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It seems like there isn't much to expect for Christmas this year.
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Reportedly, Santa's sleigh was repossessed.
The North Pole is in foreclosure, and the elves have been laid off.
But come on, aren't we forgetting the true meaning of Christmas?
You know, the birth of Santa.
Or eating, drinking, and being merry?
Waiting For Company. Olive Garden Dinner: December 23, 2023
When you don't want to be judged as to whether you've been naughty or nice?
Regardless of all the desperation, the anxiety and the woes, I know that in our hearts, there remains a spark of what Christmas is really all about.
It is not so much about opening gifts as opening our hearts. Snuggled in the warmth of a fireplace, sharing a grandchild's joy.
It is filling our cup in abundance with love.
In this spirit, I send you all glad tidings and the warmest wishes for a Merry Christmas.
May this season fill your
home with
warmth,
light and joy!
It snowed last night.
8 am: I made a snowman.
8:10 am - A feminist passed by and asked why I didn't make a snow woman.
8:15 am - So, I made a snow woman.
8:20 am - The gay couple living nearby threw a hissy fit and moaned it could have been two snowmen instead.
8:25 am - The vegans at the end of the lane complained about the carrot nose, as veggies were food and shouldn't be used to decorate snow figures.
They also called me a racist because the snow couple was white.
8:30 am - I replaced the carrot nose with tofu and used food coloring to make one of the snow couple black and be more racially inclusive.
8:39 am - The middle eastern neighbor across the road demanded the snow woman be completely covered. When I didn't comply, the police arrived saying someone had been offended.
8:42 am - The feminist neighbor complained again that the broomstick of the snow woman needed to be removed because it depicted a woman in a domestic role.
8:43 am - The 'council on equality' officer arrived and threatened me with eviction.
8:45 am - TV news crew from ABC showed up. I was asked if I knew the difference between snowmen and snow women. I replied, Snowballs. I was branded a sexist.
9 am - I was on the news as a suspected terrorist, racist, homophobe, and sensibility offender bent on stirring up trouble during difficult weather.
9:29 am - Far left protesters offended by everything marched down the street demanding that I be arrested.
10 am - I cried into my drink because all I wanted to do was build a snowman.
There ain't no moral to this story.
It is what this world has become because of a bunch of snowflakes.
(Source Unknown)
Best Of The Best
A so-called anti-ageist group reportedly had spoken out against what it considered a tacky song that, for lack of better words, mocked someone's dead grandma.
I, for one, think Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer is hilarious. It gets my vote for Best Of The Best Christmas Song.
It recounts how Grandma, who has been drinking too much eggnog, stumbles out the door into the snow.
When they found her Christmas mornin'
At the scene of the attack
There were hoof prints on her forehead
And incriminatin' Claus marks on her back.
The signs are damning.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walkin' home from our house, Christmas eve.
May she rest in eternal peace...
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| Pencil Sketch: AVS, 11 years old |
Tee-hee!
Reindeer says, Fake news!
See Grandma!
Here spotted hand-feeding a semi-wild but friendly deer.
Grandma's still alive,
which is pretty cool...
And that's the best news ever.
Nara Deer Park, Japan: April 2019
Best Of The Best
Watching movies is my one distraction. Especially on a lazy Christmas Day after gorging on food.
The best of the best?
Elf.
Nothing spreads Christmas cheer quite like this 2003 American Christmas cult classic.
Buddy, adopted and raised by Papa Elf in the North Pole, embarks on a quest through seven levels of the Candy Cane forest, past the sea of twirly-swirly gum drops and into the Lincoln Tunnel in pursuit of his biological father in New York City.
This holiday film is full of heartwarming scenarios that are sure to have you smiling like Buddy all season long.
Here are some of them. See if you remember what's going on here.
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| (1) (2) (Don't scroll down until you've thought out your answer). ANSWER (1) Buddy decides to sweeten his spaghetti meal a bit by adding syrups, candy, and marshmallows into it. He then burps loudly. (2) While in his dad's office, Buddy encounters what he believes to be another elf, Miles, a dwarf. He unintentionally upsets him by calling him an elf repeatedly. He then asks if Santa knows he left the workshop. They duke it out in the end. |
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| (3) (4) (Don't scroll down until you've thought out your answer). ANSWER (3) 'Over-sized' Buddy goes to school. (4) Buddy is recruited to work as an 'elf' in a store. |
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| (5) |
(Don't scroll down until you've thought out your answer).
ANSWER
(5) Buddy and Jovie, his dead-pan love interest, now married, visit Papa Elf.
**********************
So, how did you fare?
When I come to think of it, for me, besides the holiday cheer that it brings, my best memory of all is that watching Elf, year to year, has always been a shared experience.
I'm sitting at home, chilling, and watching with family. And my singular joy is that we're all laughing together at the same thing.
I don't think that I'd ever be a cotton-headed ninny muggins too old for Elf or the simple gift of togetherness.
Best Of The Best
Still... nothing beats a home-cooked meal. - Anonymous
For us, growing up, Noche Buena meant Mum's Christmas-Day-especial only.
Although Mum was frugal for most of the year, she surprisingly splurged for Christmas so that we could have food items reserved only for this event.
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Clockwise from top right: tuna macaroni salad, sweet garbanzo beans, queso de bola |
The lowly pan de sal or queso puti (cottage cheese) from the corner sari-sari?
No way.
Daricreme?
Nope.
This was the time of the year when she bought a whole loaf of pan Amerikano, queso de bola, and real butter from Cherry's grocery store.She'd also fill her basket with ingredients for her annual home-cooked tuna macaroni salad and sweet garbanzo beans.
And the crowning glory of it all?
Hamonado.
Filipino ham with a deliciously sticky pineapple-brown sugar glaze.
Sweet, moist, and flavorful, Mum's hamonado always took center stage on the dining table.
I remember watching her marinate the leg of ham in pineapple juice, days before.
On Christmas Day, the ham was simmered in the sweet juice for hours, then pan-broiled to create that sweet golden glaze.
Afterward, its fat side was scored in a classic diamond-shaped pattern by running a sharp knife through the fat, then rubbed generously with brown sugar and decorated with pineapple slices.
The table would be set. Food was ready.
We would gather around the table, eating with gusto, passing scraps under the table to the dogs.
A full belly and a happy heart.
Mum's Christmas-Day-especial meal was life’s greatest gift.
The perfect family Christmas fare ever.
Bridges
In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future. - Alex Haley
Bridge is a structure built to span a physical obstacle such as a body of water or valley.
Connotatively, it could be thought of as inherently symbolic. A passage to reality. The transition from what is worldly to a sense of purity and inner peace.
Bridge is connection.
It is union in a family.
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| Clockwise from top right: Arno River Bridge. Florence: 2023 | Queenstown, New Zealand: 2022 | Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Big Island: 2022 |
Yet, like branches on a tree, we all grow in different directions, perhaps building too many walls and not enough bridges.
We definitely are not perfect nor need to be, but we need to remind ourselves that our roots remain as one.
We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.
Understanding is the bridge between two minds. Love is the bridge between two souls.
Lexi, turning three years old, gives First Granddaughter a loving smooch. Honolulu: 2023
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| Penobscot Narrows Bridge. Maine: 2017 |
Bridge is family that carries us over,
as the river of time
flows past.
The table is set.
The people who are the most thankful are those who didn't have to cook. Amul India Restaurant. Dublin, Ohio
Don't forget to set your scales back
ten pounds this week.
Remembering, in the Year of Covid, when Thanksgiving was spent at home. Columbus, OH, 2020
Most of all, don't let the turkeys get you down.
Bridges
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
- Lyrics from song by American folk duo Simon and Garfunkel
Friendship.
Empathy.
Love that can build bridges where there are none.
These come to mind every time I listen to the haunting lyrics of Bridge Over Troubled Water.
It makes me remember those times when I had felt small, but was assured that my darkest night was the bridge to the brightest tomorrow.
That there was always a bridge for finding lights in life.
That there had been an opening into the quiet beneath the chaos where I found calmness I did not think possible.
That I just needed to continue in the faith.
Maintain my peace in the midst of my storm.
Bridges
A bridge is a meeting place... a possibility, a metaphor. - Jeanette Winterson
Pen pals are people who regularly write to each other, particularly via postal mail. They are usually strangers whose relationship is based primarily, or even solely, on their exchange of letters.
On my third year in high school, I had a pen pal, a Japanese girl whose name I can't recall, unfortunately. She was on her last year of Tyugakko (junior high). We were both fourteen years old.
Of course, I was thrilled.
After the first exchange of letters, we were soon also sending small gifts - dried, pressed petals of our respective national flowers, the sampaguita and cherry blossom. After that, we traded fans: a woven abaniko from me for a Japanese paper fan.
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| Internet pic only |
It was simple.
Minimalist.
It was that of a hill garden dominated by a red hashi bridge arched over a shallow stream.
I had imagined being in her world, the colorful crossover connecting the bank of my river to her river across time and space.
I thought, I'd like to be there. Pass over the stream and pluck pink sakura blossoms off the tree.
Some day.
Bridges
Bridges are happy, because they do not judge those who come to them. – Mehmet Murat ildan
Have you ever crossed a wooden plank bridge that you fear will collapse, but you need to cross?
I have. Many times before.
On Sunday afternoons, we went on MYF visitations of church members who lived on the other side of the canal on Arevalo Street. To do this, we had to cross toward Domingo Santiago along a rickety overpass.
The structure didn't look very strong nor well-made.
It seemed like something that would likely break or collapse any minute.
Did that intimidate me?
No way.
I'd always thought traversing the dilapidated construction was fun.
It was like stepping gingerly across a balance beam. Or walking across a fallen log with hands held out to either side. I'd try to keep my body perfectly in line, fearing the slightest loss of balance could send me tumbling.
The missing random planks were a challenge. I'd wobble as I went, jumping to safety from beam to beam.
I had no idea at the time that such action could have been either intimate, even poetic, or tragic.
I just knew that crossing between the gaps was play.
Because they were there.
Umbrellas
Did you know there is such a day as National Umbrella Day? It's celebrated in the US each year on February 10.
Why?
I'm not really sure. Perhaps, it's a way to honor one of the world's most convenient inventions.
The umbrella keeps us dry from rain and protects us from the heat of the sun. It can be a fashion accessory. It's a religious symbol in some cultures. Representing the dome of the sky, it's a protective shadow on earth. When carried above a person, it indicates respectability.
Plus, it provides inspiration when you need to get through days when the sky is grey, and everything is… wet.
Consider this.
When times are tough, friends and family are your umbrella.
When others try to rain on your dreams, let it be your shelter and comfort.
Take refuge under that canopy and dream on.
First Grandchildren share a golf umbrella, 3 and 5 years old, resp. Honolulu, HI: November 2015
And if you’re feeling a little bit low,
If you’re feeling under the weather,
If your sky is darkening with rain clouds...
... Let me be your umbrella.
Umbrellas
I love rain. It's my favorite weather.
Rain is the sky descending to earth.
It makes me think of grace.
Someone's smile.
A voice meeting mine.
Someone who makes a tiny world with just him and me, his whisper and my trust.
A couple holding hands.
Walking under an umbrella in the rain.
Umbrellas
... Every time it rains, it rains
Pennies from Heaven
Don't you know each cloud contains
Pennies from Heaven?
Are you familiar with the song Pennies from Heaven?
It's an American popular tune introduced by Bing Crosby in the 1936 film of the same name.
I heard it a long time ago when I was young and naive. And I believed it.
I would look at each cloud, knowing that behind its shadows were bright, shiny pennies just waiting to shower upon my spirit and water my soul.
So every time it rained, I'd put my umbrella up, up, upside down.
I was hopeful that fortune would soon be falling all over town.
Have I ever caught any riches yet?
No. Not yet.
Just paltry stuff.
Like the smell of rain and its secrets.
A feeling of peace that washes over me from the wide, open sky.
The promise of sun after the rain.
Umbrellas
I love umbrellas.
Like no other.
Maybe because I associate them with the jubilant years of my early schooldays.
Mum wanted me to preserve my fair-skin looks so she had me use the umbrella on sunny days. And, of course, she didn't want me to get even a speck of rain on me on those rainy days. Thus, the ubiquitous umbrella.
Weird, but that was how it was.
For sure, I looked forward to what my umbrella would look like. Perhaps, light green with white stripes for a change? But Mum always chose a pink one with flowers for me, a joyous splash of color on those gray, rainy days when I walked on Fountain Street toward Geronimo.
I would curl my hands around its curved handle, thinking, The wind is trying to make it fly.
To this day, each time I hold one in my hand, I cannot help but grin.
The rhythm of rain upon the umbrella reminds me of younger days when I would be on the street, wooden clogs splashing the puddles.
When it made me feel as if I were rising high regardless of the weather, destined to rise above and watch the clouds below.
Try To Remember
Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts. - Charles Dickens
I've heard it said. I can be coldhearted at times.
My rationale?
I'm not against showing emotions, but there's a time and a place. More so, as my strongest feelings had expired when ignored and taken for granted in the past, I feel that it's the best way to safeguard my heart from re-living the hurt.
All I need is a change from a near frigid to a tropical state of mind. I tell myself that I'll strive to make my life like an open fireplace so that people may be warmed and cheered by it.
I'll remember to open my mind. Realize that I can touch others in all the right places without physical touching.
Recall that alternatively, touch can be physical affection, skin on skin. Intimacy. When you get weird with someone and find that it's okay.
Maybe I can get the knack of physically reaching out and taking someone's hand. Or, allow someone to take mine. I do remember how a long time ago, being touched like that felt like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between someone's finger and my skin.
I can start small. Get down pat being chummy with those who don't see my imperfections.
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| Some angels choose fur instead of wings. - Anonymous |
Communicate. Interact and touch the miracle of being alive.
Be present.
I'll try to remember...
And when I remember, I'll follow.
Try To Remember
I'm such a Libra, it's not even funny my sign represents me so well. - Cardi B
In 1974, McDonald’s hamburger cost 28 cents, and a hot apple pie was 26 cents. Also, candy consumers first tasted the rainbow of fruit flavors with Skittles’ hard sugar shells.
The biggest scandal that hit the US? Yep, it happened that year when Richard Nixon was forced to resign as President after the Watergate scandal.
So, what else transpired in 1974?
I've never been up on the news, but I do know of a single significant event that happened, specifically on September 28, that overshadowed all these.
My rainbow was born.
Two favorite characters of mine in a childhood book were Doreen and Iris. I wanted to be called Doreen, but Mum chose to nickname me Doris instead.
As for the name Iris, I told myself, Some day, there is going to be an Iris in my life. I just knew there was something especial about that moniker, as I learned some years later in a high school mythology class that it was an appellation for the rainbow goddess.
And I try to remember...
The zodiac says that as a Libra, my Iris will exhibit the energy of balance, harmony, and justice.
Represented by the scales, she will strive to maintain equilibrium.
Maybe so, but she is much more.
Since that time when I realized snuggling with me on the rocking chair might be the last time together before she wasn't a baby anymore, my Iris has grown to be strong, spirited, and beautiful - inside and out.
She lives by the sun and loves by the moon.
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| Peachy Toes |
She has a quiet and sweet side, as well as a fun and crazy side.
Yes, she's just a normal young woman, but way cooler.
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| Wine is the divine juice of September. - Voltaire |
What do you say? Let's celebrate.
It's Libra season!
Happy birthday to
my September sweetheart!
Try To Remember
Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious.
- Ruth Reichl
This blog is not about taste of success, taste in ideas, or matters of taste. It is literally, taste. The sensation of flavor perceived in the mouth and throat on contact with a substance.
Like the unique pungency from chili peppers and locally-produced yak cheese in Bhutan's signature ema dashi dish.
The sweetness of baklava, a popular pastry of Ottoman cuisine in Morocco; and the rich creaminess from three layers of milk in tres leches from Costa Rica and Mexico.
The ambrosial delectability of many other dishes savored in the course of my international travels comes to mind but, interestingly, what has always been on the forefront in my taste memoirs is one that's neither gourmet nor exotic.
That of a slice of warm, flaky and sweet apple pie smothered in Rocky Road.
Tasting it for the first time in a small cafe on Cubao Street, I recall that it looked simple.
Unpretentious.
Its principal filling ingredient was...well... apples. With a bare sprinkling of cinnamon. Its topping was not fancy. Creamy chocolate ice cream with chewy marshmallows, crunchy almonds, and flecks of chocolate.
I remember its overwhelmingly fresh, bright, clean flavor. The playful pairing between the tartness of apples and the sweetness of a frozen concoction. It was pert, even chill.
I remember the moment. The company.
Ah, yes.. My own Michelin star in dessert. So exquisite.
And I try to remember.
The taste that brands a memory on my soul.
