Reflections of a Grandma

How can you even know how precious your baby is until you feel the soft touch of his fingers on your face, the complete trust he has in you as you hold his hands and take a step or two, the smile on his face as he recognizes your voice, the warm embrace, the wet kisses on your face, the moments you pick him up and he snuggle close to you, safe and warm in your arms. It’s the unspeakable happiness he shows when you are around and the inexpressible love that  make him so precious, so loved, so treasured.

(Note: this is our baby Nate’s first published photo in a national Catholic journal). Proud to be a grandma.

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Going Back To The Old Place I Love

You are etched in my memory, a place where I could rebuild my dreams and still believe that they do come true.

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The Gift Of The Morning

Good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

- Mary Oliver

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A Thousand Mornings (Part 2)…. Hello Mary Oliver!

Okay, I am reviving my month-ender and  “happy new month” blog. I used to do it in some of my posts but sometimes, in the midst of daily living, you forget things that were part of your routine.

May has quietly faded into June  and  as always it left something to cherish and to treasure. It was terribly hot but the afternoon showers that we got during the last week  somehow diffused the humid feel of the month. Yesterday, I visited my daughter at her office at BPI to get a package  sent by a friend from the US. I took an FX taxi from our place to Ayala Avenue and along the way I was like a child getting re-acquainted with an old place and taking note of changes that were not there thirteen years ago. Thirteen years, seems so long  ago -  yes, it’s been thirteen years since I left Bank of the Philippine Islands  when I availed of an early retirement to take care of my two kids.  Seeing new faces  but looking for old ones who were my former office mates, I now can’t imagine myself as part of the young crowd waiting for elevator rides  and beating the 8:30am rush  to log  in to work. I was with BPI for more than twenty-one years, right after I graduated from college. Waking up early, car pooling,  early morning masses at Greenbelt chapel, lunch breaks and quick walks to Glorietta, afternoon rush to share a ride with friends on the way home, the routine of a working mom, they came rushing back when I saw the facade of BPI. Ayala Avenue has changed of course with more high-rise buildings sprouting from every nook and cranny, it’s after all the Makati Central Business District. What I noticed though was there were lots of people lining up the sidewalk of Ayala Avenue smoking. I am glad I brought a face mask. During my time, smokers just stay at the back of our building at the open parking space. Why can’t they totally prohibit smoking in public?

Sometime last October, I wrote a blog on the newest book of Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings dreaming of having a copy of it when it’s published. It has become one of my top-rated posts  although it was more of me than the book. Yesterday, I finally got hold of it and perused each word, smiling like crazy holding it in my hands, enjoying the feel of  silk because the dust jacket  is so smooth to the touch.

This is my second book of Mary Oliver and I love how she portrays nature in so many different ways. It feels like you are beside a brook or just looking at an unknown bloom by the wayside or discovering the glint of the moon on a dark night.  Odette, who has become a close friend sent me all these, three books, two latest publications from my favorite author Richard Paul Evans and a copy of A Thousand Mornings together with a hard drive which she says I could use for all the shots that I want to save. Speaking of blessings, they pour in a thousand ways too.

Let me share one of her poems with you. Reading her words always keep me inspired, silently smiling to myself and telling the old me, I am lucky, aren’t I?  The  journey is long but I am blessed.

The Gardener

 

Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough, have I

      come to any conclusion?

Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?

Have I endured loneliness with grace?

 

I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.

       Actually, I probably think too much.

 

Then I step out into the garden,

where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,

       is tending his children, the roses.

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Today’s Blessing

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses. ” – Collete

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The Art of Flying

“Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding. Find out what you already know and you will see the way to fly.” – Richard Bach

A friend said that this is one of my best shots.  And I thought the composition was not good, I was only trying to capture the clouds rapidly changing course  while passing through my lens. Then came this bird gliding rapidly, making itself framed inside the tie wires which we used as trellis  at the back of the house. This is a raw shot and it reminds me of  how it is to be free, unhampered by any extra baggage, reaching one’s destination by sheer determination and grace. It is the art of flying.

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Happy Pentecost Sunday

Today is Pentecost Sunday, it’s the birthday of our Church. I actually attended two morning masses. Early this morning I caught Fr. Fernando Suarez on his 6am mass on television. I always love listening to him every chance I get because I love how he shares his reflections in his wonderful homilies.  He emphasized that spiritual healing is more important than a physical one.  When you are spiritually healed, you find peace.  I also attended the 7:30 am mass at St. Jude Thaddeus Parish, a five-minute tricycle ride from our place.

I borrowed our profile picture from our apostolate page, Apostles Filipino Catholic Community where I am one of the admins.  It’s a public  page where we post reflections, Catholic news, daily gospel readings and inspirational quotes every day.  Updating it really makes my stay at FB worthwhile. And here’s my short spiritual reflection for the day:

God is love. God is joy. God is peace. Let love, joy and peace reign in our hearts forever.

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Remembering My Grandmother (And Celebrating My 4th Year Of Blogging)

I came across this program early this morning on PTV4, a government-owned channel that featured  ASEAN member countries. It made me quite nostalgic seeing those features on handicrafts and hand-made products using materials which are locally grown.  I remember the early years of childhood when I was growing up in the province. Back then, my mom used to stay a lot with Dad here in Manila so my older brother and I were left to the care of our maternal grandma until both of us graduated from grade school and we transferred to UST to spend our high school years there. Growing up having a simple life made me appreciate simple things and embraced what I learned early on.

A friend posted a prayer in our group accompanied by this beautiful painting of a mother and child. Coincidence?  Maybe. I planned earlier to blog about mat weaving which I learned from Baing Cion  (Bai or Baing is the local equivalent of a grandmother in our Pangasinan dialect).

This is called Mag-ina sa Banig, a 1960 painting done by Nestor Leynes.  I thought this is a perfect capture  of  the simplicity of provincial  life forty or so years ago. No aircon to speak of, no TV disruption to idle your time away. That bamboo flooring was enough to enjoy an uninterrupted sleep. It was always cool to the touch and so easy to clean. Buffing it with semi-dried banana leaves was enough.

My grandma  taught me how to weave sleeping mats  ( like the one you see in the picture) made of buri palm which we had plenty of  back then. We would gather buri palms, dry them in the sun then remove the middle portion when they are dried, roll them one by one into as big as a plate then when it is time to weave a mat, we would cut them into long strips by using  wood-mounted razor blades for uniform width. More than learning the art of weaving, I enjoyed those endless stories which would usually start  during the 2nd World War and how they survived as a family and always ends with how she raised her kids with the emphasis on Mom being the brightest of the four girls.

Oh, I almost forgot, today I celebrate my 4th year at WordPress as a blogger. The first two years were mostly about my journey as a cancer patient/survivor and the next two were random entries about life, faith, gardening, photography and such. Life is good and I am well. Thank God for all the wonderful blessings.

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My Red Bromeliad

I always attempt to take a few shots every time this red bromeliad shows its face. I was never lucky enough to capture its essence, either the picture comes blurred or it’s unrecognizable as a close-up shot of a bromeliad flower. Showing its face again made my morning.

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And I Call It Gardenia

Every year, I am gifted with the heady scent of a gardenia bloom. The previous years, I was  just so happy seeing one or two, three at the most blooming all at once. This year though, they bloomed early and almost every tip of my gardenia shrub has buds. I can’t resist making a flower arrangement. These are flowers of my childhood,  mom used to grow them lined at the walkway going to our front door.

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