patch and a few fruit-bearing trees in one’s own yard. One can just pick a few essential ingredients for the cooking.

Today’s pick are calamansi and chili pepper for my viands: tofu sisig and chicken tinola. Talk about reaping the fruits of one’s labor, this one is literal. Ha ha

Calamansi

Labuyo or Chili

Finding respite in the country-side.

How long it has been since the invasion of Ukraine by the ruthless Russians 24th of February, I lost count of the days, or rather, weeks. But not a single moment was Ukraine out of my mind as I found my self staring at the images of beautiful children in cute, fashionable parkas and winter bonnets while watching President Zelenskyy put up a strong stance to defend country and people. I listened to every speech and delved daily into the destruction that increased in intensity by the hour. At the end of each day, I did find my self crying for the little ones as I woke up each morning to check if the gallant leader was still alive. As the days passed, I was completely forlorn and wondered how President Zelenskyy remained indefatigable, emphatic and purposeful, speaking to his people and addressing the leaders of the Western world to close the skies, so they could defend themselves. Of course I came to the conclusion that he was born for this heroic leadership, a lesser man could have coiled and fled.

My daughters devised a way to get me off the the horrifying news. We set out to check the windmills of Pililia in Province of Rizal. The temperature seared high and the winds blew.

First stop was at Rosarii, a pilgrimage site. It would have been a misfortune because the convent was closed on a Tuesday but the guard allowed us in! He knew it was a long trip for visitors to get disappointed. How lucky we were because we had the entire place to ourselves.

Second stop was to a flower farm but the buds were just starting to bloom. Sigh!

Lunch was at a floating restaurant where we had a feast: bulalo, grilled tuna, crispy kangkong, pancit bijon and the best-loved heat breaker – halo-halo.

Next stop was at the oldest church in the province San Ildefonso Church which housed a museum of statues of the Passion. Staring at the different images of the Nazarene, somehow, was a fascinating experience. The sculptors could have made our Lord Jesus Christ their masterpieces. Probably, I should have used the word exhilarating.

The windmills could be seen from Tanay where we had our breakfast and at Binangonan where we concluded our trip but at Pililia, the flurry of winds tossed my hair and I felt the power generated by the magnificent mills. Ha ha. Thus, by the time I posed for souvenir shots at a pretty princess like cafe at a Binangonan vantage point, my coiffeur was reduced to a sponge lock of hair. Ha ha again.

Did Ukraine leave my mind? Not at all. But the respite was a breather.

To all Ukrainians who are suffering severely and couldn’t get a respite as I had, you are in my heart and in my prayers.

About that ancient decalogue.

My Heart

There is a prelude to the decalogue before God handed the tablets to Moses, and that is, “I am the Lord your God Who freed you.”

That means the Ten Commandments, which we believe, represses us because of the “Thou shalt not…”, actually liberates us from ways we must fear to tread.

We can only feel joy later, once we obey.

The Darkest Hours of the Twenty-first Century

Trusting God

This is real, not a movie that lasts just two hours, nor a series that ends to one’s liking. This is real, and the antagonist is a disillusioned KGB spy turned mad autocrat dead set to regain a once Soviet state now firm on standing for its three decade old democracy.

It’s a David and Goliath story, a puny nation against the largest in land mass with third strongest military force in the world.

As of the moment, the aggressor has infiltrated the capital of the diminutive nation, seeking to decapitate the leadership and annex the land for its own.

What the aggressor did not calculate was the resistance of the people who armed themselves with makeshift weapons to defend the country they hold dear. Men, young and old, deposited their grandmas and their wives and their children to safety and has come back to fight. A lone soldier, all but 21 years of age, in grief because of the fall of his community, stands guard at the interchange pending the convoy of tanks that would pass his way. He has but one rifle.

This is the darkest hour of the twenty-first century, probably the prophecy of John in Revelation: the four horsemen that stand for conquest, violence in warfare, famine, and death. Remember, we are still in the seven years of tribulation that commenced on 23 September 2017, when Revelation 12 was seen in the heavens.

Hold on to your Rosary beads, the only weapon we could clasp in this battle of good and evil.

Heavenly Powers, Mary’s Legion of Angels, come to the rescue of the people of Ukraine.

Our Lady of Fatima, intercede for us.

Lord, have mercy on us.

The Good Life.

Gising-gising, Chicken Inasal, at Tofu Sisig

Stir Fry Pad Thai

Baked Sushi with Nori

Gulaman at Lugaw

While many friends, on social media, encourage me to pack a light luggage and venture new sights and scenes, both locally and internationally, I am quite content with my own corner of the sky that I don’t see my self panting while gallivanting from one terminal to another, bumping into crowds and getting exasperated at how people treat each other as strangers. Sigh.

My own daughters also encourage me to do so, and in fact, my elder daughter wanted to book me a ticket to the Lion Country – Singapore – where the breathtaking gardens can fill one’s soul. Nope, I quipped, we have more water in this archipelago than Singapore. To my daughter’s annoyance.

True, this person is amenable and perfectly suitable with the simple life. I call it hermitage.

Every morning, I wake up with delight to embrace a new day. Yet, when I reflect about my accomplishments, it’s the same activities I attend to day in and day out.

My circle of friends, of course, do raise the eye brows and contradict me with the definition of the ‘good life.’ I care not at all if they find my existence boring. My life, my prerogative.

Why should I complain? This week alone I find my stomach over-crowded with a variety of cuisines: Filipino, Thai, Japanese, so tasty that I feel my belly has ballooned to an ugly bulge. Hay!

Ain’t that not the good life? To be nourished with food palatable with the five sensory tastes: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and umami.

Of course, I could live with the simple congee or rice steamed in chicken broth. It’s good for digestion and would not endanger the colon. All diseases, they say, begin in the colon. But that’s for another story.

Misa de Gallo or the Rooster’s Crow Mass

The image is courtesy of google wallpaper.

Melancholy fills the air. It’s the first day of the traditional Misa de Gallo.

The other day, I posted a photograph of bibingka on fb, and it garnered many ‘likes.’ One comment made me envious. From a college mate named Annie, she wrote: ‘loads me with childhood memories of invigorating pandan/avocado tea that pairs with coal-hot bibingkas & put0 bumbong ; plus the warm loving company of elders during the Misa de gallo.’

That is how the tradition should be – a family or a barkada (friends), attend the morning masses together. It is very rare that a lone person walks to church pre-dawn. But I did.

My grandmother couldn’t accompany me any longer. Time did catch up with her. My parents weren’t around, they were employed in two far away cities. My siblings? Well, they were the scholastic type who needed much sleep, so I didn’t wake them to come with me. But I offered my novena for my family.

Why the tradition of Misa de Gallo also known as the Rooster’s Mass?

It has got to be dark, like that event over two millennials ago when the shepherds watched their flock. That time when the rooster goes cock-a-doodle-doo signals the faithful that they have to make an effort and rise up, walk to church and hear Mass.

The darkness also signifies hope.

Why a novena or nine days?

Each day is supposed to stand for the each month the Baby Jesus was inside the Womb of the Blessed Mother.

This pandemic time, the Misa de Gallo is available online. I did make the extra effort to wake up and prepare for Mass. I have a petition to ask…

Sandra Bullock in Unforgivable: A Movie Review

Just when the pandemic activity of binge watching on netflix was beginning to create a certain feeling of ennui comes a movie that depicts the reality of an ordinary life in America rendered difficult by unfortunate events that tested the mettle of one woman, an ex-convict by the name of Ruth Slater, aka cop killer.

The story begins when the prisoner is finally being released after twenty long years of being incarcerated for her crime – standing her grounds to avoid being evicted from her home. Scenes flash back two decades showing glimpses of that harrowing moment when the police came to throw her and her little sister out of their abode. Not a good law for the citizens to be threatened away from their own house.

And then it happened, the sheriff got shot and died. Ruth served her time. Now all she wants is to see her little sister whom she has not heard from all the duration of enduring prison.

The twenty long years was not enough for the sons of the sheriff to forgive. The sin was unforgivable. Thus, the title.

The elder son sought to avenge the death of his father and convinced his younger brother, a family man with troubles of his own to stalk the protagonist.

That provides for the conflict aggravated when this delirious brother mistook the step sister of Ruth’s sister Katie for Katie and kidnapped her. intending to eventually terminate both women.

Indirect foreshadowing finally reveals what actually transpired when Ruth came to rescue the sister she believes to be Katie. All along, the real Katie was performing her piano recital piece at an auditorium, with her parents watching, not knowing that their real daughter was in danger.

A stunning performance by Sandra Bullock as Ruth Slater. The actress essayed a role not exactly easy to project. There she was, obviously at wit’s end, and yet with an irrepressible resolve to know and see, and perhaps feel, the beloved creature she raised, her sister Katie. Sandra Bullock has been an incredible actress in so many movies but in this movie, the draining of the strength and the agony were written all over her face.

Will refrain from divulging the junctures and the climax so everyone could enjoy the movie.

Kudos, by the way, to the sound effects. The piano music was perfect.

Loot Bags

The joy in Gaudete Sunday which we celebrate today is an Advent tradition that reminds us that we must give gifts, not just to family and friends, but especially to the ordinary people who make our lives a little safer and better every day.

That is why I am preparing loot bags for the security guards and the garbage collectors, my give-away for Christmas.

The humble packs include rice, Vienna sausage, and tuna. Yet to buy coffee sachets and fruit juice or chocolate drinks, plus little white envelopes for the cash.

Not much but it’s all I can afford. Just a tiny way of thanking the good people who constantly made rounds in my village – to assure us of a secure community and clean and nice surroundings.

Concentration Music Playing Right Now.

Grey and gloomy skies hovering over my corner of the globe. Impending rain any moment. While my elder daughter has her nose over a book, and I, here on my spot, sad over a website I couldn’t participate in because of cookies, I surmise.

Anything unfortunate though renders something good. Like a blessing in disguise.

Here I am, back to wordpress, my original writing site. And I begin my blogging again with a soft ‘concentration music’ that fills the soul.

What’s new with the old me?

Aplenty.

First, a litter of three week old puppies are crawling hour on the hour in my wreck room. The dog’s den, or puppy nursery, is right under my work table.

The puppies are already learning to explore, having discovered the power of their hind legs a few days ago, simultaneous with opening their eyes.

My survivor of a bitch named Bulak is a good momma. She feeds and cleans her younglings all the time. She keeps a watchful eye every time my daughter and I borrow one of her pups to cradle. Very cautious that the papa dog named Bucky does not get near her offsprings.

Bucky had already, of course. He sniffed the little ones when he had the chance, like when Bulak is outside to relieve herself.

Second, which should have been first, my daughters and I are thriving this time of pandemia. We had our share of challenges such as my elder daughter cutting short her scholarship in the United Kingdom because of the world health crisis and my younger daughter hitting the front line and fight the truly exhausting but formidable battle in her budding career as a medical practitioner.

I remain the erstwhile mother serving as the shock absorber and still connecting the two different circles my daughters move around in.

As always, am grateful for the wonderful world and the simplicity of my shackling abode.