ALL SOULS DAY

Appreciating Cemeteries

IT’S another All Soul’s Day. And as our faith and tradition dictate, we are again trooping to the cemetery to honor the dead and our dearly departed. 

For many people perhaps this resting place is one eerie place during ordinary days--when white mists seem to float in the dark night air, and the round reddish moon illuminates the white painted tombstones. The spookiness of the place is one scary sight. 

It may sound strange, but the cemetery means different things to me--a tranquil resting place, a vast playground, a refuge, and more. Of course, this mindset has something to do with the fact that our family house in San Jose, Santa Rita, Pampanga where I grew up is very much adjacent to our town’s cemetery. So near that from fence to fence, the distance is measured at less than ten meters. That probably explains why I can be comfortable inside it and have actually become so used to its “eeriness.”

Fact is, I have a lot to thank this cemetery for. In my childhood, it served as a vast playground for my playmates and I. Here was where we flew kites in the afternoon when the wind was favorable, where we ran for cover, while playing hide and seek, where we gave vent to our surplus energy as kids, climbing its high fences and hopping from one tombstone to another while chasing each other. 

I remember too, that whenever a funeral was held, we would position ourselves atop tombs and made sure we had a good view of the deceased inside the coffin, and the wailing and weeping relatives. And mind you, we even commiserated with those who fainted while the coffin was being lowered into the grave. I would say, it was that exposure to funerals that taught me about the inevitability of leaving this world and the sadness of being left behind. 

In 1993, this same cemetery saved our homes from being completely wiped out and buried in fifteen feet deep steaming lahar. Its high fences served as our community’s fortress, which prevented lahar from flowing into our neighborhood, sparing us from further damage. 

Today, I have all the more reason to go and visit the cemetery, as it just recently embraced to its fold, my own parents. They are now under its care. 

Good for me and the rest of our family, we need not travel far and brave the heavy traffic (as people from the city have to endure to get to the cemetery where their dearly beloved departed are resting). All I have to do is to climb its not-so-high fence now to get inside. Or if I can’t climb that fence anymore I still can look out from my bedroom’s window and from there see where my parents' physical bodies now lie in eternal peace in preparation for the resurrection as promised by our Lord Jesus Christ!

                                                                                - 30 - 

KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

 December 2010

Last year, David and I decided to spend two weeks of our Christmas break on a holiday exploring parts of the South Island I hadn’t seen before. We drove along state highways, discovered back roads and crossed bridges old and new. Every now and then, we would stop to take photos of anything that took our fancy. 

Cruising along State Highway 1 in our black Subaru, we stopped by a paddock between Cheviot and Greta Valley to take photographs of bales of newly rolled hay lying on verdant hills against a backdrop of grazing flock of sheep. Thinking it would take only a minute or two, David left the car key inside, closed the car doors then crossed the road for the photograph. 

A few photos later and we were back to our car, only to find out that we locked ourselves out of the car! We were in the middle of nowhere with no houses nor people in sight! And everything that would enable us to get in touch with people who could help us was inside the car! 

Frantically, we flagged down the first approaching car for help. In the car were three English tourists touring the South Island for the first time. After telling them our story and the help we needed, they agreed to let us use their cellphone to call AA for assistance.

After what seemed to be an eternity, we were able to get hold of an AA man who assured us that help would be coming in about an hour. We thanked our new friends for their kindness. Hearing that it would take us an hour outside the car waiting for help, they left us a bottle of water saying that we could go thirsty under that searing noonday sun. 

It was heartwarming to know that there were people who were just too happy to be of help even to strangers like us. Come to think of it, we may never see them again. It was an awkward situation we found ourselves in, but the kindness of these strangers just made it possible for us to laugh about it.

Bracing ourselves for the long wait, we leaned on the car watching traffic go by. Then we saw a red four-wheel drive made a U turn. In a matter of seconds, it was pulling over beside us. In it was a couple, who introduced themselves to be locals and who sensed that something was not right. “Are you guys, okay?” they inquired "Is there anything we can do for you?" We told them what happened and assured them that help would be coming soon. We thanked them for their concern. Realizing that everything was taken cared of, they bade us goodbye and drove off. 

You could just imagine how relieved we felt when help arrived after thirty minutes and not one hour! The AA man was able to skillfully insert a special rod through the car window and fish for the car keys inside. 

The AA man

I was completely bowled over by the experience of meeting strangers who were just too willing to respond to other people's call for help without hesitation. Truly, the innate goodness of humans.

Giant Ostrich egg

The ostrich and chicken egg

What do you do with an egg as big as this one?

Driving through Waitomo Caves Road on our way to the Waitomo Caves to see the glow worms, we chanced upon a place that advertises ostrich eggs. Was it serendipity, I wondered. The previous night, David and I had dinner at the Chateau de Tongariro where David ordered a salad dish with ostrich meat in it for his entree. The meat was sliced paper thin and was served on a nest of greens, and dressed with a dash of vinaigrette. I did not really like the taste, maybe due to its texture which was quite slippery and not meaty at all. David said he could not really tell whether he liked it or not because it only teased his palate due to its thinness. So he decided that next time we find another restaurant that serves ostrich meat, he would try it again.




Anyway, because we were intrigued by the taste and texture of the ostrich meat, we wondered about the eggs! So we stopped by the place which turned out to be a B&B place as well. A bubbly lady by the name Ann Barnes (we presumed she owns the place) answered the door and our inquiry. She asked us whether we wanted the egg empty or whole. "We want to eat it, so we want a whole egg and not an empty shell" David said laughing. She led us inside her house and we were awed to see such huge eggs! Some were sitting on her dining table, and some were on special basket containers on the floor. But some of them were obviously just eggshells because they have a bore at one end of the shell. We later learned that she's also selling empty shells to crafters for 20 dollars each!

A single ostrich egg weighs an average of l.5 kg and is equivalent to 15 regular sized eggs, Ann explained to us. She advised against cooking it by boiling, saying it might not cook inside. "You can use it for omelettes, pies, quiche and any dish that needs eggs," she said, then showed us how to drill a hole into the hard shell to get the egg inside. The egg would keep for a month and could be divided into little containers and frozen for future use. It was such a useful information because it would not be possible for us to consume that big egg all at once.

Armed with that information form a lady who knows a lot about ostrich eggs, we went home with this giant of an egg and did what she told us. After David bore a hole at one end of the shell, I beat it and divided it into five small containers then froze four containers. Tomorow morning, I am planning to make a veggie omelette for breakfast.

FLOWERS FOR IMA

Mothers' day

It was Saturday. The next day May 8, the world would be celebrating a special occasion called Mother's Day. At work that morning, there were seven of us seated at a long lunch table--six middle aged ladies and a young man in his early 20s. Our conversation topic centered on Mother's day and what this young man would give his mum on this yearly celebration.

"None," he replied and added that he had no idea what else his mom wanted or needed. His mom, by the way, is a famous artist in New Zealand and according to him had been given the honor of knighthood by the Queen and is now called a 'Dame'.

"Give her flowers," I suggested. "A decent arrangement of roses from flower shops here would cost  a little less than a hundred dollars."

"Or if you want something affordable, there are flowers at the supermarket," Vanessa, the lady seated next to me seconded. 

"Bring her breakfast in bed," Sue, the lady seated at the head of the table suggested.  "It doesn't have to be something pricey, even simple things like doing something for her would please any mum," she added. 

The young man did not respond to any of our suggestions, which I took to mean he was thinking about them.  

But that conversation and my own suggestion reverberated in my thoughts.  "Give her flowers." That was something I haven't done and would love to do next Mother's day for my own mother.  

Honestly, I first thought about that--giving flowers to my mother--a long, time ago. Until one occassion triggered that deep thought of the absent-minded-me. That was during the early 90s and our Publisher/Boss was having another idea for a new weekly magazine in Pilipino language. So, Tess, Glo and I were asked to come to her house in Wack-Wack for a brainstorming session. 

In the middle of that meeting, the Boss' daughter arrived with a bunch of flowers in her arms. (If I remember right, they were white lillies.) The younger woman apologized for disturbing the meeting, then approached her mom to give her a kiss and hand the flowers she was carrying. 

I saw the old woman's face glow with delight as she took the bouquet of flowers from her daughter. Her eyes were glowing and the smile on her face clearly showed her pleasure with her daughter's love and thoughtfulness. 

The Boss then excused herself, sprang from her seat and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she was back at the meeting table carrying a tall, crystal vase. Our eyes focused on her while she carefully arranged the flowers in the vase filled with water. With a wide grin on her face and a gentle touch on the flowers, she blurted out "so beautiful!". Satisfaction and pleasure was marked clearly on her face when she moved towards her working table and carefully placed the flower vase on top of a pink doily. Facing her daughter who waited for her, she planted a kiss on the younger woman's cheek before bidding her goodbye.
  

That scene left me thinking to myself. Would my own mother appreciate flowers too? Would she be delighted as well to receive flowers on Mother's Day or even on her birthday? Our mother was not used to receiving flowers from us her children, but flowers would be something different for her to receive. 

I resolved to buy her flowers on the next Mother's Day. Unfortunately, several Mother's Days passed by since then and even her birthdays came and went but no flowers were bought by me for our Ima. 

Then all of a sudden in 1998, with nary a goodbye, she slipped away, leaving all ten of us, her children and a few grandchildren behind. 

Finally, I was able to bring her flowers for the first time on Mother's day in 1999. They were beautiful white roses which I tearfully arranged on a simple vase and carefully laid on her tomb. Sadly, she was not able to see the flowers I brought for her. And I did not get to see her face light up at the sight of flowers, nor did I hear her thank me for them. 

I would have traded anything in this world that day for that last chance to hear our Ima call my name, see her face light up and smile at me as I bring her flowers on Mother's day. 

Happy Mother's day to all mothers. And to everybody who still have their mothers around today, treasure them. You never know when you won't be able to hear her call your name again.