Wordless Wednesday
Someone's junk could be somebody else's treasure!
Photo: C. Mercado
Fascinating red door at an episcopalian cathedral off St. Catherine Street, Montreal, Canada
Photo: C. Mercado
The temperature read minus 10 degrees. It is only the third of December. This time last year, we had our first major snowfall, but the barometer was quite steady at around zero to minus 3 degrees. We did not even have snow until the very end of December, making Christmas not really the white one we expected it to be. The Farmers' Almanac predicted a colder winter this year, and they are probably right.
And we just had our first major snowstorm. Kara and I woke up yesterday to a quiet street covered in white.... lucky she had no school and I had planned to take the day off! I ventured outside at about 10:00 am to see how it was, by this time, the temperature had risen to around minus five so it was not as cold as it was earlier in the morning. Armed with my camera, I shot a few frames of the white specks falling from the sky and took one of my car which by now was starting to be covered with snow. Our stairway outside needed shovelling, and perhaps some salt..
We stayed in, it was a lovely time to be indoors, I baked a cassava pie in the afternoon and basically just chilled.
Today, Tuesday, Kara asked whether she could stay home. She had just finished her exams so I agreed, and I also needed some more time off and decided to relax as well. We needed to go out and clear snow off the car, though since by this time, there was such a thick cover on it, we could hardly recognise it as our car! We were also worried that if we did not do it, the snow could get compacted especially if the temperature continued to rise, and it would be really hard work to take it off...
We had a late breakfast, dressed up in warm clothes and proceeded out.... It was amazing.. there was almost a foot and a half of snow on the windshield, about a foot on the roof, and the whole car was sort of buried underneath mounds of soft, fluffy snow! So we set to work, armed with our neighbour's snow shovel, we decided we would clear the doors first so that I could turn on the heat, and it will help melt the snow.
"How on earth will we clear all this snow??"
Shovel, lift, breathe.... Kara and I worked steadily.... we were both laughing since it was quite fun and it was not as cold outside. It was refreshing, with a light snowfall... just beautiful, actually!
Kara hard at work...
At some point I decided to lie on the snow! I had never done this before, and it just felt so good! It felt as if I was lying on a feather bed, since the snow was fresh and this is really the best time... powdery to the touch and simply wonderful! I closed my eyes and put out my tongue to feel the snow.... oh... I just loved the feeling...
Getting up was not easy!
Once the tires were clear, and I was able to get in the car, I started it, and I just kind of ploughed through the snow, and my car just breezed through it... and I moved it to an empty spot just in front of the House. I love my Subaru, I will not exchange it for the BMWs in the world especially during winter. It performs really well particularly in these conditions, the winter tires with the four wheel drive combined make it a really steady and safe car in the winter!!
Almost cleared, only half of the windshield is left to be done
It was an hour's work, all worth it. I cleared our steps as well since I was already out and doing stuff anyway. So, even if if my foot was aching a bit because of this condition I have.... Kara and I enjoyed the exercise.
There is also something about the quietness of snowfall that somehow makes it so peaceful. After clearing the walkway, I stood for five minutes with the shovel under my chin, just looked around and just felt so much tranquility around me, and I was comforted....
And it has not stopped snowing yet...!
Photos by Cecilia and Kara Mercado
Photo: C. Mercado
I can divide my life into small fragments of space and time...
Where often it feels like the gaps are fillers in a film, and
the important bits are the highlights... the small boxes of beauty, truth, lies, pain, absolute joy, jealousies, love, tenderness, deep affection, drama, births and deaths....and so many many more
Different emotions difficult to articulate, but strangely real and true when they happen.
My "compartments" are full... any space left means squeezing the ones that are in it,
Reducing them to smaller pieces.... I often wonder if in doing so they lose a little bit of the importance they used to have?
New memories challenge the old ones: should I keep these,
should I discard those?
Choices.
The options are never easy... Do I really have that vast capacity inside me to store everything?
I want to. I can't. I have to let some go, I have to keep room for new ones.
Spring cleaning. Or they can just gather dust where they are, and hopefully a future will find some use for them. Like the small trinkets I keep from the places I have been, each little one has a story to tell.
The beautifully carved glass perfume bottle from Egypt brings back smells of the Khan-el-Khalily market, the billowing smoke of the hookahs, the short trip to Coptic Cairo, the love and friendship around, with the people I was with....
Dainty lacquer finished coasters from Yangon speak of a life that could have been, but never was and never will be...
The tall, elegant metal candle stick, one of a pair, signified promises, promises that have somehow been broken... of a fire that was to be kept burning but flickered out anyway...
I could go on.
Then there are those freeze frame moments,
captured in the mind without any prejudice,
recorded just because they happened: in black and white, in technicolour and some in sepia.
Each denotes a specificity of that instant, that precious point in a continuing tale....
My life exists in small bits of space and time, and I do not want it any other way.
Choices.
The options are never easy... Do I really have that vast capacity inside me to store everything?
I want to. I can't. I have to let some go, I have to keep room for new ones.
Spring cleaning. Or they can just gather dust where they are, and hopefully a future will find some use for them. Like the small trinkets I keep from the places I have been, each little one has a story to tell.
The beautifully carved glass perfume bottle from Egypt brings back smells of the Khan-el-Khalily market, the billowing smoke of the hookahs, the short trip to Coptic Cairo, the love and friendship around, with the people I was with....
Dainty lacquer finished coasters from Yangon speak of a life that could have been, but never was and never will be...
The tall, elegant metal candle stick, one of a pair, signified promises, promises that have somehow been broken... of a fire that was to be kept burning but flickered out anyway...
I could go on.
Then there are those freeze frame moments,
captured in the mind without any prejudice,
recorded just because they happened: in black and white, in technicolour and some in sepia.
Each denotes a specificity of that instant, that precious point in a continuing tale....
My life exists in small bits of space and time, and I do not want it any other way.
Photo: C. Mercado
I love.... the blue walls, and the shadows of candle light splashed on them. The covered lamp that lit your face subtly as you sat next to me... times of love, laughter, movies, music... You know who you are, and you know I love you...
I am on the third flight of my journey to the East, on my way to Bangkok with a final destination of the island of Bali in Indonesia. As I sit on the plane listening to its constant humming, I feel this urge to write down my observations about this particular flight.
I am lucky my job takes me to places. Overall I may have perhaps visited over 150 cities around the world but if I am asked how each of them were, my memories were mostly a blur, and perhaps the most vivid were those spent at airports and airline lounges.
The first leg of my flight took me to Detroit from Montreal. Seated in business class on an early morning flight, the first thing that I noticed was that I was one among two women in that section of the flight. Around me, these men who I assume were either going to meetings or going home from one, were chattering on cell phones. One was asking an assistant or colleague to check a letter before it got sent out, one was asking about prices of materials, and I could hear intimate low voices talking perhaps to loved ones saying they were taking off soon, and would be turning their phones off.
On the flight from Detroit to Narita, I was in the upper deck of a 747 jet, and once again observed that I was one of three women in this group. It is interesting though, the kind of people one meets on these flights. The lady I was sitting next to was flying to Singapore through Tokyo, and informed me that she is originally from Nova Scotia, but now lives in Michigan but based in Singapore working for an IT company. A nice gentleman who helped me get to my gate in Detroit came from Montreal on business and was on his way home. People like these make me think that truly the world has become a smaller place.
In my job, traveling to different countries is an integral part of my work. My organization works with almost 140 countries around the globe, and project implementation is always much more effective if these visits are done on a regular basis. Since my move to Montreal, though, my trips are far less but it always takes me a long time to get to my destinations which are almost always in Asia and the Pacific. While I love returning to Asia, nowadays I really feel the weariness that creeps in with each long flight. For this one for instance, my travel time is even longer than the number of days for my meeting, but it is important for me to be there, so there really isn’t a choice.
I still remember my very first business trip: I was an eager and naïve twenty something, traveling to Moscow. My very first trip abroad was to the USSR back when it was still a communist country. You can imagine the thrill I got from the mere thought of imagining that I would be standing in the Red Square and can see the interior of St. Basil’s cathedral! This trip did not disappoint, and it was only the beginning of an often interesting relationship with airplanes, hotels, airports and airline lounges….
As I get closer to my destination (I am now on my fourth plane ride as I finish this post), I am excited. Bali holds special memories for me. I will be meeting people I know and worked with for a long time and whose achievements and efforts I respect and it will be good. The discussions will as usual be animated, but this trip also gives me a bit of butterflies in the stomach. While I am meeting familiar people, I am also sitting at this meeting in a different capacity. We will be discussing issues that are sensitive to the countries and I am representing an organization that facilitates funding for these projects, so the responsibility on my shoulders is quite heavy.
But I am a person who loves challenges, and this will be just one of those, and again another learning opportunity. I will leave the meeting with a feeling that I have gained something, that my storehouse of knowledge has again been increased and I have shared a lot of what I know to the people I met, and for this, the long plane rides are all worthwhile.
Note: written on board NW 27 Narita-Bangkok, 10 November 2007
I am lucky my job takes me to places. Overall I may have perhaps visited over 150 cities around the world but if I am asked how each of them were, my memories were mostly a blur, and perhaps the most vivid were those spent at airports and airline lounges.
The first leg of my flight took me to Detroit from Montreal. Seated in business class on an early morning flight, the first thing that I noticed was that I was one among two women in that section of the flight. Around me, these men who I assume were either going to meetings or going home from one, were chattering on cell phones. One was asking an assistant or colleague to check a letter before it got sent out, one was asking about prices of materials, and I could hear intimate low voices talking perhaps to loved ones saying they were taking off soon, and would be turning their phones off.
On the flight from Detroit to Narita, I was in the upper deck of a 747 jet, and once again observed that I was one of three women in this group. It is interesting though, the kind of people one meets on these flights. The lady I was sitting next to was flying to Singapore through Tokyo, and informed me that she is originally from Nova Scotia, but now lives in Michigan but based in Singapore working for an IT company. A nice gentleman who helped me get to my gate in Detroit came from Montreal on business and was on his way home. People like these make me think that truly the world has become a smaller place.
In my job, traveling to different countries is an integral part of my work. My organization works with almost 140 countries around the globe, and project implementation is always much more effective if these visits are done on a regular basis. Since my move to Montreal, though, my trips are far less but it always takes me a long time to get to my destinations which are almost always in Asia and the Pacific. While I love returning to Asia, nowadays I really feel the weariness that creeps in with each long flight. For this one for instance, my travel time is even longer than the number of days for my meeting, but it is important for me to be there, so there really isn’t a choice.
I still remember my very first business trip: I was an eager and naïve twenty something, traveling to Moscow. My very first trip abroad was to the USSR back when it was still a communist country. You can imagine the thrill I got from the mere thought of imagining that I would be standing in the Red Square and can see the interior of St. Basil’s cathedral! This trip did not disappoint, and it was only the beginning of an often interesting relationship with airplanes, hotels, airports and airline lounges….
As I get closer to my destination (I am now on my fourth plane ride as I finish this post), I am excited. Bali holds special memories for me. I will be meeting people I know and worked with for a long time and whose achievements and efforts I respect and it will be good. The discussions will as usual be animated, but this trip also gives me a bit of butterflies in the stomach. While I am meeting familiar people, I am also sitting at this meeting in a different capacity. We will be discussing issues that are sensitive to the countries and I am representing an organization that facilitates funding for these projects, so the responsibility on my shoulders is quite heavy.
But I am a person who loves challenges, and this will be just one of those, and again another learning opportunity. I will leave the meeting with a feeling that I have gained something, that my storehouse of knowledge has again been increased and I have shared a lot of what I know to the people I met, and for this, the long plane rides are all worthwhile.
Note: written on board NW 27 Narita-Bangkok, 10 November 2007
The "Indian" me is feeling very nostalgic. It is because the celebration of Diwali makes me feel this way sometimes, especially here in Montreal where I have very few Indian friends.
Diwali is an Indian festival. One might ask why a Catholic like me finds this important, but I find joy in celebrating festivals of other beliefs and religions, and I do not think it goes contrary to my own beliefs. I wished my friends Happy Eid after they finished Ramadan, and they did not ask why I was saying this despite the fact I was not Muslim.
For Indians, the festival of lights, as Diwali is also called is the time to celebrate the victory of good over evil. The significance of lights is in the fact that it illuminates one's way through the darkness. Tiny clay lamps called diyas are lit in homes to usher in abundance, prosperity and peace and to ward off evil.
I remember my first Diwali party in the Philippines. It was at the home of cousins of a very good Indian friend, and practically the whole Indian community was there, many of them Bengalis. We had food, sweets like homemade carrot halwa, laddoos, barfi, gulab jamuns. There were fireworks as well! I especially enjoyed putting out the diyas in the garden and lighting them. There is something about the flickering light of tiny lamps in a wide space that is so beautiful and exudes an aura of peace. I recall that this was how it made me feel.
My daughter Kristina was around 5 years old at that time. She was asking me why we were having fireworks in November, and I was explaining to her somehow what the significance of this was. This was probably all lost to her, but she had fun with kids her age and they stuffed themselves with all the sweets and snacks that were available.
There was a time when an old friend gifted me with a beautifully carved clay elephant, that had diyas around it. It was such a lovely, delicate thing, and I was so happy with this special gift and put it in a prominent place in the house until one day my daughters were playing around and accidentally hit the shelf where this was and it fell into pieces on the ground. I picked up the clay bits with tears in my eyes.
The last time I celebrated Diwali was two years ago, it was with a special someone. Instead of going out to a party, I just lit votive candles outside in his balcony, while we could hear the fireworks in the background. Then we just sat quietly together watching the lights and shared a glass of wine. That was pretty special to me, and I look forward to another opportunity to do this!
So tonight at home, I will light the candles in the living room, burn some incense, and sit quietly for a few moments to let the positive energy flow, to meditate on how life has been good, very good, and hope for blessings that it continues to be happy, peaceful and full of love. I will also imagine how nice it would be sitting around the table with my friends, eat some nice hot jelabis with a cold glass of lassi, which I could get if I was in Dilli! Ahh!
To all my Indian friends, Happy Diwali, and may peace, love, and prosperity be yours not only this time, but always!
Our front porchPhoto by: C. Mercado
It rained the day before, and it was a little chilly. But the forecast for Halloween promised warm weather. And as we walked out of the house that morning with Kara transformed into Dexter, the disguise she was wearing to school, complete with orange hair, and nutty, nerdy glasses, we were looking forward to the evening ahead. The previous night I had already stocked chocolate eyeballs, cut up chocolate body parts, caramels, lollipops, and other goodies, and Kara and I were both ready to greet the trick or treaters.
I managed to leave the office early, and as I drove through Westmount at around 6 pm, I could see all sorts of "creatures" trawling the streets with their goodie bags. The little ones were dressed up as fairies, cartoon characters, wizards, and held on to their mother's hands with their plastic pumpkin candy containers. The parents rose to the occasion, too, some had on horrendous looking masks and flowing robes. There was such excitement in the air, and the weather people were not wrong this time, it was a lovely cool evening. The kind where you would love to stroll around the neighbourhood, and this is exactly what everyone was doing.
When I reached home, my neighbour and landlady had plunged our front porch into darkness, with a few candles lit around, and our main door open. She worked very hard over the weekend with her two daughters to decorate the front of the house, and it was one of the scariest in the street. A large bat was hanging over the ceiling of the porch, and we had mummies and ghosts stuck to the door, and "cobwebs" everywhere! Even the small bush in front did not escape her hands, it was decorated with ghost shaped lights. I learned from the neighbours that once you put on Halloween decorations, the kids know that there are goodies available. The open door was proof of that.
Kara was waiting, still in her disguise, all excited over giving out candy. There was a steady stream: the younger kids were coming first probably because they needed to get to bed early, and they were followed by teenagers, and even adults! There was this cute little Ninja turtle, a boy not more than 6 years old. A group of well disguised teenagers also came to the door, someone looked like Charlie from Roald Dahl's famous book, I was really quite amazed at the effort that some people put into their appearance, and it was fun to watch.
Our chocolate eyeballs and body parts were the most popular, I was right to have have picked them up from the supermarket! By 9 pm, everything started to quiet down, and by then we closed our door.
Kara and her bowl of candies (Photo: C. Mercado)
Halloween as celebrated in North America is not a tradition that we are used to. In the Philippines, the end of October signals the arrival of All Souls' and All Saints' days, and while we do not dress up as ghouls or anything scary, I still remember from my childhood that this was also a festive time in the most unusual place, the cemetery.
The week before All Souls' day, cleaners would go to my grandfather's small mausoleum, clean it, make the whole place spick and span. The neighboring tombs will also be sparkling clean, and the local government would string lights throughout the cemetery to allow people to stay there late in the evening. On the day itself, my grandmother would be making steamed rice cakes, and other native goodies. Then after saying the rosary at my grandma's home, we would all troop to the cemetery to my grandfather's tomb.
There another rosary would be said, all of us cousins would sit through it impatiently, knowing that after that the adults would bring out the food and we will eat around my grandfather and chat with him like he was with us. The we would all clamber on top of the tomb, and play cards, my cousins and I with our aunts and uncles.
After a while, when we started getting bored, we would go around the cemetery collecting candle wax that dripped onto the tombs, yellow, red and white wax, and we would make them into balls. We would also meet friends and go around visiting the tombs of friends parents' and all others that we know. We would kneel and say a prayer at each tomb. I am scared of cemeteries, the mere thought of having so many people in one place really frightens me, thoughts of zombies often come to my mind. But this was a time when we were not afraid to be here.
This was tradition, at least in the province this was how it was, and we all looked forward to it.
This was the only time we celebrated death, or perhaps we celebrated the memories of our dead loves ones. This was our Halloween.
Blog Action Day
16 September 2007: 20 years of the Montreal ProtocolTwo Nobel Prize winners, Dr. Mario Molina and Dr. Sherwood Rowland share the podium with Mr. Achim Steiner, Executive Director of the UN Environment Programme
Photo: C. Mercado
This post was supposed to be for Blog Action Day on 15 October, but I could not make it for Monday because I have been extremely swamped and buried in paper! But since I have made that promise to post something, here is my small contribution to this day, a post about something close to my heart.
During the second week of September, I became part of an historic event in the area of environmental protection: the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the signing of the Montreal Protocol for Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer. More than just a celebration, the countries who gathered together in Montreal to commemorate the signing of the Montreal Protocol proved their continued commitment to ozone layer protection by agreeing to a faster phase out of another set of ozone depleting substances called HCFCs.
In the last twenty years, so much has been accomplished by this treaty. Studies have in fact shown that the Montreal Protocol has phased out, in its lifetime, a large volume of greenhouse gases (CFCs are also greenhouse gases) therefore is also a large contributor to the fight against climate change!
The Protocol is also the only multilateral environmental agreement that has a dedicated financial mechanism backing it, the Multilateral Fund.
These subjects come easy to me, I have been working in this area for the longest time, but I thought writing about this could perhaps bring people's attentions to something completely ubiquitous in our daily lives that we do not know that it affects something that our future generations will probably have to suffer from.
The ozone layer is a very thin layer of gas that protects the planet from dangerous ultra violet radiation from the sun. When my kids were very young, I explained to them that this could be like the umbrella over our heads that protect it from the sun. That little story has stuck with them because it was easier to imagine it. I am sure you can too.
A number of people do not think very much of ozone depletion as a major environmental problem. It is not as apparent as deforestation where images of vast areas of denuded forests portrays something very real. Nor is it like looking at solid waste where a picture of children swimming happily in floating garbage and debris in river bodies evokes empathy from readers or spectators.
But it is a problem that is as real as those narrated above, only it is more abstract. The ozone layer problem has been portrayed by the size of a "hole" that appears on either of the poles during spring time, and on measurements of ozone gas in the stratosphere. Its depletion causes stunting growth of plants and can affect other living organisms as well. People can get skin cancer from increased UV radiation.
So what are ozone depleting gases? These are the the gases that are in our refrigerators and air conditioners as the coolants (it is also known as freon), the chemical that is used to blow foam for our mattresses and chairs, the substances used in dry cleaning applications, and even those that are in our portable fire extinguishers, and the chemical used to treat soil for vegetable cultivation and food storage in many countries.
Everyday we encounter ozone depleting gases and yet we are not aware of it.
The Montreal Protocol works towards reducing and finally eliminating the use of these substances. In 2010, for instance, because countries have signed onto this treaty, there will hopefully be no more CFCs in the market in developing countries and whatever one sees will be those that are traded illegally or smuggled. Developed countries completed their elimination of CFCs way back in 2000.
HCFCs on the other hand, were initially treated as "transition gases" meaning in a number of CFC applications especially on the use for foam blowing, HCFCs were used as an alternative gas to allow for ending CFC use. Most domestic air conditioners contain HCFC. Think about the sheer numbers of these air conditioners in countries like India and China, not to mention the rest of the world! But the Protocol also included the phase out of these substances, although this was not until 2040 for developing countries.
In Montreal last month, there was a flurry of activity mostly on the corridors of the Palais de Congres where discussions and negotiations were going on about how to eliminate HCFC's faster. Many developing countries were quite concerned about how this acceleration in the phase out date would affect their economies and their industries. By 9 pm on 21 September, the working group on HCFCs finally came to a consensus, and the closing plenary could begin.
I have been involved in many of these discussions in the last 13 years of my working life, but what really struck me at the closing plenary of the Meeting of the Parties to the Montreal Protocol was the statement made by the head of the Chinese delegation. China was one of the countries that needed to negotiate really hard for this adjustment, or rather against it. They are the largest consumer and producer of HCFCs in developing countries.
He emphasised the fact that moving up the deadline for the phase out of this latest substance was something that would mean sacrifices in order to achieve these goals. He said it could mean the loss of jobs for many people in some industries, and stressed that he was somehow going to be a bearer of bad news back home. Despite all these, he mentioned that China realises how important this new control measure is, and that their support is unwavering, for the protection of the ozone layer. This sentiment was echoed by many developing countries in the hall.
The plenary closed at 11:00 pm that night, but despite the fatigue clear in everyone's demeanour, we all felt quite in a celebratory mood. We achieved something important that week, in the end, that was all that mattered.
It was a long and difficult week, but it is during these times that I feel that my job is really worthwhile, and being among people and old friends and colleagues whom I have worked with and shared a commitment for ozone protection, I feel a sense of having achieved something, and contributed to something that I often take for granted because it is something I do everyday.
Take-off … a mechanical fly from the Harvard Microrobotics Lab.Photo: Robert Wood
If you hear any buzzing above you when you are at a public place where some policy discussion is going on, be careful about swatting these "dragonflies", you might be destroying millions worth of research into tiny surveillance equipment that seems to be the "buzz" right now in some places in Washington. Other than that, you might hurt your hands in the process!
Check out this article from the Sydney Morning Herald and tell me whether this is not paranoia at its best!
Montreal is covered in mist. It is a very grey day today. From my office I can hardly see the tops of adjacent buildings, enveloped in fog as these are....
The weather is finally changing. After a few weeks of unusually warm weather for the season, we are now well into autumn, and I feel quite excited that winter is coming soon, then many thigs will be white. I am feeling colour today, I don't know why.
Grey is an interesting colour, it is one which is "in between" like the moods we get into when we say we are "feeling grey".
So as I look out my window, I wish I can take a box of crayons and color the landscape, transform it into something more vibrant, more alive.
But then I realise that no matter what it looks like outside, what is inside is what matters most. Like people. But very often it is simpler to recognise the superficial physicality of things because it is far less complicated and does not need scrutiny. Nevertheless, I believe that we should look more closely than what is there, because as one saying goes "there is more than meets the eye"....
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Note: This is an old post that I have resurrected and changed just a bit. The funny thing is I feel almost exactly the same as that time I wrote the original post almost a year ago today, and the view outside is a carbon copy of what it was! It has been and will continue to be a busy time, at least until the end of this month, so bear with me folks!! :)
The weather is finally changing. After a few weeks of unusually warm weather for the season, we are now well into autumn, and I feel quite excited that winter is coming soon, then many thigs will be white. I am feeling colour today, I don't know why.
Grey is an interesting colour, it is one which is "in between" like the moods we get into when we say we are "feeling grey".
So as I look out my window, I wish I can take a box of crayons and color the landscape, transform it into something more vibrant, more alive.
But then I realise that no matter what it looks like outside, what is inside is what matters most. Like people. But very often it is simpler to recognise the superficial physicality of things because it is far less complicated and does not need scrutiny. Nevertheless, I believe that we should look more closely than what is there, because as one saying goes "there is more than meets the eye"....
----------------------------------
Note: This is an old post that I have resurrected and changed just a bit. The funny thing is I feel almost exactly the same as that time I wrote the original post almost a year ago today, and the view outside is a carbon copy of what it was! It has been and will continue to be a busy time, at least until the end of this month, so bear with me folks!! :)
Who was your best childhood friend?(David's Post of the Day, 26 Sept 2007)
Feet on the beach
Photo by: C. Mercado
David always asks these questions that make me think. I struggled with this for a bit before it hit me.
When I was little, my best friend was a girl named Lynn. She was my neighbour. Her family and mine were friends, our mothers taught in the same university, and we grew up together. We literally lived across each other, the distance between our houses a mere 20 meters, and we used to have a lot of fun when were were children. We were also related by affinity. Her father is the sister of my uncle's wife, my uncle being my mother's younger brother.
Lynn had three brothers, two older and one younger. At that time, she was the only girl. Lynn's father was very strict. She was not allowed out after 5 pm (well, so were we, but our parents were a little less hard on us), and she would not even be allowed to peek out the window, especially during school days. But she was a very good girl, and she obeyed without question.
But when we were together, we had so much fun! When her father was not home, we could come to her room and play, and our favourite game used to be "house", where we pretended we were parents, had children, cooked for them and looked after them. As children, this was our way of trying to figure out how real life was. But of course, we were just acting out how our own parents behaved towards us, because that is what we knew.
We would also bring out our cooking sets, cut out leaves and flowers and play cooks. One time when I was about 9 years old, I took out some wood and did some carpentry work and made a wobbly table. This became our little play table for a while, until it fell apart.
Despite being in a small city, Lynn and I went to different schools, so the time we would have together to play would be a little bit between getting home, washing up, homework and dinner, and the weekends. I remember our nightly routine. We would both go home after playing a bit, then after we had washed up, we would both look out our windows and shout at each other across the lane, and show off our nice pajamas! I remember having fun doing that. Little girls loved cute and fancy jammies, and we were no different.
Lynn and I used to share stories about boys, our first crushes, and we would go to the movies together with Marie, an older girl who was also a neighbour. We also took piano lessons together. Their family had a piano while we did not, so the teacher would come on the weekends to her house, and we would take turns with our lessons.
Our playground was the small compound where we lived, made up of not more than ten houses, all of them owned by professors at the university my mother taught in. It also went beyond that, to the grassy coconut grove behind our houses where old fox holes left over from the Second World War were still there. The tall grass often served as hiding places for us kids when we played games. We were outdoors most of the time, and would even climb trees and chase the neighbours' chickens!
While there were also other kids in this place, Lynn and I were the two girls closest in age, and we just bonded.
I cannot remember exactly when it was and how old we were, but I guess it was just the year we turned 10, Lynn's family moved to the big city. This was very traumatic for me since I felt I lost my best friend.
But we kept in touch, wrote letters to one another. They also ended up living in the same subdivision as my uncle, in Manila. Whenever I would come and visit during summer vacations, Lynn and I would carry on as if we were never apart. We were teenagers by this time, and we would take our bikes and just go off biking inside this much bigger compound and meet young boys, mostly friends of her brothers. After they moved, Lynn's mom had two more children, and this time she had another sister and another brother.
We remained friends through the years and saw each other as often as we could, until we finally and truly grew up. When my daughter Kristina was born, I made Lynn one of her god mothers.
But it has been awhile since I saw Lynn, or heard news about her. I was told by my cousin that she has two children, but has not ever married, and that one of her older brothers passed away some years back. I wonder how she is now, and how her whole family is.
David's weekend wandering made me miss her.
On the rooftop of the Hotel Place D'ArmesFriday evening, we were desperate for a drink. The meetings we were in were far from over and we needed to come back at 9 pm for the final plenary. We were told there was a an interesting rooftop bar that was THE place to be seen on Thursday and Friday nights and it was in a hotel a few steps away from the Palais de congres.
Tucked away in Old Montreal is the quaint Hotel Place d'Armes, a boutique hotel housed in old historic buildings. We walked towards it, not knowing what to expect. Getting in through the first door we see which led to a restaurant, I approached the waiter to ask how to get to the rooftop. He promptly points us to the lift and tells us to go to the 7th Floor.
We get off on a small hallway, with a door to our left, and a steel staircase on the side of the wall. There was a wooden terrace after the first set of steps which had two tables and some funky looking chairs, but it was empty. Steve and Julia were quite skeptical about the whole thing now, but I carried on, walked a little further and saw another set of stairs, climbed, and was greeted by a most wonderful sight: the orange setting sun in the horizon, silhouetted between two buildings, the mountain in the distance, and tables filled with people having a drink, chatting and just chilling out after a long week... It was a lovely find. I did not have my camera so missed another photo opportunity (Ok, David, I do get your point now!).
It was not high enough to have the whole city spread in front of us, but the view was still quite breathtaking, and the place felt like an oasis in the midst of the bustling city. Exactly just what we needed at that time. While my friend Steve was saying it was too "cosmopolitan" for him, it was just his old fashioned, hippy comment about the well dressed people around us. Not that we were looking bad ourselves.
The mojitos and the beer helped a lot in getting our groove back. I leaned over the railing and looked down, and saw horse carriages waiting for their fare, across the Notre Dame cathedral. I have always dreamed of getting on one of these, and made Steve promise he would take me... of course he could not refuse! It is so nice to have friends that you can bully to do things like these!
It was nice to hang out, and this new discovery was even better. This goes on my list of favourite haunts from now on....
We were so caught up chatting that we did not realise that time just flew. As I peeked at my wrist watch, it was almost 9 pm, and we needed to get back to work!
My day ended at midnight.
Early morning, at homePhoto by: C. Mercado
A rambling old house, who are all these people?
I am walking around, looking for something/someone familiar.
The table was wood, antique wood, with carved legs, benches around it.
Family and friends filled it.
Laughter, banter, food.
There were tens of candles all around, throwing shadows on the walls.
It was domestic bliss at its best.
Then I see a bridge, I walk towards it, and see my father.
He helps me cross since he knows I am scared of bridges.
I don't know why, but I felt the fear, that sensation of stepping onto something stable, but not.. weird feeling.
Suddenly I am in a room, people there, some I know, some complete strangers.
Two catch my eye, my favourite aunts.
But they passed into the other world many years back!
I was happy to see them, hugs, excitement, ceaseless chatter.
I wanted to spend as much time with them, since it has been awhile since I last saw them.
Afterwards, I am walking towards someone, his face is in the shadows, I am not sure whether I recognise him or not.
I felt like this was what I was searching for in the chaos.
Then we were in a garden, the scent of magnolias filled the air.
We sat on a bench, held hands and talked. It was light, happy, filled with tenderness and affection.
Then people stared coming to the garden too, the magic was gone....
I hear a ringing in the distance, and I realise it was my alarm clock. The spell was truly broken this time, since I am awake.
Flowers at Chatuchak market, Bangkok, ThailandPhoto: C. Mercado
David asks this weekend question: What makes you happy?
This was quite timely since sometime back, I had made a list of the things that made me smile, ergo, made me happy. Since it is such an easy thing to do, I thought I would just copy that list here, and that would basically answer David's question, and that would be a new post! Is that cheating? I did add a few new ones....
So here is a list of things that make me smile, just in random order...
- watching Kara and Kristina sleep like angels
- hugs and cuddles from people I love
- when my two daughters smile
- getting emails from my daughters
- personalised cards that my babies make for me
- surprises, anything
- sunrises and sunsets
- poetry, especially if it is read aloud to me
- being surrounded by family
- knowing that my father and mother are healthy and growing old gracefully
- getting my feet wet on the beach
- catching snowflakes on my tongue
- the smell of incense, coffee, anything baking
- when I am looking at old photos and remembering when these were taken
- flowers, especially roses, lilies and tulips
- warm gulab jamuns
- ice cream and apple pie
- talking to my family on the phone
- Scrabble games
- new issues of the New Yorker
- cold winter evenings in front of the fire sipping hot chocolate
- curling up in my favourite chair with a new book
- new shoes!
- sitting and holding hands at the movies with my loved one
- love letters
- baby pictures of Kara and Kris and my nephews and nieces
- a nice long walk in the park
- Nirmal's goofy grin
- chatting with Tanya
- the sound of rain
- a trip to the hairdresser
- a nice, long massage
- the smell of lavender
- birthdays, birthday cakes, Christmas, any holiday where family is together
- being with my friends, simply enjoying their company
And, I am saving the best for last, blogging, reading my friends' blogs and having them read mine and leave lovely comments!!
What makes YOU happy?
These chickens are still alive, they were not cooked for this story!Photo: C. Mercado
I think it comes naturally to mothers to try and find ways to prepare left over food, so that our children eat it again. My culinary talents are reasonably okay, but it always is a challenge to convert something that was left from last night's dinner into another culinary delight.
This happened very recently after we had some leftover roast chicken in the fridge. I was looking to make something speedy for my hungry teen aged daughter, and thought I would make the chicken into a soup. Kara was very skeptical, having had the experience of a disastrous left over leg of ham that I tired a soup recipe for after Christmas, so she was not very enthusiastic about it.
Well, to be perfectly honest, I was a bit in a tizzy as well since I felt that Kara had already judged the meal before tasting it, so it was a real challenge for me since I needed to prove that this would be a very tasty dish. I was at least selling it as such.
So, I started chopping tomatoes, onions and garlic and sauteed them in a wok, added the chicken and some chicken flavoured broth cubes, water and left it to simmer. I was at first thinking of putting potatoes and carrots, but decided on noodles instead since Kara is a pasta freak. I rummaged through the pantry and all I could find was spaghettini. Hmm.. I decided to cut these into three pieces and added these to the soup. Seasoned it with a bit of salt and pepper, and I just left it there for a few minutes, hoping that the flavour will come out, and of course I needed to wait for the pasta to be al dente. It was smelling beautifully as well, so I had high hopes.
After ten minutes, I called out to my daughter who was studying in the basement and she asked whether we could have dinner down there. After Kara came to help carry dishes and all, I took a tray with the soup which was looking quite delectable, and asked her to take the first taste.
She tried it, and a big smile broke out on her face, it was delicious! She told me it has this had a familiar, homemade chicken taste, the kind of soup that would be very good on a really cold evening, or when one has a cold. She also said that the flavour of the roast chicken was in there somehow, and it make it a bit different from the normal chicken soup I make. Oh, we had a really nice dinner that night. There was a bit of it left and she had it for breakfast the next day!
This was a one dish that definitely did not have left overs! Now Kara thinks I can whip this up all the time. I can always try...
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