Is it just me or did the Holidays just zip by? I feel as though I had just put up the tree, and now it's time to take it back down. I don't think I even completed my shopping list this year.
Not that I wasn't into the Christmas spirit. I was as wrapped up in the excitement as the little girl who had her own countdown. So many non-holiday things cropped up between the countdown and the real thing, though.
And now it's almost February. Which means it's too late for New Year resolutions. Late, even, for Chinese New Year resolutions. My planner is barely able to cope with the normal, everyday stuff to have space for the more creative thoughts, blog-worthy ones included.
Really, there should be a month between December and January. Time enough to tie loose ends before tying--and unraveling--new knots. Time enough to take a deep breath, survey the scene and move on to the business of moving on.
As it is, 2012 kicked in 30 days ago. The dragon has been here for a week. Meanwhile, I am still dealing with the dust--and the files--of 2011. Transiting from there to here, from A to B, is leaving me almost breathless.
January 30, 2012
December 21, 2011
Back to Grade One
I had my first Grade One party in a looong, loooong time. Since Grade One actually, which was decades ago. It was hard squeezing into a pint-sized armchair, and with 40 or so fellow stage mothers around it was one crowded affair.
But it was quite a happy way to start the party season. And since it was held in the room where I spent my original Grade One party, it was like teleporting back to the days when teachers can rap your hands with a ruler and still get a nod of approval from your mother.
Between then and now, a lot has certainly changed. Christmas trees and decor used to be communal efforts, and we had to bring ilo de bila(???) that we would tack to the sides of a big bilao to make a hanging Christmas tree. The Christmas balls served as art projects: we would string beads and sequins on pins and poke them into plastic balls. Today, the tree is made of tinsel--made in China, I presume. The balls, too, have the generic, shiny, from-the-factory look.
We had to rely on ourselves for entertainment then, but now there's Jollibee shaking his booty. I don't know why--or how--an oversized insect reached demigod status and but the kids really had a blast! Between Santa Claus and Jollibee, I'm sure they would settle for the bee.
There were no I-got-a-towel tears during the "exchange gift." Gone were the Curly Tops, the boxes of pretzels and the face towels folded into soap dishes of my Christmas parties. The instructions were specific: boys should bring toys for boys and girls should bring toys for girls. And so it was mayhem as the kids tore open their gifts, got a toy car or a stuffed toy or a doll and forgot everything else, including the party clothes that we forced them to wear.
The joy on the kids' faces was enough to ring in Christmas cheer. I had put off sprucing up the house for the holidays because the tree would end up bare anyway and it would take as much effort to take down as to prop up. Suddenly, though, it was Christmas all over, and I felt the excitement as well.
The kids were still playing and the clean-up duty was left to some of us. As I retrieved a broom that had obviously seen better days, I espied the Noisy Standing Pupils list in a corner. Being on the NSP was every grader's nightmare then. And if you ask my not-quite-naughty daughter, it still is now. I guess despite the time lapse some things never really change. And it felt really good to be back.
PS: A day later, it was our office Christmas party. Point of comparison: the kids were certainly more mature than some of the adults :p
But it was quite a happy way to start the party season. And since it was held in the room where I spent my original Grade One party, it was like teleporting back to the days when teachers can rap your hands with a ruler and still get a nod of approval from your mother.
Between then and now, a lot has certainly changed. Christmas trees and decor used to be communal efforts, and we had to bring ilo de bila(???) that we would tack to the sides of a big bilao to make a hanging Christmas tree. The Christmas balls served as art projects: we would string beads and sequins on pins and poke them into plastic balls. Today, the tree is made of tinsel--made in China, I presume. The balls, too, have the generic, shiny, from-the-factory look.
We had to rely on ourselves for entertainment then, but now there's Jollibee shaking his booty. I don't know why--or how--an oversized insect reached demigod status and but the kids really had a blast! Between Santa Claus and Jollibee, I'm sure they would settle for the bee.
There were no I-got-a-towel tears during the "exchange gift." Gone were the Curly Tops, the boxes of pretzels and the face towels folded into soap dishes of my Christmas parties. The instructions were specific: boys should bring toys for boys and girls should bring toys for girls. And so it was mayhem as the kids tore open their gifts, got a toy car or a stuffed toy or a doll and forgot everything else, including the party clothes that we forced them to wear.
The joy on the kids' faces was enough to ring in Christmas cheer. I had put off sprucing up the house for the holidays because the tree would end up bare anyway and it would take as much effort to take down as to prop up. Suddenly, though, it was Christmas all over, and I felt the excitement as well.
The kids were still playing and the clean-up duty was left to some of us. As I retrieved a broom that had obviously seen better days, I espied the Noisy Standing Pupils list in a corner. Being on the NSP was every grader's nightmare then. And if you ask my not-quite-naughty daughter, it still is now. I guess despite the time lapse some things never really change. And it felt really good to be back.
PS: A day later, it was our office Christmas party. Point of comparison: the kids were certainly more mature than some of the adults :p
November 10, 2011
My Desktop, Bow!
Today, I decided to put some semblance of order into my desktop. Make that desktop of the not-so-techie kind. I have been running out of horizontal space, and retrieving things are approaching production-number proportions. Heck, for all I know, I can probably make it to an episode of Hoarders.
Some of the stuff--useless and useful and in-between--that I found:
A letter holder from Cebu, which holds anything BUT letters
Paintbrush, with bristles falling off. The brush is not for painting, of course.
Notes from HR
A hastily-scribbled note to self. I don’t know what led me to write 28 minutes of patience. I guess my memory is not that patient, huh?
Staple wire, staple wire and more staple wire. Oh and stapler and staple wire remover.
Post Its, a memo pad, two steno notes and four logbooks
Highlighters -- there's one in hot pink, one in subtle yellow and another in blinding orange
Ballpen cap
Bent paperclips
A paper fastener that’s missing its better half
A jar of paperclips and tacks
1 x 1 pictures that got unglued from the boxful of resumes stashed somewhere
A packet of ORS, ranitidine ampules, ambroxol tabs
Delivery receipts
Coffee mugs and coasters. The big mug is for my regular dose. The bigger mug is for when I am in semi-murderous mode :p
And that’s only skimming the surface. Wait till I get started on the stuff that I have managed to kick under the table.
A letter holder from Cebu, which holds anything BUT letters
Paintbrush, with bristles falling off. The brush is not for painting, of course.
Notes from HR
A hastily-scribbled note to self. I don’t know what led me to write 28 minutes of patience. I guess my memory is not that patient, huh?
Staple wire, staple wire and more staple wire. Oh and stapler and staple wire remover.
Post Its, a memo pad, two steno notes and four logbooks
Highlighters -- there's one in hot pink, one in subtle yellow and another in blinding orangeBallpen cap
Bent paperclips
A paper fastener that’s missing its better half
A jar of paperclips and tacks
1 x 1 pictures that got unglued from the boxful of resumes stashed somewhere
A packet of ORS, ranitidine ampules, ambroxol tabs
Delivery receipts
Coffee mugs and coasters. The big mug is for my regular dose. The bigger mug is for when I am in semi-murderous mode :p
And that’s only skimming the surface. Wait till I get started on the stuff that I have managed to kick under the table.
October 18, 2011
The Night is Gay
The ate worked on the daughter, and the daughter worked on me. Of course, I had heard semi-horrific stories about Miss Gays, but because it was a Friday, and the "pageant" was just a few blocks away, off we went to watch Miss Gay Sorsogon Earth 2011 (!!!) for what I hoped to be a brief, after-dinner walk.
By the time we got to the makeshift venue, people were still milling about. Nothing ever seems to start on time in these parts, after all. The organizers were still up and about, waving imaginary fairy wands to turn everything decidedly gay. The one or two early contestants were balancing on dangerously high heels, practicing their killer walks.
And then--ta dah--they started coming in. Four to a tricycle. It was hilarious to see them alighting from their modern-day carruajes all exaggeratedly dolled up. It was even more hilarious to imagine what a drive it must have been for Mr. Tricycle Man!
The night turned really gay when the princesses started strutting their stuff. "Miss Venezuela" was first. Gliding smoothly despite the tons of plumage and makeup, s/he unabashedly declared that Miss Sorsogon Gay is "not about fame, fortune or fofularity. It's about loooovvvveeee." Crowd favorite "Miss Korea," who lived a few houses down the street, is a "tweynty-one year old student taking up with computer programmer." "Miss Egypt" was reed--er papyrus--thin, making him/her come across as closer to a mummy than to his/her idol Cleopatra. Why Cleopatra? you ask. The answer was forthright: "She fought not only for her country but for the entire Egypt as well."
For someone who doesn't quite like watching beauty pageants because Q&As are just inches short of being human-rights violations, I truly, truly sat through the Q&A without feeling the slightest hint of embarrassment for the candidate. Diction and grammar and non sequiturs aside, it was one amusing, literally gay night. (Literal, too. When asked to elaborate on why s/he wanted to be a "good server of the people," "Miss Africa" took a deep breath, gracefully gave a Sushmita-Senish bow and pronounced "it has always been my dream to have a restaurant where I can serve good food to the people.")
The "swimsuit" portion was the highlight. There were ample warnings, of course. (A pageant of the same nature ages ago had wayward sensitive parts popping out from constriction, and will probably linger forever in the pop history of Sorsogon.) But when the princesses started coming out from the garage that served as dressing room, the collective thought was "how did they do it?" Save for one who opted for the conventional one-piece swimsuit that looked terribly outdated in the sea of skimpy swimwear, it was a show of skin, skin and more skin. There were no popping privates. There wasn't even a hint that these weren't exactly girls! Which made me rethink anatomy 101.
In the end, the brief after-dinner walk stretched into hours and hours of out-of-this-world entertainment. It's now Kasanggayahan Festival in these parts, and the daughter wishes that the Search for Miss K would be "for gays na lang." I couldn't agree more. I am now a convert, hehehe. And I feel vindicated for voting Ang Ladlad!
By the time we got to the makeshift venue, people were still milling about. Nothing ever seems to start on time in these parts, after all. The organizers were still up and about, waving imaginary fairy wands to turn everything decidedly gay. The one or two early contestants were balancing on dangerously high heels, practicing their killer walks.
And then--ta dah--they started coming in. Four to a tricycle. It was hilarious to see them alighting from their modern-day carruajes all exaggeratedly dolled up. It was even more hilarious to imagine what a drive it must have been for Mr. Tricycle Man!
The night turned really gay when the princesses started strutting their stuff. "Miss Venezuela" was first. Gliding smoothly despite the tons of plumage and makeup, s/he unabashedly declared that Miss Sorsogon Gay is "not about fame, fortune or fofularity. It's about loooovvvveeee." Crowd favorite "Miss Korea," who lived a few houses down the street, is a "tweynty-one year old student taking up with computer programmer." "Miss Egypt" was reed--er papyrus--thin, making him/her come across as closer to a mummy than to his/her idol Cleopatra. Why Cleopatra? you ask. The answer was forthright: "She fought not only for her country but for the entire Egypt as well."
For someone who doesn't quite like watching beauty pageants because Q&As are just inches short of being human-rights violations, I truly, truly sat through the Q&A without feeling the slightest hint of embarrassment for the candidate. Diction and grammar and non sequiturs aside, it was one amusing, literally gay night. (Literal, too. When asked to elaborate on why s/he wanted to be a "good server of the people," "Miss Africa" took a deep breath, gracefully gave a Sushmita-Senish bow and pronounced "it has always been my dream to have a restaurant where I can serve good food to the people.")
The "swimsuit" portion was the highlight. There were ample warnings, of course. (A pageant of the same nature ages ago had wayward sensitive parts popping out from constriction, and will probably linger forever in the pop history of Sorsogon.) But when the princesses started coming out from the garage that served as dressing room, the collective thought was "how did they do it?" Save for one who opted for the conventional one-piece swimsuit that looked terribly outdated in the sea of skimpy swimwear, it was a show of skin, skin and more skin. There were no popping privates. There wasn't even a hint that these weren't exactly girls! Which made me rethink anatomy 101.
In the end, the brief after-dinner walk stretched into hours and hours of out-of-this-world entertainment. It's now Kasanggayahan Festival in these parts, and the daughter wishes that the Search for Miss K would be "for gays na lang." I couldn't agree more. I am now a convert, hehehe. And I feel vindicated for voting Ang Ladlad!
September 20, 2011
Picture These
Somewhere in the pre-digicam days are ads and signs that are permanently etched in my otherwise selective memory. I can picture them still: hastily scrawled, without regard for advertising 101 aesthetics.
These signs, recently spotted from my neck of the woods, deserve a place in my mental collection. They certainly belong to the ranks of Uling for Sales, Hauze for rint, We accept littering, Naghahasa ng cerrcular sow.
Presenting:
These signs, recently spotted from my neck of the woods, deserve a place in my mental collection. They certainly belong to the ranks of Uling for Sales, Hauze for rint, We accept littering, Naghahasa ng cerrcular sow.
Presenting:
 |
| (From a church bulletin board.) Yup. Your baon has to be patented, registered and titled. And it must come with a tax declaration. |
 |
| (At a therapy clinic) They put the "W" into "illness" |
 |
| (A few steps away from the old school. ) The wayward apostrophe strike's again |
August 3, 2011
One Fine Day
These feet were made for walking, and walk they did one fine day! The more or less ten kilometer walk (should have been 20, but I cheated :p ) took me through fields of green, roadsides waking up for the day and mist-cloaked rivers and ponds.
I have always enjoyed walking. There is something about taking to the open road on foot that clears the head (and the sinuses) of its many clogs and cares. Back in the reckless days when skin cancer wasn't a concern, my officemates and I would brave the midday walk from Emerald to Edsa. The less than a kilometer walk, of course, was made longer by the endless prattle of post-college kids.
There are other walks as well--walks measured not so much in terms of distance but in terms of building friendships. Bivouacs, treks, climbs, strolls made even more memorable by a heady mix of chatter and semi-serious getting-to-know-yous. Comfortable silence among friends, too.
My legs felt like lead by the time I made it past the finish line. The sun, too, was scorching. No matter. The feet will always find yet more reasons to walk.
There are other walks as well--walks measured not so much in terms of distance but in terms of building friendships. Bivouacs, treks, climbs, strolls made even more memorable by a heady mix of chatter and semi-serious getting-to-know-yous. Comfortable silence among friends, too.
My legs felt like lead by the time I made it past the finish line. The sun, too, was scorching. No matter. The feet will always find yet more reasons to walk.
July 26, 2011
Thankful
Today, I am thankful because ...
Despite the sticky keys and the slower-than-slow connection, I am still connected,
Despite the driving rain, I am safe and warm, And the roof is not leaking,
Despite the power outage, I am not in the dark
Despite a memory that needs some serious upgrading, I still remember the things that matter.
Despite the different time zones, we are still friends who revel in the here and now. And the once-upon-a-times.
Despite postponements and cancellations, life goes on.
I am 44 today. The hair is no longer jet black, and the vision nowhere near 20/20. The statistics are no longer vital. (They never were, anyway!) Still, I welcome yet another year of laughing (at myself, mostly), living, learning and loving.
This business of growing older isn't so bad at all.
Despite the sticky keys and the slower-than-slow connection, I am still connected,
Despite the driving rain, I am safe and warm, And the roof is not leaking,
Despite the power outage, I am not in the dark
Despite a memory that needs some serious upgrading, I still remember the things that matter.
Despite the different time zones, we are still friends who revel in the here and now. And the once-upon-a-times.
Despite postponements and cancellations, life goes on.
I am 44 today. The hair is no longer jet black, and the vision nowhere near 20/20. The statistics are no longer vital. (They never were, anyway!) Still, I welcome yet another year of laughing (at myself, mostly), living, learning and loving.
This business of growing older isn't so bad at all.
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