Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 52 (Log of a strangely packed past few weeks that feel like a blur...)

Dear Marge & Maddie,

Hey hey hey... Welcome back.
i'm just here to put down what has been a very very tiring past few weeks.

Let's start with one's name suddenly being all over the news starting sometime in early August of 2019.
This was followed in a few days by the results of your grandmother's MRI coming out (tests dated August 1), and the rest of the family finally realizing in plain black and white that your grandmother's brain really is starting to show its age a little sooner than most.

This was followed a rather muted advance celebration of Ah-ma Mia's birthday on August 3rd, because most grandchildren still had school the week after. Thus, a Saturday celebration was decided upon to allow you grandkids to be up in Baguio with our birthday girl.

More tests were required cum August 5, which was also the day that the term "vascular dementia" entered the family's vocabulary on a much more regular basis, as delivered by one of the city's most senior neurologists, Dr. Hernandez. Daddy drives up a day or two sooner than scheduled.

This was followed by regular and very frequent visits to the hospital where Ah-ma Mia was confined in. She was thankfully discharged on August 7. Giving her a little over a day to enjoy a restaurant dinner on her birthday proper.

Daddy finally drives down to Manila on Tuesday, August 13. Only to suddenly be told that he, along with the rest of the family need to appear in the prosecutor's office on Friday, August 15. But he has confirmed attendance for the surprised birthday party of your Uncle (and godfather) JJ (Johnny Yap), organized by your Uncle (and godfather) Jepet, which was to occur on the evening of August 15. Nonetheless, off to Baguio daddy went on Thursday (August 14) evening almost immediately after dinner with you guys. Then swooped back down to Manila right after appearing in court (sort of), making it in time for the birthday party at around 930pm or so.

Daddy also had to attend the homecoming event of St. Peter the Apostle School, which expelled him last 1988. He attended, because he promised to finally see the one teacher who objected (in vain) to his expulsion. That being done, daddy left the homecoming with mommy. Then lo and behold, we were told that around 30 minutes after mommy and daddy left the event, the performing band's guitarist, Whiz Francis Reyes, who is one of daddy's happy acquaintances, apparently called our daddy's name on the mic, probably to invite him to jam on stage with the Dawn, one of the best bands of our era (and still is). i still have mixed feeling about missing that opportunity. On one hand, it would have been fun, and i'm confident enough with my music that many in the audience would have probably turned incredulously towards to stage wondering if i was lip-synching. Somehow, i believe i probably would not have turned the invitation down. Plus, it was in poor taste to refuse a fellow musician a jam. Especially someone of Francis Reyes's pedigree. On the other hand however, if i did go up on stage, people at the event might have accused me of being such a limelight hog. (Yes, you know who you are...)

Then Sunday, August 18  late morning was also the party of your cousin Pia, Thankfully, that party ended rather earlier than usual.

Daddy spending August 19 and 20 at the Ortigas office, then promptly drives back up to Baguio on the evening of the 20th. Only to be informed on the afternoon of the very next day by your Uncle (and godfather) Dominic that his dad had passed away a couple of hours before he messaged you. So daddy and your Uncle (and godfather) Dick discussed meeting up at the wake on Saturday, August 24 along with some of your other godfathers (namely Uncle Bogs, and Uncle Manly). So daddy, who was scheduled to drive back to Manila on Tuesday, August 27th, found himself driving down much sooner on morning of August 24th. But a few things had to be arranged and regarded back in Baguio, which found daddy back behind the wheel on Sunday morning (August 25th), with plans of driving back down on Tuesday noon. Hopefully, giving him time to spend dinner and chat with you and mommy. And in time to direct the first day of the photo shoot of Festival Mall, one of daddy's ad agency clients.

Interlude:
Your Uncle Philip has hatched a plan to quickly bring Ah-ma Mia to Taiwan to see a chiropractor, and probably a few other doctors. After everyone supposedly being gung-ho about it at first, we discover the following: Uncle Wilson's passport is currently at the Japanese embassy for visa processing. Thus, he will not be able to get the passport back in time for accompany Ah-ma Mia. Uncle Pom at first said, yes. Then again demurred. Which leaves daddy as the only son, who has not backed out (or is able) to accompany Ah-ma Mia. So off Uncle Philip goes booking tickets for Sunday, September 1, with a return flight on Wednesday the 4th.

Back to the story...
But while was getting ready to drive down on Tuesday noon (August 27th), he was then told that the family had to appear in court again the next day, Wednesday, August 28th. Oops, that crosses out the directing gig on Wednesday.
But that's just one day. So perhaps 2 out of 3 shooting days wont be so bad. So daddy drives down on the afternoon of the 28th, immediately after appearing in court.

Thursday, August 29th. Day 2 of the photo shoot that daddy is supposed to be directing. He wakes up early, getting ready to greet your Ah-ma Mia in Manila, because she has a dental appointment. And so daddy does. He greets Ah-ma Mia, then leaves her in mommy's able hands. Daddy now drives himself out to far-off Alabang, because Kuya Edgar was to be left behind to fetch you guys to and from school, as well as other possible things you guys needed to attend.

Then, after shooting one scene, Daddy checks his phone. Mommy, who had Ah-ma Mia in her care, sent this: CALL URGENT. The message was almost half an hour ago. Holeeee.... Daddy calls, only to learn that Ah-ma Mia almost literally shoveled her late lunch into her mouth like there was no tomorrow, and found herself in some strange case of food shock (also uspected by doctors as symptomatic of the precursors of minor strokes, which Ah-ma Mia's have shown that she was apparently suffered from a couple of times past). She was taken to the Emergency Room for more tests and MRI scans. And that Daddy now has to bail from the shoot (again) because he was the only son in Manila, and must check on Ah-ma Mia. So daddy is back on the road. Two and a half hours later, Ah-Mia was in the house (ours), and refusing to stay for more tests, much less treatment.

A full day's shoot happened at Festival Mall without much event last August 30.


Saturday, August 31, saw us heading out to the Powerplant Mall in Rockwell Makati, where we met up with your Uncle Dominic. And it is now 2am, September 1, and i am flying out in around 16 hours.


So how was that up there, huh?
Still breathing? i know i barely am sometimes.

Uncle Dominic is the tall guy in white with the puffy face.

'Catch you later.

Love,



Dad

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 51 (Let Your Old Man Vent a Little This Year’s End)

The age of forty five is a strange one. Of course, any year can and will seem strange if one chooses to see it as such. It is not my birthday. But the past year saw me hit the 45 mark. So nonetheless, kindly indulge me.
The creeping reality that has begun haunting me is that even the most reasonably healthy people usually live up to "only" their early 90s. And that is being quite generous. Even Iceland, which boasts the highest average life expectancy, clocks in an average of 87 years of age.

So yes, this is as midlife as midlife can get. And maybe even a little past that.

This is where one finds one's self at the proverbial tipping point, where the arrow of one's emotions invariably toggle to and fro between a sense of contentment and accomplishment at having gotten this far, whether by luck, birthright, or both, to a swirling haze of frustration, regret, and melancholy. Brought about also by some random concoction of luck, circumstance, and probably more than a handful of decisions i would have decided differently if i knew then what i know now.

Or maybe not.

While there is the knowledge in the back of one's head that sooner than later, it would be time to start winding one's personal party down bit by bit, that is not what weighs down upon me. I miss the innocence. I miss the dreams that once seemed so easily reachable. I miss the brashness and optimism of my youth. I miss the promise of possibility simply because i was still too ignorant to know what lay ahead.

I remember an old cartoon short that featured Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd. The latter was led out running over the edge of a cliff, but somehow did not fall down. Bugs warns Elmer of his pending doom by pointing down, and simply saying: "Gravity." To which Elmer just waves it off, while nonchalantly stating that he "hasn't studied gwavity yet."

Knowledge does weigh upon one's dreams. The more you know, the more real things become, along with all the trappings that come with it. And thus, one grows up. And every morning is a wake up call to a reality we sometimes wish we can just sleep through.

I miss not feeling weary from my failures, thinking foolishly that the best is yet to come, because... i was still young. But i live still, and the things i am working in and on still live. Some barely, some quite well. Again sometimes because of luck, circumstance, and whatever came of decisions made. Whichever way, they are what they are now, and tomorrow is still another day.

But i am thankful. I am thankful for a life lived with a heart tempered by time, made stronger by scars, and most importantly, a heart now unafraid to bleed for those he wants to bleed for.

I am thankful, because the proverbial glass has been half-full with many good things. And while many dreams remain half-baked, the oven is thankfully still warm. So we keep baking.

I am thankful for friends near and far. You will be, too. But make sure you make time for them, just like they too will make time for you. Sometimes when you need them the most.

I am thankful for our larger extended family, no matter how imperfect. When they are at their worst, they fuel me. When they are at their best, they make me believe in human redemption, and why dogs will always be one of the best judges of character.

I am thankful, because i sit here tonight, quietly typing away at this piece over a week after i've gotten started at it. Thankful for this evening, which gave me time with you guys and your mom. Thankful for all the laughter tonight. The music we played on Marge's violin. The tunes Maddie screamed out to the iPad just to see the voice indicator move. The songs and passages i have been blaring out on my saxophones.

I am thankful that i can glance at you three sleeping soundly all snuggled up, while i listen to your dreaming murmurs.

Yes, this is as midlife as midlife can get.
And i am here with you.

So despite of the things going on that seem to be hanging by a thread, despite the personalities and politics that surround my life, despite all the things i wish i am and am not, and still wish i will be, and all the things i have done and have not...

I am thankful.
And after tomorrow, it will be another year.
Happy New Year.


'Catch you later.

Love,

Dad

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,

Dad

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
deference 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.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 37 (Belated Happy Birthday to Me a.k.a. "Life Begins at 40 my Ass....")

Dearest Marge and Maddie,

What, me worry? :)

Daddy has officially been forty years old for sixteen days now.

A wee bit late perhaps for a birthday post like i usually do in these here parts. But hey, better late now than even much later down, right? Obviously, there is much to share on an occasion like one's fortieth birthday. (Incidentally, your mom also turned forty recently. Twenty six days ago, to be exact.)

Ever hear that life supposedly "starts at 40"? Well, i'm here to tell you that that is absolute crap. Truth is, life begins when one starts breathing. And life just keeps going on as you do. It honestly does not feel any different between being forty years old, and the couple of years or so before that. "Life begins at 40" is said by people who finally realize they are officially no longer young, and have got to get up and going and trying out the things they've always wanted before they kick their proverbial bucket. Probably because they haven't dared to live their lives a lot sooner like they should have.

So i'm now forty years old.

I tell that to myself from time to time for the past couple of weeks. Sometimes, i find myself sad. But mostly, i actually find myself feeling like my heart could burst with the happy sounds, textures and colors, and all the gratitude at how not-so-screwed-up my life has so far been. Sometimes, i take stock of life so far, and i find myself fighting back a joyful teardrop or two.

I have two beautiful children (so far), and a loving, strong and eternally beautiful wife whom i could provide properly for. We have a new house that has let me sow my architectural oats and is almost done, i have my own happily struggling (yet happily afloat) little office where i can become writer, artist, teacher and so much more. I now have a firm place in a strong family business, a handful of real friends who have stuck with me through so much, and some even as long as thirty years and going strong. And to top it all off, i finally get to play saxophone (and sometimes sing) at various places nowadays.

Forty with a sax is cool.
No, wait... sax is cool. period. :)

So if they keep telling me that "life begins at 40," then what the heck does one call the funny, crazy, exciting, adventurous, and sometimes dramatic story that i have lived so far? Sure sounds like life to me. And a wonderful one at that.

Thank you, girls, for being among what have made my life wonderful so far.

So before i wrap this post up, let me end it with a bit of advice from a happy forty year-old: one does not get to be a happy forty year-old by being too afraid to try new things out, too weak to hold on to things that truly matter, too lazy to work for what one wants, and too bitter about what one doesn't have to be grateful for what one DOES have. Don't wait. Just live. Now.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Belated happy birthday to me. Indeed. :)

Letters to Marge and Maddie (Chapter 35): Welcome to God's 1lb. Pizza Personality Kitchen

Greetings, girls!

So this entry is a bit weird for me for various reasons.

First, i haven't blogged for at least three months, and the one before that was even more months before that last one. Secondly, i have effectively changed the title of this series to include Maddie (hey, Maddie!). I had half a mind to start a totally new series for only Maddie which can go side by side with Marge's, but i figured... and figured some more... and here we are.

So here goes...

There are two of you now. Sometime back, when there was only one of Marge, i wrote about making sure that one stay true to who one is, and that life is not about being the "best you can be," but being the best YOU that you can be. So now that your world is getting bigger (especially you, Marge), you will meet new people, learn new things, and along the way, learn more about yourselves and each other. And oh how wonderful a journey that will be!

So now let's talk about pizza...

We are all pizzas. Yes, that isn't my imaginary Italian lineage talking. I repeat, we are all pizzas. Specifically, one-pound pizzas. Each and every one of us weigh in at exactly one imaginary pound.

This is why...

Imagine, if you will, God being this great big pizza maker guy in the sky... See it? Okay, so he's in his heavenly pizza kitchen with the heavenly pizza oven and the heavenly pizza delivery motorcycles which probably look like storks... See it some more? Even cooler.

So just like any pizza guy, God kneads the dough, spreads the sauce, digs through and sprinkles various toppings from mushrooms to cheese to beef to pepperoni and Heaven only knows what else. But here's the catch: it doesn't matter what kind of toppings He puts, as long as the ending has to be exactly one fair pound. So He'll ensure the weight and probably finger a few toppings out to do so.

So no two pizzas are going to be exactly the same.

And it doesn't matter what toppings the other one has more of, God will surely have taken something else away to even the weight out.

So know what you were topped with and find a place where your "toppings" will be best appreciated. Imagine if you were a Meat-Lover's Pizza with bacon, pepperoni, beef bits and all... So stay the heck away from them vegetarians, kid! They would consider you poison. Instead, find yourself people who love bacon and all other kinds of animal fat.

But you wouldn't know what you're topped with unless you study yourself very *very* carefully. Then surround yourself with people and places were your "toppings" will be more appreciated and even loved. Because not everybody loves everything nor everyone, and you can never please everybody.

And here's more... We all weigh the same. So if the contest came to someone challenging you because they think they may have more cheese, ask them if they as much onions as you. Sooner or later, there will be something where you will come out on top. Just don't stop looking.

So in the same way, you can have more of one thing, and then less of another on the next. So always see people as the exact same fair pound that you are. Let this will make you fearless, and hopefully also more patient with others.

That make any sense? Uhm... Somehow, this whole theory sounds better when i tell it in person. Remind me to do that one day. And we can have some pizza while i do.

Love you guys,

Dad.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 34): Stale Slice of a Fresh Sunday (082612)

Dearest Marge,

Whenever I finish writing you one of these, i feel great. I feel like i've left a little piece of my soul for your future consumption. Feels really great, but man... sometimes it's tough to kick off. Even if i've already lined up so many things to write about.

Oh well, enough with the excuses. Here goes another one...

This is actually quite delayed. These should have been posted exactly three Sundays ago. The very Sunday outlined herein in a photographic day-journal of sorts. Here goes...


After your mother turned me into her zombie-fied errand boy practically at the crack of dawn the very Sunday morning right after she shooed me out of the house late on a Saturday night in her quest for burritos, i finally found the presence of mind to document this early morning torture. Right here, while waiting at the drive-thru window for the breakfast i no longer remember was what.

Let's talk about early morning. A morning so early that even the street lights are still on.

 
This is an amusing time of day. Especially on Sundays. Because sooooper early mornings usually bring the unlikely convergence of two opposite kinds of people: on one corner, you have the party people who realize they have to stop partying because the sun is up and wants to kick their sad asses back home. And they usually either have a hang-over, or have just woken up and are still trying to figure out where the heck they already are.  On the other corner, you have the very "together" people who wake up early to do their chores like gardening, or go jogging or something. you know... the "good stuff."
It is only on very early mornings such as these that these odd creatures can converge. Middle fo the road people like your mom and i do not belong here. not in this early a morning. So just HOW early was it?

THIS early, dangit...
But i must hastily add, that your mother is currently preggers, so everything may be annoying but forgivable.

This bag holds the unholy contents of oddly-assembled matter that is disguised as food. I at least remember it containing an order of pancakes for you. I was too sleepy to make them for you that day.

This is much later. At a time for normal people. At a time when pregnant women have had their synthetic breakfasts, you have had your synthetic pancakes and i have had more sleep.
This is you enjoying some sea breeze by Manila Bay where we went to take your grandfather out to lunch.

The smiling man is your grandfather. The kid doing a Marilyn Monroe impression is you.

This is the view that day inside the restaurant known as "The Aristocrat."
This oddity is always full, they have been serving the same Chicken Barbeque for what i know to be all my life so far, and everything still still pretty much tastes the same.
And this is what i consider the cool part of Sundays. We get to go visit down town Manila, and i get to reminisce about old days, old food, visit old places, and sometimes imagine what Manila could have been and what it once was.

This is the view driving your grandfather back to middle Manila. To the left of the photograph is the historic Manila Bay. Go google it or something, kid. Buildings to the right are old buildings that used to hold some of the biggest and most important companies in Philippine business. Now they're mostly out in Makati or Bonifacio Global City.
But make no mistake, the very shoreline to the left is part of what made Manila the jewel of a city that it once was.
 
***********

 

 Fast forward to the future. Or more accurately, the afternoon of that day.
We proceeded to drive all the way down South to see what was new down there. And boy, WAS there anything new!
It was actually quite amazing and it really did feel like nothing from the South that i knew from as recently as maybe eight or so years back.

First stop, ICE CREAM!!!
Hot pregnant lady behind you is your mother.

This is you hamming it up while aforementioned hot pregnant woman is off somewhere exercising consumer rights.

Bo's Coffee place. You went out to crap, i think...

This is Eli's Barbeque at Tagaytay where we ended the day. This place is owned by one of Daddy's best friends. Great food, great view of Taal Lake (too bad we came at night). We'll head back there soon!
(photo credit from www.askmewhats.com) I was already too tired to photograph the place and our food.
 

So there you have it, girl. One more journalized Sunday.
Cheers and catch you later.

Love,

Dad