Savoring The Quiet

The raindrops linger

And I stand here….

Still.

Savoring the quiet

Of a misty morning.

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Authors And Books

I am going back to reading although it has become a bit slow for me. There was a time when I used to read three books a week, getting  older though made me quite a little slack doing some of my favorite hobbies, reading being one. Come to think of it, among all my books (probably  a thousand of them) there are only two signed copies that I treasure for the simple reason that they are the only signed copies that I have Two years ago, my daughter gave  me a copy of Nicholas Sparks’ The Best of Me   as a birthday gift  on the condition that I attend his book signing at The Podium at Ortigas Center. There was an attached invite from National Bookstore but it was not an assurance that I’ll be able to have my book signed. Nicholas Sparks is more of Nissa’s favorite author so I’ve read almost all of his books. The book signing was right after my birthday so you can just imagine how nervous I was because I have never attended one before.  Read my adventures here on how the day went. It was an unforgettable event in my life. I was really tongue-tied when I met him face to face. All I can utter was “hello Nicholas”.

Richard Paul Evans is  one of my favorite authors. Hmm, let me amend that, he is my favorite author. I’ve blogged  about him so many times here. Last year, I received a signed, first edition copy of his book  The Last Promise , a gift from an online friend that I met at Multiply.  Look at how he signs his books. This may sound  crazy but I guess, the value of a book increases when it is personally signed by the author. Do you agree?

I am looking forward to my three  new books  which will be sent by another friend from the US, my copy of A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver and two more latest books by Richard Paul Evans.  Right now, I am in the thick of reading Anne of Avonlea (second in a series of the classic books by L.M. Montgomery).

And I wish that like the late D.J. Salinger, I could do this too, ““What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.”  It hasn’t happened yet because I don’t have  a terrific friend  who is a book author

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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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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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Sea Glass

I hold it in the palm of my hand

And I wonder how many beaches it has traveled

Or how many times it  was  washed up

by the angry burst of noontide.

I wonder, has it ever reached your shore?

Time has perfected its shape

But it never stays in one place.

It goes with the tide and roll with the waves

And place itself where I could see it

glistening in the sand.

Now you ask what love is -

I don’t know.

Maybe, just like this sea glass

It would show itself when you’re not looking

Maybe, just like this sea glass

It would come glistening on your footpath.

But you will never recognize it

Because your heart has turned to stone.

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Random Side Of Things

It was one long weekend which means my son and I were quite busy with small household jobs that need attention.  Good thing yesterday was a holiday too. Gardening is such a rewarding but somewhat tedious job.  Re-potting, trimming the carabao grass, removing weeds from our peanut grass, you name it, we’ve done them all through the weekend.

Anyway, I guess it is time to reward myself  by relaxing a bit, finishing another book by Anita Shreve and checking our cupboards for grocery items that we have missed buying on our quick trip to the supermarket a few days ago.  And it is time to reward the senses and satisfy the palate so to speak. I haven’t baked anything for more than  a month I guess.  I was so lazy to prepare elaborate meals and desserts because of the heat. Several days here still register a hot 35°C. So I made three batches of Raising Oatmeal Cookies (all of 24 large pieces), good enough for several days for my son to munch on

Yeay, even without cinnamon and nuts, this came out so yummy and chewy. How I wish my daughter lives near enough so I can share with her some of these cookies.

For years, I used to blog about month endings and beginnings but I’ve missed blogging on this one. The month of May aside from December is one of my favorite months . It’s that month between the vapid heat of the summer and the  rainy season. May is the month of flowers, hence, I am documenting all the blooms in my garden now. And May is the month of Mama Mary. Yesterday was our village fiesta too. Although we don’t celebrate it as festive as those we have in the province, it is still  lovely to see and listen to the sound of a band playing so early in the morning.  And aside from the morning mass in honor of St. Joseph the Worker, there was a short procession around the village.

Hopefully in the next few days, I could start reading books which were put in the back shelves.  I miss reading Mary Oliver, Marianne Williamson and Rod McKuen’s poetry. They are my night read before retiring. Sometimes, I dream of the lines which are etched in my soul and I wish I were a poet too who could express the words beautifully like a song that rhymes. I’ve followed  a friend’s suggestion that I have a notebook anywhere I go but then the words sometimes come at those inopportune moments – while loading the washing machine, feeding the dogs or drenching our parched carabao grass. Why is it that one’s mind becomes pregnant with all these imaginings when it is so inconvenient to hold a pen and write?

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Don’t Ask me Again, I’m Still Not Convinced

A friend who is an avid Facebook user asked me once why I am not using the networked blogging platform of  FB. Although I am an avid Facebook user too, because my religious friends and I have a page to update, I am still not convinced  that it is wise to share all your thoughts in such a chaotic world like Facebook. There is that hesitant feeling that my blog won’t be safe if I announce  it to the whole world that I blog at  WordPress.  I know, I know, you might say that the latter is public too and anybody would be able to find you, right? I just feel protected using this blogging platform than anywhere else.  If  Facebook is a game, they are forever changing the rules. It’s either you delete your account or stay on the sidelines.  I still link some posts though but they are limited to my friends. I am not after the number of viewers who visit my blog, I’d rather have a meaningful exchanges of comments with fellow bloggers who truly appreciate what I write.  Same holds true with each post that I like and each blogger that I follow. I may not always leave comments but I appreciate what they share.  Less than a month from now, I’ll be celebrating my 4th year into blogging. I celebrate the date that I posted my first blog and not the time when I bravely opened an account at  WordPress, not knowing how to go about it and it took me more than a year to have the courage to update my blog here. It is not easy to share your thoughts to everyone, it is not easy to open yourself to people you don’t know from Adam but the nicest feeling comes when someone says, he/she is inspired by what you share.

I wouldn’t know how long it would take me to blog and find words to express my thoughts, I wouldn’t know how long it would take me to snap those pics that I share here but then, the feeling of fulfillment that I get is reward enough. Looking back, I just could not believe that I have posted about 1,204 entries at Dreams and Escapes and  around 240 entries at  my three other blogs that I have here. Dreams and Escapes has quietly reached 194,931 views as of this writing.  My heartfelt “thank you” from all of you.

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One Small Step

Sometimes, life needs to be taken one small step at a time so you can learn to appreciate what is in front of you and look back with fondness what you left behind.

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Thoughts While Reading Mary Oliver

 

Amazing! There is always something new every time I read Mary Oliver’s poems and you get to imagine the scene while appreciating every word. You get  to open your eyes to the way she sees the world – and you smile because somehow she has accurately described what you feel. I can’t wait to read her new book, A Thousand Mornings which a friend  bought for me.

Value time, value each moment,  love nature! Expressed in simple words but touches the core of your being. So much to learn, so much to appreciate just reading her poems.

Song of the Builders

On a summer morning

I sat down

on a hillside

to think about God -

 

a worthy pastime.

Near me, I saw

a single cricket;

it was moving the grains of the hillside

 

this way and that way.

How great was its energy,

how humble its effort.

Let us hope

it will always be like this,

each of us going on

in our inexplicable ways

building the universe.

Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End?

Don’t call this world adorable, or useful, that’s not it.

It’s frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.

The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.

The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.

 

But the blue rain sinks, straight to the white

feet of the trees

whose mouths open.

Doesn’t the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?

Haven’t the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,

until at last, now, they shine

in your own yard?

 

Don’t call this world an explanation, or even an education.

 

When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking

outward, to the mountains so solidly there

in a white-capped ring, or was he looking

 

to the center of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea

that was also there,

beautiful as a thumb

curved and touching the finger, tenderly,

little love-ring,

 

as he whirled,

oh jug of breath,

in the garden of dust?

 

 

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Heart’s Whispers

March is rapidly fading into oblivion but I still look forward to tomorrow. Easter brings that lovely feeling of being reborn – a new hope, a new beginning. Easter is one of the most important feasts  in the Catholic calendar.

It’s been a quiet week, highlighted by the celebration of the Last Supper mass and watching Siete Palabras on TV. I’ve cried my eyes out the past week.  Yes, tears are just a blink away but they’re really not tears of sadness because I am lonely, they’re more of that feeling of reaching out, taking a grasp at the beauty of life  and remembering the past and such.  I do appreciate these moments of silence that Holy Week brings but  my mind is still pregnant with thoughts that I somehow wanted to share but cannot translate  into words. I’ve missed our yearly Visita Iglesia, my son has to report to work  the past two days and I don’t know how to drive so I just visited the nearby church, a few minutes away from the house.

Why do I sometimes torture myself reading something that reminds me of those days when I was having treatments – endless hospital visits, blood tests, chemotherapy and doctor visits? It just happened that the book I recently read deals on how to survive and prepare one’s self for the inevitable. There’s no telling  that no matter how careful you are, at one time in your life, a loved one or a family member becomes a victim too.  But then, the glorious moment of knowing that you will get well and having that gargantuan faith in a loving Creator is more than enough to make you feel that you are truly, truly blessed.

I had a long chat with a friend last night  and we touched on so many issues and things dear to the heart. One such subject that we never get tired of sharing is about our respective families. She has an eight-month old baby girl and I have baby Nate to talk about.  I told her that when my two kids were growing up, I didn’t notice much of their everyday development because I was working. It’s quite different though when you’ve got so much time in your hands and appreciate everything you see and even blog about it. Who knows, if blogging was in vogue thirty years ago, I might have filled up all the empty spaces allowed. I still keep their “love letters”, those small notes that I got to receive every day  taped at our bedroom door, I regret though that we were not able to save most of the pictures of their younger years. Our photo albums were destroyed by typhoon Ondoy and even if those shots were painstakingly dried and restored by my son, some pictures were blurred at the edges.

Happy Easter everyone!

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