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. 

 

Crabbing

Splish-Splash 

The salt will wash off and the sand will brush off … but the memories last forever. - Anonymous

There’s nothing better for kids than a pail, a cup, and a net at the beach. Specially when they're off crabbing.

Today, we were headed to the Makapu'u tide pools to do just that.

It was off the beaten track, nestled in a cove-like bay with mounds of sand that cascade down to more than 1,000 yards of sandy shoreline.

Beyond were the tidepools.

Crabbing. First Grandchildren, six and four years old.
Photos: V.E.V., Makapu'u, 2016

Giddy with excitement, the kids had scampered toward the small pools of water that got trapped on the lava. 

They were on the hunt for sea stars, various crustaceans, and fish. 

How they squealed in delight to see crabs darting out from the rocks. Funny! When it seemed like they were coming, they were going. And just when the waves came, they dug and hid inside the sand. 

The search had continued on to the edge of the water. The tide was low, pausing every now and then to kiss their feet. 

Although everywhere else, the water twisted past, disappeared and then surprised us around another corner, here the waters had lost its angry roll and came to shore with better manners, not exploding on the rocks but merely curling foam around them and receding in an almost soothing rhythm.

So how do you catch a crab?

A cup and a net would do.

If there is a crab, slowly lower the net into the water behind the crab. 

Scoop the crab out, but be quick because crabs are fast - and, Voila! You have caught a crab. 

Put it in a bucket and be sure to cover lest it climb up and out on its own.

I felt a joyful surge inside as I watched the kids looking at the world that could be found, bending down and looking at skittering crabs.

I knew that I would long remember the many images of their face, beaming with wonder and enthusiasm, overlapping each other, crawling over one another.

Like wet crabs in a bucket.

 

Azul Called On Me Today: Strung Haikus

Haiku: a type of short Japanese poetry with 17 syllables in a 5, 7, 5 pattern

It's no coincidence that both birds and angels have wings. - Anonymous

as has been my wont,

today I fed the sparrows

and cheery robins.

when by the ivy, 

on the deck seat I noticed  

a tiny feather

sparkling in the sun.

Azul had come to visit! 

and he let me know.

his song had ended

he lived, he somersaulted, 

cheeped and flew away;

but he still lends me

wings that lighten my heart, 

and brighten the day.

Catch A Wave

Splish-Splash

If there’s a will, there’s a wave. - Anonymous

A hard plastic drawer from a Sterilite organizer and a red bucket. 

Underestimated.

Second Granddaughter, almost two years old.
Photo: V.E.V., Columbus: 2014

Seriously, at first glance, I think Second Granddaughter might have thought, Meh...

But when we filled the container with water, it really proved to be So.Much.More.

An easy, convenient, cheap, and innovative splash tub for a two-year old girl.

We let her dump, fill, and splatter to her heart's content. So what if she wound up soaked? She was washable.

She so loved the water.

We watched our giggling water baby, a budding scientist pouring water from bucket to bin to bucket... to deck floor. 

She was learning about cause and effect. Thinking about the wetness of the water. Experimenting with its fascinatingly fluid properties and being introduced to basic physics. And who knew? Perhaps, calming herself after a hard day of being small in a big world. 

It was a sensory extravaganza as she heard the splashing, maybe even tasted a few droplets.

Growing up, Second Granddaughter has continued her love for water.

Photo: I.T.V., Hawaii: June 2018 | Pouty Model.

Six years old. Photo: A.T.V., Columbus: 

August 2018

Whether cavorting with First Cousin in Kawaii.

Celebrating a water play date with friends.

Alum Creek Beach: June 2020

Making a silly pose with Florida friends.

Relaxing by a cool summer pool in Ocean City. 

Getting right into the water at the Hilton in Columbus.

Enjoying the white soft sand, mild surf, and miles of sun fun in Maryland.

Or skidding... 

... and parasailing, touching down the waters of Gulf Shores in Alabama. (Be still, my fluttering heart.)

Her venue choice for a family birthday celebration four days before her birthday?

Zoombezi Bay.

Are you surprised?

The iconic wave pool was just across from our rented cabana. I could hear the roar of the waves as they rolled in. 

From where I was seated, they looked like a herd of stampeding wild horses, crashing, going from zero entry to four feet.

Then they slipped backward, only to collect their strength to reshape and roll shoreward again in an endlessly hypnotic rhythm.

And where was the birthday girl?

She was in the midst of it all, her hands stretched up high for the crashing waves, enjoying a soak after a stressful day of playing hard.

Sometimes you will never know the value of an event until it becomes a memory, so on this especial day, I'm preserving the moment and sending birthday wishes  of high tides and good vibes to Second Granddaughter.

Whisper your dreams to the wind

Write your secrets in the water

Give your heart to the waves!

Wave Pool. Almost nine. Photo: V.E.V., Zoombezi Bay, 2021

Let's Go Swimmin'

Splish-Splash 

Happiness is a day at the pool. - Anonymous

I was reading over Hubby's shoulders a card he had received from Eldest Daughter. She was maybe only six? The writing was loopy. She dotted her i's in circles, not black holes, making the words look like they had misplaced eyeballs.

I regret that I hadn't saved it for a proper quote, but here is a reconstruction of what it said.

Dear Pa, you are in my favorites list. I like you because you say yes when Mom says no. You are nice to me and my friends.

I thought, Ha! Kids know that the best way to get their point across is with a pencil or crayon and paper.

The sentiment was sweet. 

The note continued.

You are the best Pa ever.

Aww...

Looking over where the two girls were playing, I couldn't help thinking how they were like tiny rays of sunshine who light up the darkest of days. The first one was our 'light;' the younger one, our 'rainbow.' They were the reason I laughed and wanted to get up every morning.

I read on.

P.S. Can we go swimming this afternoon?

I don't like it when I'm trying to be serious, but then I accidentally smile. I was chuckling. Need I say more?

That afternoon, we headed to the public pool.

Snuggled within a colorful floatie, the girls, with a big white glob of sunscreen on their forehead and nose, were splashing, dog-paddling, and laughing.

And we laughed as well. It didn't matter what they were laughing about. It was contagious.

Our small excursion, I came to realize, was going to be part of their legacy of happy memories. As they grow, they may forget what we had said, but they wouldn't forget how we made them feel.

And at that moment, I just affirmed in my heart a vow of how we would stretch our love for them countless times around the world, and when the entire world was covered, we would stretch our love even through the galaxy...

... in search of a public pool.

Dikya!!!

Splish-Splash

Smell the sea, and feel the sky, let your soul and spirits fly. - Van Morrison

Dikya!!!

OK, I did it. Triple exclamation point.

We learned in school that this punctuation mark is used to express strong emotion or add emphasis to a statement. And yes, I remember in Freshman English, we were told that when using this, less is more. 

However, can I get an opinion?

Can you imagine a world without this excitable diacritical notation in triple?  

What would you do if, just bobbing up and down the salty waters in a Las Piñas beach just south of Manila, you suddenly see a pulsating umbrella-shaped bell with a tassel of trailing tentacles moving with the tides?

What if, just playing splash with your brothers and cousins, you spot a free-swimming marine animal laying in wait behind a brown sargassum seaweed?

For sure, you'd be excited. Really excited.

Being chased by a jellyfish, dikya in the vernacular, was one of our simple childhood pleasures.

It was beautiful, spineless, and wobbly. 

Looking at it, we could imagine its own little world, there among terraces of coral and red galunggong mackerel and climbing martiniko perch. Anchored to the seabed in an untouched oasis beneath the waves where bisugo fish weave through huge sea sponges while whale and tiger sharks glided overhead. 

We were kids.

Our minds were crazy with horrid possibilities.

We delighted in the fact that one, or a 'smack' of them could pursue us with impunity. (I now know the term is suggestive of what it feels like when you suddenly get caught in a group of jellyfish).

And how fun to swim away!

If you didn't? Their tentacles were armed with stinging cells which could injure a 'predator' which you were at the moment.

At one time or another, some of us had been stung. But there we were, proudly showing off red pelts as a badge of courage to our friends.

In my adult years, I've come to recognize every time I stand before a body of water that there is another world underneath. One that is bigger, more real. Occupied by marine plants and critters, usually underrated, but which are everything that’s right in this world.

Such as the jellyfish.

If you watch it long enough, it begins to look like a heart beating. It's the pulse, the way it contracts swiftly, than releases. 

Like a ghost heart - a heart you can see right through, right into some other world where everything you ever lost has gone to hide. A near-transparent moon jelly with its flashing red light chasing you.

Don't you think that deserves an exclamation point?

Or two.

Or three.

Let exclamation points run rampant and wild and free.

Say it with me. 

Dikya!!!