Five Exhibitions

Five exhibitions. That is all one needs. Take your pick.

Choose five.

Dot.

Double Dot.

Check.

Cave.

Picking / Begging.

Giving.

Double Giving.

Lollipop.

Around the World.

Falling Star.

Double Falling Star.

To my delight, MyGirl has finally decided to take up playing jackstones.

She has created her own rules, mind you, which include separating any jacks that fall within half a centimeter of each other and allowing the neighboring jacks to move while picking up the chosen jack/s.

Balls bouncing twice are still big no-no's, though. The ball MUST be caught after one bounce ... yes, by the same hand that bounced it.

Did I mention that she prefers to have about 20 jacks on the floor?

Interesting game of jacks when MyGirl is playing.

That's my girl all right!

I love her.

Movie Shots

I watched the movie 500 Days of Summer yesterday and was fascinated by the series of scenes shown below.

Tom Hansen, the main character in the movie, was invited by Summer Finn (the girl he was interested in) to her apartment. He was really hoping that they would get back together. The movie showed two scenes side by side with the labels EXPECTATION and REALITY. Naturally his expectations were that she would be thrilled to see him, give him a passionate kiss, stay with him all throughout the evening, etc. Yet the reality was that she was civil when they saw each other, he was left to drink by himself while she entertained other visitors, up to the point where only the REALITY scene remained and it was Summer showing off her engagement ring to a friend.

Tom ran out of the apartment and ended up in the middle of the street. The scene transforms to a sketch then it is rubbed out. (Yes, I still dream of being able to draw.)

(P.S. These screen shots cost me fifteen kisses. RD initially asked for ten but when I asked for a third screenshot, he demanded the extra five.)

He Sleeps In A Storm

Just wanted to share page 93 of Mitch Albom's book Have a Little Faith.

From a Sermon by the Reb, 1975

A man seeks employment on a farm. He hands his letter of recommendation to his new employer. It reads simply, 'He sleeps in a storm.'

The owner is desperate for help, so he hires the man.

Several weeks pass, and suddenly, in the middle of the night, a powerful storm rips through the valley.

Awakened by the swirling rain and howling wind, the owner leaps out of bed. He calls for his new hired hand, but the man is sleeping soundly.

So he dashes off to the barn. He sees, to his amazement, that the animals are secure with plenty of feed.

He runs out to the fields. He sees the bales of wheat have been bound and are wrapped in tarpaulins.

He races to the silo. The doors are latched, and the grain is dry.

And then he understands. 'He sleeps in a storm.'

My friends, if we tend to the things that are important in life, if we are right with those we love and behave in line with our faith, our lives will not be cursed with the aching throb of unfulfilled business. Our words will always be sincere, our embraces will be tight. We will never wallow in the agony of 'I could have, I should have.' We can sleep in a storm.

And when it's time, our good-byes will be complete.

May we all be able to sleep in a storm.

Smile!

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

These are original MyGirl creations guaranteed to make you smile.

P.S. I Love You

Did you watch the movie, P.S. I Love You? Or read the book?

In the story, Holly Kennedy had recently lost her husband Gerry. To ease the pain of separation and to help her find her way, he had left her ten letters -- one to be opened every month from March to December, after he had passed away.

I don't know about you but I am a romantic at heart.

I enjoy love stories.

I like happy endings.

The story was kind of sad because there was a great loss involved. But it was also happy in a way because it was a story which encouraged one to move forward and to live one's life to the fullest.

I like the idea of having something to look forward to (read) each month.

I have actually done something like this before. I made little notes for someone special to read every month. I like looking back at those messages. They bring me back to a different time and place.

No wonder I found the book fascinating.

Cecelia Ahern is my type of writer.

Now if you are a hopeless romantic like me, you can go off and read her other books, too.

(Oh, Happy Valentine's Day, by the way.)

Skylight

I grew up in Cebu Avenue where all the bedrooms connect to the study room. The study room is a big room with eight built-in desks plus two add-on ones. (You see when the second floor was built in the early 70's, there were only eight of us. J and Z were still twinkles in Father’s and Mother’s eyes.) Each of us has an assigned desk location as identified by the prominent black and white blow up photo displayed on the wall. (See June 2009 blogpost entitled “Gallery -- Part 10”).

We spent many a day and night in the study room mainly because the room is so big that the possibilities for activities seemed endless. All of us spent a lot of time studying and reading in that room. There were fluorescent light on each of our desks and imaginary lines marking the border from one’s territory to another. The big world map hung on one wall. Old family pictures and other blow-up black-and-white photos are displayed. Father’s and Mother’s photos hang on top of the pigeon holes where we used to put individual mail and sundry. We used to have yellow chairs with caster balls that we’d spin around till we got dizzy.

Sister Deer and I did our cartwheels, bridges and splits in the middle of the study room, in between the two sets of desks. The study room and the living room were the usual venues of our Christmas programs. On New Year’s Eve, we would turn the aircon on in the study room and sleep on the floor together, away from the smoke and dust of the outside world. We played Pictionary on the black board, completed puzzles on the floor, put marks on the walls to document our height, and lots more. GI even practiced how to ride a bike in the study room.

In the middle of one set of desks at the study room, on top of what was used to be Mindy’s desk was the altar. (This means that Mindy didn’t have the benefit of additional shelves on top of her desk because that is where altar and the ‘prayer oven’ are located. In hind sight, poor Mindy probably didn’t have a say on which desk she’d have because she was the youngest when the desk assignments were decided.) For as long as I can remember, Father and Mother would pray the rosary in front of the altar at night. There was a time in our lives when everyone gathered for the family rosary. We would ring the bell (so all may know) and everyone would have to drop what they were doing and proceed to the study room so that we could pray our rosary together. Father and Mother would be seated on chairs in front of the altar while the children would be kneeling on the carpet.

I suppose Father and Mother really planned for this room to be special. And truly, it is a special room. However, aside from the many tables, the pictures, the pigeon holes, the altar and the big space, there is something often left unnoticed that is special in that room.

It has a skylight.

I don’t know of many houses in Manila that have skylights. In fact, the skylight in the study room is the only one I recall seeing in the few houses I happened to visit in the Philippines.

The study room has that extra natural light during the day because of the skylight and I think that is wonderful.

When we moved to MacGyver’s brother’s place near Kings Road, we occupied two of the four bedrooms. We displaced the MacGyver’s nephews from their rooms. RD, MyGirl and I got the room of the oldest boy, while MacGyver and GI stayed in the younger boys’ room. The house had three toilet and baths - one downstairs, two upstairs. Aside from one in the master's bedroom upstairs, there was a common one upstairs. We were assigned the toilet and main bathroom upstairs.

On the first morning after we arrived, I was half asleep when I headed for the bathroom. I went inside and it was quite bright. I tried to switch off the light only to realize that the light was not coming from a bulb but was coming from the ceiling. It was the sunlight coming through the skylight in the bathroom.

Extraordinary!

I went to the toilet (which was a separate room from the upstairs bathroom) and discovered that there was a skylight there, too.

Amazing!

[I didn’t have the privilege of going to the bathroom in the master’s bedroom so I can only assume that there was a skylight there too.]

We stayed at my brother-in-law’s place for a total of six weeks. We moved to Northern Views on the 14^th of November 2009. We had signed the lease contract on Tuesday, 10 November, just in time for the arrival of our shipping boxes from Manila that coming Thursday. While the kids were in school, MacGyver and I unpacked the necessary boxes and tried to get everything in place in time for us to move in by the end of the week.

On our first morning there, I noticed that beside the light at the stairs here at Northern Views was - you guessed it - a skylight!

===== oOo =====

This story has been sitting in my drafts folder for ages. If not for Z's email about the time she and Mother went off to watch Romeo and Bernadette, this would probably still be a draft.

Who Left the Lights On? -- 08 Feb 2010

Ma knocked on my door at 2 p.m. so we could catch the matinee.

"Turn off the lights," Mama reminded me before leaving.

I hadn't left any lights on, but turned to the bathroom anyway to check.

"Ma, that's daylight."

Eats, Shoots & Leaves

A panda walks into the library. He eats a sandwich, then draws his bow and shoots two arrows.

"Why did you do that?" asks the librarian as the panda walks toward the exit.

The panda shows her a badly punctuated book. "I'm a panda," he says. "That's what it says we do."

The librarian looks at the page:

PANDA

Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.

I borrowed two books from the library, Eats, Shoots & Leaves (Why, Commas Really Do Make a Difference) and The Girl's Like Spaghetti (Why You Can't Manage Without Apostrophes!) by Lynne Truss. For each example, there are illustrations by Bonnie Timmons. I found these books terribly amusing.

For Eats, Shoots & Leaves, she had the following examples:

Slow, children crossing.

Slow children crossing.

Go, get him doctors!

Go get him, doctors!

Every day, Anthony turns, slides and swings.

Every day, Anthony turns slides and swings.

After we left Grandma, Mummy and I skipped about in the park.

After we left, Grandma, Mummy and I skipped about in the park.

Becky teased the boy with the fluffy duck.

Becky teased the boy, with the fluffy duck.

No cats, thank you.

No cats thank you.

Becky walked on, her head a little higher than usual.

Becky walked on her head, a little higher than usual.

Look at the huge hot dog!

Look at the huge, hot dog!

The kids, who got ice cream, were very happy.

The kids who got ice cream were very happy.

The student, said the teacher, is crazy.

The student said the teacher is crazy.

No pushing, please.

No pushing please.

I've finally decided to cheer up, everybody!

I've finally decided to cheer up everybody!

What is this called, honey?

What is this called honey?

These were the ones in The Girl's Like Spaghetti:

The giant kids' playground.

The giant kid's playground.

Students' refuse to go in the bin.

Students refuse to go in the bin.

The dogs like my dad.

The dog's like my dad.

Ladies' lounge.

Ladies lounge.

Violets for display only.

Violet's for display only.

See the boys bat.

See the boy's bat.

See the boys' bat.

We're here to help you.

Were here to help you.

Those smelly things are my brother's.

Those smelly things are my brothers.

Jack's played here.

Jacks played here.

The tiny cat's home.

The tiny cats' home.

The shop sells boys' and girls' clothing.

The shop sells boys and girls' clothing.

Look, it's behind.

Look, its behind.

The apostrophe's like a flying comma.

The apostrophes like a flying comma.

I wonder when Twenty-Odd Ducks will show up in the library.

Toe-may-toe Toe-mah-toe

Sister-in-law Mumoffive works at Borders bookstore now. Recently, she told us that someone came up and asked her if they had "Dee-Jon" available. She sought clarification on the request. "Dijon, as in mustard?" she asked. "No, Dear John, as in letter," the person replied.

I am still getting used to the difference in the way things are pronounced here in Australia. I am assuming the Philippines has its own set of phonetic rules and has managed to create its distinct way of speaking English. (When we had gone to pick up some items from a FreeCycler, one of the homeowners asked if I was Filipino. I asked how he could tell. He said it was from the way I spoke. I must have the 'Filipino English' accent, whatever that is.)

In general, words ending in -er are not pronounced with the R sound and end up sounding like they end with an A. In fact there is a huge shopping centre chain here called SupaCenta. Many other R's are left unspoken if they are found at the end of the word like our, far, factor, motor, more and more. In fact even if they are not at the end of a word, they may be unheard -- warm, tarnish, etc.

The silent R's are not lost, mind you. They end up in places where we don't normally use them. For instance, they would say 'idear' instead of idea. Don't ask me why. I just call it like I hear it.

Just so it is clear, although it is toe-may-toe toe-mah-toe, it is not poe-tay-toe poe-tah-toe. So far, aside from tomato (having a short 'a') here, the other words I've heard pronounced differently are fillet and often (where the 't' is not silent), zebra (with a short 'e'), the letters Z (as 'zed' versus 'zee') and H (as 'heych' versus 'eych'). Did you know that scones are pronounced with a soft O in spite the E at the end and apricots are pronounced with a hard A? (I didn't know that until MyGirl corrected me.)

There is a certain twang in their accent which makes the pronunciation different. It sounds nice and it just takes getting used to.

In general, I believe we can get away with the spoken English, pronouncing words differently and all. However when it comes to written English, most especially for the kids, it would be a whole different ballgame. We would have to learn how words are spelled here and be more conscious.

Australians have somehow figured out how to make their essays longer by adding letters to some of their words. Most common are the words ending in -or become -our such as colour, humour, flavour, neighbour, labour. But there are other words like jewelry back in the home country gets extra embellishment here to become jewellery; it is more than just aluminum, it is aluminium. Perhaps they want more things to be vogue here because we have dialogue, analogue and catalogue. Through all these added letters, I can't quite figure out why it is enrollment in Manila but enrolment here.

Sometimes it is a matter of swapping the positions of letters. This is true for many words ending in -er. These are spelled with -re instead. They have centre, litre, lustre, spectre, theatre, calibre, fibre, sabre, sombre, etc.

Other times it is a matter of replacing letters. Z's become S's while S's become C's. Words ending in -yze become -yse or those ending in -ize become -ise; words ending in -se become -ce. So here if you commit an offence, you better have your driver's licence or else there goes your defence. (I have yet to figure out whether they adopt the same rule for advise whereby advise is the verb and advice is the noun.) People organise, recognise, patronise, realise and analyse here. Their cars have tyres, not tires. I wonder if I will morph from Mom to Mum in the coming years.

I know that I will get accustomed to these peculiarities. Since England, HongKong and Ireland seem to be using the same dictionaries as Australia, perhaps LondonEye, Sister Deer and Mindy can send other related tips and oddities we should watch out for.

Breathe

It is First Friday today.

There is a song playing in my head.

I first heard the song at the Greenbelt Chapel (Sto. Nino de Paz). I didn't know its title then. I was happy to hear it again here at St. Bernadette's Parish the other Sunday.

It made me miss home, though. Maybe that is why the song keeps playing in my head.

(Here is the jazzed up version of Breathe. The one they sing at church is much more solemn.)

Breakfast is Served

I think breakfast is the simplest meal to prepare. It is the meal where I am almost certain everyone will finish their food and there would be minimal left-overs.

Being Filipinos, we still like to have rice for breakfast. Cereals and oatmeal are not considered as normal breakfast fare for us. In fact, if ever I decide to serve oats or cereal, I have to be sure it is not Sports Day for any of the kids because they would surely complain that neither of those would not tide them over for the whole day at school.

Rice and E- double G - S, eggs.

Yes, we have eggs for breakfast. Eggs can be soft-boiled, hard-boiled, fried, scrambled, poached; it can be used to make an omelet or a quiche (something I have yet to try).

For me, it is much simpler to have eggs for breakfast.

However, if I were to go through the my family members' list of preferences, you would have probably express your doubts that having eggs for breakfast is a simple matter.

Given a choice, they would all prefer omelets. The more it has inside (as long as it didn't come from a branch or have roots once upon a time), the better. At its simplest, there is cheese omelet.

I have found it simpler to make one omelet per person rather than making a giant omelet for everyone. As it turns out, there is a particular type of cheese which MyGirl does not like in her cheese omelet, so clearly 'omelet to share' is not an option. If I were making cheese omelets for each one, I had to be sure to use different cheese for MyGirl's omelet and put it on her plate so nobody else would eat it by mistake.

If there happened to be some ham or bacon in the ref, it would be a ham or bacon with cheese omelet. If by some stroke of luck, there are mushrooms in the refrigerator (most likely excess from the previous night's dinner), it would be a ham or bacon with mushroom and cheese omelet. The latter is RD's favorite one.

Naturally I cannot serve omelet everyday. So on the non-omelet days, I would fry eggs.

In Manila, when I made fried eggs for RD, I would often apologize about nearly burning the whites giving him fried eggs with crusty bottoms. He assured me that they were fine and would eat his breakfast happily (as long as the yolk was still runny). I always thought he was just being nice about it (because that is the way he is); until one day, I managed to 'produce' what I considered to be the perfectly fried egg --the yolk was intact and the whites were not crusty. I was quite pleased with myself. What I failed to realize was that what is perfect for me was not perfect for my customer. When RD saw the fried egg, his face dropped. "But I like mine crusty," he said. "Next time, Mom, can you make mine crusty?"

OK ... to each his own... MacGyver would have wanted that 'perfect' fried egg.

No problem. Fried eggs have to be done with runny yolks; whites are not crusty for MacGyver, crusty for RD ...

But there is a catch! MyGirl and GI do not like fried eggs.

Runny? Firm? Crusty? Not crusty?

Nope.

They don't like fried eggs ... period.

So I would scramble some eggs instead.

That would have solved the problem if both of them would accept fried eggs with open arms. Unfortunately, GI does not like scrambled eggs either. Well, he would probably eat the scrambled eggs if I put them on his plate but given a choice he would not want them. If he were to eat them, he would most likely ask for ham or bacon even if there was hotdogs or breakfast sausage on the table. Since I am aware of the positions of fried eggs and scrambled eggs in GI's 'how I like my eggs done' totem pole, there are days I just end up making GI an omelet. (So much for non-omelet days.)

We rarely boil eggs. I have a lot of excuses for not wanting to boil eggs. My pans are too small. Using the electric hot plate takes such a long time to boil an egg. I can never be sure if the eggs are still soft enough, or if they are already hard. (Yes, twirling the eggs to check would tell us if they were hard or soft, but by the time they are cool enough to twirl, the water in the pan has already cooled down.)

However, my all-time favorite excuse is boiled eggs are not as popular as omelet, fried eggs or scrambled eggs.

We tried poaching eggs in Manila. Mother had a technique which I still don't get. Theoretically poached eggs are healthier than fried eggs making it the better choice between the two. The only problem is that whenever I poach eggs, I feel as if so much of the eggwhites gets tossed out with the water. I would much rather boil the eggs, keep everything intact, and take my chances on whether the eggs will be soft or hard.

Until such time that I can figure out better things to serve for breakfast, the family will be stuck with eggs. And until I am able to find one or two extra egg rings, on non-omelet days, the pan will have two fried eggs and one scrambled egg looking like ...

Elmo!

Vamos a comer.