Just Shooting The Breeze

Dreams

Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. - Virginia Woolf

It is said that dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.

Interesting, huh?

That's probably the reason why there's a whole study devoted to the interpretation of dreams. Famous psychologist Carl Jung says, Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

Ever been baffled by your dreams? 

I've been thinking, why don't we just shoot the breeze and talk about some of them in this series?

***

Dreaming of falling is very common. 

Have you ever had such a dream?

Let me know (please include all details that you remember) and we'll talk about all this in the next blog.

(To be continued)

Palengke

Philippine-Style Cottagecore

 Participate in life instead of just watching it pass you by. - Lindsey Wonderson

There was a small Cherry grocery on the Sta. Mesa rotunda that Mum went to on especial occasions for butter and Amrikan-brand cookies. Other than that, there weren't really an abundance of shops the likes of Kroger and Costco where I grew up in.

What we had were sari-sari variety stores and the grand bazaar of all-things-edible-and-perishable, the palengke wet market. 

On Saturdays when school was out, Mum would sometimes ask me to do the marketing. The closest palengke was just a straight-shot through the back eskinitas of our home on Fountain Street.

She'd give me a basket, a list, and money rolled up in a handkerchief. From my list, I could guess that we were having fish sinigang at lunch.

Along the way on the narrow street, vendors were already busily gutting fish. Between rows of open stalls, I could see the dirt floor muddied from the melting of ice used to ensure the freshness of seafood sold, and by booth holders who routinely sprayed their area with water.

Walking through the marketplace always made me feel alive.

Everything felt so raw and real.

Literally.

There were piles of yellow mangoes, mounds of vine-ripened watermelon in baskets, stacks of dried squid, malunggay clusters spilled over baskets, and a few live chickens awaiting slaughter.

The air was vibrant with the sharp smell of smoked tuyo fish and the buzz of conversation from jostling shoppers.

I headed toward Aling Daling's open stall. Mum who was her suki (regular customer) had instructed me to buy everything from her.

Bangus: should smell fresh and mild, not fishy, eyes clear and shiny, flesh firm and gills red. Check.

Tomatoes: neither too firm nor too squishy, supple, slightly soft, shiny and glossy. Check.

Kangkong (extra bunch to add to dog's cooked food): bright green color. Check.

Kamias (only a small handful for humans' sinigang, none for the dogs, Voltaire was allergic to anything sour): crisp and free of soft spots. Check.

For me, that was a wrap up. CHECK.

Bunot And Walis

Philippine-Style Cottagecore 

Why can't the house clean itself? It seems to get dirty by itself. - Anonymous

Vacuum? Swiffer what?

We didn't have any of these. The best house cleaners? Plain, old bunót and walis (coconut husk and broom).

Bunót (accented on the second syllable) refers to a coconut husk used to polish floors. 

Walis is a soft whisk broom used on smooth floors like hardwood. Though it sheds, the natural bristles are great for dislodging dirt and dust.

And you know what else?

We had Monica, a twelve-year-old live-in helper.

There was 99% chance she would be cleaning in the mornings using these implements and humoring us with her sassy comments.

Mum being her ally, Monica could get away saying, soon after she'd pulled the bunót from underneath Lil' Boy's desk, This house was clean yesterday. What happened?

That Monica! She was a character. I just laughed because I knew her moods not only swung. They fluctuated and bounced back from spirited to being sweet and caring.

I was familiar with her routine. Humming a discordant phrase from a Nora Aunor song, she'd place a foot on the husk. 

She'd use her leg power to move in such a way as to scrub the floor.

Internet pic only

Moving into the kitchen, she'd yell at the brothers, I could keep this kitchen clean if you people would just stop eating here.

My brothers didn't argue with her. They didn't say, Ew. They knew best how to handle her mood swings: bring her food, then keep a safe distance.

That always worked. A snack break of pan de coco humored her, even when she had to additionally apply floor wax onto the living room floor (Mum's instruction. I was having a visitor in the late afternoon).

All that was left to do was to sweep dirt into a small pile. Sweep the pile into a dustpan. Become increasingly annoyed when the last bit refused to sweep into dustpan.

And, of course, cheeky little Monica would say when she was done, I just finished cleaning the house. Nobody touch anything when I leave for school. (Mum had her go to school in the afternoon).

On her way out, she'd look back at me, beaming, Ate, bili kita ng corn nut pag-uwi ko. (Eldest Sister, I'll buy you corn nut when I come back.) 

Peering into her twinkling eyes and quickly surveying the house, I could only say, Good job! Super kintab (shiny)!

Labada

Philippine-Style Cottagecore

The laundry has its hands on the dirty shirts, shorts, and sheets, and who knows what tales they tell. - Anonymous 

Lately, I've seen in YouTube shows a deluge of images of nostalgic countryside living. It was first named Cottagecore on Tumblr in 2018.

Reading about this newfound fascination with a laid-back, more unplugged way of living made me grin because in the Philippines, that was simply how we lived, way back then.

Consider this.

Before washing machines and dryers were common, labada (laundry) was washed by hand.  

I knew it was wash day when the bathroom was off-limits to all but Aling Luring. That was the day when she reigned Queen of the Labada. 

Looking at the pile of dirty clothes she did each week, I was pretty sure there were people who lived in our house whom I hadn't met or that the wash had propagated while we slept.

Dare to tell her that you needed a quick shower and she'd yell back, Laundry today or you go naked tomorrow. 

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Sometimes, I'd watch her, squatting in front of a large metal basin. She would half-fill the tub with water, then meticulously scrub the clothes by hand using Perla soap bar.

She'd fold each piece, as though she were kneading dough.

She'd press with the heels of her hands, wringing out every bit of dirt.

I was always on the lookout when she commenced the slapping process. That was when she'd whack items on the edge of the washtub causing the soapy water to splash onto its rim.

Then, the denouement of the ritual. The window pane test which was, to me, a most amusing sight.

To see if the laundry was sufficiently cleaned, she'd stretch each item between her fingers, as if she could see through them. Only after prolonged perusal would she deem her handiwork fit to be rinsed in clean water. 

To this day, I could see her face, beaming, as if the labada, purified in spirit and draped on a clothesline, were a royal standard hanging above her patch of grassy kingdom on the backyard.

 

I Nixed An Offer To Write For The Collegian

Things You Didn't Know About Me

It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped. - Tony Robbins

I panicked when Prof Arce, giving me a prolonged, curious look, said, See me in my office after class. He had just handed back our exegesis of an intriguing poem, The Anchored Angel. 

Did he see through my pseudo-expertise?

You see, popular literary criticism identified fate and freewill as the theme of the poem, which was probably what most of the class went with in their analysis. But I got leaked info from a Comparative Lit senior that the poem was a metaphor for the sexual act.

I went with that thread in my paper.

Being naive on details of intimacy, I used a borrowed sex primer to juxtapose each love-making metaphor against the applicable clinical description. (Note: it was an eye-opening discovery for me.)

I was so scared that he'd grill me to authenticate my knowledge. I was surely going to be bust.

Thank goodness, Prof had only one thing to say when I went to see him. How would you like to write for the Collegian?

I must have murmured a few words, then excused myself and exited.

So, did I?

You would have guessed from the blog title. I didn't.

I know you're asking, Why???!!

Did I not dream to be a journalist? See my name in print? Get published?

Yes, to all these.

I loved writing. I'd always wanted to live in a crazy, fantasy world with unrealistic expectations. I could shake off everything as I wrote. My sorrows disappeared, my courage reborn.

But at the time, I was laser-focused on only one thing: to graduate with honors. 

I had to prioritize and make a choice.

As it was, my plate was already full - reading from two to three novels in two weeks, poring through exegetics, and writing analytical studies. 

I'd known fully well that graduating from a prestigious university could land me a good job, but to graduate with honors on top of that? I could have whatever job I wanted.

Did I regret it?

Not for one minute. 

That singular moment was but one step on my journey. I made the mark on no less than the UP Collegian adviser himself, a renowned Filipino writer. 

I just didn't raise the bar. I shot it into the stratosphere.

 

I Used Beer In My Hair

Things You Didn't Know About Me

I had to save part of my meager pocket money for my dog Snoopy's SPCA meds, and didn't have any to spare for Dippity Do hair gel or Blossom 'n Bloom hair spray.

So I used the tried-and-true substitute highly recommended by women experts at the time.

Beer.

It was free for me. I only had to get three-fourths of a cup from Little Boy's San Miguel, refill the bottle to its original level with water, and recap it.

You may wonder, how did that work??!!

Let me tell 'ya. Here's how to create that big and high pouffed-up beehive hair style.

(1) Plaster the entire head of hair with your pilfered stunning, pale golden lager. 

(2) Use large stick rollers to roll segments inwards working your way up towards your roots. Caution: it will be a sticky process.

(3) Secure with bobby pins.

(4) Proceed until all sections are rolled.

(5) Leave rollers in for about 15-30 minutes. Depending on your taste, either enjoy the enticingly pleasant aroma and mouth-watering, smooth, slight hoppy note of your head; or endure its distinct bitter hop character. 

(6) When you start feeling buzzed, it's time to remove the rollers.

(7) Lightly separate your curls (they will be ultra-stiff). Gently backcomb to form a distinctly cone-shaped, towering height of hair.

(8) Tousle some curls in front for bangs.

(9) Admire your aristocratic European look. You'd be erupting with awesome.

¡Salud!

P.S. Look the other way when Lil' Boy complains about his beer tasting stale and cardboard-like. 

Mhee Turning 79!

Age is an opportunity no less than youth itself, though in another dress, and as the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. - Longfellow

It's here. March 21. I'm turning... (yikes!) 79 years old.

So, do I fret?

Or just smile and be proud, thinking that I'm not getting older, just becoming a classic.

Here's what I'd been up to, in days leading up to this moment.

Medallion necklace from Second Daughter, a source of comfort and assurance

Hair is an accessory. It's like jewelry for your head.

I got ready to burnish mine a dark sheen.

Life is not perfect, but my hair can be.

Aging is like fine cheese. You might be a bit moldy on the outside, but you're still delicious.

(I won't be offended if you say, "Dubious statement.")

I took time to smell the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of plumerias and rosal, and stood in awe of the colorful burst of white and red gumamelas and pink bougainvillea.

As has been my wont, I pilfered some for a gorgeous, free home arrangement.

Of course, a favorite pastime has been to search for and try new amigurumi patterns.

On a whim, I paused to talk to someone at the bus stop in front of Elk's.

As it turned out, she is a Hawaii resident doing paint sessions Tuesday mornings at Elks.

For my Dad's birthday and pre-celebration for me, I had a Barefoot Beach Cafe breakfast after a morning walk.

Hawaiian plate served in style, adorned with fresh orchid and pineapple wedge: burrito with pico sauce and strawberry/passion fruit smoothie

Today, I had planned on getting a birthday musubi snack from ABC when this came in the mail from my brothers.

A truly extraordinary treat of a candle-lit lechon!

My heart is full, no need for anything else.

Official Birthday Selfie: 'A' pendant necklace from First Daughter's gift card, maybe just in case I couldn't remember my name? Of course, I know. It's Adele, right?  (LOL)

Getting old has been like climbing a mountain. I've gotten a little out of breath, but the view is much better.

I had a cheery birthday. Time to say, Good night!

Calling it a day with Baby Seal and Big Blog, snuggle buddies from First Granddaughter and Second Daughter, respectively