Our little girl is spending the night with her grandma and grandpa. The house is a vacuum of silence. Shane's smiles aren't bouncing off the walls and lighting up the rooms. I'm tired. But not so much so that I couldn't hold her in my arms, tickle her, sing a few songs, rock her gently, carry on a conversation that lets me know she is always thinking and growing in awareness. It's child talk, reflecting the fresh perspective that she brings with her. There is honesty in everything she says. She doesn't hesitate to ask questions. No concern for her ignorance or its affect on others.

Sardines and Pancakes; Getting Better

I've been here in Ohio for 1 month plus, now. Came back with the hope of stopping this damn whirling around on the health/sickness wheel. I'd been having bouts of illness, of various kinds and degrees, for over a year. Couldn't seem to get out from under the curse, so it seemed. The last go-around was with a bug in my belly, and intestines. Doc said it was either a bacteria or an amoeba. I spent four days in the hospital with sugar water and antibiotics going in my veins. The food was horrendous and unhealthy: salt-laden and floating in grease - I guess it was to protect their future as healthcare providers by ensuring my return as a heart patient.

I have Cystic Fibrosis and Chronic Fatigue. Sounds a bit much, doesn't it? Kind of hard to believe? Does the word 'hypochondriac' come to mind? I know. But that ain't me. When I feel good, I'm ready to jump up and get involved, and forget that there was ever anything wrong with me. But then, with all the acute illnesses, I was beginning to wonder if I was every going to experience a healthy day again. Seems my immunity just packed up and left. I caught everything that came around, and then some. And every time I just got my foot in the doorway to good health, another bacteria or virus or allergy or god-knows-what jumped in and kicked my butt again.

In desperation, I left for home - the home of my birth, good old Massillon, Ohio - in the middle of winter. I didn't even mind the freezing temperatures.

Now I'm much better. I don't know if its because of the AHCC, beta glucans, the colloidal silver, the change of atmosphere, or getting away from that little house with all its dirt, bugs and animals infesting the crawl space between the ceiling and the roof. Lizard poop, bird remains (the lizard eats the birds that come to nest), mold, roaches and a host of microscopic thingies that hang out in that kind of joint, are just a few feet above our heads as we eat, sleep and do our daily routines. It would be naive to think that some of that stuff doesn't float down and filter through the seams in the ceiling tiles. (I sometimes see strange things in my soup that weren't intended to be part of the recipe).

But I'm on the mend. Yes sir; yes ma'am. That's the important thing. However, there's a price for my good fortune: I don't get to curl up next to my wife at night and wake up to a hug and kiss before I start the day. I don't get the little-girl kisses on my nose when I'm sleeping or the opportunity to watch her delight as she swims in the ocean, across the street.

It's okay. I feel good! And I'm  going back to my Philippine home and family in July. I'll be ready.

Oh! Sardines and pancakes? Had 'em for breakfast. Bought smoked sardines packed in maple syrup (swear to gods) at the local grocery. Pancakes was the obvious choice for accompaniment, right? The verdict? Just have to try it for yourself. Good luck! Hint: Try it with butter and keep a barf bag handy.

Corne's Store

It's a little mom-and-pop-type convenience store, owned by Cora and Ne Ne, that sits on the corner of the main road going north and south along the western coast of Cebu Island, and the little mountain road going up to Emelie's house and beyond. Cora is Emelie's cousin. Ne Ne is a relative as well. The place is usually busy, as it serves the mountain people coming to town or going home, who want load (minutes) for their cell phones, cigarettes, beer and pop and other sundries.

The store is in the front part of an old, wooden house, close to the street. The front is opened up with a half-wall going from ground level up to about 4 feet and a wooden counter on the top of it. Customers rest an elbow on the counter to order, quench their thirst, smoke or have a snack while chatting with the owners or other customers. Cigarettes can bought one at a time for a peso - about two and a half cents. Lighters hang down from the ceiling on strings over the counter. Its not unusual to see a small child standing on tiptoes, pulling herself up with one hand, while holding a peso in the other, waiting patiently to buy a piece of candy from one of the candy jars.

There are always a few folks sitting on the weathered old bench out front to watch the traffic go by, or wait for a habal habal (motorcyle-taxi) driver to take them back up the mountain.

Relatives and friends who come down from the mountain often hang out in the common room of the house and chat with whomever is there. They are always invited to eat when its meal time. Emelie and I have eaten there several times. There are a couple of bamboo couches where you can relax, get a massage from Cora's sister, Fe, drink beer, chat or take a nap. Done them all, myself. More than once.

If you find yourself standing around, you might be buying something one moment and waiting on customers the next. It's hard to know who is an employee and who is just helping out for the moment. Girlie works at the store on Tuesdays. Josephine comes with her baby when she's needed. Emelie's sister, Jane, helps when she's there, carrying her little girl, Mimi, in her arms. Any of the other relatives will lend a hand when they happen to be hanging out. It gets a little crowded at times, but Filipinos, even if they might bump into one another in close quarters, are never guilty of stepping on toes. Just part of their culture: never offend, if you can help it.

A Small Bakery, Philippine Style

I mentioned, in a previous post, about a delicious bread they call coco bread. It is made in small, mom-and- pop bakeries just about everywhere in the area. The coco bread has a fresh, coconut filling in the middle of a delicious roll.

Kneeding the dough between rollers

Well, here are some pictures of a bakery just about a kilometer from our house. The bakery takes up most of the small home of the couple who own it. The two are hard working: they both bake and take turns driving their tricycle-taxi, like the one Emelie and I use to transport ourselves and family around town, only they use theirs, picking up passengers for 7 peso a ride, to add income to the small profit they make from the bakery.*

Their cocobread is the best I've eaten from the several bakeries in the area that make the same bread.

Baking pans with rolls waiting to go into the oven

From Scratch:
The bread dough is mixed then put through rollers to kneed, then laid on a large table where the baker pulls off just the right size chunks of dough and places them on baking pans. His practiced hands move very quickly. No measuring is done but all his rolls are exactly the same size and shaped perfectly into the several kinds of rolls he is making.

Two oil drums made into an oven

When the oven is hot and the rolls are ready, the pans are put into the oven, which is made of two, fifty-five gallon drums laid down,placed side by side and surrounded by concrete blocks cemented together for support and insulation.Dried sticks of wood are fed into the cavity under the ovens, on ther right-hand side. After 30 years of baking bread, the baker knows just how much wood to use to get the oven to operating temperature. No thermometer is used, either. The temperature is adjusted only by how much wood he feeds into the oven's bottom. And he pulls the bread from the oven whenever he thinks it is time, without using a  timer.

Halfway through the baking process, the rolls are removed and the pans are turned around 180 degrees, for even baking, because the ovens do not heat evenly throughout. The red dot in the center of each roll distinguishes the coco bread from other filled rolls of the same shape. These are starting to look pretty darn good!

The finished product : Coco bread!

Well, here is the fresh-baked coco bread, hot and delicious. Just wonderful with a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. Three is my minimum and maximum. Never less, never more.

Hats off to the Filipinos who are small business owners, like the man and woman who own this bakery. Their profit margin is slim, yet they work all day long, seven days a week to support their families.

*At the request of the owners, I have not mentioned their names.

Shall We Meet at, Say, Tomorrowish?

August 13, 2012

It's just another evening. We came to the internet cafe somewhere between 7 and 7:30PM, not really caring exactly where the minute hand fell within that window of time.  That's a reflection of our lifestyle; of the Philippine lifestyle, actually. In this age of precision and exactitude, with atomic clocks that err no more than a second a year, a sundial would be too much accuracy - a show of obsession about time - for most Filipinos. In fact, meetings are made for morning, afternoon or evening, or after one of the three major meals, with no mention of time.

We have attended PTA meetings for Clyde, Jan Mark, Frederick and Gabriel, and grade report meetings for those same boys, as well. On one of our first such attendances, the meeting was scheduled for 1PM at Kabatuan School. At 2PM, Emelie was still relaxing on the porch with a cup of coffee, while listening to the drama that drones on for hours from morning till late afternoon, 6 days a week. I asked her if we were still going to the school for the meeting. She said that, indeed, we were. Then she was silent, as if the subject was given all the attention it needed. 

"Well," I said, "Shouldn't we be going then? It's two PM now!"

She looked at her watch and yawned. "No hurry." She said. "It won't get started till at least three."

At 3PM, Emelie again looked at her watch. She got up slowly, walked to the bedroom and began to undress. I watched with interest, not knowing if she was planning a nap or a change of clothes. Half dressed, she stood still as a statue for a minute and half, and looked as if she was dreaming of far away places and times.

When I asked if we shouldn't be hurrying just a little, her reply was, "I don't want to be one of the first ones there!"

As it turned out, we weren't the first. We were numbers 5 and  6. When we walked into the classroom where the meeting was to be held, the principle was adjusting the microphone volume on his PA system while chatting leisurely with several of his teachers. The others, parents and guardians who were brash enough to show up earlier than we did, were slumped at child-size desks and fanning themselves to blow around the hot air.

Forty five minutes later, the meeting started. Sort of. The exact beginning could not be pinned down, as it began with a discussion of motherhood, tree planting and the nutritional value of certain foods. Given enough latitude, all of these subjects could be said to occupy a place on the periphery of school-related topics.

Gradually, the real meat of school issues began to trickle into the conversation and by 6PM, we were right in the thick of it. Facts and figures flew up on the chalk board. Money, times, dates, grades, attrition rates, etc. It was all there! Elsie was in the top ten but not in the top five. Johnny moved up three positions since last grading period but had not met his goal of surpassing Edna by two positions because Edna had moved up herself. Jan Mark had a perfect attendance record, even though the only class he attended was lunch, The rest of the time, he could be found sitting under the cigarillo tree, doodling in one of his notebooks while resting his head on the pile of school books that he was assigned. Six students departed - though no one died - and one student came back, in his thirties, to finish second grade. A round of applause for all of them.

The end of the meeting was as ambiguous as the beginning. I suppose it was marked by the moment when the first group of late arrivals suddenly rose and walked out, after which, others seemed to spontaneously arise and walk out the door, as well. It was like being at a revival meeting, where the spirit moved a person, but the movement was always in the direction of the exit. Shortly after, the principle himself laid down his microphone and walked out. That was my cue. I rose to leave, intending to follow on his heels, but my wife grabbed my arm and said, "Sit down. It's not over yet."

When I looked at her quizzically, she added, "He just went to pee."

Sure enough, he came back, looking relieved and refreshed; ready for a new onslaught, I'm sorry to say. That man must have read every book on winning friends and influencing people, against their will, but with their full cooperation and a smile to boot.

It ended, eventually. We left.
 

Buy an Old House for a New House? I Wood.

August 9, 2012

Emelie and I bought a piece of property over a year ago, with intentions of building a house on it. We have been saving and spending and saving and spending: ten steps forward and nine steps back. So, we've saved a little but not enough to build a whole house. We could afford about a third of a house right now. I would start with the bathroom, then add a bedroom and then, maybe, if there is still a little money left over, put at least enough of the roof on to shelter what we've made.

Sometimes it seems that my life is nothing more than a cycle of eating, pooping and sleeping. I've always wanted a refrigerator in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to get off the toilet to eat. And with a bed close by, I could just roll over, from the toilet, and fall into bed. It would sure save time and energy, and since we probably wouldn't put a wall between the two rooms right away, for lack of funds, my sicko idea would seem justified. I'm not even going to mention it to my wife, though. (But I don't mind mentioning it to the rest of the world.)

Today I bought a house. It's not anywhere close to our property, and there is nothing left of it but a floor, floor beams, some upright beams and 10 sections of trees used as poles for supporting the entire structure, holding it several feet off the ground. The house is probably around 100 years old. It's way up in the mountains. The road leading to it is rough. It's more like a treacherous path than a real road.

Our plan is to disassemble the house and truck the wood down to our property by the sea. It will take two days to do so - one trip each day. The wood from that old house is a type that is strong, durable, and too hard for termites to eat. It's the best there is here, but no longer available because it is now scarce. And it's illegal to sell or buy new wood or cut the trees. Buying the house was cheaper than buying the same amount of new mahogany or gemelina, the other two hardwoods used for building in this part of the Philippines.

So, part of our new house will be one hundred years old and the house will have a history before we even live in it.