Mother's Day Reminiscing . . .

I know I am borrowing from a photograph last year.

But then, I am also borrowing the essence of today

from a woman who was a mother

and played the role inspired by her mother.

Needlessly, I was my Mama's baby.

From the time I was born in her menopausal years

she worried about my state of health and sanity.

Would I turn out normal?

Would I get over my boredom with school?

Would I be able to restrain my hyperactive self?

Yes, I turned out normal 

if by normal meant I can go to school

and mind my manners . . .

No, I was forever bored with school.

I would complain about it from nursery school to my college years. 

I can not concentrate. The birds distract me a lot. I get sleepy . . .

How my mother survived my moods and impatience

is indeed a virtue.

No.

I was, and is, hyper.

I talk faster than a speed of light.

I work and do things at the same speed.

Mama always worried about my quirkiness

but then she was most proud of my multi-personality:

I can do/learn a lot of things in seconds.

I was a handy gofer since I was a kid.

And I still am.

Some mothers fear for their children.

My mother feared for me all her life

and yet, in her deathbed,

when she feared death hovering

I was her quirky nurse

telling her not to be afraid because I wasn't.

To let go and leave all her worries in her old sick body.

To fly to the moon, dance in London,

watch fashion in Paris, attend mass in Rome,

and meet my Papa in heaven . . .

And when she finally left

with a smile on her face

I felt fear engulf me.

With no one to encourage and inspire me

I felt vulnerable and alone.

But mothers do not really leave their children.

Somewhere, somehow, some strange wonderful moments

will make it known

that the bond is always connected.

. . . colorful threads, novena prayers, scents of roses and rose petals,

church bells ringing for angelus, the lace fan and veil,

the soft warm tummy, the cheekbones, red nail polish,

red lipstick, sunset sighs, dog hairs,

sewing machine and beaded bag.

Happy Mothers day to everyone!

May you always connect to the one who gave birth to you . . .

Sweepy Turns 11!

Yup, my superdog Sweepy is turning 11 tomorrow, March 18.

But since I will be out and busy at work

we decided to have his party today ;-)

. . . well, it looked OK the last time I looked

when we sang "hapibday2u"

and he was grinning like crazy ;-)

Oh I love Sweepy!

An old picture taken with from left:

Pica and Sumo behind her (Sweepy's parents)

that's me in the center, Sweepy as a pup (notice the dark snout),

and Sweepy's brother Bogart on the right.

Our maid Myrna took this shot in 2002

(when Sweepy was less than a year old)

and I called this family of dogs "my hounds"

in our house I called "heaven" ;-)

I watched how this pup bade goodbye to his family

and watched how his handsome face went sad.

Pica left in 2008, Bogart in 2010 and Sumo in 2012.

My dogs die of old age.

Pica was 17, Bogart was 9 and Sumo was 12.

He carried his sadness in his eyes . . .

I love how he waits for me

. . . sitting by the old rocking chair

and sniffing everyone passing by . . .

Or how he looks at me . . .

. . . when I am home and doing something else

instead of sitting beside him

and stroking his fur!

But today I am all his.

I cleaned his fur and his house and his pillows

and that lovely adopted pup Babur beside him!

After all it is not always that one celebrates being 11 in doggy years

and still look cute and young and happy and healthy.

(PSssst, Sweepy is 77 in human years)

Happy Bday, my Sweepy.

May your drooly days be spent

in cooler places when I'm out

and may you always remain jolly

and funny and quirky

and everything super

that a dog can be!

Read his own drooly in his BLOG.

The Guava Tree

This is the flower of the guava tree in my neighborhood.

The guava fruits are my favorite since I was a kid

and they proliferate everywhere in my country

except in my house called Heaven.

I kept telling my oldest sister Luchie that we should have a guava tree

so we can harvest fresh vitamin C regularly.

Guavas are the best source of vitamin C better than calamansi!

But in our neighborhood

I have to compete with kids

who always get the fruits first!

And there are hardly any store nearby that sell the fruit ;-(

I get obsessed with the fruit 

that I hardly noticed the gorgeous flowers!

They seem to dot the guava plant all over.

And since the flowers are small

I can hardly take a better shot of it

since my small point and shoot digital cam

can only do so much

and I have to be on the lookout

for robbers on motorcycles

who snatch gadgets from careless people

who are busy shooting what delights them ;-)

The guava is a memory from childhood

that still grips into my present world.

That wonderful smell that brings happy days

when I would climb the tree (and I promise I would not)

and feeling healthy gorging on guava and atis and balimbing

with my schoolmate Jacob who lives down St. Paul road.

I wonder where she is now?

And I smile in remembrance

at the memory that usher other happy memories

as I smile at the present one

watching and smelling the ripe guavas

in a property where my friend hopes to use for her studio.

If this plan pushes through I would feel lucky.

After all, I am helping my friend manage her art studio ;-)

For Denise and TodaysFlowers.

Happy St. Patrick to our friends abroad.

We do not celebrate that in my country ;-)