Off The Cuff

Did you know my childhood did not include a Santa Claus? Nope I did not know him until I probably was 11 years old and I only knew of him because he graced the Christmas cards that we were to exchange with our classmates. By the time I got to know the "existence" of the bearded one, I was too old to believe. After all, he was supposed to know where every child was at Christmas eve and drop off presents at their homes. So for the past 11 years, I did not get any presents and so I was never going to believe anyway. I didn't get presents for Christmas. None of my neighbors and playmates did either. All we got is new dress and shoes (hopefully) for church service.

I am trying to remember a memorable Christmas for me. I cannot. There didn't seem any one that tower above the rest.

First off my entire childhood was kind of weird. I think it is. We lived in one compound, our house was in the front. Behind ours is my oldest brother's house where he and his family lived. And bringing up the rear is brother #3's house where he and his family lived. So we were together all the time. My playmates were my nieces and nephews.

My father was ill when I was born. My mother said he was already ill when I was conceived, which accounted for my sickly childhood. He contracted tuberculosis in the army. He battled the disease for a long time until his death when I was 17 years old.

So my father's health was always in the back of my mother's mind. We never traveled, because he was not healthy enough to do that. He was homebound, not bed bound thank heavens. But he was always sick. Thankfully, none of us had contracted tuberculosis, considering it's a communicable disease.

Thus Christmas was a simple affair. I thought my mother's poor upbringing did not allow her to experience any kind of Christmas. To her the pinnacle of Christmas celebration is to have a potful of steamy hot nilagang baka (boiled beef soup), a leg of ham cooked in 7-up, and a queso de bola (gouda). Sometimes, just to make the celebration go overboard, a bowl of fruit salad is on the table. Other times, it's spaghetti.

All these food on the table gave everyone a big smile and made our hearts sing, not to mention or stomachs very happy.

And so there was nothing pretty special about our celebrations. We did not decorate our house except for a parol. We did not have a Christmas tree until the very last Christmas before I left for California. I don't know where we got it, but I decorated a table top green fake Christmas tree and wore that dreadful pink lace eyelet straight dress (that I thought then was sooo elegant) at church, that made me look 20 years older than I was. I really don't have fashion sense even then.

Now that we're all here in California, each decorate his/her house and we follow the American tradition. We gather at one sibling's house for Christmas lunch, which is in reality a whole day's affair. It's potluck so the host doesn't get that much burdened. This year it's my year to host. I have my menu all written down. The hubby had made minor adjustments, especially to the dishes he would create.

I know someday there's one Christmas that will stand out, but for now, I am really happy with the simple way we celebrate Christmas. Then and now, we always, always go to church on Christmas Eve before all the eating can commence.

Happy Christmas everybody!

That's It. Close the Book

A couple of days ago I received this nofitication from Yahoo. It reads:

As part of our continuing effort to provide you with a wonderful Yahoo! Mail experience, we want to make sure the mail you send gets to the friends, family or other contacts you are trying to reach. In support of this commitment, we have removed Yahoo! email addresses from your address book that are no longer valid. All other information remains part of your address book.

There were only 2 invalid addresses that they list. One is from my h.s. bff who is connected somehow on FB. The other is a friend of mine who died last year in childbirth.

It saddens me when I got the notice that her email is no longer valid. I don't know why I thought that an inactive email would be kept valid for all these months. I just felt that that's the end of it all. I never deleted her emails to me, although there weren't many. Occassionally she would remember me and would poke me with an e-mail or we would find each other online on FB and we would chat.

The last thing I remember before her death was that she was very pregnant and I even inquired about her delivery date. Apparently, against doctor's orders, she went ahead and carried the baby full term. No one was speaking among her friends, who also happens to be my friends. I didn't dig deep enough, maybe I would have found out. But I was trying to be sensitive and let them grieve.

While I was in Mexico two weeks ago undergoing some fertility treatments, I dreamed about her. I cannot remember the exact details of the dream, but I woke up agitated in the middle of the night, thankfully the hubby didn't wake up.

I was afraid that the dream meant I shouldn't be allowed to carry a baby, or face the same fate as my friend. It scared me.

I missed my friend. She looked up to me. Before she was my friend, I was her guidance counselor. She was my favorite student, and she knew it and played it to the hilt.

I missed my friend.

Happy Independence Day!!!!

Fly high Philippines.

Manic Monday

"It's 6 o'clock already and I'm just in the middle of my dream."

Well that was literally me this morning. I had back-to-back dreams one before the alarm clock sounded and another afterwards, when I decided to go back for the mandatory "5 more minutes" after one turns off the alarm clock.

Funny how our dreams come out. I find that in order for me to document them, I have to blog about them.

The first dream (I think both dreams are actually one dream combined) I was lunching with college gal pals. I saw Betchay, Doc Sheila. The table was full, so I suppose the whole gang was back together, except for Fe, who in the dream we phoned to tell her how we wished she was joining us for lunch.

Then the obnoxious, louder than necessary buzz of the alarm clock abruptly cut my luncheon date. It's amazing how blindly we find the source of noise in our half asleep state. As I was doing so, I had to pull myself upwards to reach the alarm clock and the familiar weight on top of my legs told me my little kitteh Emma had been sleeping on top my legs still. I am her bed. The movement did not bother the cat and I mumbled to no one in particular, "5 more minutes". That was at 7:00 AM.

Second dream I was meeting up with Pat and Gigi, girlfriends of mine from here that I met in another school setting, for dinner. I was aware that I just had lunch with my college "barkada". While we were getting settled in our table (love the cozy ambiance of the restaurant), here comes my college classmate Belle with her little boy Bryton. It made no sense at all. How could my college life fuse with my after college life. It's really interesting. It makes me want to read up more on dream interpretation.

When the dream ended, I woke up to find that the 5 minutes was actually 35 and so I jumped out of bed hoping that I wouldn't come in late today.

Some years ago, college to be exact, I was very interested in dream interpretation. I read up on it, although most of what I read I cannot remember now. In my early years after I moved to California, I spent a lot of time in bookstores with coffee shop inside of them and browse at all the dream interpretation books I could find on the shelves and over coffee and biscotti I would scan the pages. Nothing of that reading knowledge remains with me today.

I'll be blogging on my other site about my day trip on Sunday to a very interesting spot called vernal pools just outside of Sacramento.

Daily February: Day 2

Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were considered market days in my lilttle town. On these days, the public market is full of vendors. On these days the people go to the market and buy supplies.

We had refrigeration in those days – many had them – but still we only buy enough produce for 2 days. We never let fresh vegetables sit in the refrigerator.

So we go to the market on market days. To shop and to socialize.

I have lovely memories of going to the market with my mother. I consider them lovely now, but then it was a chore. I was with my mother so I can carry the basket of goodies. It was also some sort of training for when I become an adult and have a family of my own.

She would take her time choosing the best vegetables, the freshest fish, the best looking meat. It would take us 2 hours to round the whole market, especially on Saturdays when outsiders come to our market to sell their goods.

Mother would take time for a little snack at the many food stalls. Or on days when we were definitely short on time she would take some home so the entire family could enjoy the rice cakes or pancit or the steamed corn on the cob. Boy the corn on the cob was delicious. You eat it as is, no butter, no salt, nothing added.

There were many snack items that I looked forward to, but my favorite was halo-halo. And when the budget allows for it, the halo-halo special – the one with a scoop of ice cream on top and a slice of leche flan – is one that I crave for.

My mother knew how to haggle. Sometimes I feel ashame that she would be very aggressive in getting the price she wants for a particular item. To this day, she still calls her price for any item you know. Until now she would quote a price for a particular item and when she gets inside the supermarket and finds the price is higher she would ask me to get someone that works in the store to make sure that the price she saw (months ago in an advertisement) is the right price. No change in attitude.

I also loved it when we go to the section of the market that sells only dry goods – fabrics, clothes, dishes and other household items, shoes, etc. We always bought wedding gifts here. I was so fascinated when they personalized the items right there and then. Oh how simple life was back in the day.

If I was blogging in 1993, this would have been my post.

I just had a tinge of regret at fact that I wasn't blogging when I first came to the US. I don't think anyone was blogging or if blogging was invented yet. Just think of all the possibilities for postings, a goldmine. Each time one experiences change, there is bound to be endless bloggable materials from the experience.

Unfortunately for me, I may have written a few journal entries, whereabouts unknown. Mostly though I was sharing all these new experiences to my friends by writing them letters and sending them postcards. I moved to California from the Philippines in 1993.

It will be 20 years in February of 2013 that I have been away from the motherland and living in my second motherland, California. Sometimes, I feel nostalgic and try to recall all the changes brought by the move, but the years have been plenty between then and now and my brain cells have aged dramatically since; hence, very little do I remember about those experiences.

The difference with my move in comparison with the many blogs about changes in location that I read (mostly from fellow Pinoys moving/working outside the country) is that I moved to join my family. I already have a family support system in my new "motherland" and that I was expecting very few, if any, adjustments with my living conditions. I was the last one to come.

However, it was really tough getting started. Unlike the nurses that come to the US to work, I came without a job already in place. It was tough job hunting even then, and that was the time of plenty. My sis-in-law had many friends. One of them offered to give me a training position in her small mortgage firm, by doing small things like answering the phones, faxing, doing whatever needs to be done. Aside from the owner, there were 2 others that work there part-time. All of them Filipinos. She gave me $100 a week and I stayed for a few months, just so I have something to write in my resume. I don't think it helped, but it gave me something to do in those first few months here.

In the same company I met a younger woman, a few years older than I am who was renting the small office. She is a lawyer and studied law at San Beda College, which is just across from my alma mater, CEU. In all the time I was there, I only saw her with one client. I don't know how she managed to keep afloat. We bonded and often ate our lunch together. I sometimes am left alone in the office, welcoming people from banks. I got some mugs and cups and other freebies from banks.

But a $100 a week wasn't going to keep me alive, so I left. I was out of job for a few weeks, if my memory is correct. Then I saw this ad on the paper about a supervisory position in a manufacturing firm in Emeryville (just across the Bay Bridge from SF). My brother drove me to the appointment, I went to be interviewed and was told by the owner that I was overqualified for the position. But I told him I needed to start somewhere. And I wasn't picky.

And so I started to work in a factory - making suspenders (that you see on Home Depot) and ties. While I was hired as a supervisor, I first have to get trained in the stock room where I needed to familiarize myself with all the products we make and all the materials required to complete a product. In addition, I was to learn the entire process and it begins in the stock room. The stock room is manned/headed by the owner's wife. The owners are Eastern European and she's about my age and we got along well from the very beginning.

My first day on the job I was lugging heavy materials all day long (was good, I maintained a sexy figure, wink***) and making sure I was giving the production floor the right materials for the products we were making. I couldn't move a muscle when I got home. I remembered almost crying (wouldn't cry because I was still living with brother) as I raised my feet up against the wall and laid in bed, too tired to want dinner.

I survived that first day and the disappointment and heartbreak of the first paycheck (peanuts money I tell you) and learned to like my job and my co-workers. The workers were from different countries. At the peak of production, I was managing 32 people, can you believe that?

Since the factory was small and the owners were Catholic, we always had Good Friday off. Also we have two 1-week vacation/time off every year. The workers didn't get paid for vacation, but I did since I was supervisor. This is where I met my husband. He was handling the Shipping and Receiving Dept. He stayed in that job because it suited his school schedules. I stayed because I didn't feel like trying to job hunt again.

Eventually, we both found our situation wanting in so many levels. He was going to graduate soon and would be seeking good jobs, I wanted a medical insurance coverage - the company didn't think I deserved to get one or that they could not afford it, either way the answer was NO.

On one of those weeklong vacations my then boyfriend and I would apply for jobs, mostly county and gov't jobs. Then we get called to take exams - civil service exams. And so one of those jobs called and I interviewed for 2 different positions - one in Social Services and another in hospital (here). I chose the latter because it has parking space. And also when the Director interviewed me, he said I was overqualified. I managed to convince him that I needed the job and I won't leave him high and dry. Not sure if that is a good decision or not.

See I have way too much materials then to blog about. Now, look, this blog is suriving on a once-a-week post, pitiful, isn't it?

Day 6 (30 days of June)

Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were considered market days in my lilttle town. On these days, the public market is full of vendors. On these days the people go to the market and buy supplies.

We had refrigeration in those days – many had them – but still we only buy enough produce for 2 days. We never let fresh vegetables sit in the refrigerator.

So we go to the market on market days.

I have lovely memories of going to the market with my mother. I consider them lovely now, but then it was a chore. I was with my mother so I can carry the basket of goodies. It was also some sort of training for when I become an adult and have a family of my own.

She would take her time choosing the best vegetables, the freshest fish, the best looking meat. It would take us 2 hours to round the whole market, especially on Saturdays when outsiders come to our market to sell their goods.

Mother would take time for a little snack at the many food stalls. Or on days when we were definitely short on time she would take some home so the entire family could enjoy the rice cakes or pancit or the steamed corn on the cob. Boy the corn on the cob was delicious. You eat it as is, no butter, no salt, nothing added.

There were many snack items that I looked forward to, but my favorite was halo-halo. And when the budget allows for it, the halo-halo special – the one with a scoop of ice cream on top and a slice of leche flan – is one that I crave for.

My mother knew how to haggle. Sometimes I feel ashame that she would be very aggressive in getting the price she wants for a particular item. To this day, she still calls her price for any item you know. Until now she would quote a price for a particular item and when she gets inside the supermarket and finds the price is higher she would ask me to get someone that works in the store to make sure that the price she saw (months ago in an advertisement) is the right price. No change in attitude.

I also loved it when we go to the section of the market that sells only dry goods – fabrics, clothes, dishes and other household items, shoes, etc. We always bought wedding gifts here. I was so fascinated when they personalized the items right there and then. Oh how simple life was back in the day.

The Way It was

At least a week before Christmas, mom and I would hie off to the provincial capital (where the "big" grocery stores are located) to buy the whole leg of pig (jamon) and queso de bola, that would be the star of our Noche Buena table. I would watch my mother start prepping the cooking around noontime on the eve. The leg would be too big for our stove, so we would cook outside in the backyard by putting stones and cooking with firewood. My mother would bring out her big cooking vessel (much like a big wok) to cook the jamon. I don't remember exactly how she cooked the jamon, but a bottle of 7-up was her secret ingredient.

While the jamon was taking it's sweet time cooking, Mom would start slicing and dicing for nilagang baka, another mainstay in our table. We were then encouraged to take a long nap, as we need to be up all night long.

In our small town, there is one Catholic church. The church services the entire town, which consists of 44 barangays. You could imagine that the church would be crowded on midnight mass service. And because my mother (the devout Catholic) wanted to always sit near the front, that meant we had to be outside the church before it opens to the public around 10 pm, or something. The mass always began at 11 pm and ended at midnight, exactly midnight when the church bells ring rapturously to signal Christmas day. Every year, I remember we had to be out the door by 9 pm. Yes that early!!!!! We live two blocks away from church, but mom needed the security of knowing she gets the prime seat by coming way too early. Oftentimes, we would be the first waiting outside the dark church yard. Some years, we would find people already waiting.

Our midnight mass service is the best that I had ever. It was solemn, despite the crowd. And the choir (which I was a part of for a few years) always managed to give the performance of the year at that service. As I look back, I remember I always felt spiritually nourished after this service.

Back home, we would gather on the table with mom slicing the ham and queso de bola very thinly and we make ham and cheese sandwich with pandesal. We have a bowl of nilagang baka with it and a cup of hot cocoa. That was our Noche Buena every year. Some years we would make buko salad and/or chicken sandwich.

That was how we celebrate our Christmas Noche Buena.

7/13/09

Last night I thought about ringing my friend E whose MIL passed away last month. I have been told of the sad news and was given her new number, but it wasn't until last night that I had the time to call. It was difficult to think of other things while doing all the renovations to the house.

It was a spur of the moment decision. Five minutes before ringing her I had no clue I was going to do that. I was opening my email when I remembered that our other friend D who was the bearer of the sad news and the giver of the phone number had urged me last month to give E a call. And so I opened the email containing the phone number and gave E a call.

And what a wonderful decision that was. Not only was I able to speak to her, another girlfriend of ours J was there visiting her. I got to chat with two of my girlfriends for the price of one phone call.

I miss talking to them. I miss having girlfriends to talk to. We talked like we were back in the good old days. They kept on asking me to come home for a visit. Both of them had double-teamed me about the visit. A visit would require major planning, of course. But I am so tempted to say yes. Except that I am in the process of moving, which means no OTHER major expense in the next year or so for me. And visiting the Philippines is considered a major expense. A thousand dollars alone for the plane fare, for one. And what about the husband? There goes 2 grand in plane fare. Anyway, if there is a will there will be a way, isn't it? I shall see. I did not make any promises; although I promised myself I would pick up the phone more often. I can't remember the last time I spoke with E (or J). Must have been at least 5 years.

It's just amazing how our core group of friends have remained connected all through the years. Of course E had been the glue that kept the group together all these years. As long as you check in with E, the entire group knows about it. I was telling my hubs last night after I hung up that it wouldn't take a few minutes before everyone in my circle know sthat they just heard from me.

I've been dreaming of getting together with them, especially after they email me photos of mini reunions, our high school's grand reunion, or their dinner. I am not the only one here in Cali. There's like four of us from that class that call this state home, but we don't get together at all. It's of course more difficult to get together here. The logistics are harder to manage here than in the Philippines. But last year, my bff and I finally met after 16 years to celebrate our high school English teacher's b/day. Coincidentally, she lives around here too. I have to make a mental note to get together with them again.

I simply had to blog about this, for my record keeping. And also to remind me how happy I was hearing my friends voice. J was still J, bubbly, innocent, organic. E still the same old E, accepting, reliable, leader. I miss my friends.