Happy Birthday, My Rainbow!

Moment the sky embraces the earth is called a rainbow. - Corina Negura

There was this baby girl who, like a rainbow, came into our life that one early, foggy morning in Chicago. 

She was so cute that her Pa thought she would even be cuter if he drew a beard and mustache on her tiny face.

I thought she looked like a sampaguita flower. I nicknamed her, Gigit.

She was doted on by her Sissy. She called her, Eye-eye.

What wasn't to like? She was fun-sized, tiny, vertically-challenged, ticklish, and giggly.

I often would dress her in an outfit that matched Elder Sister's. Same robe after a bath.

Matching clothes while at play in the snow or in a sandbox in Milwaukee.

The question I was always asked, Are they twins? How I wish now that I had the cheekiness to say, No, I found the extra kid in the parking lot and thought, Why not?

Someone said that in the cookies of life, a little girl is the chocolate chips. She was -  and more.

 

She was the cool breeze in a humid afternoon in Hawaii. 

The one with the impish grin (not sure what smile# that was), posing with a childhood friend in California and her Sissy. 

The accomplice to a no-longer-secret acquisition of pet bunnies. 

The adorable clown playing hand bells to the tune of Send in the Clowns. 

From a mini-me, she grew up, striking a signature clasped-arms pose in her kindergarten photo...

... and in her senior pic as well.

Like her Sissy, she became an accomplished classical pianist performing in monthly recitals and special occasions.

And she grew older, celebrating with us many milestone occasions...

... and vacations.

Today she's a little bit older, a lot more fabulous, and professionally accomplished. Talk about being CIV of the Month for the Columbus Division of Police.  

Or being recipient of a surprise-of-a-lifetime collective gesture and monetary gift for outstanding service at the height of the pandemic.

And best of all? Just as she has been a blessing to us, she herself has received the best gift of all.

Someone who stole her heart and calls her, Mama.

Today is a celebration for Eye-eye on her birthday.

My rainbow, Gigit, my anchor.

Our Second Daughter.

All life's best to you on this especial day!

With you by my side, I do know that it we'w be o'wight. 

P.S. My anchor, attached to an open parachute, has just soared over 300 feet into the air and is getting towed by a motorboat. 

Lord, have mercy!

Parasailing. Gulf Shores, Alabama: August 2021

Walking Blendon Woods: A Million Different Things

One Step At A Time

Walk as if you're kissing the earth with your feet. - Thich Nhat Hanh

A couple of months ago, I made the momentous decision that taking slow, romantic walks down the craft aisles at Jo-Ann's was not doing me any good. Ditto for places that rhymed with Forever 21 and Ross.

Also, that there was more to life than shopping and weekday-only walks on the treadmill.

That was when I pledged to start walking outdoors in earnest and catch up on the many rare little treats and glimpses of life I'd missed.  

Let me share with you some delights of a typical day of walking our Blendon Woods neighborhood.

For starters, it offers you plenty of blue sky above, along with but a few clouds in promise of an early fall day.

In Early Morning.
All Photos: V.E.V., Columbus, 2021

Walking along, I have sometimes felt like ditching my New Balance footwear and putting on some cowboy boots instead so I can start saying, Y’all!

Consider these street names. You walk along Boulder Creek Dam and turn right onto  Big Sky. Coming out on the main strip, you walk on toward Bear Tooth, pass by Blue River to the cul de sac on the corner of Wagon Wheel.

There is always something to watch.

Walnut and maple trees that line the streets lift up in the breeze like the arms of ballerinas. Steps away on either side are wildflower-strewn pathways toward homes. They look like they're ready for a floral frolic extravaganza.

Everything is completely calm.  

Some houses are still asleep, their garden abundant with hydrangea and black-eyed Susans. Others are just waking up with movement from within. 

Peering at frontages, I keep wondering, Why is there always a wreath on the door? It's so farmhouse. But yet, secretly, I keep thinking that I need to make one. Perhaps something different. Like a southwest weaving.

And how fun to have a rocking chair on the front porch, or perhaps an adirondack.

A brown cottontail rabbit hopping in a leisurely way up the wooded preserve disturbs my thoughts. She reminds me of First Daughter's Sniffy. Could it be her spirit restored back to life now romping among the elderberry bush?

A family of squirrels skitters through the leaves. I follow them until they scamper up a tree, their claws clicking and scraping against the bark. Then they sit on a limb, chattering excitedly, scolding me.

Then, these astounding discoveries.

A family of deer, all gangly limbs, stand at a distance, as if acknowledging my presence, and then turn back toward the shadows.

                                          Deer Sighting

The first maple leaf repainted bright orange by fall's brush, almost overnight.

And by the wayside, a squash that has turned to a golden yellow, ready to be picked.

Of late, rounding off the morning with a walk by the back deck, I saw these.

A ruby-throated hummingbird doing backward somersaults toward our nectar feeder. Then, darting so eagerly, so swiftly, sweetly sipping.

A lone white-breasted hummingbird looking like a white petal perched atop a browning lilac branch. 

And an old pal, our resident chipmunk which we've named Chip, nibbling on his new-favorite breakfast of a bagel scrap.

The hour is still early. I nod and smile into the brisk early-morning breeze that is blowing directly at me.

 Brr... (Yes, Younger Daughter. You told me you had a tank on during your morning run. But it's 59 degrees and I'm wearing a sweatshirt to ward off the 'morning chill' in the air.)

The neighborhood is slowly coming to life. I begin to hear children's voices and the quick beep of a car nosing its way out of the alley. Must be time for school bus pickup.

Everything else, the energizing feeling of the day and the sequence and clarity of its events  have been mixed up together. Jumbled up, finally coalescing into one full extraordinary day.

Instead of ice cream and popsicles, here's to dreaming of cozying up with mugs of hot cider and slices of pumpkin pie. 

And wishing your day be full of the extraordinary, too.

P.S. All truly great thoughts are envisioned while walking. I conceived of this series on a walk.

Vintage Furniture

From The Archives

The best things in life are old, loved and preserved. - Anonymous

Second Brother now occupies the front of four units in the Emilia Compound. He fondly calls it ancestral home because that was where Mum and Dadee moved into after bequeathing the actual 'ancestral' unit behind it to Fourth Brother. 

(Aside: Second Brother used to occupy the fourth unit at the end of the compound but that's a whole 'musical chairs' deal that you can read about, if you're interested, as posted in this year's July 17 Abodes series.)  

Anyway, there are four pieces of furniture that have remained in the house. I am deeply moved and grateful that Second Brother has proudly retained and preserved them.

Here they are.

A narra wardrobe purchased same day as today, 73 years ago

Dated on its inside door in Dadee's handwriting, it was Mum's clothing aparador. 

It was where she also kept her Brilliantine hair oil, Camara cuban-heeled shoes, and Maja perfume (Myrurgia’s iconic fragrance since 1918, as I've just recently learned) - the last two items used only for especial occasions. 

Now modernized on its exterior with fashionable dirty-white paint and used by Second Brother's daughter. 

Mum's Singer sewing machine, circa 1950 

Mum sewed many of my dresses using this foot-pedaled machine. 

Now painted black, repurposed as a mini-bar. 

Sungkaan, circa 1920, from Lolo Gorio's old house

We used it for playing the Filipino mancala game. 

The small cups are called bahays (houses) and each of the larger cups is referred to as the ulo (head). We used sampaloc tamarind seeds for the playing pieces. 

Lolo Gorio's narra desk, circa 1890

 A prized heirloom piece passed on to Dadee, it survived tropical storm Ondoy, the second most devastating tropical cyclone of the 2009 Pacific typhoon season. 

It's still standing as a desk for Second Brother's use.

Our home should tell the story of who we are, and be a collection of what we love brought together under one roof. 

I believe and am proud to say that Second Brother has done just that.

Walking Delano Drive: 'Edge Of The World'

One Step At A Time

Beyond this world are countless dimensions that stretch on forever. - Rama

Thoreau may have been the literary world’s poster boy for walking. He had this passion for rambling through the woods. The hippie of literature, he thought everyone should walk around ponds all day.

But we did better.

In Casa Grande, we walked to the 'edge of the world.'

It was an easy mid-morning walk for me and the girls. Delano Drive where our home was located looped around the Rancho Grande neighborhood. 

It was quiet, except for the distant barking of dogs. The sky was light and blue above, marred by only a thin line of half-hearted clouds over the distant mountains.

Our House On Delano Drive. Casa Grande, AZ. Google Maps

For miles and miles, the Arizona desert, dotted by tall, columnar saguaros and spiny ocotillo, was otherwise flat and clear. 

So much earth. 

So much sky. 

Around midpoint on the loop, the road steepened and the ground it traversed narrowed enormously. Suddenly in front of us, there was nothing but sky and a ledge that carved down many hundreds of feet deep.

Cautiously, we peered below. The trees were so dense we couldn't tell where one began and the other ended.

It seemed to be all one tree with a thousand trunks and a billion branches and infinite roots.

The scenery appeared almost out of focus. A light mist that had lingered blurred everything else making the ravine vanish to a blank, gray haze.

We stood side by side on the narrow patch of grass, watching as the morning sun brightened. 

I didn't know it then - that 'we lived on the edge of the world,' until First Daughter said something about it years after.

It took the eyes of a four-year-old for me to realize that, yes, we did.

It was a time in our life when it seemed like the roof had been lifted and we could see the dawning of a vast and infinite world.  

And we were this much closer to the heavens.

 

Walking Irving Park Road: One Fish, Two Fish...

One Step At A Time

Rise up. Start fresh. See the bright opportunity in each new day. - Anonymous

For this story, I'm going all Dr. Seuss with these made-up lines. One fish, two fish... where did my fish go?

But let me start at the very beginning.

It was a perfect day in Chicago. The sky felt so big and blue and the few clouds looked so shapely. 

The girls, excited and bright-eyed, were skipping along as we exited the side door of our high-rise apartment building on Lakeshore Drive. We were headed a couple of blocks down Irving Park Road to Woolworth, one of the original pioneers of the five-and-dime store. 

We're here, I announced.

The store's colorful windows displayed the usual mix of necessities as well as a mess of life's unnecessities and impulse buys including records, souvenirs, toys, candy and popcorn. 

Unfazed, we headed straight to the pet section in back. Our quest? 

Getting goldfish.

The funnest part of goldfish-keeping.

I could see the delight in the girls' eyes. They were flashing a grin as they pressed their tiny faces onto the aquarium walls.

Eldest Daughter was eyeing an orange comet goldfish with white markings. It had the most beautiful flowing, forked tail. Iths bootiful, Mama, she cooed in a lispy voice.

Mama, dat 'un, said Younger Daughter. She was following with her finger a black moor goldfish with bulging 'telescope' eyes. Pretty cool!

Choices made. Goldfish bought. Mission accomplished.

Each with a baggie in hand, they were talking in a hushed voice, as if they were sharing a delightful secret. 

I ca'w mine Gowdee.

He be Bwackie.

They were hopping along and chattering on the way back, their smiles like sunshine and rainbows, packaged with a ribbon on top.

Then horrors - Splat! Younger Daughter's baggie slipped down the sidewalk.

For a moment, we all went silent, staring at Blackie who was flapped on the pavement, gleaming on the glossy, glass-like particles of disintegrated asphalt. Water had spilled out of the plastic baggie.

Younger Daughter's eyes went wide and her voice cracked, My gawdfish...

Ay, kakow! Eldest Daughter exclaimed.

Younger Daughter began to cry, her chest heaving with little hiccups. Even Eldest Daughter looked disconcerted. Both their faces had lost the glee from moments earlier.

But in a calming voice, I said, Just pick up the baggie.

Younger Daughter's voice was catching as tears filled her eyes. He okay, Mama?  

Of course, sweetheart, I said as brightly as I could. 

With that assurance, she lifted her chin from her hands and her face changed from being all tight with trying not to cry and lit up with a grin.

To this day, I smile at the memory.

Of two little girls, their faces brightened, their spirits lightening with each tiny, little step as we continued to walk on home. 

Of Goldie in a plastic bag and Blackie barely afloat in his.

A light warm breeze blew on my shoulders. The day was splendid. 

Even the road looked lovely to me, like a self-contained universe that said life brimmed with possibilities.

Walking Sampaloc: My Idle Curiosity

One Step At A Time

Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder. - E.B. White

I love the seasons.

Each and every one.

But fall, with the warm embrace of an amber sky and the inviting smell of apples and spice, is my favorite. It is, I think, the most romantic and heartwarming of the seasons. Just don’t mention that to winter, spring or summer.

It's the time of the year when I love going outside to garden and - surprise! - taking daily walks in the neighborhood.

So today on this happy, bright day, I want to share with you some of my walking ventures.

Starting way back when I walked to my elementary school.

I remember heading out eagerly each day.

Bag, check. Mongol pencil no. 2, check. Baon to buy snack, check. 

In Sampaloc where I grew up in, going to places was no problem. Everywhere was walking distance.

I'd carefully cross Tuazon street where a jeepney, blaring loud music, rattled past me. I'd always thought how interesting it would be to paint its front with many decorating stripes of color. Surely, I'd doodle on the hoods and fenders, too. And where could I get one of those borloloy accessories and postcard of the saints that drivers would post on the windshield above their head?

Of course, I'd get distracted by the chinaman who was just opening his sari-sari stall. Variety stores were strewn left and right along Fountain street, but it was this particular spot where I always lingered. Guess why? I'd like to have a glimpse of Aling Sisang. Besides her everyday black silk kimono attire, she had that club foot that had always mystified me. 

I heard stories that foot binding was practiced among the Chinese for rich girls. That was mainly because the wealthy had servants to serve them since they couldn't walk. Poor girls needed normal feet in order to work. Hah!

The church that dead-ended on an estero, a channel used as a drainage canal in Sampaloc, was only two streets away.  But I wasn't going that way to the bridge where I'd usually try my luck crossing without ever falling into one of its broken decking.

I'd continued on to the sidewalk toward the wet market. The pavement had been cracked by too many weary footsteps. There was an empty beer can on the ground. I nudged it into the narrow canal that lined the street. 

Without ever going out on the street where the jeepneys were plying their business, I'd take a short cut and cross over to Leby's house and walk through the narrow eskinita alleyway. A dog ran out from Aling Deling's house and barked as I paused. Where was she? Usually she would be out there, waging war upon the ever-encroaching weeds in her cadena-de-amor bush.

A couple of side streets across was Geronimo. The ground was rough, muddy in some places. 

It was like a festival, already crowded with Mang Carlos selling iced gulaman jello. He was swatting at the flies swirling around him. Vendors littered the sidewalk with carts of peeled green mangoes doused in stinky bagoong. I passed by a bakery, the only storefront with its lights on, and caught the scent of pandesal.

Everything appeared at once distant and close. I was enticed to reach out and grab a bag of Mang Simon's crunchy corn nuts, but no. Not until after school was over.

Ingat! Beware of the turbanned Indian vendor! I jumped a little and hastily but carefully crossed to the other side as bicycles and errant automobiles sometimes went both ways on this side street.  We were told that inside the bundle he carried on a stick were the children he had snagged and was selling.

Along the way were fences strung up with colorful washing to dry. It seemed that everyday was washday in my neighborhood.

An elderly couple were feeding a cat in the alleyway. Was it a stray? 'Maryosep, a black cat. I remembered. I spat a couple of times on the ground in a subconscious effort to ward off the bad luck it might bring me. 

The downstairs of some buildings were shops and people lived above. I could see old women leaning on their elbows on the balconies watching everything below. They looked at that distance like hens in a chicken coop with their bright red and orange camisas. Others were gossiping. I'd come to realize that in a small neighborhood, the most efficient way to hear the news was to listen to gossip. I'd wondered what there was to talk about this early in the morning.

I walked slowly along. It was still the same narrow road I had always known. 

A nothing place.

Yet to me, the scenario was a delight on the way I'd known everyday.

I was enjoying every step, eager to discover anything new in the backdrop of daily life or just to re-discover the familiar. With idle curiosity, I was experiencing each moment as if it were the first sensation of its kind ever. 

I'd come to love this street in both its shabbiness and its occasional glory.

A wonder-filled world full of infinite causes.

On the path that I had made by walking.