Lola Lomy

[ Saturday, January 17, 2004 ]

My New Year Wish

I have been drawing the floor plans of remodeling that I?ve been dreaming about since we first moved to Stafford. I have done this in Rome, NY, and I am itching to try it in our present home. Interior remodeling has always been my passion and my hobby; and I have had my wish list since day one. I probably feng shue in my everyday thoughts; while everyone else love shopping, jewelry, furs or other habits, good and bad, I love remodeling, rearranging the furniture, improving a room, a wall or a corner. At this point and time, my getting old is like having a mid-life crisis (okay, I'm having a late-life crisis), I want to do this now while I can still enjoy the end result of my design. It will be costly, but doable. Am I being unrealistic and unreasonable? Can't I have a little bit of satisfaction and enjoy the fruit of my efforts before I pass on? Your thoughts?

[ Tuesday, January 13, 2004 ]

Growing Up In The Province

I guess the most vivid memory I can relate as far back is when I was four years of age; unafraid, full of imagination, mischievous, and a bit of a tomboy. We had a big house in the barrio of Buenlag, in the province of Pangasinan, a province in the northern Philippines, with, what seemed to me, a ten-foot wide stair. At the landing was immediately the dining room, furnished with a long dining table and two long benches on opposite sides, two upright chairs on opposite heads. Across the landing, past the table, was a pair of sliding windows, one with its lower panel etched with a fish design. To this day, every time I sketch a fish, I remember these two simple curved lines, a small circle etched inside the upper left space, to indicate an eye, the right end crisscrossed to indicate the tail. Next to this old house was a small building elevated about six feet high on heavy posts. This was the rice granary where the family stored rice grain after it had been threshed. Had it not been filled to the roof with grain it would have made an ideal playhouse for me. I used to climb up the post onto the small platform fronting the entry door to the granary; and sneak in the granary (when the door was left unlocked); and I would climb up to the top of the pile and just stay there on my very own, with not a care in the world. Later on Mang (mom) would know where I was because I had unhusked grains stuck to my clothing. I loved high places. I was always climbing up on anything high, when I was a little girl: trees, armoires; I even loved sitting on sills from the second floor windows, watching all that lay below me. I don't recall playing with my older siblings then. At the back of the house farther past the backyard and the outhouse were rows of fishponds (fish hatcheries) subdivided by dikes. I used to wander off, walk over the dikes (picking tall reeds along the way and eating the bottom stems off them); I would cross (or straddle) on mere pairs of bamboo bridges over a series of weirs, and watch school of fish swim or gaze down at my reflection in the water. And often times I would branch off from the dike and ensconce myself into a low roofed nipa hut built on stilts above the water. There were quite a few of them built as semi-permanent structures along the fishponds. These huts were resting places for fishpond caretakers. It was a very cool place to be, to daydream in, because one could feel the cool breeze from beneath, blowing through the floor made of bamboo slats. I used to lie on my stomach, watching the ripples of the water through the slats, daydreaming (have you ever felt that sensation--of moving with the ripple if you followed it's path?). I did this often even when I was in my early teens (it was my escape), so that it became a part of my growing up. I remember the rice harvests. I can still hear and visualize how they pounded the grains on this big boat-like structure. The barrio folks made a big production of threshing, pounding and husking rice. The men and women surrounded the vessel, armed with baseball bat sized, hourglass-shaped pestles, and they alternately pounded the rice stalks in a rhythmic, percussive way (one could have composed a melody accompanied by the rhythm of the beat, like reggae). The people involved were harvesters who sowed and reaped and threshed the crop from our little rice plantation from which they got their share. Anyway, I recall, I was always underfoot. I loved to daydream: Of princes and palaces. Mang used to sing to us,"When I grow to be a lady, I'll be a queen, a lovely queen..." (I used to sing that to my girls, also). Anyway, I didn't want anybody intruding into my private thoughts, so I went out on my own a lot. I drove everybody crazy, looking for me. In the big house, Pang (dad)'s cousins lived with us. They were sort of our nannies, although we had a maid/nanny, too. They were scared of Pang, as they thought him formidable. And they respected Mang. They certainly took care of us. Pang and Mang had a beautiful romantic courtship that started in 1933 when they were both twenty three. Mang had kept a collection of their love letters safe in the old family chest. What a collection! Pang and Mang are gone now and although it was very private, it is with homage and admiration that I read their letters over and over. I have this fascination with making them alive again, to sense how they lived. Mang was a teacher in Binmaley, our town in Pangasinan; and Pang was in college in Manila, studying Law, and was also working in the House of Representatives in the Big City (Manila). Pang and Mang had special feelings for each other. For two years (the second year, well after their marriage), they corresponded faithfully, almost every other day! Their letters were quite romantic in the Robert and Elizabeth Browning genre. The words were in the old English style intermixed with the dialect of our province, equally romantic. I'm glad I still understand the dialect, or I would've lost that attachment from the past. It was a very uncomplicated time, where the major problems they encountered were political differences, gossip (albeit trivial), what to wear at the coronation ball; and lesson plans and final exams in political law. What a life they led, with lots of dances and balls and fiestas and close companionships; and the thirties' type of social gatherings that one only reads of in novels or sees in a movie. But here it was, written in black and white, and they were my parents' lives! How I wish to have lived them. I heard, (as was also reflected in some passages of the letters) that theirs was the most celebrated wedding ever in town. A huge "entablado" (platform) was built in the backyard of Mang's parents house (remember the 'Mash' Camp during the liberation?--this would be same site) to accommodate the townspeople. My grandfather, Pang's father, ordered five hundred invitations, and yet reordered more. What a wedding it must have been! Pang was an only son and was the image of my grandfather. My grandfather (Lolo Esoy, short for Lorenzo) got Pang a secure job through his influence in politics. I suppose they were so well off that Pang never really worked at being responsible unless my grandfather threatened to curtail his privileges. Pang became a very powerful politician in our town, as was my grandfather. My grandfather was the town mayor, until his death. I have a very vague memory of lolo Esoy. I have seen pictures of him, always in a white suit, always with a spiffy pair of shoes, a straw hat and a cane, with an all-imposing stature. The men folk, dressed as spiffy as he, always surrounded him. I heard that everybody called him "Presidente" and that he was very respected and feared. He was the formidable one. I heard that he actually lifted a grown man who displeased him; and threatened to throw him out the window. Pang told us that Lolo Esoy died on his rocking chair, his legs crossed. I remember: Bright lights shone through the windows of the living room, so intense, its rays illuminated what were normally very dark grounds, that night. I saw a lot of people, mostly men, all dressed in shiny suits (the Great Gatsby type); I thought it was exciting. But I don't recall seeing the body or the coffin. I don't even remember if I went to the funeral. My sister Vir says all she recalls is that the body was brought to the municipal hall, and she had diarrhea that day. Pang's mother (whose name was Bernabela, my sister Bella's namesake) died when Pang was young. My grandfather was known to be a womanizer. I heard he cohabited with his later common law wife, lola Emang, while my grandmother was still alive. Meanwhile, he impregnated a family maid whose daughter, Pang's half sister, tia Mel, was later adopted by lola Emang. We knew lola Emang as our grandmother. She was a tall lady. She was a loving and patient woman. She pampered us all even when we were grown. When we came to visit she always doted on us. I recall her tucking me to sleep, combing my hair, watching that no mosquitoes would land on me. She always ironed sheets, it seemed, all starched and stiff. I can still picture her: She squatted on the floor ironing sheet that covered almost the entire floor. By her side was this heavy black iron she constantly kindled by blowing into the embers within; and occasionally, she opened and filled the iron with new, red hot charcoals. That's how I remember her, always ironing (sheets, no less; I don't know why). She remembered dates, everyone's birthday, every special occasion (or not). I loved her. She had the patience and understanding and sweetness that my grandfather, lolo Felix (Mang's father) had. Mang's parents' house was in the town proper. Sometimes we visited our grandparents in town. My grandparents' house was even bigger than our house in the barrio. To this day it is still standing prominently by the main road, having gone through renovations and paint jobs (I miss the old one, and the memories that came with it). Mang's family, especially on her mother's side belonged to an upper crust clan. She was the oldest of ten siblings. I think they were all raised, to become nuns, priests or teachers. Mang was a teacher, as are all my aunts (two of whom are nuns). She had four brothers: one, a priest; the youngest, a dentist; I don't really know about the other two except that one entered the seminary but met a girl, fell in love and got married (I don't think my grandmother ever warmed to his wife); my other uncle was a mechanical engineer, I think. My grandfather, Lolo Felix, was a sweet and quiet man. He was so patient; I have never seen him get mad. I don't remember ever bonding with him, though. His favorite was my sister Vir. He played the piano for her. I guess I was just too young to play the piano with him. When he died I thought he was going to be canonized as a saint some day. My grandmother, lola Puring, on the other hand, was so Victorian. We were scared to cross her: no shenanigans with her! We were not even allowed to sit by the front window to watch passers by (she made us think that we would look like cheap girls). I believe she was an alcoholic. She kept cases of beer ("super bock") under her bed. But she was not abusive; she scheduled her drinks and only took the same amount (like a dose of medication) every morning. The main road runs in front of the house. It was interesting to watch people go by, calesas (horse drawn carriages) clop away, and transit buses drive by. There was a lot of excitement in town, but staying at the grandparents' house was a lot of a strain. It was more fun to stay in the barrio, because all of Pang's relatives and friends pampered us. We certainly got away with everything because we were Pang's children. Our two brothers (Lorenzito, the third sibling; and Oscar, the sixth), unfortunately, were both afflicted with a blood disorder (our family doctor, Mang's cousin, had diagnosed it as Hemophilia) and were only days old when they died. I don't recall much of Oscar (even though he was three years younger than I) except a time when I saw Mang always vigilant and very sad. When my siblings and I were growing up, we enjoyed the attention and the public esteem given us by the townspeople. Our family was respected and honored but most especially, by our barrio folks, because Pang was their "Main Man." OUR MOVE TO MANILA After the war, when I was about five, our family moved to Manila, The City, about 120 miles south of our province. There were five of us siblings, then (my sister, Aurelita [Bambi] was the baby). I may have mentioned this before, but I cannot forget the time Pang and some guys moved the piano up to the second floor of our new house. That night when he was in so much pain, it was something I could not comprehend. He was our father, always in command, nothing could hurt him or scare him! But I thought he was going to die! I think that started my fear of everything that I could not understand. I feared that we were all going to have the same pain Pang felt. I feared this new foreign place. That first night we slept on the floor and I dreamt of walls closing in on me. I woke up in complete darkness and I remember the darkness enveloping me, confining me, rendering me motionless. I became afraid of the dark. Our new place was too confining; a far cry from the open spaces we were used to in the province. The houses were built so close together, one heard domestic squabbling when it occurred. The house across the street from us had their first floor sublet to about three families; and there seemed to be fights there all the time. There was one tremendous fight where two women slapped and punched each other, and pulled each other's hair with all their might. There was yelling, cussing, and physical violence I have never seen before. No one was able to break them apart! I was so scared; yet I watched the melee with morbid fascination. Our house was not far from the railroad tracks (they ran parallel to the street next to ours). I heard of little kids being run over (that made me even more neurotic). I became less mischievous. I was a scared little girl, still imaginative, but in a morbid sort of way. I think it took a while for me to get used to the move. Growing up in Manila was a mixture of interesting experiences and constant fear of the unknown. I must have missed the territorial awareness of my surroundings that I've enjoyed in the province. I developed a sense of insecurity that drove everyone mad and impatient with me. Mang had gotten a teaching job in Pasay City, far across town. She used to come home very late in the day. I remember every time it was dusk and Mang wasn't home yet, I would start crying and carry on until she showed up. I recall all the grown ups glaring at me in disgust. Pang was still working at the House of Representatives. He had a political alliance with the Speaker of the House. He would take us to the Congressional Club and we would go swimming or just hang out; or watch the grown ups play tennis or play cards (unless they played poker; it was private).

[ Tuesday, January 06, 2004 ]

Filipino Respect

Respect for Elders Filipinos put a lot of emphasis on respecting elders, whether by generation or by affinity; and they give due respect for anyone who is older even by only a minute! Now, if my twin grandsons would adapt the Filipino way, Ethan would call Eli his Kuya (koo'-yah-- older brother), just like Benny would address Beau, and they would be addressing older sisters Weez, Leecie and Elaine--Ate (read Ah-teh). Now, my husband's niece (or cousin once removed [?]), who is a lot older than I, calls me auntie, only because Ely is her mom's first cousin, therefore, belonged to her older generation. Then there is the 'Bless ' Gesture where the elder's hand is offered to the younger person, who slowly brings the proffered hand to his forehead. This is a sign that shows the elder that the younger person acknowledges his/her presence. Respect for the Home Upon entering a Filipino home, you will probably witness shoes taken off before setting foot into the home. This is another gesture that imparts respect and common courtesy to the family one is visiting. I remember an aunt, who was so used to this practice, who had automatically left her tsinelas (slipper) as she boarded the car on an outing. She didn't realize she was left barefooted until we reached our destination.

Happy New Year!

Christmas and New Year Holidays had come and gone, and I am now slowly putting away decorations (the tree comes next), with a feeling of regret that the holiday season went too fast. Thank you, all, for the Christmas greetings, the numerous gifts, material and spiritual, that were presented with love and care. We truly appreciate your friendship! I welcome the New Year with great hope. I count the numerous blessings my family and our extended families are endowed. God had been good to us and I hope that He continues to bless us as we go through the New Year and beyond. May we all contribute our goodness and patience to our fellow humans, and promote Peace in this ever-changing world.