Love Is A Grandparent

Grandparents' Day
September 8, 2019

Inspired by and adapted from Love Is A Grandparent by Erma Bombeck

This is for little folks who wonder what a grandparent is.

A grandparent can always be counted on to buy your Ritz Bits and Oreo cookies, ramen noodle, two kinds of peanut butter (creamy and chunky), Purple Cow ice cream, blue raspberry Speedy Freeze, pineapple and mangoes from Aldi, Pirates Booty popcorn, root beer, Whips chocolate yogurt, and ABC watermelon gum.

A grandparent buys you gifts your mother says you don't need - like more Shopkins or LPS miniature characters, a poop-oozing unicorn key chain, or Fortnite upgrades.

Grandparents arrive three hours early for your baptism so they can see everything, fly overseas for your preschool graduation, or withstand the wintry cold to spend Christmas holidays with you. 

Grandparents will sit through Purple Mermicorn soccer and Dirty Dawgs flag football games, cheering and capturing goals and touchdowns on video; and join in a raucous pizza party after a water park or ziplining birthday celebration.

Grandparents pretend they don't know who you are on Halloween.

When you go play hide and seek, they act as if they couldn't find you, even when a chubby leg is in plain sight behind a curtain. When you come out after a bath in your dragon robe and sneak behind their back, they pretend to be scared out-of-their-wits every single time.

Grandparents will put a sweater on you when they are cold, and feed you when they are hungry.

Grandparents will have an album and a bulging file of your artwork, including various handmade gifts, crafts, and an outline of your hands that you had traced; and display a hand-tied multicolored felt quilt in their mostly-white and neutral living room.

Grandparents will sit by you when you practice for your piano recital, when you go on a nature adventure to look for geckos or catch curly worms, and when you mix potions, smiling even if the food color spills on the wood floor.

And know that, most of all, grandparents are not and will never be in a hurry for you to grow up.

Beebeh

Feathered Fellas

Today was on its way to quickly becoming a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. Summer, with all its heat and humidity, showed up.

And guess what else?

A Pateros duckling that Mum bought on a whim at the talipapa wet market.

He was a scrawny little thing, flapping his wings and squawking as he stalked about importantly on squat, bow legged feet. 

At first sight, I already knew that as far as days went, today would rank up with other life changing events in my life because... well, I'll tell ya.

I knew that he existed to ultimately reign supreme in the household, being the latest whimsy of a pet for my spoiled youngest sibling.

Truth. 

When I was in a better mood, Beebeh, for that was what we decided to call him (it was the vernacular for duck), seemed to be quite cute. 

Softly emitting shrill high-pitched sounds, he sometimes danced around me so closely that I could see his brown eyes and the curve of his blue-gray beak. Except for the crown and nape which were black, the rest of his body was fluffy, light yellow. Beebeh was so diminutive that when he tugged at foraged worms and slugs or pecked on the cracked corn from the wooden feeder, all that I could see were the curly feathers on top of his tail.

But cuteness didn't work for me. He drove me crazy.

Every.Single.Day.

I could have sworn he was my buddy when I left for Roxas High in the morning, so I couldn't understand how he would turn devilish by the time I got back home. As soon as I opened the gate, who do you suppose was watching behind the adelfa bush?

The rascal.

I could see him cocking his head, examining me with one eye and then the next. Then, he would launch himself into the air, landing with a thud by my feet, and would start to chase me to the worn stone pathway leading to the house. Even old dog Voltaire, who was napping on the bottom step of the stairs, looked puzzled whenever this happened.

Of course, I ran and once inside, I would give him a tauntingly victorious grin. Pecking at a piece of rotting pandesal bread on the ground, he would feign an expression of utter nonchalance toward his failed chase. It was all a game to this eccentric creature.  

I’m not overstating it. Not even a little. He was silly, definitely daffy, and was the bane of my life.

Now that he's gone, all has been back to normal. 

I’ve imagined what this moment would be like. Maybe I’d jump up and down a bit, cheer, or even flip off the ground, but that hasn’t happened.

I stand by. Waiting.

Where's the imp who chased at my feet? 

Where's the mischief-maker who poked around in the grass at dusk?

Why can't I hear the indignant clucking of someone being shooed into the coop at night?

Meh.

I’m not here to indulge in nostalgia. All I need is to do a control-Z and get a fresh outlook.

It has fallen quiet for the night. There are no peeping sounds, just the rumble of passing Marikina buses. My head is heavy, my eyelids, too, so I lie down on the pillow and close my eyes.

The pinkish-orange glow on the horizon has highlighted a smattering of clouds, but that will change soon enough. Rain is coming my way.

I’ve dozed off in spite of myself.

Great Wall

Ancient Ruins: China

Wherever you go, go with all your heart.

The journey with a 1000 miles begins with one step. - Confucius

Have you ever considered going some place and you thought it probably wouldn’t ever come true so you tucked it away and tried to forget about it? Way down inside in your heart where dreams went to take naps.

But you couldn’t. So you bought a postcard and looked at it.

A zillion times.

Twice.

And then one day your fantasy comes true. You are standing in front of one of the greatest sights in the world.

The Great Wall of China.

The longest in the world.

Like a gigantic dragon, it winds up and down across deserts, grasslands, mountains, and plateaus - stretching approximately 13,000 miles from east to west of China.

See what I mean?

Overwhelming.

An awe-inspiring feat of ancient defensive architecture.

There are any number of areas to visit, but the most popular and closest to Beijing is the Badaling section. It's very crowded but easy to manage. 

My kind of trail.

Shall we walk up and say hello?

The height of the wall is 16–26 feet where it is intact or has been restored, designed to be at least three times a person's height. I'm only 5'1" (or taller by another half-inch on a good day) so I've had to peer beyond to see the gently descending slopes that follow the curvature of the steep mountains.

My trusty tourist pamphlet tells of the wall's 2,300 year-long history. 

Yes, it's that old. It was built in different areas by different dynasties to protect territorial borders.

Besides that, it had the greatest cost in human lives throughout its construction. Families were separated. Many died and were interred as part of the Great Wall itself.

Which reminds me of the Kung Fu TV show (you may need to look this up) in which the blind teacher teaches his young pupil to listen to the sound of the grasshopper at his feet. I'm thinking that this could be a poetic reference to the voice of those buried within the wall.

Sad to say, there is noticeable damage along the way. About 1,300 miles of the Ming Great Wall and far more of previous dynasties' wall sections have been documented as gone.

Truth?

Regardless. In my vocabulary, the Great Wall is GREAT! Really. (I'm allowing myself one exclamation point.)

Ancient ruins are more beautiful than adorned castles, for ruins are the cathedrals of time.

They once were the abode of gods.

To this day, they remain to be the epitome of perfect proportion.

A testament to brave hearts.

The haunting reminder of a people's fierce pride. 

A­­­ memorial to wisdom and dedication.

I'm imprinting this moment on my heart forever. Every foothold. Every minute. Every hour of this summer afternoon when there is only silence.

And the sound of the grasshopper at my feet.

Masada

Ancient Ruins: Israel

Live well. It is the greatest revenge. - Talmud

In case you need a little Matzo Ball Soup for the Soul, then this story is for you.

It is a tale so true. So profound. So poignant in its defiant lesson: that true heroes are the ones that never came home.

Such was the story that our Palestinian guide thoughtfully recounted here on Masada. 

An isolated looming mesa.

Gaunt, majestic, rugged. 

The name means 'stronghold.' Built around 30 BC in southern Israel’s Judean desert, it is a symbol of the ancient kingdom, its violent destruction, and the last Jewish stronghold against Roman invasion.

You can hike to the top of the famous fortress on the so-called 'snake path.' But seriously? It's 1,300 feet above the Dead Sea.

Count me out. I'm choosing the path of least resistance. 

Going up! Via cable car.

Cliffs hung over us on the steep climb. Countless years of weathering by wind and water had shaped the stone into bizarre formations.

I'd say that King Herod was both gutsy and innovative in his property choice for building a luxurious desert fortress. Or he went all-Monopoly Cheaters and built on top of the intimidating tower without owning the requisite number of property. But definitely had good foresight, for here was the place that the Jewish patriots took refuge when the temple was destroyed.

I can read the questions that are on your mind.

Was it easy for them to settle here?

Was it challenging to adjust?

And were they able to survive without a Super-Yuda supermarket?

Actually, our guide had a handy answer. Despite its high elevation, the fortress had huge storehouses and cisterns which contained months’ worth of food and water. 

There were also barracks, armories, and defensive structures. See that eighteen-foot high fortification around its perimeter?  And those steep cliffs on all sides making the flat-topped mountain look virtually impregnable?

So it seemed that all would go well. 

But did it? 

Masada was sieged by the Roman legion between 73 to 74 AD. When General Flavius couldn't reach the small band of defiant holdout living at the top, he brought in thousands of slaves and spent several months building an embankment up the backside of the mountain in order to wheel a battering ram up against it. After a year, the soldiers were able to breach the fortress.

Oy vey! Woe is me!

Yet the besieged Jews wouldn't give up hope and surrender. In a last desperate act of valor, the men, women, and children - 953 in all - chose to take their lives rather than surrender. 

The desert wind sent waves of dust across my path, but I was intent on hearing the story through its end.

Israeli men and women are now asked to serve in the Defense Forces to safeguard the country. After completing basic training, the new  soldiers climb Masada's 'snake path' at night after which they are sworn in during a mountaintop torch-lit ceremony.

Their final declaration could well be the rallying call for the Mazel-Tov-ever-after marathon of movies. It is a daring testament.

For the storms ahead.

For the mountains yet to climb.

Masada shall not fall again.

Colosseum

Ancient Ruins: Rome, Italy

Its solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter desolation 

strike upon the stranger like a softened sorrow. - Charles Dickens

I've always been obsessed with anything Greek (see earlier blog on Parthenon) and Roman.

I was schooled in the rescue of Helen from her Trojan captors and in the struggle of Odysseus. 

I knew that in ancient Rome, only free men were allowed to wear togas. 

And that you tossed three euros into Trevi Fountain - the first for coming back to Rome, the second for a new love story, and the third for a wedding.

Having said all this, you may understand why my heart beat faster and my eyes blinked seven times when I saw it.

The most thrilling of Rome's ancient sights.

It looked like its postcard.

The Colosseum.

The sun was high enough to paint the structure with a mixture of light and shadow, highlighting - alas! - its deterioration with time on its deep clefts and ragged openings.

The free-standing oval amphitheatre measured 620 by 513 feet. 

Massive. 

The distinctive exterior had three stories of about 80 arched entrances supported by semi-circular columns.

Inside, the space  was silent and still. 

Empty. 

Strangely, time seemed to fold in upon itself, bringing the past close enough to the present for events to touch, even to overlap. 

Suddenly, I could hear yelling from some 50,000 spectators inside the Colosseum. When I squinted, I saw Russel Crowe (er... no, that was from the Gladiator movie that came out years after) - General Maximus himself. Loyal servant to the true emperor. Father to a murdered son. Husband to a murdered wife. A slave-turned-gladiator who vowed vengeance in this life or the next.

Waving his arms dramatically, he shouted, Roma victor!  

He began to stride off with the cocksure pose of a man who commanded attention with all the virtues of his motto, Strength and Honour. 

The spectacle that followed was gory and brutal. The audience gasped as swords clashed and heads rolled in the gladiator arena. I had worried Maximus might meet his demise. But then? He emerged victorious. He was super strong like that. I guess he ate his spinach penne pasta.

As the bright light filtered in onto arch above dilapidated arch of the Colosseum, the sound of combat dispersed. 

All that remained was the reality of ghost shadows.

And the gentle hum of time slowly extinguishing itself over a mismatch of elegance and decay.

Parthenon

Ancient Ruins: Athens, Greece

Earth proudly wears the Parthenon

as the best gem upon her zone. - Emerson

I'm so excited.

Truly. 

I’ve been waiting for this all my life. I've kept its postcard under my pillow and dreamed of seeing it in person for years.

Well, today is the day when I finally get to say, Hello. Nice to meet you. 

There, glittering in the distance, dominating the Acropolis hill in Athens, is the Parthenon - surely the most important monument of ancient Greece and one of the most famous in the world.

I can’t believe it.

It's like an old friend just waiting for me to come over to see sculptures of centaurs and the battle between gods and giants in high relief. 

Dedicated to the goddess Athena, it glows with its supermodel cheekbones despite its being damaged by an explosion in 1687.

Measured by the top step of the base, the building is 101.34 feet wide and 228.14 feet long. There are eight columns each on the east and west, and seventeen each on the north and south. 

The shafts are simple and tapered. They're wider at the top than the base in true Doric form.

The dimension and proportion?

PERFECT.

Its architects obviously did not trust their imagination for the measurements. Rather, they followed the adage, Measure twice and then measure again.

I stand in awe at the simplicity of its architecture.

The capitals of the columns which directly support the weight of the ceiling are smooth, without decoration, and are flared. The top of the columns is undecorated. On its top triangular pediment would have been the statues of deities, unfortunately lost through damage over the centuries. 

As I walk through the cella, a walled interior rectangular chamber, I feel as though the tales in my high school Mythology 101 had come alive. That one in which Athena sprung at birth from the head of Zeus, fully-grown and arrayed in arms. Or the weaving contest with Arakhne whom she transformed into a spider.

The Parthenon is an architectural masterpiece. A marvel of composition and clarity. 

Magnificent.

Aesthetically balanced.

Let it shine on as a living story of the glory that was Greece.

Angkor Wat

Ancient Ruins: Cambodia

Excerpts from Vernes' Journey to the Center of the Earth are italicized.

The universe is in your bones,

The stars, in your soul. - Buddhist Saying

Have you ever read Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth?

Even if you haven't, its title is a giveaway. 

All those years, the planet has happily rotated on its axis minding its own business. And then?

Adventurers show up with new backpacks and go all expedition-special on a thrilling but perilous and ill-advised voyage to the center of the earth. 

The trip I'm currently embarking on promises to be as exciting, but hopefully not as hazardous. Here in the ruins of the Angkor Wat Temple City in Cambodia, I'm visiting the sacred five-peaked Mount Meru.

Abode of the gods.

Axis of the world.

Excellent! Capital! Glorious!

Today, I will journey to and through its center and hopefully come back. In.One.Piece.

Forward, my friends, into the Interior of the Earth. And whichsoever way thou goest, may fortune follow.

First impression? 

Immense.  A 900-year-old complex standing on 402 acres of a tiered terrain.

Dark and mysterious.

It's a place where the seasons seem to have run together, the years a stunned blur.

Gif akt! Attention - look out! 

Seven-headed serpents, half-human and half-cobra, threaten from below the bridge. Nagas. (I know what they are because that's what the brochure that I'm holding says). Not to worry, they're not real but just symbolic representations.

Moving along, I feel like I'm being drawn below in the nether regions by devas, a term for deities in Hinduism. It is a little scary and overwhelming. Yet I continue on, undaunted. 

Forut. Forward!

Each step will lead me to the gods' heavenly home.

Beyond a seventeen-foot-tall outer wall is the first of three interior galleries. Walls are gray and worn. Visible though covered with a few random cobwebs are reliefs of unicorn and griffins and winged dragons.

A pleasing rhythm of space and enclosure, of light and shade. 

Winged dragons are pulling chariots. Warriors follow an elephant-mounted leader.   

Moving along, I see an array of richly ornamented apsara carvings.

Beautiful and sacred. 

Cavorting about in the next gallery are celestial dancing girls with elaborate hair styles. I squint at extensive bas-relief friezes of pilgrim monkeys struggling through the storm on Rama's Mayflower-of-a-chariot. (Rama is a legendary hero in the Ramayana epic). 

I'm now deep in the hollows. Everything is a lot aged with grimy and darkened corners and damage and deterioration throughout. The air has become flat and humid. Is there a way out? 

Halt. We have reached the end of our journey.

I hear leaves rustling like the soft murmur of running water, the insects humming in the windless heat as I walk slowly toward what looks like a light at the end of a tunnel.

I've just journeyed to the center of the universe and back.

Voyage Extraordinaire!