Monday, April 10, 2017

Letters to Maddie: Chapter 49 (Keep Singing Your Heart Out)

Hello, Maddie!

Been quite a while i have not visited. I've explained why in a previous post.
But anyways, this is amusing.

Hi, Marge! Of course you can read this, too. :)
But yes, i am directing this one more pointedly towards your sister.

tight shot from aforementioned
beach house
Because one morning on the way to your grandmother's beach house, Maddie just kept singing one or two songs over and over. Songs were by either Taylor Swift or Katy Perry. I'm not sure.
So, Maddie...
i was spying you through the rearview mirror, and caught you singing along, while alternately looking out the window and on the iPod. You had no care whatsoever whether or not we were listening, whether you were in tune (mostly yes), whether you got the words right (mostly no)... You were just having a little time of your life and loving music.
It was an absolute joy to witness.

DJ Maddie
And i wish that you remain so for the rest of your life: uncaring for criticism, and simply living the moment.
Oftentimes, as people get older, they worry too much about what other people think and say. And many who do end up paralyzed with fear of shame and public opinion. I hope you never do.

So yes, keep singing.

'catch you both later.



Friday, July 08, 2016

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 48 (Well, hello there...)

Good morning, my dear girls.

When i started writing this, it's almost 10am here in Baguio on a gloomy, rainy, grey Saturday morning. i wake up with the usual slight groin discomfort which seems to be more commonplace lately. But your mom and i have our regular annual-bi-annual check-up coming up in a week or so. So hopefully, we will get the usual news that everything's normal as normal can be considering the circumstances.
To the left of this photograph is the group of jars for my morning drink: coffee, brown sugar, and Milo. Those are two boiled eggs which i suddenly decided i would like to have this morning.

Now it's a quarter to 11 and i'm already at the store. i expect to hopefully finish by 11am to do some rounds and earn my keep, so to speak.

i slept at a wee bit past 3am earlier today/last night because i had so much work to do, and i sort of ended the evening/early morning with fixing more of the literally thousands of photographs im going through for printing. Your mother is old-fashioned and still wants prints of our family and vacation photos. i'm not objecting at all. But it IS a lot of work.

I was hoping to sleep in 'til about 9am to hopefully get around 6 hours of sleep at least. It is a Saturday after all, and your grandmother is supposedly on her merry way down to one of her beach houses. So since she's the main focus and reason of having to be at the store early, i guess i COULD sleep in a bit, right? But... as luck would have it, she rings me up at exactly 7:28am. Surprisingly, i also your grandfather on call-waiting during the tail-end of this phone call.
me getting this blog post started.

this is what those eggs looked like before i ate them
Your grandmother was calling to tell me that it was raining bad, and that i need not trouble myself with visiting her down there tonight for dinner, and that she would need one of the househelps to stay at her house since was dragging every one of her own helps down with her. And also to ask me (again) if i can take care of myself lunch-wise. (Update: your Uncle Wilson just called telling me they are going to country club for lunch and was inviting me. i hate going to the country club. Every so often i agree to the invitation, but today i happily declined.)

Your grandfather was calling about a piece of property that her sister (your great aunt) is selling, and about who was buying it, how much it was worth, etc. etc... He also called to tell me that his prostate biopsy was going to be this coming Wednesday. He sounded all like his jolly self, but not quite. Hell, the word "biopsy" is scary for anyone. Hopefully, i wont be writing here again anytime soon about that. No news is good news, guys.

Then the phone call barrage continues in the form of your very own mom who is bemoaning the basement water pumps which suddenly decided to conk out in unison. So your mom is stressed out with visions of a flooded basement, and she is calling me to tell me just because. Yep, just because.
This was followed by a couple more phone calls from your mother again about things i have absolutely no power over. But anyways...

Another couple of phone calls from your grandmother later, your mother calls again telling me that its 9am and that i should forget any notion of any further sleeping. So i do get up, and proceed to start off this gloomy weekend.

Point of this story? Always take the phone calls from people you love. Many times, we don't feel like making that phone call. But at the very least, let's pick them up. Not because you we need them. But more importantly, because THEY might need US. And yes, your mom and i WILL call you from time to time. DO pick up.

'Catch you later.

Love you both so much.

No connection to the above story. Just a gratuitous family photo from our East Coast vacation. This was the Niagara Falls leg. But i guess you guys know that from the view of the background, right?

Thursday, July 02, 2015

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 47 (Happy Birthday to me... again)

Dear Marge and Maddie,

Hi, guys. By tomorrow (or today, or a few days ago, depending on when i get to finish this post since I've been writing less and much more slowly lately), I will be forty two years old. Yeah, happy birthday to me. Again.

And yes, thankfully, it has been quite happy by most standards.

But there's always something about birthdays in one's forties that makes one dwell a little more on one's mortality than usual. It's in these years when one keeps bravely planning ahead while secretly continuing to kindle the fires of old undying dreams, while also quietly stopping to catch one's self in the mirror more and more often. Counting the lines that run deeper and deeper every summer with a mixture of tired resignation and more than a speck of mortal dread.

Or sometimes, one looks at one's own lines and sees traces of a life so beautifully imperfect, yet glisteningly colorful and less bitter than sweet.

That stuff they say about appreciating warmth after the cold, and vice versa? No light without darkness, and other similar wisey stuff? They're right. And that's what has helped make my life so wonderful. The ups and downs, the moments of having and not, the periods of crazy compressed activity that have made me more appreciative of the quiet moments of life. The fear of loss, which made me hold on like my life depended on it. And depend on it it did.

Can i ask the universe for more? Of course. That's part of what life is about. The continuance of dreaming. One asks and works for what one asks for, while never forgetting to nurse quiet contentment all throughout. And here I ask for a long and healthy life for you both, and your mother. I ask that we will continue to be surrounded by more people who wish us well than ill. I ask that we continue to be put at the right place and right time to be right there when people need us. I ask for so much more. But most of all, i ask that we never lose the state of gratefulness for everything that fills the halls of our home.

And grateful i am right now as i write this. And so as last year, happy birthday to me indeed.

'Catch you later.



Sunday, February 01, 2015

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 46 (Happy. Birthday, Maddie!)

Dear Marge and Maddie,

First of all, a belated happy second birthday, Maddie!
Your mom, sister and I wish and hope that you enjoyed all that "Frozen" merchandise: "Frozen"cake, "Frozen" dolls, and other little "Frozen" stuff.
But anyway, more than the late birthday greeting, I'm writing to you about something else. Around last October, your mom and I took you guys to one of the most beautiful places on earth. It's called "El Nido." You, Maddie were only a year and eight months old at the time, while Big Sis Marge was a little over six.
We always get a lot of this whole "you-don't-bring-little-kids-out-on-vacations-and-out-of-town" thing. They always say it isn't worth it, since they say that you guys probably won't remember a thing about them. Science actually says that they're probably right. The chances of you remembering any of that trip to El Nido is extremely unlikely.

I've actually posted something like this not too long ago here.

But you see this picture here? This is a happy Maddie playing in the sea, frolicking in the sand, and having a generally wonderful time. Maybe they're right and you won't remember this. You won't remember what the corals look like. Well, mostly since you didn't exactly go underwater anyways. You probably won't remember how beautiful the beach was, or how sparkling to ocean was. You probably won't remember the boat rides. You probably won't remember much or probably anything at all. But...

Maybe your mind won't remember, but somehow I'm sure that no matter how old you will eventually get (and i hope you BOTH get to live to a reeeeeeeally ripe old age), somewhere in your heart, you will remember there was that happy time at the beach. And that though you don't or won't remember much detail, like what we ate, what you saw, or whatever, somehow I'm sure that in that happily hopping heart of yours, the laughter that you had in those days will go on and on, and those echoes will keep your heart healthy, and will help you learn to love life a little more.

So by the time you read this you probably won't remember any of that at all. Of course, there will always be the pictures. But your mother and I, and probably your big sister will surely remember how happy we were watching you have all that fun.

But most importantly we will all remember how happy we were that we were all together.

'Catch you later.

Love you,

Tuesday, January 06, 2015

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 45 (Happy. New Year, Ladies)

Dearest Marge and Maddie,

It was an exceptionally beautiful evening.

And the black velvet sky dusted with tiny crystal shards blanketed the world and sung soundless lullabies heard only with one's captivated eyes.

It was one such evening where your mother and i would sit around and discuss "this-and-thats." One such "this-and-that" was that another year was about to end and yet another beginning. I told her we would be hitting forty two in the coming year, and that i felt old. She said she didn't, and that age was merely a number.

Your mother then asked why i felt old. And i said i felt so, because i feel that i've been having a good run at life. Not because my body felt rusty or creaky and so on. Although i have had my spells of that. But because life has been immeasurably kind to me and us. In fact, i said i enjoyed feeling slightly old. For me, feeling old also meant i carry with me all the beautiful years i've lived. The colorful happy-crazy years i had growing up with my friends and even my brothers before youth ended, the challenging yet thoughtful years discovering myself, the beautiful years with your mother, the even more joyful years when you guys arrived, and many more coming along so far.

Yes, simply put, it has been a good life. A life i am thankful for. So sometimes when you guys catch me i saying i feel old then smile, that's actually me thanking God for what a wonderful life i've been blessed with.

Decades from now, i wish you too will feel old the way i do.
And yes, it's another year. Happy 2015, ladies. Let's all have a good one.
'Catch you later.


Sunday, August 03, 2014

Letters to Maddie: Chapter 44 (Be Careful Out There!)

Dearest Maddie,

Last night, while on video call (a.k.a. Facetime) with you girls, i heard you cry out. I was told you hit your head (again) and now have a nasty bump beside your right eye.

Funnily, sadly, oddly... your mom, sister and i are not too surprised. We definitely weren't happy you got hurt, but you've been so restless, reckless and playful that getting physical injured seems to be a more regular occurrence to you than to other little girls. Happened a lot less with your sister.

By now, your mom and i have concluded that you are an adventurous little girl. Brave, always on the go, and seem a lot more fearless than most little girls your age. Okay, so we're sort of guessing and only have your demure big sister as our prime case for comparison.

But hey, by the time you read this, i assume you're at an age of excellent reading comprehension. So here goes: BE CAREFUL. If my prognosis of you is right, you are going to be a brave, always on the go, and fearless young lady. We love you to bits and pieces. And when the time comes and we can no longer watch over you or just dab ice to make the pain go away, our greatest fear is always your safety.

Now i might be getting of myself here. But hey, parents are by nature paranoid, and this is paranoia borne of love.

We love you running around and all. But please, be careful wherever you are and no matter how big you might get.



Sunday, May 04, 2014

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 43 (Eulogy for Stolich)

Dear Marge and Maddie,

The label on this latest post could be misleading, because the bulk of it will not be addressed to you guys per se. But this is a letter to Stolich, arguably our family's longest-staying dog and four-legged family member, who left us last April 9, 2014.

And yes, it sucks to have to have two straight posts about deceased dogs. But read on, and let me share with you a few stories and beautiful memories of someone we'll never forget.

Uhm, i must warn you... This might get a little long.

* * * * * * * *

Dear Stolich,

You were always in family photos
Hey, buddy... I'm writing this now in the hopes that with you trotting around somewhere out there across the Rainbow Bridge, you can finally understand the written word. Although everyone who ever met you knows you always seemed to understand what people mean anyways. You always were a smart dog.

So before anything else, here's a confession: you weren't the first "Stolich."

The first "Stolich" was also a poodle, but was owned solely by Malou, a.k.a. your mom, a.k.a. the wifey. Stolich "Sr." as we used to call him eventually, was a rather restless pure black toy poodle. He was fiercely loyal to Malou, acted like a brat to anyone else save her, and seemed eternally uncomfortable whenever his mistress wasn't around. So one day, while we visited Baguio at your grandmother's house, some stupid carpenter left the gate open, and Stolich "Sr." ran out and was run over to his death.

We always took you around
Malou was despondent with grief. Stolich "Sr." then was only three years old, i think. So your grandmother gave me money and told me to find a replacement poodle. And i found you, Balthazar. Yup, your registration papers said "Balthazar." You were born in September of 1998. You were a black poodle, with nice gold frills and a nice golden underbelly. A most handsome chap you were. And in a moment totally lacking in imagination, we named you "Stolich." Not "Stolich Jr." Just "Stolich."

You were promptly introduced to your companion, the beautiful golden apricot colored toy poodle, Soda, who Stolich Sr. stupidly ignored. He was probably gay. Anyways, you did what any guy would do when matched up with a babe. You made babies. You made the babies which filled our then childless household with the joy of a veritable rainbow of happy, playful (and most of all, very intelligent) poodles. Different colors, too! But more on then some other time.

You guys couldn't stop making babies. So two litters and one undersized singleton later, instead of neutering you, which we didn't want to do, we separated you and Soda. Malou and I werent married yet, so all the others remained with her, while you went home with me.
The lady to the left is Sahara showing you
like everyone else does.

A mere couple or so weeks later, i came home to be told that you ran off and got lost.

Guy to the left is Teddy, he's your
grandson from a daughter of yours
we called "Mikey" who was adopted
by my aunt.
Malou was a mixture of sorrow, anger and pure pissed-off-ness when i informed her. While i was absolutely spaced out with sadness, worry and self-blame. We were about to be married in a month at that time, and even months after that, i never heard the end of it from Malou about how you got lost while in my care.

Almost three years later, I received a phone call from my father saying that the driver of one of my uncles who held office in the compound where we lived spotted and picked up a dog that suspiciously looked like the dog i lost. Yes, the dog looked like you.

I went home and found that... Yes, it WAS you! And i happily brought you home to Malou to our tiny apartment in San Juan. Since Malou and I were married, and there was no way to separate you and Soda, we did the unthinkable. We had you neutered. But not before Soda trembled in both fear and excitement upon seeing you again after so long. It was strange. I should have taken a video. Oh well...
Fun under the sun while mommy
washes the cars

The most striking difference in your return was that you remembered the brief time you were under my care, and came back to us as not just our dog, but MY dog. Unlike the others, you stuck to me, followed me, and were only comforted by me. I treasured that newfound bond and proudly held you as mine, along with Bambi, the Labrador Retriever who i raised from a pup til she left for the bridge at twelve years old.

You hanging out with Baby Marge
and Mindy the Chihuahua
You were treated differently from everyone by Malou and me, and deservingly so. Especially by me. Sometimes, i even brought you to work. I never brought any of the others to work with me. You followed me loyally and held your head high like the regal prince you were. Life was good. Eventually, we had Marge the baby. But you to me were always my son. My furry, four-legged son who leapt down from bed in the evenings to stand on hind legs and tap my lap with his paw so i could cradle you while i worked. We had many special, wordless moments, my dear son.

Fast forward into the future... Malou and I were working on having who would become Maddie. You were over thirteen years old and blindness was setting in. Your eyes starting clouding up, and no amount of medication could delay what age was ravaging faster and faster. You started getting slower and more pensive, probably because of the blindness. And early last year, your legs were starting to buckle, but you could still leap up to the bed. You also started wheezing then.

Just hanging
We had started building the house across the street. The one we're living in when you went away. Pretty soon, you were almost totally blind, and had to give that endearingly demanding yelp/bark that you do whenever you needed to be brought to the bathroom for your thing, as well as a drink. Or if you knew i was in the room, and wanted to get picked up and cuddled like a puppy.

But you still had a pretty decent appetite. In fact, you still had a decent appetite (although you had to be fed very patiently) all the way until the day we were told you absolutely refused to eat for the entire day. Malou said you had a little fever, and brought you to the hospital for a check up and had you confined. I was in Baguio then, and wasn't due to return for another day. But my gut was telling me that the time was coming, so i asked to go home and see you. I knew i had to.

Your last New Year's photo
with mom and dad.
We went to see you in the morning, and brought you back home after we heard the doctor's prognosis. On the way home in car, you gave me a loud dose of that yelp/bark while i cradled you. As though you were saying goodbye. I held you tighter and told you "it's okay," that you deserved your rest, and that i love you. That quiet afternoon, in our home, you asked to be stood up for a pee one last time, and quietly gave your last breath.

You were going be 16 years old this September.

Although this entry is about to end, I won't stop thinking about you. And Malou and I will still talk about you until we grow old, and whenever we talk about the wonderful four-legged children we've been blessed with over time.

Send our regards to the others over there at the Rainbow Bridge. To Soda, Marge the Poodle, Joey, JM, Jonie, Lucky, Jennifer, Bambi, Fluke, Jumbo, Tiny, and of course, Happy.
Please tell them we miss them all.

Now go on out there and play again like the carefree little puppy you hadn't been for the past year and a half. The little puppy you will always be in my heart. Thank you for the children and the time you shared with us.

Goodbye, Stolich. Goodbye, my son.