Thanks guys!

November 03, 2013

It’s 1AM on Sunday. I’m having coffee and choco-bread while I write at the kitchen table. The crickets are in concert in the jungle-of-a-yard beside ours. 

Time slips by lazily when you live by an ocean which attunes your life to its rhythms. Nothing hurries the waves and the tides, nor slows them down. The pace is relaxed and persistent, almost monotonous, save for the beauty of the moving water and the hypnotic sound of the softly-crashing sea, from sunup to sundown.

It's a lesson in living: steady as you go. Don't be hurried and let your deeper waters be undisturbed.

Clyde and Joseph just walked in from their latest adventure. Clyde’s life has slowly come to revolve around the sea. Joseph’s life has always been about the sea. The ocean and its life are in his belly and his blood. His father, Istan, is a fisherman whose livelihood depends on the day’s catch.

Right now the two boys are cooking the small fish that they caught from the seawall across the street. Their catch will be made into inan onan: fish cooked in vinegar, salt, onions and garlic. The two octopi Joseph yanked from under the rocks are in an adjoining caldera (pot), on the other burner of the stove.

It has been a delight for me to witness the excitement of these two boys, as they charge ahead in whatever activity has captured their hearts for the moment: swimming, fishing, catching octopus or resting - between bouts of energetic, water-related activities - on the seawall or at the guardhouse that sits over the beach, a block away.

I feel like a teenager again when I see Clyde bound out of his room in the morning and head for the brine. Sometimes he doesn't stop for breakfast or even to relieve his bladder. Joseph is always right behind, but stays around long enough to do some chores first, a responsibility which Clyde will jump over or run around with the combined, practiced skills of a hurdler and a wide receiver.

Witnessing the exuberance of the two of them has taken me back to the long-forgotten experience of pure joy at being totally involved in nature’s gifts and the spontaneity of living from the heart, in full appreciation for life. 

Tuko and Me

Saturday, October 12, 2013

It is 9:45 PM and I am sitting in the kitchen with a tuko lizard on the ceiling above my head. He’s about 8 inches long: shorter than my foot. We’re not much afraid of each other. Just enough to induce a mutual respect, I would say. I could stomp him to death; he could give me a bite to remember. But hey, we’re not in competition here. I don’t eat bugs and mice and he won’t eat anything which refuses to crawl, fly, slither or hop.

It’s a kind of unspoken agreement. I give him a place to hang out - with family if he so desires - and he helps keep the population down to 5 people, one dog, an occasional unwary pest, and a horde of transient ants (not his cup of tea).

Emelie had a family of tukos living in the tiny bedroom of her mountain home and she never had a run-in with one of them. But she did get bit by one when she was young, while climbing to the top of a coconut tree. He was on the other side of the tree when she reached around to get a hand-hold.

The lizards, and any other animal life that live at the top of the coconut tree (including rats and bats) can bask in the relief of knowing that I will never be climbing a tree to greet them.

Mr. Tuko here is just a young one. He will grow a couple more inches and fatten up considerably. In the house we rented before building this one, we had one living behind our dresser, where he rested up during the day for his nighttime foraging. He lived there a year and then disappeared for another year and finally came back to stay.

I like lizards and snakes, which is, I suppose, on the outer fringe of the American-standard-attitude toward such beasts.

Hopeful

I didn’t feel so good this morning. I woke up wishing I hadn’t. My wife wrapped her body around me and held me until …until Shane pried her way between us and nested there like a worm in wet spaghetti. We laid motionless and all-huggy as if we were holding out for something spectacular enough to give us a reason to disengage and start the day.

For me, it didn’t happen. My lungs were dragging along in ‘sorry ass’ mode most of the day. My recollection of the rest of the day resides in that part of my brain where memories are wrapped in a self-protective haze and labeled “Do Not Open sans ‘Fresh Perspective’!” 

I think the fresh perspective might just be getting a foot-hold. Tonight I feel much better, and tomorrow holds the possibility that there could be another jewel-of-a-moment for me when my wife, the sun and daughter arise. 

A Settled Routine of Enjoyment

Since I got back from Ohio, more than two months ago now, my days have been running consistently along the lines of  the daily family life we've formed into a tradition: Up about 5:30. A quick snack. (Maybe a banana or two.) Fill the water bottle and we're off.

With Shane in the basket behind me, sitting on a folded towel for comfort, I hop on my bike and we ride north for 5 miles, through the small settlements that run along the road, close to the sea. Most of this part of the world is awake and getting ready for school or work or cleaning their yards and burning leaves. Almost everyone smiles and says "Maayong buntag!" Good morning!

There is something very satisfying about this regular and predictable lifestyle, like listening to my heartbeat.

Shane chatters excitedly the whole way, in English, and about everything she sees: the ocean (her ocean), the cows, pigs, goats, carabaw, birds, snakes, banana trees, coconut trees, people she sees and on and on. All belong to her.

"Where's my snake, hon hon?"
The snake has been dead and gone for weeks but she stills asks about it.

"Look hon, a cat! I want to pet the cat! That's my momma cat."
"Where's the kitten, hon?"
Every cat is either "momma", "poppa" or "kitten", and every adult has a baby.

"I want bread, hon hon."

This morning, as we approach the town of Malabuyoc,  I see my friend Alejandro, who owns a herd of goats and takes them to feed where the grass is green and long, a short ways from his house and along the coastal road. We stop and chat for a while. I speak to Alejandro in a combination of Cebuano and English. He is patient with me as he listens and corrects when necessary, without condescension.

His largest goat is a young billy, and very friendly. Shane sits on his back while I hold her. Alejandro is 88. Shane calls him lolo: grandfather. When I am chatting comfortably with Alejandro, I always feel like I'm talking with someone I've known longer than I've been alive.

After saying goodbye, we ride back home but make several stops along the way so Shane can get a closer look  at whatever grabs her attention. For me, bike riding with her is a great way to relax and connect with my little girl, giving her the attention she wants, and sharing in her delight as she moves from one small-but-enormous adventure to another.

A final stop at the mom-and-pop bakery for coconut bread, then home: about 6:45AM. There is still time for Shane to bathe, eat and get ready for her two hours of daycare at the barangay hall, just down the street.

I take her to school in the tricycle or the bike, or we walk. If walking, we stop for a few minutes in the cemetery.  Shane has been talking - a lot lately - about death and the cemetery, and especially about her grandmother (lola), who died many years ago and who she has never known.

The residents are quiet. They listen respectfully to a little girl trying to work out a concept of life and death. I do the same kind of listening, keeping my ears tuned to a child whose questions may just be more enlightening than the stock answers I've been taught and have repeated as truth since I was a child.

These moments are precious, as I watch the blooming of this little flower and experience the irony of this moment, in this place of death.

It's just another day, filled with the golden nuggets of time that children catch and make meaningful, with their magic.

Don't Forget the Legs. Mmmmmm...!

I was watching our teenage boys play, while toying lazily with my food.

"So, the winner eats the loser?” I asked.

“Yes” replied Clyde.

“Sounds delicious!” I exclaimed.

Clyde chuckled. 

It was after dark, on another peaceful evening, following a relaxing day without event. I could hear the playful splashing of the ocean against the seawall, across the street. 

We were sitting around the kitchen table. Clyde and Joseph were teasing their fighting spiders into a frenzy; readying them for battle. One dropped from the broom-straw Clyde held in his hand. It hit the table and sprinted in front of my plate of sardines and rice. I blocked it with my hand and Clyde reclaimed it.

Each boy had a straw with two live spiders on it and one dead spider dangling from the straw and ensconced in a cocoon of spider silk. These dead ones were the losers from the previous fights. The victors will eat them at their leisure. The live spiders were bungee-jumping on their silk, to get away from each other on the straws. The boys caught them before they hit the table (most of the time), wrapped their silk around the straw and encouraged the spiders to fight.

I finished my food, had a few sips of coconut wine, and fell into a reverie about my life here in the Philippines. It really isn't much different than life in the United States, I thought. I eat, I sleep; do a little work now and then. We go for rides in the tricycle, take trips to the island across from us and trips to Cebu City sometimes. 

Yup! Just an ordinary life... once you get used to it.

Shane's Eye - Update

September 24, 2013

Shane needs her lens replaced and her cornea sutured, in her right eye, ASAP. The doctor said time is of essence because the cornea has a tear and the contents of her eyeball could burst through the tear, and she would lose her eye.

I’m going to get up early tomorrow morning and start my search for a sack of money along the roadside. And after I find it, I’m going to call up that doctor and say “Schedule the surgery doc! We found a sack of money by the road and we’re ready!”

I've always been a fan of good fortune. Clean living, pure thoughts and prayer never did me much good. And my hard-work ethic has always been profitable for the company that employed me. But when Lady Luck smiles my way, I recognize it for what it is, and an inner smile of gratitude pervades the very soul of me and gives me comfort.

When trouble comes, I know that good luck is just around the corner. Religion works pretty much the same way. It soothes and comforts, but for the price of selling your soul to the devil in the white collar, who has a plan all laid out for your life which includes a profit for his company, the church. Someone once said that a sucker is born every minute, but the religions of the world know for a fact that the frequency is much higher.

Shane can’t see anything with her right eye. When the left one is covered, the right just rolls around looking for something that she knows is there but won’t come into view. My little girl is in a stew of trouble but she doesn’t even know it. Or else she just has some instinctive wisdom that keeps her happiness afloat. With a regular habit of giggling with delight, she knows that life is both fun and funny. I keep trying to figure out what natural phenomenon that is, and why I’ve allowed it to be taken away and replaced with a fear for living without a god, the bible and the chosen messenger who can show me the way to happiness while I tread through a world of sin and the certain destruction of my soul if I don’t believe. Our Father, indeed!

Shane will be fine. Emelie and I will make sure she is.

It’s 4 AM. She just got up to pee and see what Hon Hon is doing. She’s sitting right beside me at the kitchen table, drawing monsters on paper while I type. Heads are circles, half circles, triangles and squares (she likes sponge bob). It’s a joint project. I’m assigned the task of putting on the hands and arms. She does the body, legs and feet. I don’t have to do a perfect job. She’s no critic.

It’s hard to keep her voice at a whisper while everyone else sleeps. Just that excitement in her that is so familiar to all of us. It can’t be contained or quieted. When I go back to sleep in a little while, she will do her best to keep me awake until I ask her to leave me alone, for the umpteenth time. And then she’ll nod off until dawn. When she wakes up, I need to be fresh and ready for a full day of questions, suggestions and an invitation to join in whatever activity she has in mind.

Didn't know I could do this childhood thing again, but the second time is all the fun without the scraped knees, disappointments and bewilderments of being a 4 year-old in a world of insane adults who can’t seem to remember what it’s like to make enjoyment a priority.

I’m learning.

The Consequences of Poking Around

August, 2013

Five weeks ago, Shane stuck a sharp object in her eye. The end of the bottle opener was more like a weapon of child destruction than a tool of peaceful living. She was pretending to open coke bottles when the accident occurred. Emelie and I didn't see it happen. We heard crying and saw her with her face in her hands.

Like all concerned parents, we imagined the worst and hoped for the best. It seems the former is more likely to be the result. I tested her sight yesterday by covering one eye and and asking her to identify simple objects which I held in my hand. The first clue to her lack of vision was her eye's inability to settle down and focus on the object just a few inches in front of her. Her eye roamed around this way and that as if searching for something to see. My heart dropped into a funk of sorrow at the sight of this. And then when I asked her to identify one object at a time, she only guessed and was wrong each time.

I am trying not to act too concerned around her. Her own attitude hasn't changed one iota. She is still the cheerful and happy little girl she's grown into since first coming to us. I want to cry. Is now an okay time?

The eye doctor says he sees signs of a cataract forming. He says she scratched her cornea and hit the lens but he doesn't know how much damage there is, and if it can be repaired, until the eye is healed. We've been taking her to him every Saturday to check the progress of healing.

On a positive note, there has been no infection and she won't lose the eye as long as we keep infection away with the antibiotic cream we apply every three hours.

I don't know what else to tell you. The rest of what could be said is in the realm of feelings and not facts. If you've had children, then you probably already know our sadness and angst.

However, there is one  thing I need to say. What keeps my boat afloat is the fact that Shane has remained on an even keel. If she was an adult, I would suspect that her apparent sense of well-being might be a decided cover for the sake of protecting herself, and us, from true feelings of sadness. But she has yet to learn of such deception and shows her feelings in the moment they occur.

In addition, self-pity is not a part of Shane's program. I suspect she learned to avoid this pitfall from observing my wife. A great role model in not feeling sorry for oneself, she takes life as it comes and plays an active role in her own destiny, without dwelling on the hand she is dealt.

The two of them are a marvel to me.