Our own little K, who by the way, receives her first communion this Saturday, was also handpicked as one of the five in her badminton class that could be a school team member in a couple of years.
Such athleticism running in our family...who knew?
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Not to be outdone
Our own little K, who by the way, receives her first communion this Saturday, was also handpicked as one of the five in her badminton class that could be a school team member in a couple of years.
Such athleticism running in our family...who knew?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
C was one of the grade one boys asked to join special soccer training, in view of possibly joining the school soccer team when he reaches grade three!
Friday, September 29, 2006
Waiting for the funicular on Petrin Hill in Prague
"Hey, at least we didn't walk up Petrin Hill, right?"
Travelling With Your Spouse 2
A married couple's first trip to a foreign city or or, as is frequently the case, a number of foreign cities over a number of days, can be a close-up photagraph of that couple's marriage. A journey with limits to time and budget will draw the differences between husband and wife quickly and dramatically to the surface. And conflict ensues. I've heard a husband say that he can pretty much count on at least one quarrel with his wife during each and every trip. Our first trip to Paris as husband and wife involved a quarrel literally on the Eiffel Tower.
On the other hand, at a certain point, if a couple has travelled together enough, each spouse knows to sidestep potential areas of conflict, like landmines as it were. There are also some quarrels that have happened so frequently there's no longer an point in going through the charade. A smirk and a grimace functions well enough when conflicts are like well-worn grooves in wood or imprints on the ground. Wife and husband are also able to create their compromises and matter-of-fact strategies that neatly avoid full-on conflict. In travel, as in life, two people can each accomodate the other's needs and wants - in this way, they engender their own unique travel habits - this, of course, makes it a little more difficult to find another couple to travel with, but I digress.
- We pack light and separately - each party being responsible for their own stuff - including their own dirty laundry.
- On the plane over, we recognise the need for rest and sleep - and will limit ourselves to one movie.
- T knows that I require a substantial breakfast if I am to get through the day though previously it was his penchant to not eat anything till starvation set in, and only then would he concede to buy cheap and easy street food.
- I know now not to force the issue of a sit-down lunch, having come to understand that this is frequently a waste of time when there are so many places to go and things to see. The midday meal must be a quick affair - even taken on the go, on the run - a sandwich, street food or a few rolls from a bakery.
- We both understand that while there is daylight, we have to be on the move - seeing as many things as possible, ideally on foot.
- It is understood that I am to ask strangers questions - whether it's a request to take our picture or a plea for directions, for the reason that I am the one who most often believes I am lost.
- If there is a high point to climb to with a view of a city, we will certainly do that. Similarly, if there is a bridge to cross, we will cross it.
- T is now also accustomed to my need to create concept pictures with odd poses that often cause passersby to stare. I consider it quite a triumph now because even he himself will deign to pose in that manner.
- If there is bookstore, we must enter it and time must be allotted for browsing.
- If there is a military centre, monument or museum - it must be visited.
- We have also agreed to disagree once or twice - and no longer have to be joined at the hip. Now apparently, we can separate and agree to meet an appointed place when one wants to do a particular thing that isn't what the other wants to do.
- We also know that while I might want to talk about life and plans say, for the next five years during a trip to a foreign city, T will most definitely not to want to do that - reserving any such conversations for bedtime, if at all.
And once a unique modus operandi has been cobbled together, no matter how imperfectly, travel to foreign cities can indeed be the wonderful experience it is meant to be. Fortunately.
On the other hand, at a certain point, if a couple has travelled together enough, each spouse knows to sidestep potential areas of conflict, like landmines as it were. There are also some quarrels that have happened so frequently there's no longer an point in going through the charade. A smirk and a grimace functions well enough when conflicts are like well-worn grooves in wood or imprints on the ground. Wife and husband are also able to create their compromises and matter-of-fact strategies that neatly avoid full-on conflict. In travel, as in life, two people can each accomodate the other's needs and wants - in this way, they engender their own unique travel habits - this, of course, makes it a little more difficult to find another couple to travel with, but I digress.
- We pack light and separately - each party being responsible for their own stuff - including their own dirty laundry.
- On the plane over, we recognise the need for rest and sleep - and will limit ourselves to one movie.
- T knows that I require a substantial breakfast if I am to get through the day though previously it was his penchant to not eat anything till starvation set in, and only then would he concede to buy cheap and easy street food.
- I know now not to force the issue of a sit-down lunch, having come to understand that this is frequently a waste of time when there are so many places to go and things to see. The midday meal must be a quick affair - even taken on the go, on the run - a sandwich, street food or a few rolls from a bakery.
- We both understand that while there is daylight, we have to be on the move - seeing as many things as possible, ideally on foot.
- It is understood that I am to ask strangers questions - whether it's a request to take our picture or a plea for directions, for the reason that I am the one who most often believes I am lost.
- If there is a high point to climb to with a view of a city, we will certainly do that. Similarly, if there is a bridge to cross, we will cross it.
- T is now also accustomed to my need to create concept pictures with odd poses that often cause passersby to stare. I consider it quite a triumph now because even he himself will deign to pose in that manner.
- If there is bookstore, we must enter it and time must be allotted for browsing.
- If there is a military centre, monument or museum - it must be visited.
- We have also agreed to disagree once or twice - and no longer have to be joined at the hip. Now apparently, we can separate and agree to meet an appointed place when one wants to do a particular thing that isn't what the other wants to do.
- We also know that while I might want to talk about life and plans say, for the next five years during a trip to a foreign city, T will most definitely not to want to do that - reserving any such conversations for bedtime, if at all.
And once a unique modus operandi has been cobbled together, no matter how imperfectly, travel to foreign cities can indeed be the wonderful experience it is meant to be. Fortunately.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Bankers in Zurich
People who work in creative industries like music, advertising or publishing constantly celebrate the joy of their jobs. How wonderful it is, they will say, that we genuinely enjoy our work. How remarkable is our passion - that we can get up in the morning of each day and sincerely look forward to the hours that lie ahead. To get such a high, such a kick and to get paid for it? What could be better than that?
Invariably, I have heard one or another of us compare our jobs against what we, rightly or wrongly, percieve to be the dreariest of occupations. The words, "Imagine, working at a ... bank?" have been uttered with pure, unadulterated incredulity, to the point that the last word is said with such palpable dismay that the "k" sound at the end of the word hangs in the air like a resonating "ick ick ick ick."
As someone who only very slightly resisted the conventional English major's path,I understand the issues at stake. The money vs passion argument, which unfortunately, does come into play in the choice of occupation. My first ever job interview was for the position of a research and financial analyst for a securities firm. I am well aware that had I chosen to accept this offer, I would surely be making four or five times my current salary at this point. Instead, I chose to enter advertising, but harbored the actual desire to be in account management as opposed to creative. The position was as an account executive, but fate in the form of the Senior Vice President for Creative, entered and, rightly or wrongly, thwarted my plans as a creative position was instantly created for me.
I did however, marry a banker. T is the proverbial creative stuck wearing a suit - unflinchingly, but not without a measure of discomfort. As colleagues writing for the university paper - he made his position to me quite clear. "It's where the money is," he said with resignation. And he made this decision with wide-open eyes, pushing aside his own creative impulses, his own personal yearnings. Ultimately, we make our decisions and suffer the tradeoffs while we reap the practicalities.
Similarly, the young, sensitive, musing M has made her own choice.
I want to tell her, even as I know my words are ineffectual at best, that the most important thing is to do what makes you happy and not look back. Or at least, not look back too much. I want to tell her that of course, it is impossible to be completely sure what will make you happy in the long run. I want to tell her that there do happen to be happy bankers and accountants who exercise their soul and passion and creativity both in but more frequently outside of their work. R who does tax accounting in New York, for example, finds the time to take cooking classes and publish the occasional story. But there yes, there are those who are not so happy - those like L who leave an industry, say publishing, to work in finance and four months later, wanting to return because the money just wasn't worth it.
The point is no one can have it completely both ways. There will always be the stuff you give up and the stuff you have to live with, whatever decision you make. There will always be little spaces in your heart in which reside tinges of regret, perhaps a tipple of yearning for something else or something more or even, the road not taken. But that, it is likely M is already learning.
Recent travel ended quite fittingly I thought, considering these musings, with a day in Zurich, Switzerland. Zurich, I'd been told, is a bankers' city. So not very imaginatively, I pictured a staid, business-like place - a city of grey pin-stripes, laptops and manila envelopes. Instead T and I were pleasurably surprised by a fresh briskly green little city with glowingly blue-green bodies of water flowing through it. We gasped at the clean breezes flying off the clear wide expanse of Lake Zurich as well as soaked up the verdant meadows and the stunning views of the Felseneg mountain. Everywhere, people were on bicycles, swimming in the lake, playing with their children.
T and I looked at each other. Perhaps it is possible to have it completely both ways. If ever anyone had it all, would it not be these people? Laughing, we acknowledged yet another new yearning - to be a banker in Zurich.
Invariably, I have heard one or another of us compare our jobs against what we, rightly or wrongly, percieve to be the dreariest of occupations. The words, "Imagine, working at a ... bank?" have been uttered with pure, unadulterated incredulity, to the point that the last word is said with such palpable dismay that the "k" sound at the end of the word hangs in the air like a resonating "ick ick ick ick."
As someone who only very slightly resisted the conventional English major's path,I understand the issues at stake. The money vs passion argument, which unfortunately, does come into play in the choice of occupation. My first ever job interview was for the position of a research and financial analyst for a securities firm. I am well aware that had I chosen to accept this offer, I would surely be making four or five times my current salary at this point. Instead, I chose to enter advertising, but harbored the actual desire to be in account management as opposed to creative. The position was as an account executive, but fate in the form of the Senior Vice President for Creative, entered and, rightly or wrongly, thwarted my plans as a creative position was instantly created for me.
I did however, marry a banker. T is the proverbial creative stuck wearing a suit - unflinchingly, but not without a measure of discomfort. As colleagues writing for the university paper - he made his position to me quite clear. "It's where the money is," he said with resignation. And he made this decision with wide-open eyes, pushing aside his own creative impulses, his own personal yearnings. Ultimately, we make our decisions and suffer the tradeoffs while we reap the practicalities.
Similarly, the young, sensitive, musing M has made her own choice.
I want to tell her, even as I know my words are ineffectual at best, that the most important thing is to do what makes you happy and not look back. Or at least, not look back too much. I want to tell her that of course, it is impossible to be completely sure what will make you happy in the long run. I want to tell her that there do happen to be happy bankers and accountants who exercise their soul and passion and creativity both in but more frequently outside of their work. R who does tax accounting in New York, for example, finds the time to take cooking classes and publish the occasional story. But there yes, there are those who are not so happy - those like L who leave an industry, say publishing, to work in finance and four months later, wanting to return because the money just wasn't worth it.
The point is no one can have it completely both ways. There will always be the stuff you give up and the stuff you have to live with, whatever decision you make. There will always be little spaces in your heart in which reside tinges of regret, perhaps a tipple of yearning for something else or something more or even, the road not taken. But that, it is likely M is already learning.
Recent travel ended quite fittingly I thought, considering these musings, with a day in Zurich, Switzerland. Zurich, I'd been told, is a bankers' city. So not very imaginatively, I pictured a staid, business-like place - a city of grey pin-stripes, laptops and manila envelopes. Instead T and I were pleasurably surprised by a fresh briskly green little city with glowingly blue-green bodies of water flowing through it. We gasped at the clean breezes flying off the clear wide expanse of Lake Zurich as well as soaked up the verdant meadows and the stunning views of the Felseneg mountain. Everywhere, people were on bicycles, swimming in the lake, playing with their children.
T and I looked at each other. Perhaps it is possible to have it completely both ways. If ever anyone had it all, would it not be these people? Laughing, we acknowledged yet another new yearning - to be a banker in Zurich.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
The sidewalks of Prague
From the Meteor Plaza Hotel in Prague
It's all about walking. You need to feel a foreign country with your feet, and you can't do that without a large measure of walking. But thankfully, the city of Prague lends itself well to our footfalls. While we both marvelled at the majesty and the grandeur of the old town square, the stunning Charles bridge, the castle and the great cathedral within, I also found myself hypnotised by the sidewalks.
All the sidewalks are paved mosaic style with squares or parallelograms of coloured stone - white, gray, black, pink. Granite? I promise myself I will look it up once I get the chance. And such a variety of patterns. The white diamonds wrapped in black squares. The large black and white checkerboards. The pink rectangles with the grey borders. The pink crosses lined with white. The white crosses enclosed in black squares. Such simplicity in what seems to be a complex way of paving what will simply be trodden upon. Why? What for? It certainly can't have been easy to lay all those square stones evenly enough, and yet not so evenly - with imperfect perfection.
T says, "Isn't there just one basic pattern?" I insist I've counted more than seven.
And as we walked and walked through the old town and the new, sauntering through Kafka's beautiful city, we felt it pulsing upon the very soles of our feet, with every step we took.
It's all about walking. You need to feel a foreign country with your feet, and you can't do that without a large measure of walking. But thankfully, the city of Prague lends itself well to our footfalls. While we both marvelled at the majesty and the grandeur of the old town square, the stunning Charles bridge, the castle and the great cathedral within, I also found myself hypnotised by the sidewalks.
All the sidewalks are paved mosaic style with squares or parallelograms of coloured stone - white, gray, black, pink. Granite? I promise myself I will look it up once I get the chance. And such a variety of patterns. The white diamonds wrapped in black squares. The large black and white checkerboards. The pink rectangles with the grey borders. The pink crosses lined with white. The white crosses enclosed in black squares. Such simplicity in what seems to be a complex way of paving what will simply be trodden upon. Why? What for? It certainly can't have been easy to lay all those square stones evenly enough, and yet not so evenly - with imperfect perfection.
T says, "Isn't there just one basic pattern?" I insist I've counted more than seven.
And as we walked and walked through the old town and the new, sauntering through Kafka's beautiful city, we felt it pulsing upon the very soles of our feet, with every step we took.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Travelling with your spouse
from an internet cafe in the Frankfurt train station
Count on the following proverbial laws of Murphy:
-one of you will be hungry when one of you isn't
-one of you will need the facilities at an ill opportune juncture
-one of you, at a certain point, would rather shop for shoes than go to a military museum
But all ill will be forgotten in an instant when encountering something great and wondrous. Like a church that is hundreds of years old.Or a beautiful green graveyard at the edge of a city. Or a painting by Pissaro or Latour.
And you will laugh together - all because the z is where the y should be on a German keyboard.
Count on the following proverbial laws of Murphy:
-one of you will be hungry when one of you isn't
-one of you will need the facilities at an ill opportune juncture
-one of you, at a certain point, would rather shop for shoes than go to a military museum
But all ill will be forgotten in an instant when encountering something great and wondrous. Like a church that is hundreds of years old.Or a beautiful green graveyard at the edge of a city. Or a painting by Pissaro or Latour.
And you will laugh together - all because the z is where the y should be on a German keyboard.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Growing Pains
"I feel really lonely about this."
When my son said this late last night at bedtime, I swear I almost burst into tears.
He's going through a tough time in school, being teased for being "fat" by his entire school bus. We feel a lot of this has to do with the fact that he is very different from his schoolmates, both personally and in his physique. Beside most of the local boys who tend to be on the scrawny, shrimpy, toothpick side (clearly I am upset), C is a big boy. Ironically, back home in the Philippines, he would be just average...big, perhaps, but not fat and certainly not obese. In the US or the UK, he would be just average. But yes, here he is fat, plain and simple. And children can be as cruel and as narrow-minded as adults can.
So what's happening now is when he steps onto the bus, the entire troop yells, "Hi fat Carlos." And apparently, yesterday, one kid says, "Everybody who thinks Carlos is fat should whack him." And more than a number of them kicked him on his shins. I called the school bus coordinator first thing.
T and I sat with him last night to try and strategise. Because it's the entire bus and not just one or two, he can't really pick a fight - he'd be outnumbered. He has tried smart remarks, but with so many of them, he is outshouted. The other problem is that he refuses to just ignore it.
"They make me so angry, I'm tempted to say something back."
One of my suggestions is to answer, "Hi, toothpicks." Or even better, just hi, and simply ignore it. Lola's suggestion is to threaten to sit on them - however, I think that would backfire. T says to ignore it, to act like it doesn't bother him. But C was adamant. It does bother him, and why wouldn't it? He is an outspoken boy. He can't just ignore it.
Wisely, he vetoed the idea of either me or T coming down and shouting at the entire busload (which actually, I'm very tempted to do). But I know, the minute the bus gets on the road, it will simply start again.
He's now very conscious of what he eats and wants to be "thin." But I told him that he can't lose that much weight as he's still growing. Besides, no matter how thin he gets, he will always be on the bigger side - it's in his genes. He sighed and buried his face into the pillow. And that's when he said it.
"I feel really lonely about this."
You start remembering such moments in your own childhood when you felt "very lonely" about something. My moment was in the fourth grade, when the entire class of 17 girls decided to give me the silent treatment for no apparent reason. It lasted a week and a half, until one girl simply got tired of it and the rest followed suit. I ended up forging friendships with the boys. It was humiliating because even the teachers asked me what was going on. At 38, I still vividly recall the loneliness. And here C is feeling the exact same thing. Faced with small minds attached to smaller bodies, what's a boy of seven to do?
With aplomb, he wakes for breakfast. He puts on his clothes and goes to school, anyway. There are no tears, no resistance to what he has to do. He tells us he loves us. He says goodbye. He is resolute, perhaps a tinge hopeful, building inner strength and steeling himself against the feeling of forlorn aloneness.
I am sure he will survive this. He will emerge strong, I'm certain. But there's no denying that ache, that hardness in the heart. Be reassuring. Tell him this too will pass, even while knowing it will stay with him forever. What else is a mother to do?
When my son said this late last night at bedtime, I swear I almost burst into tears.
He's going through a tough time in school, being teased for being "fat" by his entire school bus. We feel a lot of this has to do with the fact that he is very different from his schoolmates, both personally and in his physique. Beside most of the local boys who tend to be on the scrawny, shrimpy, toothpick side (clearly I am upset), C is a big boy. Ironically, back home in the Philippines, he would be just average...big, perhaps, but not fat and certainly not obese. In the US or the UK, he would be just average. But yes, here he is fat, plain and simple. And children can be as cruel and as narrow-minded as adults can.
So what's happening now is when he steps onto the bus, the entire troop yells, "Hi fat Carlos." And apparently, yesterday, one kid says, "Everybody who thinks Carlos is fat should whack him." And more than a number of them kicked him on his shins. I called the school bus coordinator first thing.
T and I sat with him last night to try and strategise. Because it's the entire bus and not just one or two, he can't really pick a fight - he'd be outnumbered. He has tried smart remarks, but with so many of them, he is outshouted. The other problem is that he refuses to just ignore it.
"They make me so angry, I'm tempted to say something back."
One of my suggestions is to answer, "Hi, toothpicks." Or even better, just hi, and simply ignore it. Lola's suggestion is to threaten to sit on them - however, I think that would backfire. T says to ignore it, to act like it doesn't bother him. But C was adamant. It does bother him, and why wouldn't it? He is an outspoken boy. He can't just ignore it.
Wisely, he vetoed the idea of either me or T coming down and shouting at the entire busload (which actually, I'm very tempted to do). But I know, the minute the bus gets on the road, it will simply start again.
He's now very conscious of what he eats and wants to be "thin." But I told him that he can't lose that much weight as he's still growing. Besides, no matter how thin he gets, he will always be on the bigger side - it's in his genes. He sighed and buried his face into the pillow. And that's when he said it.
"I feel really lonely about this."
You start remembering such moments in your own childhood when you felt "very lonely" about something. My moment was in the fourth grade, when the entire class of 17 girls decided to give me the silent treatment for no apparent reason. It lasted a week and a half, until one girl simply got tired of it and the rest followed suit. I ended up forging friendships with the boys. It was humiliating because even the teachers asked me what was going on. At 38, I still vividly recall the loneliness. And here C is feeling the exact same thing. Faced with small minds attached to smaller bodies, what's a boy of seven to do?
With aplomb, he wakes for breakfast. He puts on his clothes and goes to school, anyway. There are no tears, no resistance to what he has to do. He tells us he loves us. He says goodbye. He is resolute, perhaps a tinge hopeful, building inner strength and steeling himself against the feeling of forlorn aloneness.
I am sure he will survive this. He will emerge strong, I'm certain. But there's no denying that ache, that hardness in the heart. Be reassuring. Tell him this too will pass, even while knowing it will stay with him forever. What else is a mother to do?
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
If these people had blogs...
I would read them:
- Needless to say, I read every blog I've linked to right now, because, well, because I'm interested in the nitty-gritty of people's lives. I like being on other planes
of consciousness.
- My dear friend, creative writing Pinoy poet and teacher Rofel Brion. His would be pure Pilipino, spare and clean and to the point just like his poetry. Every now and then, his would have talasalitaan - some little known or perhaps archaic but useful word that people have stopped using. Now, wouldn't that be interesting?
- I would read TRM. He's an old, old, old friend who frequently drives me up a wall with his grumpy moods and carmudgeonly ways. But I know that deep down, we share a friendship, a history. He's a wire news service editor, very likely the best in his field, I'm sure. Right now, he lives in Beijing. He used to write fiction, likes writing sports, and now burns cds and creates photo journals. I hear he's taken up cooking. I asked him once why he didn't blog and he mocked me. He said (and I'm paraphrasing): "My thoughts are ephemeral, there for the instant for whomever is present, and then gone with the wind." Whatever. If he did I'd read.
- I would read BB's blog, if she had one.Maybe she does, but I have no way of knowing. BB was one of the writers in my writing program. I last spoke to her in 1997 on a trip to New York. She had a permanent temp job at a bank and had just gotten one of her plays running off off-Broadway. In school, she was a tiny little thing with broad midwestern drawl and a skull cap of chestnut curls that she then shaved off ala Sinead O'Connor. At the end of our two year program, she and one of our other classmates ran off to Mexico together. He left his wife for BB. Come to think of it, I would read that guy's blog, too.
- My cousin, the playwright Floy Quintos. I'm not certain what his blog would have. Not showbiz gossip, that's for sure. Well-crafted essays about antiques, architecture, theatre and family. Maybe the beginnings of his memoirs.
- My first ever beloved boss Emily Abrera, who saved me from a life of account service (although I now think I'd probably be making more money today if I had gone into it). Anyway, I would read hers...everyday. I would check it everyday. Very definitely.
- I would read my parents and my sisters. And my cousin Jon, a cardiologist in Chicago - especially if it had hospital anecdotes. Oh...and if Celeste Soliven, Camille Genuino, Angelique Faustino, Christine Esteban, Janette Martin and Leia Castaneda had blogs, I'd read theirs regularly. They live so far away and they rarely write. And Jaypee Sevilla who I believe is living in South Africa right now with his wife, on a project for the Harvard School of Public Health where he's there on tenure track.
- I would read Woody Allen's blog but it's not likely he would have one since he can charge the New Yorker for it. I would read Ethan Hawke, Jodi Foster, Steve Martin, Carrie Fisher. I would read Anna Wintour and Miuccia Prada. John Irving, Alice Munro and John Updike - but why would they blog, they've got books to write...
Clearly, I could go on...
- Needless to say, I read every blog I've linked to right now, because, well, because I'm interested in the nitty-gritty of people's lives. I like being on other planes
of consciousness.
- My dear friend, creative writing Pinoy poet and teacher Rofel Brion. His would be pure Pilipino, spare and clean and to the point just like his poetry. Every now and then, his would have talasalitaan - some little known or perhaps archaic but useful word that people have stopped using. Now, wouldn't that be interesting?
- I would read TRM. He's an old, old, old friend who frequently drives me up a wall with his grumpy moods and carmudgeonly ways. But I know that deep down, we share a friendship, a history. He's a wire news service editor, very likely the best in his field, I'm sure. Right now, he lives in Beijing. He used to write fiction, likes writing sports, and now burns cds and creates photo journals. I hear he's taken up cooking. I asked him once why he didn't blog and he mocked me. He said (and I'm paraphrasing): "My thoughts are ephemeral, there for the instant for whomever is present, and then gone with the wind." Whatever. If he did I'd read.
- I would read BB's blog, if she had one.Maybe she does, but I have no way of knowing. BB was one of the writers in my writing program. I last spoke to her in 1997 on a trip to New York. She had a permanent temp job at a bank and had just gotten one of her plays running off off-Broadway. In school, she was a tiny little thing with broad midwestern drawl and a skull cap of chestnut curls that she then shaved off ala Sinead O'Connor. At the end of our two year program, she and one of our other classmates ran off to Mexico together. He left his wife for BB. Come to think of it, I would read that guy's blog, too.
- My cousin, the playwright Floy Quintos. I'm not certain what his blog would have. Not showbiz gossip, that's for sure. Well-crafted essays about antiques, architecture, theatre and family. Maybe the beginnings of his memoirs.
- My first ever beloved boss Emily Abrera, who saved me from a life of account service (although I now think I'd probably be making more money today if I had gone into it). Anyway, I would read hers...everyday. I would check it everyday. Very definitely.
- I would read my parents and my sisters. And my cousin Jon, a cardiologist in Chicago - especially if it had hospital anecdotes. Oh...and if Celeste Soliven, Camille Genuino, Angelique Faustino, Christine Esteban, Janette Martin and Leia Castaneda had blogs, I'd read theirs regularly. They live so far away and they rarely write. And Jaypee Sevilla who I believe is living in South Africa right now with his wife, on a project for the Harvard School of Public Health where he's there on tenure track.
- I would read Woody Allen's blog but it's not likely he would have one since he can charge the New Yorker for it. I would read Ethan Hawke, Jodi Foster, Steve Martin, Carrie Fisher. I would read Anna Wintour and Miuccia Prada. John Irving, Alice Munro and John Updike - but why would they blog, they've got books to write...
Clearly, I could go on...
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Change is good, right?
Feeling a little hesitation. Maybe that's too strong a word. Minor reservations might be the best way to describe it. How does one cope with certain and impending change?
Think of it like a yoga posture...you just have to do it, move yourself through it with as much grace and serenity you can muster. At the end of the day, it's just another thing. And another thing.
The funny thing is the more things change, the more they stay the same, to use that cliche. I'm still battling the same enemies. Still rushing to make time for the things I want to do and the people I want to do them with. Maybe the change will be better for that.
Anyway, the kiddies are on school break...and I'm afraid I've left them to their own devices in the way of activities. Haven't signed them up for anything. I've said they can do the things they want to do this week, in their own time, at their own pace. I told them to enjoy being bored when they can't think of anything to do. Or perhaps, they can just sit around and do nothing for a bit. That was a large part of my childhood. Adults don't do that nearly enough...
Think of it like a yoga posture...you just have to do it, move yourself through it with as much grace and serenity you can muster. At the end of the day, it's just another thing. And another thing.
The funny thing is the more things change, the more they stay the same, to use that cliche. I'm still battling the same enemies. Still rushing to make time for the things I want to do and the people I want to do them with. Maybe the change will be better for that.
Anyway, the kiddies are on school break...and I'm afraid I've left them to their own devices in the way of activities. Haven't signed them up for anything. I've said they can do the things they want to do this week, in their own time, at their own pace. I told them to enjoy being bored when they can't think of anything to do. Or perhaps, they can just sit around and do nothing for a bit. That was a large part of my childhood. Adults don't do that nearly enough...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Run, Run, Everybody Run
Anyone remember that? The catchy Sesame Street ditty that goes: Run, run, everybody run.Come run with me and we'll have fun. Hey, run, run, everybody run. Five, four, three, two, run. Let's run. You can run in the park. You can run in the street. It really doesn't matter, just move your feet. Just hold my hand, and what do you know? Take a deep breath and ready, set, go.
This is likely the first song I ever learned, the first non-ABC-common-garden-kindergaren-variety song, anyway ... but I digress. I read Miko's marathon musings and am very envious. I want to run,too. I've always wanted to run. But it's tough on the mammary glands, and I can never seem to get things off the ground. They say, start slow. Run for five minutes. Then ten. Build up. When I was a grad student in Bowling Green, my best friend at the time was Janette. She was the coolest. She still is. She with her black cats and her broccoli and pesto pasta. Plus she was beautiful and 43, and a lovely writer. We called each other every day to make sure we were each still alive - this was after we saw Silence of the Lambs together. Bowling Green is the middle of nowhere, America after all. That's what it felt like to us. Anyway, I'm digressing again, she ran. I was 22 and in complete awe of her discipline. Back then, I had no desire to run, as much as I admired it. And now, here we are and Miko's 23 and I'm...well...I'm pushing 40, and I am still in awe. But I feel the desire now. I want those endorphins. Start slow. Even a woman pushing 40 can take baby steps, right? Five minutes. Then ten. Walk, then start again. I want it.It isn't too late, is it?
Maybe this yearning is my body's way of mimicking my state of mind at the moment.
The body is wanting that mind-body connection. So run, people will tell me. Run if you want to run. Just shut up already.
OK, will do.
This is likely the first song I ever learned, the first non-ABC-common-garden-kindergaren-variety song, anyway ... but I digress. I read Miko's marathon musings and am very envious. I want to run,too. I've always wanted to run. But it's tough on the mammary glands, and I can never seem to get things off the ground. They say, start slow. Run for five minutes. Then ten. Build up. When I was a grad student in Bowling Green, my best friend at the time was Janette. She was the coolest. She still is. She with her black cats and her broccoli and pesto pasta. Plus she was beautiful and 43, and a lovely writer. We called each other every day to make sure we were each still alive - this was after we saw Silence of the Lambs together. Bowling Green is the middle of nowhere, America after all. That's what it felt like to us. Anyway, I'm digressing again, she ran. I was 22 and in complete awe of her discipline. Back then, I had no desire to run, as much as I admired it. And now, here we are and Miko's 23 and I'm...well...I'm pushing 40, and I am still in awe. But I feel the desire now. I want those endorphins. Start slow. Even a woman pushing 40 can take baby steps, right? Five minutes. Then ten. Walk, then start again. I want it.It isn't too late, is it?
Maybe this yearning is my body's way of mimicking my state of mind at the moment.
The body is wanting that mind-body connection. So run, people will tell me. Run if you want to run. Just shut up already.
OK, will do.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
In the wee small hours of the morning...
- It is natural to worry.
- It is best to keep things in perspective.
- It is important to just breathe.
- It is comforting to pray.
- It is tempting to make plans.
- It is crazy to make decisions.
- It makes sense to write.
- It is nice to be surprised by a brilliant idea.
- It is better to make sure you write it down.
- It is ok to be uncertain.
- It is an occasion for wishing.
- It is not the right time to call people.
- It is good to be grateful for blessings.
- It is ideal to go back to sleep.
- It is best to keep things in perspective.
- It is important to just breathe.
- It is comforting to pray.
- It is tempting to make plans.
- It is crazy to make decisions.
- It makes sense to write.
- It is nice to be surprised by a brilliant idea.
- It is better to make sure you write it down.
- It is ok to be uncertain.
- It is an occasion for wishing.
- It is not the right time to call people.
- It is good to be grateful for blessings.
- It is ideal to go back to sleep.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Let the games begin
Am looking forward to September 15, and not just because of Paris, although certainly that's part of it. Once again, I am led by impulse into circumstances of uncertainty, a good measure of hopeful faith held tightly in my proverbial sweaty palms. What does the future hold? As Elphaba sings in poignant refrain, "Unlimited. My future is...unlimited." I just hope and pray it's not going to end up with me melting into my ruby shoes. Cryptic, yes, and I'm sorry. But until I know what I know, I can only know what I don't know. And that't just not interesting, not really. The abiity to do something, even the ability to do it well, does not always come with the desire to do it.
I'm looking forward to Studio 60 On Sunset Strip. At least, I think that's what it's called. I saw the ad for a new series from the makers of The West Wing. They brought back Bradley Whitford and Timothy Busfield and put them together with Amanda Peet and Matthew Perry aka Chandler Bing. Should be good fun.
I am looking forward to a weekend that's more leisurely and more restful than the one I just had.
I'm looking forward to following the advice of Debra Spark in her book, Curious Attractions Essays on Fiction Writing...once I have a little free time that is.
I'm looking forward to slowly moving from a state of less certainty to a state of more certainty. Even just a little more.
And then, I'm just looking forward...
I'm looking forward to Studio 60 On Sunset Strip. At least, I think that's what it's called. I saw the ad for a new series from the makers of The West Wing. They brought back Bradley Whitford and Timothy Busfield and put them together with Amanda Peet and Matthew Perry aka Chandler Bing. Should be good fun.
I am looking forward to a weekend that's more leisurely and more restful than the one I just had.
I'm looking forward to following the advice of Debra Spark in her book, Curious Attractions Essays on Fiction Writing...once I have a little free time that is.
I'm looking forward to slowly moving from a state of less certainty to a state of more certainty. Even just a little more.
And then, I'm just looking forward...
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
What kind of person are you
Do you overthink a good thing?
Do you act on impulse?
Do you flee in the face of risk?
Do you hate to regret?
Do you go for the goal, regardless of the danger?
Do you act with confidence?
Do you believe in yourself?
Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
What kind of a person does that make you...
Do you act on impulse?
Do you flee in the face of risk?
Do you hate to regret?
Do you go for the goal, regardless of the danger?
Do you act with confidence?
Do you believe in yourself?
Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
What kind of a person does that make you...
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Something's coming...
I don't know/what it is/but it is/gonna be great
So sayeth Sondheim and thus, I feel thusly. Despite the fact that things at the office could be a hell of a whole lot better, I feel the distinct opposite of John Irving's undertoad. Which is good, right? Good. It better be. It will be, whatever "it" is.
Celebrated the choir's first year anniversary yesterday. A small milestone but it felt good. Of course, that brought on a bout of CelesteS homesickness. How quickly things change. People came up to us to greet us and thank us, and that was gratifying. Then we walked to WestLake and gorged on yummy Kwapao (which I still recall Tanny eating in college teamed with chocolait in a tetra box), kikiam (which apparently here is called rather prosaicly, "prawn roll"), sweet sour pork, butter prawns, deep fried squid and salted fish fried rice - and happily toasted to a new year of prayer and music.
Tomorrow...have a shoot in the morning, lunch with people who enjoy analysing the publishing industry in this fine city state, and three client meetings. No time to go to the office, which works for me...why indeed wouldn't it. With any luck, a yoga class at 7am to kick off everything.
So sayeth Sondheim and thus, I feel thusly. Despite the fact that things at the office could be a hell of a whole lot better, I feel the distinct opposite of John Irving's undertoad. Which is good, right? Good. It better be. It will be, whatever "it" is.
Celebrated the choir's first year anniversary yesterday. A small milestone but it felt good. Of course, that brought on a bout of CelesteS homesickness. How quickly things change. People came up to us to greet us and thank us, and that was gratifying. Then we walked to WestLake and gorged on yummy Kwapao (which I still recall Tanny eating in college teamed with chocolait in a tetra box), kikiam (which apparently here is called rather prosaicly, "prawn roll"), sweet sour pork, butter prawns, deep fried squid and salted fish fried rice - and happily toasted to a new year of prayer and music.
Tomorrow...have a shoot in the morning, lunch with people who enjoy analysing the publishing industry in this fine city state, and three client meetings. No time to go to the office, which works for me...why indeed wouldn't it. With any luck, a yoga class at 7am to kick off everything.
It just occured to me
Someone in my family (I can't remember now whether it was my sister or my Dad) told me about when they first watched Jurassic Park. Most of the group had already read the Crichton thriller, so the anticipation was high. Anyway, it was a small private premiere, and during that scene when the little girl finds the small dinosaur on the beach, one of my Dad's colleagues spoils the moment by yelping loudly and at a squeaky girlish pitch a split second before the little prehistoric predator attacks: "Oh no! It's the spitting kind!!"
After six years here, I can't help but make that same kind of yelp. 7 year old C reports that his classmates do it, why can't he? Then there's always the attention you need to pay on the sidewalks so you don't step into anyhoktus. But my number one worst moment was sitting in the backseat of a cab as it zoomed across the ECP so I could get back to the office from lunch in town. All of a sudden, the cabbie rolled down his window, inclined his head out all too slightly to have made a real difference and ptewied into the wind. In that same half a second a droplet was blown back through his open window, to the backseat and onto my bare arm. Feeling it distinctly searing on to my skin, I let out a scream.
The spitting kind.
It was a moment so stupid and so disgusting, I just had to write about it.
After six years here, I can't help but make that same kind of yelp. 7 year old C reports that his classmates do it, why can't he? Then there's always the attention you need to pay on the sidewalks so you don't step into any
The spitting kind.
It was a moment so stupid and so disgusting, I just had to write about it.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Date Night
After dinner at Kazu, we saw HARD CANDY last night and enjoyed it immensely. What's not to enjoy? Provocative premise. Inventive plot. A tight, well-devised, dramatically paced screenplay. And great acting by non-Hollywood players. We didn't ask anyone to join us, mostly because we knew people would turn down seeing a movie about a teenage girl bent on revenge upon a pedophile. After all, R and C have claimed not to enjoy infidelity movies, science fiction and horror movies - we were fairly certain they wouldn't go for Hard Candy. To say it is a rather dark flick is an understatement. But really, it was dark chocolate. Devilishly good. The only person I can think of who would like it, off-hand, is Miko of the Musings.
Got home early and decided to put on THE BREAKUP with Vaughn and Aniston, but had to turn it off twenty minutes in; the inanity was just mind-boggling. Usually I watch anything with Aniston, even while being aware of her limitations and the tendency to fall back into Rachel-mode by default. Vince Vaughn is funny. But the problem with this movie is that it was ill-concieved, and while it was comedy,it wasnt the kind where tears run down your-cheeks and you clutch at your stomach. Nothing like NACHO LIBRE or even MEET THE PARENTS for that matter. Uncontrollable laughter. That's what I look for, sue me. Of course, THE BREAKUP, Hollywood flick that it is, will make more money than HARD CANDY. It's amazing the stupidity that makes money, and the intelligence that doesn't. Ironic and downright unfair.
Non-Sequitur: Happy Birthday, Omar. I read your blog by virtue of six degrees.
Ikaw naman! Wanted to comment but there was no comment mode. I'm certain you will enjoy your forays. It's still my hope that I will be able to attend one of your "beautiful people" soirees. You have a point; keep writing.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
10 Things to do when you're out of sorts
1. Yoga
2. Write a letter/email to someone you haven't spoken to in months
3. Watch Sex and the City season 4
4. Go for a hike somewhere green
5. Have a gelato
6. Recommit to an old goal
7. Allow yourself to be silent and alone
8. Read a good novel
9. Make a cup of tea
10. Pray
2. Write a letter/email to someone you haven't spoken to in months
3. Watch Sex and the City season 4
4. Go for a hike somewhere green
5. Have a gelato
6. Recommit to an old goal
7. Allow yourself to be silent and alone
8. Read a good novel
9. Make a cup of tea
10. Pray
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Something to think about
I love it when out of the blue, someone says something thought-provoking.
My office mate or as they say here, colleague D. at the office said: "90 per cent of all self-talk is negative. We should all try to reverse that and make our self-talk positive." I think that's true for many people. But here's another thought: I do know a more than a few people who are virtual fonts of positive self-talk and it's done out loud. The operative word being self. That can be a bit much, as well. Perhaps there's merit in keeping one's positive
self-talk ...to oneself.
My office mate or as they say here, colleague D. at the office said: "90 per cent of all self-talk is negative. We should all try to reverse that and make our self-talk positive." I think that's true for many people. But here's another thought: I do know a more than a few people who are virtual fonts of positive self-talk and it's done out loud. The operative word being self. That can be a bit much, as well. Perhaps there's merit in keeping one's positive
self-talk ...to oneself.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Biker chicks
Sunday came and went like a flash. And now, I have that same Sunday night squeamishness I used to get as a child. Wish I could just rewind and play the weekend over and over again...
Saturday, July 29, 2006
TGIS!
Although I failed to get up this morning for the run I meant to take, I did manage some very thorough cardio. We decided to make a second visit to Pulau Ubin, a small rustic island off Changi Beach - just an eight minute pump boat ride away. The kids were thrilled, and it was better than the first time because there were much less people. Went for the tandem bikes and opted to do part of the ride on a dirt road trail - for major heart rate raising. All in all about one hour including two two-breaks. Afterwards, we had fresh buko juice, straight from the coconut before the pumpboat ride back. 4 dollars for the round-trip boat ride, 6 dollars for the tandem bike, and a dollar fifty for the coconut. Lots of fresh green clean air, pretty mangrove and sea scenes - really, what more could you ask for? Then it was a pizza and pasta lunch at our favourite spot, a drive around to explore nieghborhoods, gelato, home for a nap. And tonight, had home movie session screening of Shrek, after a yummy dinner of Chili and corn salad with pita chips!
A sublime Saturday...
A sublime Saturday...
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Tita Mariel's Mabilisan Visit
She was here for David Swenson's yoga workshop, which meant she was not with us for eight to ten hours of her two day visit (next time, stay longer). Still we managed two dinners out, Nacho Libre and an after-movie snack, as well as an hour long intense hiking session at Bukit Timah Nature Reserve. Then it was Pepperoni dinner, Estivo gelato...and lots of Magic Mike-ing. Fun fun, fun...
Next time, bring Tita Lara and stay longer!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
How it can happen
An old college friend came through town. We hadn't seen each other in a couple of years, but I had heard the great story of how she had met someone online and moved to another country to be with him. There was no news for awhile, and I wondered how it was going. And all of a sudden, this past weekend, she was here. We sat and had sandwiches and soup and coffee; everything was the same and yet everything was different. She was there. She was happy. It was a wonderful thing to see. Strange and wonderful how two people on opposite sides of the world can find each other and make that connection. And even greater that in these days, they can actually make the move, commit to the decision, and journey to their happiness, without having to wait for it to come to them. She regaled me with anecdotes, little tales of what their new life together is like, all the details of which I pulled together as though I were gathering my own little pile of colored confetti. They are now exploring the region, trying to decide in seemingly newly-wedded fashion where they will settle and make their life together.
This is not the only story. My mom told me another love story of the digital age. And my colleague at work yet another. People go on holiday in another country and meet someone, and from there they parlay it into something real. A romance. A relationship. No longer do you hear the antiquated, hum-drum or ho-hum? tales of highschool sweethearts or college courtships. This is the way it can happen these days, and when it works, just as it does conventionally, it's a wondrous thing, indeed.
This is not the only story. My mom told me another love story of the digital age. And my colleague at work yet another. People go on holiday in another country and meet someone, and from there they parlay it into something real. A romance. A relationship. No longer do you hear the antiquated, hum-drum or ho-hum? tales of highschool sweethearts or college courtships. This is the way it can happen these days, and when it works, just as it does conventionally, it's a wondrous thing, indeed.
Monday, July 17, 2006
New addiction
It's amazing how you can start out ambivalent about someting, and then there's a shift, and you can be addicted to the very thing. Right now, am very deeply into Grey's Anatomy. Even though I get irritated by the lead and some of the plot lines are predictable, the effect of the series as a whole is pleasurable. Somehow, it all gets pulled together quite nicely and characters start growing on you. Non-sequitur: Finally saw Derailed with Clive Owen and Jennifer Aniston. Highly inventive. I grow O. Henry-esque in my old age in that I find immense pleasure in the unexpected. On the same note, have started rereading Roald Dahl for that same elusive satisfaction.
It seems at this point, I thirst (or is it hunger) for stories with irresistible once upon a times. This weekend, that Jack Black movie about nachos; going along with T and the Flo's despite my own misgivings. Should be good for a laugh or two.
It seems at this point, I thirst (or is it hunger) for stories with irresistible once upon a times. This weekend, that Jack Black movie about nachos; going along with T and the Flo's despite my own misgivings. Should be good for a laugh or two.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Communicative vs. Uncommunicative
The theory is people have a tendency to be either one or the other, and the latter usualy has pejorative associations. Recent events at work and in general at home have led me to acknowledge my own difficulties as an admittedly overly communicative, dealing with a non. How is that situation and conflict to be resolved? The popular view is while people can be led to change, it can't be something that's forced. And change can only happen if the individual recognises the necessity to change. What then is the communicative person to do when this is the only way available to her to function. Is there such a thing as being overly communicative? Or is it the manner of communication that needs adjustment (even as I type this, I know that the answer to this question is affirmative.).
Can't help thinking that situations like these involve a stalemate of sorts, a compromise. Either that, or the person that can change should change... to accomodate? But what would be lost in that situation? Wouldn't the person be denying the true self? On the other hand, what can be done to lead the non to a more comfortable place where she/he can be encouraged to communicate. And yet, realistically, who has time for that? What would Dr. Phil say? The non communicative should just buckle down and do it, and the communicative should adjust his/her approach so as to be less confrontational and more cooperative. That's just exhausting.
The truth is, the communicative who must temper, deny and manage communication needs, which of course, are vast, in order to accomodate and encourage the non, experiences as much pain, difficulty and discomfort as the non learning to be less non.
Can't help thinking that situations like these involve a stalemate of sorts, a compromise. Either that, or the person that can change should change... to accomodate? But what would be lost in that situation? Wouldn't the person be denying the true self? On the other hand, what can be done to lead the non to a more comfortable place where she/he can be encouraged to communicate. And yet, realistically, who has time for that? What would Dr. Phil say? The non communicative should just buckle down and do it, and the communicative should adjust his/her approach so as to be less confrontational and more cooperative. That's just exhausting.
The truth is, the communicative who must temper, deny and manage communication needs, which of course, are vast, in order to accomodate and encourage the non, experiences as much pain, difficulty and discomfort as the non learning to be less non.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Maybe it's all that West Wing...
Was browsing at a bookstore with my brood. For some reason, I went beyond my usual fiction haunt, venturing to non-fiction and current events. The Truth About Hillary, a political biography caught my eye. And with the first para, I was hooked. Got greedy and teamed that purchase with Sidney Blumenthal's The Clinton Wars.
Then there was American Writers and Their Homes by JD McClatchy. It's a beautiful coffee table style book, but the thrill is not just in the pictures and the architecture. The text is quite substantial and of literary and historical bent. As it should be. The author was, and if I'm not mistaken, still is, the editor of The Yale Review. In graduate school, I once submitted a story to that literary journal. Mr. McClatchy was kind enough to write me a very encouraging personal note.
Is it a sign that it's time to start again?
Then there was American Writers and Their Homes by JD McClatchy. It's a beautiful coffee table style book, but the thrill is not just in the pictures and the architecture. The text is quite substantial and of literary and historical bent. As it should be. The author was, and if I'm not mistaken, still is, the editor of The Yale Review. In graduate school, I once submitted a story to that literary journal. Mr. McClatchy was kind enough to write me a very encouraging personal note.
Is it a sign that it's time to start again?
Thursday, July 06, 2006
The Trick To It
* Despite warnings, I braved the yoga hot room today. I think the trick is to stay
in savasana (dead man's pose) at the end for at least five minutes, and not rush.
It was pretty good today, and so far, no sicky. Plus, even though Ross had a full class, I was the only crescent room in the room! A big girl I may be, but I'm flexible.
* Thanks to LeiaCA, I have a weight watchers cookbook and the whole points system.
Something tricky to do is minimise your points by eating less than the amount stipulated. For example, a cup of grapes is 1 point. So eat half a cup.
* Work is swimming along, despite the fact that once again, I have no writer, and will soon lose my art director. So I just told the team, when the work piles, I'll justgo slower is all. They're up for it and are working ahead of time so it's not so
stressful.
* Time on the elliptical goes easy when you're watching The West Wing with subtitles. Fairly easy to get to 45 minutes, and that's 3 points.
* Speak calmly and quietly to your children...and they speak quietly and calmly to you. How's that for a trick? It really works too, even with C!
* New discovery: Pjur. Much much better than Astroglide...
* It's easier to leave kids for a three day trip to Hong Kong when your Mom is around! Whoohoo.
* Following World Cup is a good way to increase the mojo. So many lookers...
* Non-sequitur: It's also great to discover that a Nobel Prize Winner for Literature also believes in Fast Food Fiction. So he calls it Palm-of-the-Hand stories...that's still what they are. Great minds think alike, maybe...
in savasana (dead man's pose) at the end for at least five minutes, and not rush.
It was pretty good today, and so far, no sicky. Plus, even though Ross had a full class, I was the only crescent room in the room! A big girl I may be, but I'm flexible.
* Thanks to LeiaCA, I have a weight watchers cookbook and the whole points system.
Something tricky to do is minimise your points by eating less than the amount stipulated. For example, a cup of grapes is 1 point. So eat half a cup.
* Work is swimming along, despite the fact that once again, I have no writer, and will soon lose my art director. So I just told the team, when the work piles, I'll justgo slower is all. They're up for it and are working ahead of time so it's not so
stressful.
* Time on the elliptical goes easy when you're watching The West Wing with subtitles. Fairly easy to get to 45 minutes, and that's 3 points.
* Speak calmly and quietly to your children...and they speak quietly and calmly to you. How's that for a trick? It really works too, even with C!
* New discovery: Pjur. Much much better than Astroglide...
* It's easier to leave kids for a three day trip to Hong Kong when your Mom is around! Whoohoo.
* Following World Cup is a good way to increase the mojo. So many lookers...
* Non-sequitur: It's also great to discover that a Nobel Prize Winner for Literature also believes in Fast Food Fiction. So he calls it Palm-of-the-Hand stories...that's still what they are. Great minds think alike, maybe...
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Magic Mike Sunday
K has learned Hardcore Poetry, although she doesn't sing it as well yet as her Waterloo. Coby digs his Lemon Tree. And the most hilarious thing is each of them trying their vocal hand at Limang Dipang Tao. I just couldn't stop laughing, but I had to hide it. You don't ever want them to be embarrassed, or all would be lost. Tanny goes for funny songs like Wannabe by Spice Girls. He also does a good Bluer than Blue. I try Chaka Khan's Through The Fire, but towards the end, it's more like I'm Chaka cannot. I also like songs that are the opposite of me: Janet Jackson's Let's Take Awhile and Freestyle's So Slow. Then of course, T does his Dido with Thank You ala Elton John, and I go for the pathos of Alicia Keys.
A slow Sunday is always a good Sunday, especially when there't time for a nap and a swim...
A slow Sunday is always a good Sunday, especially when there't time for a nap and a swim...
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Forget Superman
Not that it wasn't nicely done. It was nicely done, but the story left a lot to be desired, I thought. Like a story. For one thing, you could see it coming a mile away.
And really, it gets tiresome the way Superman has selective hearing and he needed coordinates to find Lois Lane? Come on. Kevin Spacey was great though. Of course, that role is always great - remember Gene Hackman in it?
I guess at the end of the day, Superman has a pretty thin storyline - not to mention, rather flat characterisation. It just suffered in comparison to the Xmen series, which plotwise is just so inventive.
What I'm waiting for is Night At The Museum. Now that looks like a good story. And teaming Ben Stiller and Robin Williams. That's cool. Here's hoping the flick is as good as its trailer.
And really, it gets tiresome the way Superman has selective hearing and he needed coordinates to find Lois Lane? Come on. Kevin Spacey was great though. Of course, that role is always great - remember Gene Hackman in it?
I guess at the end of the day, Superman has a pretty thin storyline - not to mention, rather flat characterisation. It just suffered in comparison to the Xmen series, which plotwise is just so inventive.
What I'm waiting for is Night At The Museum. Now that looks like a good story. And teaming Ben Stiller and Robin Williams. That's cool. Here's hoping the flick is as good as its trailer.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Dear Celeste
How are you now where you are?
How are the kids and Dennis. I can just see him beaming at you over your morning coffee. There is nobody for beaming like Dennis. You will tell me this, and I will laugh and laugh. I really miss that.
How is that little grove of trees in your backyard? Have you made a compost heap? I am told that is the thing to do when you are living in a house in Virginia. You get your cooking scraps, apple peels and egg shells and make your own mulch in your backyard so your grass grows green. I am sure you already know this.
Noel of FX told me he misses you, and I almost burst into tears right there. Choir is okay though. We're supposed to sing this Saturday, I think, but the mail hasn't come in on the lineup. I got a new chip for the Magic Mike. It's a bit of a cheat because there aren't that many songs on it. But the songs that are there are nice. Haven't been seeing much of anybody, because there hasn't been an occasion. Then again, I haven't really felt like seeing anyone. And also, I was sick.
Saturdays seem strangely empty. We are thinking about badminton, but just can't get up the gumption. What I'd like is to just sit and have coffee with you. You and your coffee and your ice cubes and your rich dessert that you will only eat half of. I would like to walk the stores, looking for pretty things that I will urge you to buy while we talk of nothing special until you have to rush off to mass, and for more than a fleeting moment, I will want to go with you.
I have not yet downloaded SKYPE. I have not called you, but it's not because I don't want to talk to you. It's mostly because I have so much to share, but there are no words. And what would be the use of that, tell me?
How are the kids and Dennis. I can just see him beaming at you over your morning coffee. There is nobody for beaming like Dennis. You will tell me this, and I will laugh and laugh. I really miss that.
How is that little grove of trees in your backyard? Have you made a compost heap? I am told that is the thing to do when you are living in a house in Virginia. You get your cooking scraps, apple peels and egg shells and make your own mulch in your backyard so your grass grows green. I am sure you already know this.
Noel of FX told me he misses you, and I almost burst into tears right there. Choir is okay though. We're supposed to sing this Saturday, I think, but the mail hasn't come in on the lineup. I got a new chip for the Magic Mike. It's a bit of a cheat because there aren't that many songs on it. But the songs that are there are nice. Haven't been seeing much of anybody, because there hasn't been an occasion. Then again, I haven't really felt like seeing anyone. And also, I was sick.
Saturdays seem strangely empty. We are thinking about badminton, but just can't get up the gumption. What I'd like is to just sit and have coffee with you. You and your coffee and your ice cubes and your rich dessert that you will only eat half of. I would like to walk the stores, looking for pretty things that I will urge you to buy while we talk of nothing special until you have to rush off to mass, and for more than a fleeting moment, I will want to go with you.
I have not yet downloaded SKYPE. I have not called you, but it's not because I don't want to talk to you. It's mostly because I have so much to share, but there are no words. And what would be the use of that, tell me?
No workouts
No cookies.
No yoga.
No staying up late.
No junk food.
I haven't been working out because I'm taking it slow. That's what I tell myself anyway. But the truth is, I just can't seem to get up in the mornings. For some inexplicable reason, sleep seems the only thing to do that's absolutely worthwhile.
Last night I fell asleep to Brazil vs Ghana. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, T had won 300 dollars. Such a lot can happen when you're asleep.
In view of the fact that there's been no exercise, I've been eating with extreme care. The funny thing is I've apparently lost five pounds. Tomorrow, I will venture back to the yoga, but maybe not hot, maybe just power. Let's not tempt fate.
No yoga.
No staying up late.
No junk food.
I haven't been working out because I'm taking it slow. That's what I tell myself anyway. But the truth is, I just can't seem to get up in the mornings. For some inexplicable reason, sleep seems the only thing to do that's absolutely worthwhile.
Last night I fell asleep to Brazil vs Ghana. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, T had won 300 dollars. Such a lot can happen when you're asleep.
In view of the fact that there's been no exercise, I've been eating with extreme care. The funny thing is I've apparently lost five pounds. Tomorrow, I will venture back to the yoga, but maybe not hot, maybe just power. Let's not tempt fate.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Struck yet again
Ok, this isn't even funny anymore. After that horrible yoga class, I went to work the next day, sniffling and sneezing, and by nightfall...had developed a fever of 38.8, a comprehensive flu that kept me in bed for almost four days. M and T think it's hot yoga... and the proliferation of germs...and sweat opening you up and making you even more susceptible to illness. As much as I wish to dismiss the theory, I recall an instance in the car when I got the major chill sweats a full half an hour after the class. What the hell, I don't know. I just don't know.
With work being dismal and school starting for the kiddies, I can only be cheered by the following:
- My friend Leia's generous gift due to arrive the middle of this week!
- Carol Shields Collected Stories
- K and C's gameness to go back to school
- Hong Kong in two weeks
With work being dismal and school starting for the kiddies, I can only be cheered by the following:
- My friend Leia's generous gift due to arrive the middle of this week!
- Carol Shields Collected Stories
- K and C's gameness to go back to school
- Hong Kong in two weeks
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Learning the hard way
Never make the mistake of having a cup of coffee before you go for yoga practice.
Did an interview at Toast and proceeded from there to a yoga class, thinking what they hey, I was there anyway. And oh my goodness. As I dragged myself painfully through the asanas, breath seemed elusive. While the toxins may have flowed out of my body, the process was not rejuvenating as much as it was uncomfortable. I found myself thinking, this is what dying must be like.
Never again.
Did an interview at Toast and proceeded from there to a yoga class, thinking what they hey, I was there anyway. And oh my goodness. As I dragged myself painfully through the asanas, breath seemed elusive. While the toxins may have flowed out of my body, the process was not rejuvenating as much as it was uncomfortable. I found myself thinking, this is what dying must be like.
Never again.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
9 Revelations from a Manila trip
- The city is best experienced from the convenience of a hotel residence.
- It offers the most satisfying "value for money" shopping, combined with the fact that there is no language barrier.
- No matter how much time you allot for seeing people, it is always never enough.
- You will never be able to accomplish eating at all the restaurants you have decided you want to eat. And even when you manage to dine at "quite a number", unexpectedly, the most tantalising instance in your memory will be the time you ate at Shakey's.
- You will invariably run into someone you don't want to run into.
- The cash you have withdrawn from the ATM will run out sooner, rather than later.
- Supremely worthwhile activities will include a massage (or two or three) and a haircut.
- No matter how old your kids are, if they are below 15, it is worthwhile to bring a yaya.
- Even those who make a date to see you because they really want to, will be late.
- It offers the most satisfying "value for money" shopping, combined with the fact that there is no language barrier.
- No matter how much time you allot for seeing people, it is always never enough.
- You will never be able to accomplish eating at all the restaurants you have decided you want to eat. And even when you manage to dine at "quite a number", unexpectedly, the most tantalising instance in your memory will be the time you ate at Shakey's.
- You will invariably run into someone you don't want to run into.
- The cash you have withdrawn from the ATM will run out sooner, rather than later.
- Supremely worthwhile activities will include a massage (or two or three) and a haircut.
- No matter how old your kids are, if they are below 15, it is worthwhile to bring a yaya.
- Even those who make a date to see you because they really want to, will be late.
Friday, June 16, 2006
A NOTE TO HER SPOUSE'S EX
A piece of epistolary faction
I mean, really. Enough already. Resign yourself to your life and accept that there will always be a part of you that wonders and wants. It's only natural, and no one faults you for feeling that after having experienced a true connection, you want to play it out again. It is only natural to want to feed the vanity and nurture the possibility of what if. Of course it is. But rather than play these once-in-a-while desires, once in a while, why not practice restraint. For what good will it do in the end?
Desire need not always equal action.
I mean, really. Enough already. Resign yourself to your life and accept that there will always be a part of you that wonders and wants. It's only natural, and no one faults you for feeling that after having experienced a true connection, you want to play it out again. It is only natural to want to feed the vanity and nurture the possibility of what if. Of course it is. But rather than play these once-in-a-while desires, once in a while, why not practice restraint. For what good will it do in the end?
Desire need not always equal action.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Home... Sick
The doctor at the clinic said, "This is very similar to your last visit."
The symptoms of a blossoming upper respiratory tract infection. Come to think of it, it feels all too dejavu. What's wierd is the things I used to be able to work through, I'm no longer quite as adept at taking it. Now I guess I'm tired, so little things like a sniffly nose and a scratchy throat weigh a little more heavily.
"Why are you always getting sick?" That's what T said.
The doctor said, not without a measure of judgement, "You have to live a healthy life to be healthy. Proper sleep. Exercise. A good diet." I felt her eyes slide me. I said, "What happens when your job doesn't allow you to live a healthy life?" She said, "I have no answers for you." In my mind I said, thanks, and tucked the meds she gave me into my bag.
So home I went to bed and to sleep. Even though I have 100 and two things to write and deadlines loom, things will have to take care of themselves. In the meantime, I need to start living a healthy life.
The symptoms of a blossoming upper respiratory tract infection. Come to think of it, it feels all too dejavu. What's wierd is the things I used to be able to work through, I'm no longer quite as adept at taking it. Now I guess I'm tired, so little things like a sniffly nose and a scratchy throat weigh a little more heavily.
"Why are you always getting sick?" That's what T said.
The doctor said, not without a measure of judgement, "You have to live a healthy life to be healthy. Proper sleep. Exercise. A good diet." I felt her eyes slide me. I said, "What happens when your job doesn't allow you to live a healthy life?" She said, "I have no answers for you." In my mind I said, thanks, and tucked the meds she gave me into my bag.
So home I went to bed and to sleep. Even though I have 100 and two things to write and deadlines loom, things will have to take care of themselves. In the meantime, I need to start living a healthy life.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Without missing a beat
And we're back, as though we never left. K and C are enjoying science camp to the hilt, and no doubt, Melin is as well, for they are gainfully occupied and out of the house from 9-5 for a total of five days of what constitutes the "summer" break in Singapore. And me and T? Back at work, wondering, what now...what next?
Bohol deserves its own entry; though I will say those four days and three nights were lovely. Bohol is lovely. T texted me yesterday: Let's live in Bohol. What could we do? An English language school. A family style boutique resort? A tour company. So clean and so simple and time seems to pass more slowly. We asked how long it took from the airport to the resort, and we were told, half an hour. But it took twenty minutes. They said the pump boat ride to the marine sanctuary was twenty minutes, but it took closer to ten. And to the Chocolate Hills, it was supposed to be an hour, but it took forty minutes...so strange. I found myself dropping bill after bill into the rusty donation boxes of every tourist attraction we went to. How awful if it were all just to disappear. T said: How do you know it's going there? But then I caught him putting cash into the Tarsier donation box. Aah the inconsistency.
The driver of our resort car said Bohol is blessed. Alright, those are my words, but that's what he meant. He told us that it was a law (the actual word was patakaran) to have a religious saying on every commercial building. He said in Bohol, the weather is always good, and it never storms, and it never rains for more than an hour. ("But on this island, the earth sings!" was the music in my head). What got me right there was the sight of all the different sized houses with the placards: ATTORNEY AT LAW, ARCHITECT, and of course, the ubiquitous NOTARY PUBLIC. One placard of a homey, medium-sized bungalow rather frighteningly stated: MEDICAL and SURGICAL CLINIC.
There is a reason that we didn't get to see the dolphins.
We are going back.
Bohol deserves its own entry; though I will say those four days and three nights were lovely. Bohol is lovely. T texted me yesterday: Let's live in Bohol. What could we do? An English language school. A family style boutique resort? A tour company. So clean and so simple and time seems to pass more slowly. We asked how long it took from the airport to the resort, and we were told, half an hour. But it took twenty minutes. They said the pump boat ride to the marine sanctuary was twenty minutes, but it took closer to ten. And to the Chocolate Hills, it was supposed to be an hour, but it took forty minutes...so strange. I found myself dropping bill after bill into the rusty donation boxes of every tourist attraction we went to. How awful if it were all just to disappear. T said: How do you know it's going there? But then I caught him putting cash into the Tarsier donation box. Aah the inconsistency.
The driver of our resort car said Bohol is blessed. Alright, those are my words, but that's what he meant. He told us that it was a law (the actual word was patakaran) to have a religious saying on every commercial building. He said in Bohol, the weather is always good, and it never storms, and it never rains for more than an hour. ("But on this island, the earth sings!" was the music in my head). What got me right there was the sight of all the different sized houses with the placards: ATTORNEY AT LAW, ARCHITECT, and of course, the ubiquitous NOTARY PUBLIC. One placard of a homey, medium-sized bungalow rather frighteningly stated: MEDICAL and SURGICAL CLINIC.
There is a reason that we didn't get to see the dolphins.
We are going back.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Free at last!
Here I am, hanging by a thread after just eleven days sans Melin. I'm not ashamed to admit that I can't be a Supermom. At least, not the eighties kind that tries to "do it all," and without help. Not with the job I have. Thing is, I don't think I'd ever want to be. Maybe if I worked at a bookstore, selling books, maybe then I could do it. But even then, I wouldn't want to.
Finally, am on leave. Took the Floy Quintosians to the zoo, and enjoyed myself despite a number of interruptions from work. But first, I had to bring Kboomboom to the ear doctor to get her meds. We saw all the animals, and even got to feed the baboons! A nice three hour walk around the entire perimeter. The Zoo is lovely on a week day. And that lake is simply stunning. Now packing for Bohol.
Whoohoohoo...
Finally, am on leave. Took the Floy Quintosians to the zoo, and enjoyed myself despite a number of interruptions from work. But first, I had to bring Kboomboom to the ear doctor to get her meds. We saw all the animals, and even got to feed the baboons! A nice three hour walk around the entire perimeter. The Zoo is lovely on a week day. And that lake is simply stunning. Now packing for Bohol.
Whoohoohoo...
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Day 9
Discover yet again... when I'm up against the wall, and my family wails for food, I can cook. And I'm not half bad, if I do say so myself. Sick of takeout and equally sick of going out, the husband and the children said, "Let's eat in, please..."
So I made what I have hastily christened Picnic Penne
Ingredients
garlic
onion
basil
1/2 pack of penne
1 can stewed tomatoes
1 can mushrooms
2 pieces of cooked ham, chopped into bits
1 can of anchovies
1 cup red wine
Lots of grated Parmegiano Regiano
1) Set the penne to boil in water with a pinch of rock salt
2) Saute minced garlic and chopped onion in olive oil. Add in ham and brown. Add in mushrooms, basil and anchovy (drained of oil). Let all of this sweat together.
3) Drain can of stewed tomatoes and chop them up
4) Before penne is done, take it off the flame and drain in colander. Penne will seem on the underdone side, but that's intentional.
5) Mix in the stewed tomatoes and about 2/3 cup red wine
6) Season sauce with salt and pepper.
7) When penne is fully drained, dump into the sauce pan and toss under light flame.
8) Serve in pasta bowls topped with grated cheese
This is a dryer kind of pasta than is conventional, which makes it nice for packing for lunch. There's a rich flavour to it thanks to the anchovy, tomatoes and red wine.
And it takes hardly any time at all. Just chop and mix as you go along and don't rush. Every stage benefits from time in the pan...
So I made what I have hastily christened Picnic Penne
Ingredients
garlic
onion
basil
1/2 pack of penne
1 can stewed tomatoes
1 can mushrooms
2 pieces of cooked ham, chopped into bits
1 can of anchovies
1 cup red wine
Lots of grated Parmegiano Regiano
1) Set the penne to boil in water with a pinch of rock salt
2) Saute minced garlic and chopped onion in olive oil. Add in ham and brown. Add in mushrooms, basil and anchovy (drained of oil). Let all of this sweat together.
3) Drain can of stewed tomatoes and chop them up
4) Before penne is done, take it off the flame and drain in colander. Penne will seem on the underdone side, but that's intentional.
5) Mix in the stewed tomatoes and about 2/3 cup red wine
6) Season sauce with salt and pepper.
7) When penne is fully drained, dump into the sauce pan and toss under light flame.
8) Serve in pasta bowls topped with grated cheese
This is a dryer kind of pasta than is conventional, which makes it nice for packing for lunch. There's a rich flavour to it thanks to the anchovy, tomatoes and red wine.
And it takes hardly any time at all. Just chop and mix as you go along and don't rush. Every stage benefits from time in the pan...
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Sondheim's Wisdom
"Marry me a little.
Love me just enough.
Cry but not too often.
Play but not too rough.
Keep a tender distance, so we'll both be free.
That's the way it ought to be.
Marry me a little. Do it with a will.
Make a few demands I'm able to fulfill.
Want me first and foremost, not exclusively.
That's the way it ought to be.
You can be my best friend. I can be your right arm.
We'll go through a fight or two, no harm. No harm."
(Marry Me A Little - COMPANY
Then again, there's:
"Men are stupid. Men are vain.
Love's disgusting,love's insane. A humiliating business.
Oh how true..."
Every Day A Little Death from A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC
Love me just enough.
Cry but not too often.
Play but not too rough.
Keep a tender distance, so we'll both be free.
That's the way it ought to be.
Marry me a little. Do it with a will.
Make a few demands I'm able to fulfill.
Want me first and foremost, not exclusively.
That's the way it ought to be.
You can be my best friend. I can be your right arm.
We'll go through a fight or two, no harm. No harm."
(Marry Me A Little - COMPANY
Then again, there's:
"Men are stupid. Men are vain.
Love's disgusting,love's insane. A humiliating business.
Oh how true..."
Every Day A Little Death from A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Day 2
Yesterday making breakfast of toasted English muffins, butter, jam and cheese caused us to be late for badminton. The last training session before Celeste and her kids leave next week. Sad sad sad. The only way to keep from getting all sniffy and sobby is to just plain pretend she isn't leaving, which has, of course, its own difficulties.
Then we dropped K off at her party and took C to dimsum lunch, at first against his will, until he tasted the luscious soup-filled pork dumplings. A bit of window shopping, it's sale season in Singapore, and then back to fetch K then home. Nap was disrupted first by K then by a tantrum C-style. And lickety split it was time for choir mass. A wondrous moment in Kiko's Prayer Of St. Ignatius. What a difference a conductor makes is all I can say, plus Kiko is such a gifted one. He makes you want to please him. And then Celeste's valedictory prayer. What will we do without her...
Went to dinner at Pepper Lunch with kids, Celeste and Yayo. Realising Dennis' absence yet again and a gathering with the two families isn't going to be happening again anytime soon. Borders then home for a major temper tantrum from K who didn't want C to sleep in her room. Finally got them both peacefully in bed.
Day 2, we get up exactly at 9am, meaning we miss soccer. C'est la vie. Veto going out for breakfast and instead whip up some cheese quesadillas and make good use of four squishy bananas for a peanut butter banana roll-up dessert. Today it's another goodbye lunch and then a Zafra party. Once the kids are asleep, have to do three advertorials if I'm to stay ahead of the game. That and then get up before it's even light out for the kids...
Ten days to go without Melin.
Then we dropped K off at her party and took C to dimsum lunch, at first against his will, until he tasted the luscious soup-filled pork dumplings. A bit of window shopping, it's sale season in Singapore, and then back to fetch K then home. Nap was disrupted first by K then by a tantrum C-style. And lickety split it was time for choir mass. A wondrous moment in Kiko's Prayer Of St. Ignatius. What a difference a conductor makes is all I can say, plus Kiko is such a gifted one. He makes you want to please him. And then Celeste's valedictory prayer. What will we do without her...
Went to dinner at Pepper Lunch with kids, Celeste and Yayo. Realising Dennis' absence yet again and a gathering with the two families isn't going to be happening again anytime soon. Borders then home for a major temper tantrum from K who didn't want C to sleep in her room. Finally got them both peacefully in bed.
Day 2, we get up exactly at 9am, meaning we miss soccer. C'est la vie. Veto going out for breakfast and instead whip up some cheese quesadillas and make good use of four squishy bananas for a peanut butter banana roll-up dessert. Today it's another goodbye lunch and then a Zafra party. Once the kids are asleep, have to do three advertorials if I'm to stay ahead of the game. That and then get up before it's even light out for the kids...
Ten days to go without Melin.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Midlife Crisis
Five years ago, I had an epiphany about people who have gone through the Maria Montessori educational system and are now adults, which become a kind of personal life thesis. I believe that this educational philosophy, which prioritises the individual, the scientific method and learning for learning's sake, creates people with entreprenuerial zeal, unlimited creativity, and an almost renegade attitude toward formal authority.
I look at most of my former classmates and hardly anyone is working for a large company as an employee. There's a smattering of architects, doctors and lawyers, for sure. There are educators and there are entreprenuers, and lots and lots of artists - freelance writers, designers, directors, musicians, producers - what the media refers to as the creative class. They, or I should say, we, are happy to call our time our own. We are happy to make time in our lives to make money, but not have that be the end all or be all. I attribute my wandering eye, my restless, antsy feet and my penchant for scouring the classifieds to this background. Or maybe it's just an excuse for sheer boredom. The inability to focus and concentrate? Or is it...the conviction that there is something else out there better than this. The constant needling, nagging doubt that all that I am able to do is not necessarily what I am meant to do? And here we are again...
Non-sequitur: puttering in the evenings to the noise of the third season of Ally McBeal. It's also very clearly the season where it all went to the most inane pot imaginable.
I look at most of my former classmates and hardly anyone is working for a large company as an employee. There's a smattering of architects, doctors and lawyers, for sure. There are educators and there are entreprenuers, and lots and lots of artists - freelance writers, designers, directors, musicians, producers - what the media refers to as the creative class. They, or I should say, we, are happy to call our time our own. We are happy to make time in our lives to make money, but not have that be the end all or be all. I attribute my wandering eye, my restless, antsy feet and my penchant for scouring the classifieds to this background. Or maybe it's just an excuse for sheer boredom. The inability to focus and concentrate? Or is it...the conviction that there is something else out there better than this. The constant needling, nagging doubt that all that I am able to do is not necessarily what I am meant to do? And here we are again...
Non-sequitur: puttering in the evenings to the noise of the third season of Ally McBeal. It's also very clearly the season where it all went to the most inane pot imaginable.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Stuff Of My Dreams
And when I say this, I'm referring to what my dreams have been about these past three days, as opposed to goals, ambitions or fantasies.
- I dreamt I was vacuuming my bed with one of those mini-dustbusters and I could make out millions of tiny little microscopic creatures running away from the vacuum nozzle.
- I dreamt of the joyous pain of zits being injected by good old Dr. Romero.
- I dreamt of not just one but a series of haunted houses.
T says houses in dreams are symbols for health. And the two other dreams are also health related, so he chalks everything up as my subconscious' overall concern for my health. Feel like he is not too far off the mark.
Tomorrow...yoga again. This evening, going for a run, if I can manage it.
- I dreamt I was vacuuming my bed with one of those mini-dustbusters and I could make out millions of tiny little microscopic creatures running away from the vacuum nozzle.
- I dreamt of the joyous pain of zits being injected by good old Dr. Romero.
- I dreamt of not just one but a series of haunted houses.
T says houses in dreams are symbols for health. And the two other dreams are also health related, so he chalks everything up as my subconscious' overall concern for my health. Feel like he is not too far off the mark.
Tomorrow...yoga again. This evening, going for a run, if I can manage it.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Sunday On Our Own
Why does the weekend fly by so quickly, almost as though it has wings of its own?
The good news was we closed the nightmare project within an hair's length past its deadline, at a approximately 5:15pm Friday. The production manager and I hugged each other with relief. The bad news? There's another one right behind it with the same client scheduled for July. I flat out refuse to do it, because there's just no time to get it done right.
I ran off to pick up Tanny and see MI3 with Timi and the Floros. It was great. Fun to watch, great pacing, a wonderful villain and lots of eye candy, now that Cruise is a bit on the blah side - Jonathan Rhys Meier and Maggie Q. Despite having no badminton, it was jampacked Saturday - a lot of it had to do with catechism, choir practice and Monique Wilson's Aspects Of Love, which, while well-performed (Wilson still has her Saigon pipes), is a rather strange, curiously empty piece of theatre. Sitting and trying to dissect it with T, I came upon a wierd coincidence. Not that there's any way to prove it, but my feeling is that Andrew Lloyd Webber wanted to do a small intimate exploration of love and sexual mores ala Sondheim. The coincidence is that all the characters have counterparts in Sondheim's A Little Night Music. Now isn't that odd? Except that Sondheim's piece is a lovely, witty triumph that actually says something about human relationships. ALW's Aspects just went through the motions to no legitimate or substantial conclusion. At least we discovered Phin's Steaks on Liang Seah Street. Another brilliant discovery. Now at least we know of a place to eat after a theatrical performance - last call for the kitchen is at 4am!
Sunday morning, Tanny left for Hong Kong, and I took the kids to soccer. Ended up
chatting with batch mate Munding...mostly about those old college days. Celeste didn't make it; she just couldn't get up. Coby got tackled by a team mate and ended up with gash on his knee. It must have hurt because he actually cried. Coach Matt exclaimed in genuine shock, "Wait a minute!?! I've never seen you cry before!!??!!"
Then it was off to Great World to lunch with the Solivens and swim and play in the kiddie land of their serviced apartments. By the time it all started to slow down at 4, I knew I would be too bushed to keep my movie date with her the same night.
So it was just me and the kids and Melin's picadillo and fried fish. A TV-Brush teeth tantrum ensued and a major fight between me and my son transpired. Huge. My daughter just shrugged and went to bed. It took about a half an hour to sort out through tearful apologies and promises to be better.
May wind down with Frasier...and collapse into bed. Will try to catch yoga this week as last week was so pathetic. At least, it's just a four day week. And Cam is in town...
The good news was we closed the nightmare project within an hair's length past its deadline, at a approximately 5:15pm Friday. The production manager and I hugged each other with relief. The bad news? There's another one right behind it with the same client scheduled for July. I flat out refuse to do it, because there's just no time to get it done right.
I ran off to pick up Tanny and see MI3 with Timi and the Floros. It was great. Fun to watch, great pacing, a wonderful villain and lots of eye candy, now that Cruise is a bit on the blah side - Jonathan Rhys Meier and Maggie Q. Despite having no badminton, it was jampacked Saturday - a lot of it had to do with catechism, choir practice and Monique Wilson's Aspects Of Love, which, while well-performed (Wilson still has her Saigon pipes), is a rather strange, curiously empty piece of theatre. Sitting and trying to dissect it with T, I came upon a wierd coincidence. Not that there's any way to prove it, but my feeling is that Andrew Lloyd Webber wanted to do a small intimate exploration of love and sexual mores ala Sondheim. The coincidence is that all the characters have counterparts in Sondheim's A Little Night Music. Now isn't that odd? Except that Sondheim's piece is a lovely, witty triumph that actually says something about human relationships. ALW's Aspects just went through the motions to no legitimate or substantial conclusion. At least we discovered Phin's Steaks on Liang Seah Street. Another brilliant discovery. Now at least we know of a place to eat after a theatrical performance - last call for the kitchen is at 4am!
Sunday morning, Tanny left for Hong Kong, and I took the kids to soccer. Ended up
chatting with batch mate Munding...mostly about those old college days. Celeste didn't make it; she just couldn't get up. Coby got tackled by a team mate and ended up with gash on his knee. It must have hurt because he actually cried. Coach Matt exclaimed in genuine shock, "Wait a minute!?! I've never seen you cry before!!??!!"
Then it was off to Great World to lunch with the Solivens and swim and play in the kiddie land of their serviced apartments. By the time it all started to slow down at 4, I knew I would be too bushed to keep my movie date with her the same night.
So it was just me and the kids and Melin's picadillo and fried fish. A TV-Brush teeth tantrum ensued and a major fight between me and my son transpired. Huge. My daughter just shrugged and went to bed. It took about a half an hour to sort out through tearful apologies and promises to be better.
May wind down with Frasier...and collapse into bed. Will try to catch yoga this week as last week was so pathetic. At least, it's just a four day week. And Cam is in town...
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Playing Tourist
Just when we'd started to think that we had fallen into a rut with our Singapore routine, T gets the brilliant notion to play tourist over the labour day weekend. We hied ourselves over to Faber Park to survey the city at sunset and ride the cable cars to Sentosa and back. The sky high, hilltop Altivo bar looks like a nice place for a tipple, but with the kids in tow, we thought, next time. There's also a rather lovely koi pond. I screwed up my courage and denied my fear of heights to show an example for Kaylee mostly. But it did not stop my hands from sweating nor my heart leaping up to my throat each time Coby stood or leaned to one side. It was nice to see the cruise ship taking off for Phuket, and to know that someone we knew was actually on it. More on the mayor of Valencia, Negros later. Lots of picture taking and lots of exclamations from the kids. After that, we drove to Holland Village for Cha cha cha Mexican food dinner and Haagen Daz.
Monday was even more ambitious. T pushed us all out the door to go to an island. Shame on us, none of us wanted to go really, but we ended up being glad he succeeded in dragging us against our will. We drove to the end of the island, specifically: Changi Village and caught a bumboat for 2$ a piece to the small olden day Pulau Ubin. Just a ten minute ride, across the straits. We landed on the island and immediately, Kaylee pointed out the old-style housees on stilts that she had learned about in Social Studies. We rented two tandem-style bikes, and with one kid each, cycled along the trails to the beach, discovering that both Kaylee and Coby have very powerful legs. The kids raved about the great fun they had and T looked completely satisfied. Coby even apologised to his father for making such a fuss. We ended up having Mickeedees on East Coast Park and then home for a swim. Kaylee and I skipped the swim and watched Little House On The Prairie instead.
A wonderful time was had by all. Pictures to come.
Monday was even more ambitious. T pushed us all out the door to go to an island. Shame on us, none of us wanted to go really, but we ended up being glad he succeeded in dragging us against our will. We drove to the end of the island, specifically: Changi Village and caught a bumboat for 2$ a piece to the small olden day Pulau Ubin. Just a ten minute ride, across the straits. We landed on the island and immediately, Kaylee pointed out the old-style housees on stilts that she had learned about in Social Studies. We rented two tandem-style bikes, and with one kid each, cycled along the trails to the beach, discovering that both Kaylee and Coby have very powerful legs. The kids raved about the great fun they had and T looked completely satisfied. Coby even apologised to his father for making such a fuss. We ended up having Mickeedees on East Coast Park and then home for a swim. Kaylee and I skipped the swim and watched Little House On The Prairie instead.
A wonderful time was had by all. Pictures to come.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
A Celeste-al Friendship
There are friendships and there are friendships.
But every now and then, and likely when one is least expecting it, something can sprout up and grow and thrive into something pretty darn near close to perfection. For me, this is even more rare, since throughout my life, my experience of female friendships has not been without disappointment. My expectations, I've been told, are too high and I am destined for dismay in that area. And then, there was Celeste. Someone who is so different from me, and yet, our individual chemistries seem so very perfectly in synch. Sense of humor, shared interests, deep-down-at-the-heart-felt beliefs, there is all that but there's more. There is the complete acceptance, mutual generosity, and just plain old fashioned care and ...well, liking...for the lack of a better word. It doesn't happen every day for me, is all I can say.
Which makes it all the more difficult so say goodbye. Why why why do we have to?
But every now and then, and likely when one is least expecting it, something can sprout up and grow and thrive into something pretty darn near close to perfection. For me, this is even more rare, since throughout my life, my experience of female friendships has not been without disappointment. My expectations, I've been told, are too high and I am destined for dismay in that area. And then, there was Celeste. Someone who is so different from me, and yet, our individual chemistries seem so very perfectly in synch. Sense of humor, shared interests, deep-down-at-the-heart-felt beliefs, there is all that but there's more. There is the complete acceptance, mutual generosity, and just plain old fashioned care and ...well, liking...for the lack of a better word. It doesn't happen every day for me, is all I can say.
Which makes it all the more difficult so say goodbye. Why why why do we have to?
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Easter Thoughts
How is it that the child who fought to hi-fi tantrum levels not to go to Easter Sunday mass this morning ("We already went last Friday!" he yelled, thrashing his legs upon the bed), raised his hand when Fr. Colin asked the children to tell him what Easter meant, and said: "The tomb is open."? Now is that profound or what?
At breakfast, the family conversation found its way to wondering why the symbol of Easter is an egg. Kaylee said, "Maybe because an egg is good luck." And Coby said: "Maybe it's because the stone that covered the tomb was shaped like an egg."
There was also a long rather vocal discussion about whether or not there could have been a bunny rabbit near the tomb that could have possibly witnessed Christ himself, standing and walking out of it.
And after a long day involving mass, Easter lunch of Pot Roast Lamb and Lasagne at the Encarnacions, an Easter egg hunt involving 50 egg treats and five children, and of course, good conversation among friends, we said our bedtime prayers. As I am ending the prayer, Coby pipes up, "Thank you for giving us new life, Jesus."
Thank you, indeed.
At breakfast, the family conversation found its way to wondering why the symbol of Easter is an egg. Kaylee said, "Maybe because an egg is good luck." And Coby said: "Maybe it's because the stone that covered the tomb was shaped like an egg."
There was also a long rather vocal discussion about whether or not there could have been a bunny rabbit near the tomb that could have possibly witnessed Christ himself, standing and walking out of it.
And after a long day involving mass, Easter lunch of Pot Roast Lamb and Lasagne at the Encarnacions, an Easter egg hunt involving 50 egg treats and five children, and of course, good conversation among friends, we said our bedtime prayers. As I am ending the prayer, Coby pipes up, "Thank you for giving us new life, Jesus."
Thank you, indeed.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Good Golly Friday
The day started with the wailing of my son refusing to go to Church for Good Friday service. I felt for him, I really did, recalling my own childhood holy weeks where I felt exactly as he did, but was better brought up than he and wouldn't actually say it out loud. My daughter was a trouper, and ready with her paper and pens and bible books. The rain began in earnest right in the middle of the service as our choir sang. I'm told by locals, that in Singapore, it always rains on Good Friday. Always, always, always. In Manila, Good Friday is hot and dry, even when a breeze blows - it's hot. I must say I prefer the rain.
We took them for fish sandwiches at McDo, and I succeeded in my fasting. Then it was home. We read the Cruxificion story again from the children's rather well-written, well-researched Bible. The people behind DK Dorsing Kinderly books really know what they are doing. Then we did homework, and read, and managed to make the kids forget that they couldn't turn on the television, play game boy, Xbox or computer. For awhile anyway. At a certain point, Coby succumbed to tears of frustration.
"I don't like Good Friday. It's not a Good Friday. It's a Bad Friday."
"Yes, it's a quiet, sad day because it's it's the day Jesus died," I said.
"No! It's a bad day because we can't play anything!" He yelled and he dissolved in tears on his bed, poor thing. I let him cry and he eventually got it out of his system. A minute later, he started reading Tin Tin. When I was a kid we weren't even allowed to read non-religious books. I let him be.
Our only concession to video was Jesus Christ Superstar. And the kids were rivetted. T told me to skip the leper scene and the flagellation scenes...and all in all, I think it was a good experience for them. You have to a hand it to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice. The music still sounds great. (Sing it: Christ, you know I love you. Did you see I waved. I believe that you are God, so tell me that I'm saved! Jesus I am on your side, touch me touch me Jesus! - sabay sayaw).
For dinner,we had baked cod with olive sauce, cold asparagus and capsicum with dijon dressing, and delicous quinoa. The kids had macaroni and cheese with their fish. A good meal was had by all. They went to sleep early and obediently.
Then, at around 10pm, T dragged me out to Ministry of Sound against my will so he could hear this techno DJ spin. Not very Good Friday thing to do, but he argued, it's already Black Saturday anyway. To be wide-eyed and sober in a crowd of tipsy clubbers is a bracing experience. It was interesting just to observe the hoipoloi. Nevertheless, we were home by 11:45, and didn't even have a buzz from our heavily diluted free drinks. And so endeth Good Friday.
We took them for fish sandwiches at McDo, and I succeeded in my fasting. Then it was home. We read the Cruxificion story again from the children's rather well-written, well-researched Bible. The people behind DK Dorsing Kinderly books really know what they are doing. Then we did homework, and read, and managed to make the kids forget that they couldn't turn on the television, play game boy, Xbox or computer. For awhile anyway. At a certain point, Coby succumbed to tears of frustration.
"I don't like Good Friday. It's not a Good Friday. It's a Bad Friday."
"Yes, it's a quiet, sad day because it's it's the day Jesus died," I said.
"No! It's a bad day because we can't play anything!" He yelled and he dissolved in tears on his bed, poor thing. I let him cry and he eventually got it out of his system. A minute later, he started reading Tin Tin. When I was a kid we weren't even allowed to read non-religious books. I let him be.
Our only concession to video was Jesus Christ Superstar. And the kids were rivetted. T told me to skip the leper scene and the flagellation scenes...and all in all, I think it was a good experience for them. You have to a hand it to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice. The music still sounds great. (Sing it: Christ, you know I love you. Did you see I waved. I believe that you are God, so tell me that I'm saved! Jesus I am on your side, touch me touch me Jesus! - sabay sayaw).
For dinner,we had baked cod with olive sauce, cold asparagus and capsicum with dijon dressing, and delicous quinoa. The kids had macaroni and cheese with their fish. A good meal was had by all. They went to sleep early and obediently.
Then, at around 10pm, T dragged me out to Ministry of Sound against my will so he could hear this techno DJ spin. Not very Good Friday thing to do, but he argued, it's already Black Saturday anyway. To be wide-eyed and sober in a crowd of tipsy clubbers is a bracing experience. It was interesting just to observe the hoipoloi. Nevertheless, we were home by 11:45, and didn't even have a buzz from our heavily diluted free drinks. And so endeth Good Friday.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Sleep and Sensibilities
I used to be the "fall-asleep-the-minute-head-touches-pillow" kind of person. It used to come so easy. As a matter of fact, I never even knew the concept of bad sleep till I met T at age 18. We would have these conversations where at some point he would complain, "Masama kasi tulog ko." And I would look at him quizzically, honestly not comprehending what he meant. How can sleep not be good? Like Woody Allen, remarking on the quality of orgasms, for me, sleep was pretty much spot on, right on the money. Sleep was a breeze upon my dusky cheek, and all that jazz. Now waking up, that was tough. And the other item I failed to understand up until recently is the concept of a bad pillow or the wrong pillow. What's that?
Hello 38 1/2. Now seemingly tiny things can wreck the quality of my sleep. In fact, to paraphrase the bard, these days, the quality of my sleep is strained - even with the yoga. What's going on here. I am now a picky pillow person. And when the kids sneak into our bed, I will painstakingly get up and walk them back to their beds, much to the shock of my fellow moms ("Wow, strict!"). All this I do in order to safeguard my sleep. I will now say "Masama ang tulog ko," something I never said until the last couple of years. And it could be the pillow, the temperature, the way T sleeps, what is planned for the next day or what happened today.
It is likely that good sleep, like good sex, is a function of the brain. It's about chemistry and it's about letting go and perhaps, perhaps, not thinking too much about it, all of which are defeated by this entire discussion...and on that note, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Hello 38 1/2. Now seemingly tiny things can wreck the quality of my sleep. In fact, to paraphrase the bard, these days, the quality of my sleep is strained - even with the yoga. What's going on here. I am now a picky pillow person. And when the kids sneak into our bed, I will painstakingly get up and walk them back to their beds, much to the shock of my fellow moms ("Wow, strict!"). All this I do in order to safeguard my sleep. I will now say "Masama ang tulog ko," something I never said until the last couple of years. And it could be the pillow, the temperature, the way T sleeps, what is planned for the next day or what happened today.
It is likely that good sleep, like good sex, is a function of the brain. It's about chemistry and it's about letting go and perhaps, perhaps, not thinking too much about it, all of which are defeated by this entire discussion...and on that note, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Huling Hirit
I vowed to myself: no more yoga blogs, but just one last thing. I did HOT 1 last Friday evening and somewhere in the middle, fell into a terrifying pool of fatigue. I thought I wouldn't make it. I thought I would pass out. What's happening. "Must be because I haven't done Hot in awhile." I thought to myself as I tried to follow Hanoi's instruction of taking in more "sips of oxygen." Sips! I needed a gallon of oxygen! And afterwards, I could barely be human for Rod and Celeste and Rod's sister at the movie we watched - THE INSIDE MAN by Spike Lee - and I even fell asleep for five minutes or so. Then today, I decide, let's try it again. This time it was HOT 1 with Catherine...and exactly the same thing happened. A frightening surge of exhaustion so overwhelming, I succumbed to child's pose, not just once but twice. Again, I dragged myself out of there and I looked at my watch and it was noon. The class started at 10:15am and I came out five minutes past noon. I'm like, wait a minute. I ask the desk: How long is Hot 1, and the answer is "90 minutes." Nyarks. The 30 minutes makes a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge difference. Tomorrow, I go back to the safety of my 7AM hour long sessions. 90 minutes in a Hot room is apparently 30 minutes longer than I can take at at this stage of the game. No judgement.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
To sum up the weekend
-rewatched Trainspotting after bringing Mom to the airport
-badminton training, and for the first time, T and I made it to 9 against C and Aman.
-rewarded ourselves with Turkish lunch
-attended catechists talk for preparing Kaylee for first confession which was unexpectedly valuable.
-choir practice as always spiritually rewarding
-finished Oppenheimer's Front Row Anna Wintour
-now can't wait to watch The Devil Wears Prada
-helped the kids with homework
-watched ICE AGE 2, and then ICE AGE 1 with them at home
-Crockpot beef stew dinner
Not a bad weekend, marred only by Kaylee's ear acting up again
As April begins, once more I face my resolute self. We shall see where this
month takes us.
-badminton training, and for the first time, T and I made it to 9 against C and Aman.
-rewarded ourselves with Turkish lunch
-attended catechists talk for preparing Kaylee for first confession which was unexpectedly valuable.
-choir practice as always spiritually rewarding
-finished Oppenheimer's Front Row Anna Wintour
-now can't wait to watch The Devil Wears Prada
-helped the kids with homework
-watched ICE AGE 2, and then ICE AGE 1 with them at home
-Crockpot beef stew dinner
Not a bad weekend, marred only by Kaylee's ear acting up again
As April begins, once more I face my resolute self. We shall see where this
month takes us.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Flash-forward
The other day I woke my son for school.
I leaned in and whispered, wake up baby, time for school. And he sleepily put both his arms around me and pulled me in close to him. He said nothing, but I almost felt him saying, "Not yet." The experience gave me a sudden flash-forward vision about how my son would be fifteen years from now, as a man...with a woman.
Oh my goodness.
I leaned in and whispered, wake up baby, time for school. And he sleepily put both his arms around me and pulled me in close to him. He said nothing, but I almost felt him saying, "Not yet." The experience gave me a sudden flash-forward vision about how my son would be fifteen years from now, as a man...with a woman.
Oh my goodness.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Yogamad
I am a freak. I know it. I spent my day off doing what most people would consider to be altogether too much yoga. Hatha with Kumaran at 9:15am. A 75 minute Yin class with Catherine, which was almost hypnotic...and then, after a light lunch and some book hunting at Kino, back to do Hot Flow with Ross at 4:00. Total time: three hours and fifteen minutes. At a certain point in Hot Flow my body gave a little twinge of tama na...so I faked my chatarangas...and stayed longer in the downward facing dogs. I managed to do the wheel for the first time since I was 15...which was crazy exhilerating. But still no sign of the crow. Why I care is a mystery. But I do so want to do the crow. Uwak uwak uwak. T says I'm insane. Maybe.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Major personality change
Apparently, it happens more often than you think. Or maybe, it's just what you call a midlife crisis of a sort. What do you do when the the things you used to be able to do you find you just can't manage to do, anymore? And we're not talking here about physical feats like no longer being able to do a bridge stand or a split (both things I was able to do at age 15). I'm referring to certain kinds of conversations that have lost their allure to the extent that the effort to participate in them can no longer be mustered without disagreeable discomfort.
It appears I have morphed into some kind of introvert, no longer endowed with the ability to gracefully flit and flutter into connections that do not at once engage. It is rather frightening to discover this in one's self. And it is difficult not to wonder whether it is some kind of temporary madness or something that has lodged into the character, for good. How strange to suddenly encounter yourself on the proverbial street in your mind and have no absolutely no recognition of what you have become, so much so that you feel you need an extended introduction.
It appears I have morphed into some kind of introvert, no longer endowed with the ability to gracefully flit and flutter into connections that do not at once engage. It is rather frightening to discover this in one's self. And it is difficult not to wonder whether it is some kind of temporary madness or something that has lodged into the character, for good. How strange to suddenly encounter yourself on the proverbial street in your mind and have no absolutely no recognition of what you have become, so much so that you feel you need an extended introduction.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Midweek musings of a desultory nature...
My new nokia phone has many features, but my absolute favorite is the recorder. Because of this function, my morning alarm at 6am for my 7pm yoga is Coby saying, "Wake Up Mama, time for work!" And my ring tone is Kaylee singing ABBA's Mamma Mia lustily into my ear: "Yes, I've been broken-hearted, blue since the day we parted. Why Why, did I have to let you go. Mamma Mia, now I really know, why why, I should never let you go!"
M and D brought LOST, 2nd Season. Like junkfood crazed teenagers, T and I went for it way too fast, and now there's a sugar crash in the aftermath. And there's also more craving and the first season of Joey, as amusing as it is, just doesn't cut it. I think it's the hunger for a good story. As annoying as LOST can be, there's plot there that satisfies in that "and then what happened?" way. You can't help wanting to know what happened. Must remember that for fiction. The minute people stop caring about what's going to happen, you've LOST your reader.
Am rereading Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Wow, wow, wow. It's even better now than when I first read it. There are three dimensional pictures in his words. And he died a drunk, with just one or two other works. Tragic. It makes me want to weep.
Coby got sent home from school yesterday. They suspected he had HFM Disease. Apparently, all the parents of 1B got an email saying there was a case of HFM. I hit the roof and called the school. Told them it was highly premature of them to issue this email and that they were being very irresponsible, causing a panic among the parents. As it turns out, there was an actual confirmed case, other than Coby (who by the way was given a clean bill of health).
It's been raining. Hopefully, I make a dent in the work.
M and D brought LOST, 2nd Season. Like junkfood crazed teenagers, T and I went for it way too fast, and now there's a sugar crash in the aftermath. And there's also more craving and the first season of Joey, as amusing as it is, just doesn't cut it. I think it's the hunger for a good story. As annoying as LOST can be, there's plot there that satisfies in that "and then what happened?" way. You can't help wanting to know what happened. Must remember that for fiction. The minute people stop caring about what's going to happen, you've LOST your reader.
Am rereading Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Wow, wow, wow. It's even better now than when I first read it. There are three dimensional pictures in his words. And he died a drunk, with just one or two other works. Tragic. It makes me want to weep.
Coby got sent home from school yesterday. They suspected he had HFM Disease. Apparently, all the parents of 1B got an email saying there was a case of HFM. I hit the roof and called the school. Told them it was highly premature of them to issue this email and that they were being very irresponsible, causing a panic among the parents. As it turns out, there was an actual confirmed case, other than Coby (who by the way was given a clean bill of health).
It's been raining. Hopefully, I make a dent in the work.
Monday, March 13, 2006
What I saw at the bookstore and other non-sequiturs
A new book entitled, "Japanese Women Don't Get Fat Or Old" - clearly riding on the "French Women Don't Get Fat" trend. Maybe I should write, "Filipino Women Don't Stop Smiling."
Had a conversation with a someone at FX recently, about how certain people, no, how a lot of people here are "matipid sa ngiti." I keep trying to come up with a satisfactory translation into English, and only hit on "thrifty with her smile." She relayed the experience we apparently both share...how she'll be humming at work and someone will inevitably say to her, "Wha, so happy, lah?" She and I both tend to answer, "No, not really."
Yin yoga is hugely hip opening. Did a hatha for an hour. Had a fifteen minute break. Then went on for a 75 minute yin. Yowch! I imagine it's good for the digestive and reproductive organs. Very slow and deep and intense on the tissues, but at the end of it all, I'm not really sure what I did for myself.
Crockpot stew is even better on the second day.
Kids are on term break. Wish I could be, too.
Had a conversation with a someone at FX recently, about how certain people, no, how a lot of people here are "matipid sa ngiti." I keep trying to come up with a satisfactory translation into English, and only hit on "thrifty with her smile." She relayed the experience we apparently both share...how she'll be humming at work and someone will inevitably say to her, "Wha, so happy, lah?" She and I both tend to answer, "No, not really."
Yin yoga is hugely hip opening. Did a hatha for an hour. Had a fifteen minute break. Then went on for a 75 minute yin. Yowch! I imagine it's good for the digestive and reproductive organs. Very slow and deep and intense on the tissues, but at the end of it all, I'm not really sure what I did for myself.
Crockpot stew is even better on the second day.
Kids are on term break. Wish I could be, too.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Rewatching an old SATC episode
and it occured to me to wonder why friendships on TV, even in the well-written, realistically portrayed ones, seem better than the real thing. Why is that? Aah... not this thread again. Am rereading Nora Ephron's Heartburn and finding myself bursting into gales of laughter. Feeling an itchy trigger finger in my right hand. Right. Write.
Who would have thought?
Under the circumstances, I should be more affected by the recent surprises thrown my way. The art director changed her mind and is no longer coming on board. I have a first-rate writer that I would hire in a snap, but apparently, it is not entirely up to me. The U2 concert has been postponed indefinitely. All these things should have added up to stress and disappointment and yet, I'm cool.
And zen...zings will juz have to zort zemzelves out, yez?
A good weekend was had by all, and in the end, that is what matters. Why good? Everything and nothing special. Just happy moments with K, C, and T. And yoga tomorrow...
And zen...zings will juz have to zort zemzelves out, yez?
A good weekend was had by all, and in the end, that is what matters. Why good? Everything and nothing special. Just happy moments with K, C, and T. And yoga tomorrow...
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Speak of the devil
Father O'Niel SJ is a wonderful preacher at St.Ignatius who, despite being almost medievally old-fashioned, often triggers in me fitting reflection for these contemporary times. He's ye olde Irish - in his nineties- and the cadences of his voice are ever so comforting. Due to his age, of course, he has his good days and the days when rambling man appears in his stead.
At yesterday's 6pm Ash Wednesday mass, he opened with his perennial reminder of the Devil, and the war that is taking place in the world for human souls. "Remember," he chided us, "The devil hates you, but God loves you." This is a favourite thread of his, and one that I particularly like. T hates it, and my Mom doesn't like it either. And I ask them, why? I guess people don't want to be reminded that evils exists, let alone the devil who salivates over our souls. For me though, it's like bracing cold water. It's refreshing and allows me to see this modern world with open eyed clarity. As we go through the motions of our lives, we have to be reminded to choose God, to plant our feet firmly on his side of the battlefield, and constantly try to undermine the other side by our day to day deeds. Fr. O'Neill on his good days is a paradoxical breath of fresh air.
And my favourite part was when he mixed the ashes and water vigourously, the reverberating clicks against the tin pan picked up by his microphone. He looked up at us and with a gleeful smile in his voice, said, "I like to use plenty of water, so the cross is very black!"
I remember now that I am marked by God with a very black cross on my forehead. And so lent begins...
At yesterday's 6pm Ash Wednesday mass, he opened with his perennial reminder of the Devil, and the war that is taking place in the world for human souls. "Remember," he chided us, "The devil hates you, but God loves you." This is a favourite thread of his, and one that I particularly like. T hates it, and my Mom doesn't like it either. And I ask them, why? I guess people don't want to be reminded that evils exists, let alone the devil who salivates over our souls. For me though, it's like bracing cold water. It's refreshing and allows me to see this modern world with open eyed clarity. As we go through the motions of our lives, we have to be reminded to choose God, to plant our feet firmly on his side of the battlefield, and constantly try to undermine the other side by our day to day deeds. Fr. O'Neill on his good days is a paradoxical breath of fresh air.
And my favourite part was when he mixed the ashes and water vigourously, the reverberating clicks against the tin pan picked up by his microphone. He looked up at us and with a gleeful smile in his voice, said, "I like to use plenty of water, so the cross is very black!"
I remember now that I am marked by God with a very black cross on my forehead. And so lent begins...
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Kids on break
So what are you going to do about it?
Reminder: Buy fruit
Likewise, Quintosians rule
on with family business
FLASHBACK MANILA
Isang Sandali
Sisterhood rules
Here's to being the best we can be!
Apparently, this is me. Now which card are you?
You are The Wheel of Fortune
Good fortune and happiness but sometimes a species of intoxication with success
The Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. You are lucky in all things that you do and happy with the things that come to you. Be careful that success does not go to your head however. Sometimes luck can change.
What Tarot Card are You?
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