PEP Plans

Over two years ago, Pacific Education Plans suddenly announced it was going to renege on its obligations to assume the tuitions of its planholders contracted on an open basis. Those plan holders had paid a fixed amount on the promise of PEP that it would assume the education of the beneficiaries regardless of amount at a designated future period based on the plan bought. PEP justified this move to renege saying it was insolvent, had miscalculated, and was sorry. The planholders were angry. A number of beneficiaries supposedly stopped schooling or transferred to a lower-tuition schools.

Now, one might commiserate with PEP if it were truly insolvent except that in the first place, it had made a promise, hundreds of thousands of promises, in fact. And it just chose to break these promises. Second, a plan holder argued, in cases where a plan holder was unable to pay premiums, was he able to get away with them? No, the plan was immediately voided after a certain period. So why should PEP get away with this move? Besides, PEP's major owners had other holdings: banks, real estate development properties, insurance, etc. Couldn't it borrow from these institutions so it could meet its obligations? No way it would, it seemed. Months later, the news had it that the owners of PEP had bought Mapua. Now where did that money come from? And children of plan holders could enroll there for free, I think? But pray tell, how many of them were inclined to do so? Silly offer.

A few weeks back, several obituaries in the papers showed that one of the daughters of the taipan who owned PEP had passed away. (Think of how much huge obituaries running in several pages, in several newspapers cost and how many students could have studied using the money dedicated to those obituaries.)

Last night, the news was that the staunchest lawyer for PEP was found dead in a hotel room.

Divine justice? Karma? How un-Christian to think so and maybe these were but pure coincidences. But PEP's reneging on its promise snuffed out the dreams of a good education of so many parents for their children. Parents who work overseas so they can buy educational plans...

I rest my case.

A test and some games

Copy the following link and be entertained: http://www.flashbynight.com/test/

Now for some fun. The following was forwarded to me:

Only great minds can read this. This is weird, but interesting!



fi yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too .

Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.



i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! if you can raed tihs forwrad it



FORWARD ONLY IF YOU CAN READ IT.

Murphy's Law

The correct, original Murphy's Law reads: “If there are two or more ways to do something, and one of those ways can result in a catastrophe, then someone will do it.” This is a principle of defensive design, cited here because it is usually given in mutant forms less descriptive of the challenges of design for lusers. For example, you don't make a two-pin plug symmetrical and then label it “THIS WAY UP”; if it matters which way it is plugged in, then you make the design asymmetrical (see also the anecdote under magic smoke).

Edward A. Murphy, Jr. was one of McDonnell-Douglas's test engineers on the rocket-sled experiments that were done by the U.S. Air Force in 1949 to test human acceleration tolerances (USAF project MX981). One experiment involved a set of 16 accelerometers mounted to different parts of the subject's body. There were two ways each sensor could be glued to its mount, and somebody methodically installed all 16 in a replacement set the wrong way around. Murphy then made the original form of his pronouncement, which the test subject (Major John Paul Stapp) mis-quoted (apparently in the more general form “Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong)” at a news conference a few days later.

Within months ‘Murphy's Law’ had spread to various technical cultures connected to aerospace engineering. Before too many years had gone by variants had passed into the popular imagination, changing as they went. Most of these are variants on “Anything that can go wrong, will”; this is more correctly referred to as Finagle's Law. The memetic drift apparent in these mutants clearly demonstrates Murphy's Law acting on itself!

I took the above quote from the following site: http://catb.org/jargon/html/M/Murphys-Law.html

Wow, up till now I didn't realize Murphy's Law had a scientific basis. I thought all along it was an Economics thing. Just goes to show how we shouldn't presume anything.

The Jesuits

I recall Fr. Meany who was my other Education teacher in grad school. To prove that he practiced the vow of poverty, through his polo barong we'd see an undershirt ridden with a few holes. Another memory: Our class under him was after lunch, a rather sleepy time. One afternoon, he was telling a story when he suddenly clapped loudly. He smiled when he saw me looking startled, as though he'd awakened me.

***************

Also had Fr. Bernad in college. He was my teacher in Spanish 4, Rizal's works. But luckily for us, he taught the course in English. Or was that unfortunate for us? A very learned man, just the same.

*******************

Fr. O'Shaughnessy was our teacher in Theo. He was a tall man with white hair. His shoulders were hunched, leading one classmate to describe him as a "walking hanger". He was brilliant.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Though I never had Fr. Joe Cruz for a teacher, he never forgot my name and always made me feel special by that mere fact. Supposedly one of the greatest Filipino Jesuit minds. He was a descendant of Jose Rizal. Though he was a big man, whenever we spoke he really listened as though he had all the time in the world to do so.

***************

Fr. Reuter. We were introduced once and he was very cordial but that encounter was too brief for him to have remembered us. Just the same, when once we met him again, we approached him. As soon as he saw us, he walked with great pain toward our direction. He had a cane by then and had difficulty walking. A man with a very good and big heart. He walks the talk. He's not just good or doesn't just appear good in his writings or on TV. In real life, he has a lot of compassion for everyone. He writes very simply but strikingly. IN his "At 3 a.m. column" in the Philippine Star last week, for example he wrote:

Once upon a time, long long ago, when I was a young Jesuit, studying Greek in the Juniorate, I had a professor, who was probably the best teacher I ever had. He said to us, once, "The most beautiful thing that you will ever have is what you have right now." And that is true.

He wrote a book called: Realization. His message in the book, was: reality itself is breathlessly beautiful.

His conclusion was: the first virtue is facing reality. And by "first" he meant that - if you don't have this virtue- you will not have any other virtues. And the first vice is the flight from reality, the escape from reality. After that, you develop all the other vices.

************

Oftentimes, reality unsettles me. Like this afternoon, a few hours after the car's stalling with my son alone, there was a brownout in the area. Called to mind "Murphy's Law." If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong. Will research on that and blog on it next, hopefully. In the meantime, I'll try to bear in mind what Fr. Reuter said. It will be a tough act, no doubt.

The Benedictine nuns

I had them for 12 years of my life. They came in various shapes and sizes, not to mention temperaments and nationalities. At the forefront would be Sr. Gerwigis. She was huge and tall, a German, a female Hitler. We were scared of her because she'd sometimes hit us (not too hard) with a ruler, or slap our backs with an open palm. In Grade 1, I recall distinctly how during reading class, we kept reading a story over and over again so that each one would have a chance to read aloud. I think I was getting bored so I flicked the pages to read another story, not realizing she was behind me. Whoa. She hit me on the head with her open book. Luckily the book was not hard bound. Weeks later, during First Communion, she praised me to my mother, hitting my back with her open palm. I found it confusing then. One of her favorite demeaning expressions was "Basura."

********************

Another German nun was Sr. Irmgild. She taught us Religion in Grade 7. And she said "It's a sin" over a lot of things. I think even wearing shorts in the presence of our fathers was a sin, she said. We were all dumbfounded and shocked. Only later did I realize that maybe, she was warning us about incestuous relationships?

********************

Sr. Kuniberta was Sr. Superior. Unlike Sr. Gerwigis she was small but ramrod straight. She was reddish while Sr. Gerwigis was fair. I was more frightened of her than of Sr. Gerwigis. One time she practiced me for a speech and was asking me to speak louder. My voice can only be so loud and a combination of fear and frustration made me cry. Did she soften? I don't remember. She told me, "Be confident. Think that you're better than all the rest in front of you." I don't think I was able to follow or relate to her advice.

************************

Sr. Nieves was our Religion teacher in Grade 4. Later she was assigned to man the cafeteria. Wow, were her tuna pizzas great. And the cookies of the Benedictine nuns. One of a kind. German recipe, I guess?

***********************

Sr. Archie was a Filipino terror. She'd open her eyes wide to chastise us. She'd measure our skirts and would rip them downwards if they were too short so that the threads would be hanging along the hem. She was strict. Funny because when my husband met her, he told her "She has a spine in her tumor" when she asked how I was. Imagine, he too was intimidated by her enough to make the faux pas. I wasn't with him when they met.

More teachers , randomly

While I was taking six masteral units in Education prior to my becoming a teacher myself, lo and behold, whom should I see but two (or was it three?) of my teachers in grade school, this time as my classmates. These two teachers were Ms. Despojo and Ms. Parcon. I can't recall now what Ms. Despojo taught us, possibly Grade 2 Math, but Ms. Parcon taught us Science. She was not too tall but was thin, maybe even bony. She'd always put her palms on either side of her waist at the back, palms down. Imagine a back pack's straps. Anyway, our teacher in Grad School was Fr. Luis Candelaria, SJ and I can't recall his question now but it had something to do with teaching (the subject I think was Teaching Methods) and he said, "I'll ask someone who seems to know the answer, to answer my question." Guess whom he called? ME. And I was a fresh college graduate. Made me wonder as a result if I looked older than my teachers. Then I said, "I just graduated from college." He said that the way I tilted my head as I listened showed I was thinking. That reassured me that possibly, it was really that rather than my looking older than my grade school teachers. I didn't really get to interact with my teachers when we were classmates as they were cliquish (power in numbers) and we'd just say hi.

*********************

Another teacher I distinctly remember from the grade school was Ms. Dormitorio. She was small and always smiling and she taught Math really well. She'd patiently train me for the inttra-school Math competition every lunch time so that I won over Grades 5 and 6, though I was in Grade 4 only. I wonder where she is now.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

then there was Sr. Aida who taught us Chem. It was the first time ever we had a religious nun teaching us a subject other than Religion. She started to train me for the NSDB Chem contest but luckily that didn't push through because of martial law. I was so aghast when I got a low score in one Chem exam because she seemed to have told everyone about it so that one of her fellow nuns asked me, "what happened?" Years later, I think around the time of the EDSA Revolution, I'd see pictures of Sr. Aida among the rallyists. I also saw her name and pictures in the papers taking up the cause of taking care of Mother Nature or some such.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

One summer in UNO-R I enrolled in Accounting class. I was home for the summer and I can't remember why I even decided to enroll in the subject. I didn't regret doing so and I recall my teacher then, a Ms. Pacheco. She was really good. She spoke confidently of her subject matter and I had only the highest respect for her.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

In college, for one Eco subject we had this teacher, Ms. Carbonell, who often spoke to the blackboard and showed us her bare back. Didn't learn much from her.

Yet another teacher was Ms. Roldan. She taught Socio-Anthro and expectedly wore long batik skirts and tight fitting shirts without a bra. Liberated, I guess. One time she conducted this experiment. She called me to the front, dropped something and asked me to pick it up. Then she called a male classmate, dropped the same and asked him to pick it up. Luckily for her we behaved as she expected. I picked up the thing by bending my knees while the guy picked it up extending one leg a bit off the ground while the other foot was firmly on the floor. What would she have done if we didn't behave "normally"?

**********************
We also had a part-time teacher from UP. wow she so disliked us and we were rather unruly because she usually arrived late. She'd always tug at the straps of her bra which were always falling off her shoulders (her dress had sleeves) or pull on her half-slip which were showing beyond the hem of her dress. I can still remember one of the dresses she wore. A yellow, eyelet, long-sleeved number cut in the waist. Anyway, one time we were just waiting for 10 minutes (time we were expected to wait for our teachers to arrive, otherwise we could safely leave) to elapse before we went off to the parking lot to the cars of classmates and hied off to Magnolia House in Aurora Boulevard. That was truly fun. The waiters were scratching their heads as we paid individually though we sat in one long table. There must have been 30 of us. Now this teacher from UP was always chiding us, "I'm doing this as a favor for your school. I'm already at the end of my rope..." We were an ordeal for her. One time she even brought two of her students to help her out. Anyway...

Some years back, I saw her, she still looked the same, and introduced myself. She said, "Invite me to your reunions." When I told a few classmates this they raised their eyebrows as though saying "Duh..." But I guess she's all right. One time at mass, all her grandchildren were all over her, craving her attention. Oh and an aside: When I told my classmate "You know, Mrs. B doesn't look a day older from the time she taught us." He naughtily countered, "Even then she looked old kasi." How mean, no?

Robots on the phone

I detest it when I'm in a foul mood and call shops that have either answering machines or humanoids (humans talking like robots, per my definition, though more accurately, androids like in the picture, from http://images.google.com.ph/imgres?imgurl=http://techepics.com/files/repliee.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.techeblog.com/index.php/tech-gadget/repliee-q1expo-female-android&h=210&w=390&sz=37&hl=tl&start=27&tbnid=dxYCt3_K-c3wpM:&tbnh=66&tbnw=123&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dandroid%2B%2Banswering%2Bthe%2Bphone%26start%3D20%26gbv%3D2%26ndsp%3D20%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Dtl%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26channel%3Ds%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN) taking my calls. You can't get in a word edgewise. All you have to do is lamely say yes.

Example: I dial 7378000. Voice answers: Magandang umaga po. Ito po si Gia. Eto ba si " she mentions my name" ng "she mentions my address" and then without breathing proceeds to ask "pareho pa rin ba ang o-orderin niyo, yung 11.5 kg na de salpak?" I lamely say "yes" and then she resumes her script again "Paki-expect na lang within the day. maraming salamat po."

Example: I dial 8-mcdo. I start ordering and am interrupted, "phone number please." After I give it the voice on the other end rattles off my name, address, landmarks i'd given before, and then asks, "Black pa rin ba yong gate?" When I say yes, she then proceeds to ask, "May I take your orders now?"

Same with Shakey's, Jollibee, etc.

what peeves me, especially when I'm in a hurry or using my cell phone, is that they take so long. I get so stressed that my orders will arrive when the guests I ordered for will have left, or my call cost will be so much.

Oh for the old times when real people answered the phone. Even a priest acquaintance said as much when after he called the school to which he is attached an answering machine answered giving him choices and the final choice, "or stay on the line for assistance". Then he had to wait for an eternity for a human voice. Sometimes that didn't materialize and all that did was a busy tone.

Welcome to the Real World and a Mom's Intuition

My son is turning 18 in a week's time. An hour or so ago, he called up. He was in Marikina on his way to teach in a public school and the car was in traffic... I don't know the "gory" details yet - that's an exaggeration from a worried mother, the adjective, I mean. His co-teachers (college students like him) left him by his lonesome to go to the school. Now I think one should have stayed behind to keep him company for safety's sake, right? But no one did. After a while, they came back, there were no students as classes were called off becasue of the typhoon. After telling him that, they had to leave my son again as they weren't well parked. Again, not one soul stayed with him. So much for fair-weathered friends, both literally and figuratively. It's raining badly. Signal number one, I think.

Updates were provided by my son who I guess was worried. In all his months of driving this is the first time it has happened. Some people approached him to help, he said, but he wasn't sure whom to trust. In this day and age, one can never be sure if that's a good Samaritan out there or a carnapper. Sad, no?

My son was perpetually egging me to get in touch with his dad despite all my assurances that help in the form of a mechanic and a sister's driver was coming. But while at first we couldn't get through to his Dad because his phone malfunctions a lot of the time, when we finally did, he said he couldn't leave the school as there was a party with the boys. Duty before family? I'm confused. I thought it's God, then family, then the rest. Oh well.

I hope my son's "misfortune" will be happily resolved and lessons learned. A few years back a friend said that within 45 days from or within one's birthday, odd things happen. I hope this is the oddest ever.

****************************

When my son was in prep, we were about to leave to go malling when a friend of his suddenly appeared at the gate. As we didn't want to call off our trip to the mall nor disappoint the two young boys, I suggested we call the boy's mom so they (the boy and his yaya) could tag along. As we tried to reach the mom, lo and behold, there was a shooting just outside the house. (Earlier, I saw my son listlessly pacing the garage and sweating profusely. Large beads of perspiration dotted his face. I look worriedly at him.) At any rate, we went inside the house and suddenly my son was crying. I thought he was traumatized by it all or had hurt his foot while running and asked for the nebulizer as he is asthmatic. He was really crying hard as he sat on his father's lap across where I was when suddenly I saw a dark stain on his shorts. I said, "what's that?" Wow, when the shorts were taken off, there was blood. He had been hit by the bullet that was released from the security guard's gun outside our gate, a good so many meters away. So he was in pain from a wound that's why the tears. As my husband carried him to the car, he asked, "Am I going to die?" we rushed him to the ER of the UP Infirmary which was closest to us. He was x-rayed and all and luckily, the bullet didn't pierce through. Actually, before we knew he had been hurt, my husband saw a bullet one side of which was no longer whole. Like it had been scraped. Same shape as the side of the wall where it must have bounced off. Anyway, now my son has a scar to show for that experience and has written about it countless times as one of his unforgettable experiences for his classes in school... For a while whenever he'd hear what sounded like gun shots, he was scared. In fact he doesn't like firecrackers or the sound of them. And I can understand why.

SO why did that day, almost 12 years ago dawn on me now? Just before my son left, I was hinting that maybe he shouldn't leave because it was raining very hard. (I was worried the roads would be slippery and all that). But he said "Kawawa mga bata, naghihintay sa school". Again, another case of "Duty calls."

I rest my case.

*****************

Son just got back from his ordeal. He said, "I knew it was a bad day from the start." Earlier, he tried to call his school's registrar's office about registering on line. He was told to go to the school at 9. He left the house, went to the school and was told he couldn't verify in person. He had to call up. So he came back to the house to make the phone call. What a bureaucratic runaround.

Then the car stalled. Now he's across the street to vent his angst with his "co-teachers" who're having lunch. He clarified that one of his co-teachers wanted to stay with him but my son was shy and told him to go. Problem with the car: busted fuses.

More on my teachers - and how I wish my classmates would comment on them here

In Prep our teacher was Ms. Olmedo. She was to us six-year olds, OLD. And in a sense maybe she was because she was my older sisters' teacher. She was a dainty lady, fair and classy. Very proper. Years ago, i heard she'd frequent the casinos carrying a small black bag. I don't take that against her. She had every right to enjoy herself, why not?

***********************

In Grade 1 we had Ms. Purificacion Locsin. I remember how she'd give me a low mark because my workbook was full of erasures. I didn't draw very well but I wanted my drawings to be beautiful. So I'd erase and erase the imperfect fish I drew. And that didn't sit well with her.

*************************

In Grade 2 the teacher who stood out was Ms. Xenia Vasquez. She was tall and thin and was always smiling. She taught us religion and I liked her stories. I liked her.

***************************

Grade 3 our teacher in Work Ed favored one of our classmates so much that all her projects enjoyed prime space during the exhibit, or at least while our teacher was preparing our classroom. I think I made a comment and she heard it. She promptly pulled down all my projects and chided me. I cried. I can't remember now how Sr. Gerwigis found out, but she told the teacher to put my projects back. Who was she? I'm not telling, at least not here.

************************

Grade 4 we had Juranda Noche. She was a big deal for us because she came from Manila, making her "imported". I was scared of her and didn't like her. I think the feeling was mutual so I didn't do too well in her class. She was constantly asking me to have our gardener prepare drawings/posters for the class and I complied. But I never really warmed up to her. Speaking of that gardener, he'd do my Science projects really well. He was an artist of great talent. Wonder where he is now. I think his name was Willy Alunan (or Wally?) His father was Serafin, our gardener before W who was a stay-in. His style was like what the artists in Ermita produce: very Filipino. Imagine comic book art, Filipino style, colors included. The likes of Carlo Caparas' work. One time, now this is really funny, our project in Science was to draw the different members of the animal kingdom, crustaceans in particular. (Our teacher then was Ms. Manuel). So I asked him to make my assignment again and I cried because he colored the crab green. I said "Why green? They should be orange." But he said they should be green. I submitted my project with a heavy heart because of the green crab. I think I got a low mark there. Maybe the teacher thought they were orange too? Just kidding. The low grade must have been for another reason. Crabs, I realized later on in life, are green, olive green, when they're uncooked. But the green he colored them with came from a box of crayons that had only 8 colors I guess, because the hue was wrong. But I've seen raw orange crabs too you know. So we were both right, haha.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Grade 5 was the time we had Ms. Nena Salazar (see earlier blog, Ms. Hechanova and Ms. Savaris)

******************

Grade 6 we had Ms. Kho for Math and Ms. Catacutan as teacher in charge. We had Ms. Magbanua for Filipino. Ms. Kho was a very competent Math teacher. I guess because she was Chinese, she really knew her subject matter. Ms. Magbanua directed comments my way that I've not forgotten despite her having made them 40 years ago. She made us read a poem in front of the class and she said my voice suited the poem. I was surprised she said that because I've never thought much about my oral delivery skills . She also asked if I studied ballet because I walked so gracefully, she said. Really that shocked me. Years later, in college, a male classmate said I walked so fast. Now I don't walk. At least when I did people noticed my gait? ngek.

Ms. Catacutan taught us Art. OF course I was frustrated. I had this best friend who drew really well. I asked her to teach me but somehow her work always looked so much better. She taught me how to draw these flowers which were made by drawing curves from one common point in the center. No, not the usual flowers with wide petals but flowers with thin petals that veer toward one direction. she'd fill an entire sheet of bond paper with them. wonder if she remembers.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Grade 7 we had Ms. Tomas. She was really nice and warm, very confident. She only taught a year in our school which was a pity. She was very competent. For English we had Ms. R. Locsin. Behind her back we referred to her as "Dyangga". She was the strictest teacher ever. We quivered during her class. She had dark black hair tied in a pony tail, black rimmed glasses, think Ms. tapia but more scary. One time I got a line of 7 in a formal theme on the library. I capitalized the wrong letters or something. Harrowing. She told my sister in fourth year that I wrote better than that sister. How could I believe that when I got a line of 7 in a formal theme? I seem to remember she pronounced "encyclopedia" with an "f" rather than a "p".

**********************************

First year high school we had a teacher who taught us in grade school again. Ms. Casiano. I think that time she was Mrs. Tan already. She taught us Math.

Second year we had Ms. Villarosa who was super bubbly. Years ago, I saw her and she was still effervescent. She taught us Algebra. She had just graduated from college. Years back I saw an article on her daughter who now works at NASA.

Third year we had the legendary Ms. Tan and Mrs. Javier, referred to as the pillars of our school. We were super lucky to have had them. I think weren't it for these two and all my other teachers then, I'd have been useless when I became disabled. But because they taught me well I was able to tutor and write/edit when I became disabled. We had Ms. tan and Mrs. Javier again in Senior year so we were truly blessed. Mrs. Javier we often teased looked like Jack Lord of Hawaii 5-0. She taught us how to pronounce ceremony correctly. Accent should be on the first syllable, she said, not on the second. I don't think anyone of us in class will ever forget that. She also said we should not say "Condolence" but "Condolences."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

One unforgettable teacher was Ms. Teopiz. She taught us Biology and I pitied her. She always looked like she was about to cry. I think we intimidated her. Her voice was so soft besides.

****************************

Mrs. Ledesma who taught us cooking was another gem of a teacher. We learned how to cook and love it in her class.

****************

We had Ms. Lim in fourth year Physics. She was a cool teacher who wore mini skirts and smoked. She joined our parties.

***********
More teachers in another post.

Lecture of a Dying Professor

Following is something I received in the mail. Contains a link worth listening to for the brilliance of a dying man who has retained his sense of humor. Not at all depressing. Read on then check on the link:

Here is a very unusual post, a Lecture of a Dying Professor
who has has been diagnosed with Liver Cancer and given 6 months max
to live...He gives his final lecture...with a lot of spirit and good
humor...
And shares very valuable lessons about Life....
Nothing of the touchy-oozy stuff...

It is such a good reminder of how to live our lives. Very witty and
amusing too. Definitely worth reading!!And worth viewing..

Enjoy...and let's all hope, that like the good Professor, we shall
have a chance to say goodbye before we go to the pre-departure area...

http://abcnews. go.com/GMA/ Story?id= 3633945&page=2

Satire? from a yahoo group co-member

A NEW CHEMICAL ELEMENT

The recent graft and corruption issues are proof of
the existence of a new chemical element. A major
research institution has recently announced the
discovery in 2006 of the heaviest element yet known to
science.

The new element has been named Governmentium.
Governmentium (Gv) has one neutron, 25 assistant
neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy
neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called
morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of
lepton-like particles called peons.

Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert.
However, it can be detected, because it impedes every
reaction with which it comes into contact. A minute
amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that
would take less than a second what would normally take
over four days to complete.

Governmentium has a normal half-life of 4 years; it
does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization
in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and
deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact,
Governmentium' s mass will actually increase over
time,
since each
reorganization will cause more morons to become
neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of moron promotion leads some
scientists to believe that governmentium is formed
whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This
hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical
morass.

When catalyzed with Money, Governmentium becomes
Administratium -- an element which radiates just as
much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many
peons but twice as many morons. When catalyzed with
MORE MONEY, Governmentium and Administratium combine
to become a true dastard of an element, popularly
referred to as GMA.

My Teachers in School -- randomly

I had this teacher in college I cannot ever forget, not because he was particularly good but because he failed to understand what I wrote in an essay: I said something like "I can be alone but not lonely just as I can be lonely but not alone." He called me aside along with a few others because he felt he needed to teach us how to write better. My classmates were aghast because they thought I wrote well. I stood pat on what I wrote, saddened that a man of his years couldn't get the drift. His name: Joey Ocampo. How brazen of me to identify him but why not? I have nothing to lose. I felt so small after he called me among the few others, yes I felt diminished but that didn't change my mind. I continued to love writing. The sem after I had him, I was in a class for good writers. Did he recommend me or did my other English teacher? I never found out ...

########################

The teacher I had after JO was Ms. Murielle Muspratt. I think she was British. She had that cute accent. She had curly red hair, small eye glasses, spoke and dressed very properly. She brought us to a zoo to write haikus. I couldn't understand why a zoo where we saw snakes et al. Anyway..., she liked two of my essays enough to read them out in class. She subjected each one of us in class to a one-on-one session with her and her comment which I can distinctly remember was "You have an eye for detail." The topics of the essays I wrote which she liked were about the burgis mentality and childhood. I still recall portions of these essays. In the first, I mentioned how I was different from my classmates in elementary and high school in that I preferred to watch Tagalog movies over foreign ones, how I'd watch them almost every weekend with Mama, during the first screening at that. We were always the early birds in the movie house without airconditioning so that Mama would always turn on the fans herself. My second essay was entitled, "Childhood Memories, Childish Dreams." There I wrote of how I'd play "teacher-teacher" with the maids in the house as students or if they weren't cooperative, with my dolls as students. I enjoyed Ms. Muspratt's class immensely and looked forward to attending them.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Another teacher I liked was Paul Kratoska, who taught us History of the Modern World. He was tall and balding with glasses like Ms. Muspratt's. Later I found out they became boyfriend-girlfriend. Whether it went beyond that, I don't know for sure. Mr. Kratoska gave me an A++ for my paper on the Industrial Revolution in England. I was so happy. Come final exams time, as he was distributing our exam papers, I remained hopeful he'd still announce exemptions but he didn't. How optimistic could I get? Several years back I saw an article he wrote in the Mabuhay magazine of Philippine Airlines.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I had another foreigner teacher, Mr. Routledge. He was short and reminds me now, looking back, of Paul Williams. Straight blond hair, glasses. He singled me out after one long test because my score went beyond the highest possible but more than anything else about his class, what I remember most was having Boy Abunda as classmate. seriously. He was very vocal even then. He sat on the column nearest the door, second or third row I think. Somehow, one doesn't forget a Boy Abunda. The subject was Asian Civilization.

*********************

In grade school, we had this Science teacher, Ms. Savaris. She was one of three who invaded the school from Iloilo. I can still almost hear her ask, "What is matter?" because she asked it almost everyday so that up till now, I remember what matter is "Anything that occupies space and has weight." OF late that definition has been modified to "anything that occupies space and has mass." The difference of course is that weight has to do with gravity which the moon doesn't have. Things have mass in the moon but not weight. Now where did I learn that? From tutoring. But I digress. Back to my teachers

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Another of the three teachers we had from Iloilo was Ms. Editha Hechanova. She was very fair and slim and she taught us English. I remember she was very sweet too. I don't remember much else about her though.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The last with the most impact among the three was Ms. Nena Salazar. She taught us math and was our class adviser. I guess she was my first experience of having a "terror" of a teacher, but I liked her, immensely. She knew what she was teaching, having graduated from college at the top of her class I think. It's a pity the three taught in our school for just a year so we never saw them ever again. Yet who knows ...

More posts on the others when I get back...

straight from the mouth of babes

well not exactly, but young enough to make innocent, disarming comments.

#1 Years back, I told my son, "I bought you three socks." He asked, "One has no pair?" Stupid me. Should have said, "three pairs."

#2 Husband teaches reading to grade 7 boys. Their topic was analogies. One smart aleck, er, boy said, "Norman is to Black as Redford is to White." Cute...

#3 Same boy (#2) asked, "How does Chin Chin Gutierrez look?" when informed that she would be their guest speaker. He then proceeded to draw a woman's face with two chins.

Chicken Sandwiches

Before pork sate with java rice, my first memory of Roli's in Bacolod was their chicken sandwich. Time was when we'd go to my father's gasoline station weekends to help out and get paid with a chicken sandwich. Really yummy. Sometimes I'd ask for plain rather than toasted bread, but always without the vegetables. Roli's set the standard for chicken sandwich for me and I don't think it will ever be dislodged. It is way up there in the totem pole of chicken sandwiches. The reason I've switched to burgers lately is the fact that there's no Roli's in Manila. If there were, I wouldn't bother about burgers. So what approximates Roli's chicken sandwich here in the metropolis?

I guess Cibo's. It's served on soft white bread but without potato chips. There's alfalfa sprouts on the side though, which I know is healthier, but couldn't they add potato chips as well? So when my husband orders tuna sandwich, I always look longingly at the chips that go with his sandwich. Of course he shares them but they aren't really mine so... I cannot take too much.

Jollibee used to have chicken sandwich but just as I began to like it, it disappeared from the menu. I liked Bon Appetit's version too which came with asparagus. Yummy. But before long, it wasn't only the chicken sandwich that disappeared but Bon Appetit itself. Sad.

A few weeks ago, I read that Milky Way has good chicken sandwich with asparagus just like old times, the author said. So I bought that and wow, it cost only P75 per and came in a soft plastic box. It was good though the slivers of chicken were too few. When I next ordered it and saved it for eating at home, I realized that what they gave me was chicken salad sandwich. So instead of asparagus, what it contained was egg and tomato. Not bad.

McDo has its version of chicken sandwich but while it is good, the chicken is breaded and fried so it's less healthy (as if I eat healthy), but even more crucial, it leaves one feeling too stuffed. Burgoo has chicken sandwich, too, served with potato wedges or fries, whichever one wishes. Not bad, but not Roli's either.

Le Coeur (is the spelling wrong) has chicken sandwich but wow, how spare the chicken they spread on the bread. Imagine dabbing foundation lightly on your face. It's barely there.

Just this noon I ordered chicken sandwich from Teriyaki Boy. How generous. The bread (white) was huge and the chicken thickly sliced. It came with mayo mustard and lettuce. The bread became a bit soggy and the mayo could hardly be tasted, I guess because it was watery? Anyway, that problem was quickly solved by mayo from a bottle in the fridge. Japanese mayo would have been good too. The catch. It comes with chips. yehey, I thought and happily saved it for my son. When he took a bite, his face assumed a "yuck" look. It was wasabi chips. Remember Circles in Makati Shang? So be warned. One bite and the chips were ignored. Don't know yet if the husband will bother with it...

Odds and Ends

Such was the title I used for my other blog which remains empty till now. This entry may well be titled snippets like a previous blog because I intend to write odds and ends that materialized in my life these past days.

Snippet 1:

We were in Power Plant having ice cream at Pazzo when I noticed Anton Huang and family. (That I recognized the face may easily be explained. No, I don't move in his circles, not now, not ever. He is millions of pesos away, too far away in fact, from where I am.I recognized him and his wife Nina, however, from the innumerable pictures I've seen of them in Maurice Arcache's column, Johnny Litton's, etc.) So what's the big deal? Simply this. Anton Huang, as most of the old rich go, conducts himself simply and properly. He does not strut around calling attention to his wealth. As my son pointed out, "simple lang siya,no? He doesn't have anyone carrying stuff for him." When I looked, Anton was indeed holding two plastic bags. Yes two plastic bags, not bags of expensive products most stores of which he owns in the first place, but plastic bags carrying nondescript items. But even more than that, what caught my attention was his reminder to his daughter, "not so loud" as she animatedly told him a story. Now that's class. People who scream "look at me" are sans classe.

Snippet 2:

Don't buy a retractable mouse. It has a shorter life span/shelf life than a regular mouse. Months ago, we got two mouses (mice?): one retractable, one regular. While the retractable one cost hundreds of pesos more, it no longer works smoothly because precisely of its retractability. Portions of the wire are no longer firm so occasionally the computer doesn't "see" the mouse. Meanwhile, the seemingly laid-back version remains intact. In this case, expensive isn't necessarily better.

Snippet 3:

Had dinner at Myron's recently which is at the concourse level of Power Plant. Months back, when it had just opened, we tried it out but weren't impressed. And it seemed so expensive then. But I was hankering for steak last Friday and we were in Power Plant, so to Myron's we went. Their servings were huge: husband ordered baby back ribs which took up half of the plate. It was served with rice and vegetables. My son ordered a chicken sandwich which he specified should be served with the vegetables outside the sandwich. Tried those vegetables which were essentially mushrooms, onions, etc. and they were good. I ordered the smallest "Paolo's favorite" which was rib eye steak. As recommended by the waiter I ordered it medium rare with baked potatoes and vegetbales. The baked potato (yes just one piece) had a sour cream topping and a few minced bits of bacon so it wasn't too tasty. But the steak was oh sooooo gooood. It was a truly satisfying dinner and didn't come out too expensive after all. we'll certainly be back.

Snippet 4:

To celebrate a college classmate's turning golden, 5 of us from the batch went out to dinner. The birthday celebrator (Kris Aquino says, according to Ricky Lo, that there's no such word as celebrant. So be it) chose the restaurant and ordered the food. The non-celebrants paid. The restaurant he chose was ABE in Serendra. Though I reserved a table at around 4 pm, we were warned and correctly, we were 14th in the waiting list. When I told the celebrator he said, let's just go and if we can't wait, there are so many other choices in Serendra. I concurred.

My husband and I arrived a few minutes before the designated time and when we checked, we were still number 14. A few minutes later, the other couple came. They checked we were number 12. Fashionably late, the celebrator arrived 30 minutes after we did (parking difficulty explained his tardiness) and by then we were number 6 and were given menus to look over. An hour later we were seated. The place was forever jampacked and the noise level was terrible. Because I normally speak softly I had to strain my vocal cords to be heard by my companions across the table and I had to ask them to repeat what they were saying, more often than not, so I could hear. Conversation wise, it was horrible. Plates clanged, the tinkling of broken glass or porcelain interrupted the noise, voices were competing against each other, etc. I guess that it was difficult to talk made me look around and see a few of the odd, maybe charming, features of the place. On what might be called a tiny mezzanine was an upright piano tightly situated in a small corner held abay by a glass panel. I could not imagine how anyone could get to that piano without stooping. I couldn't imagine how anyone could get to that piano even, as I didn't see a door leading to it. Decor? One of our companions asked. I don't really know. But there was no activity there.

Just below where the piano was, my husband said, was a passageway leading to the water closet. A sign said something to the effect that the vertical clearance was 5'10" (and you'd think one could see vertical clearances indicated for vehicles only along roads or in parking spaces). My husband went to the toilet and he naughtily stood upright and half of his forehead hit the beam. When he came back to the table he said, "It's not 5'10". Someone in our table said, "You're wearing shoes." They apparently maximized the use of the space and sacrificed a few height conveniences. I said "what if Michael Jordan came?" Or heavens, Yao Ming? They'd have to crawl. Or eat al fresco.

Now to the food served.

I overheard the celebrator order baby squid but this wasn't available. He ordered another squid dish which when it came was pristine white with red chili flakes. Yummy appetizer. Then he also ordered adobong kambing which came with lots of garlic with their peel attached. The meat was tender and flavorful. It didn't look too visually appealing to me, though, as it was soy sauce dark. I liked the kare-kare which had a lot of meat (and fat). The sauce was tasty even without the bagoong. There was pinakbet which looked clean (clear sauce, in other words) but I saw the sliced okra which deterred me as I once heard Vic and Joey of Eat Bulaga say it was a slimy vegetable, so I didn't touch that. Also came with bagoong. And there was bangus belly sa bayabas. No bayabas leaves there, but ripe bayabas. The broth was thick and sweetish the way ripe guavas taste. (Reminded me of my childhood when we'd swim in our concrete pool and have bayabas hurled our way. we'd eat them soaking wet.) the bangus fillets were generously sliced and deboned. That dish was okay though I couldn't eat the entire serving allotted to me as this wasn't served first and I was a bit full by then. I found the manner by which they served the rice quaint. A lady with a bushel-shaped basket lined with foil spooned freshly cooked rice onto our plates. Bottomless rice, the celebrator said.

One of our companions noted that all the waitresses were slim, pretty and had long hair tied in a pony tail. They looked very neat in their black skirts and white long-sleeved blouses. And they were pleasant. Anyway, it was a relief to the eardrums to leave the place. A long table which was filled with people had a set of new guests, just as many as the previous occupants.

Snippet 4:

The previous entry was hardly a snippet but I'll go on. After ABE, we walked/wheeled to the next block of establishments in Serendra. The celebrator said, "Figaro" and so we went. I don't know whose bright idea it was to eat al fresco but it was a bad decision, at least for me and my husband. Thought it was night time, it was humid and hot. And the occupants of the table next to us were smoking to death. My nose began to itch and I felt a cough coming (it didn't). My other companion, who's a lot healthier because she eats vegetables, coughed. But we still didn't transfer to the air conditioned section. It wasn't fresh air we were breathing outside either, yet we suffered it. Figaro is ok, their food for the goods and sans rival too, which comes with a fancy name. I didn't eat the blueberry cheesecake though, as I know one of our companions wanted it badly. We were sharing all the desserts otherwise. AFter he took a bite of the cheesecake, he said, "DOME has the best", so I guess I didn't miss much. While all the rest had coffee in different styles, I stuck to water. I only take coffee in ice cream and candy forms.

Snippet 5:

An addendum to ABE. While I raved that the food was good because each tasted differently from the other (there are some restaurants where all the food the serve resemble each other), my husband said "yes they're ok but I couldn't see what i was eating." He was acutally complaining. No, the place wasn't dark but the sauces smothered the meat and vegetables, except for the squid and the pinakbet. It then occurred to me that, I guess, that's FIlipino style. Because we are a poor country, our native dishes are heavily "sauced" so that those who want to have filling meals can just use the sauce to add flavor to the rice and still have a satisfying meal if there is not enough meat or vegetables to have with the rice. Yes, sometimes, i do think beyond the superficial. Doesn't mean that insight is accurate though.

God has a sense of humor

Ok, so I multi-task, but which woman doesn't?

Less than five minutes ago, I was reading the email of my college best friend's son asking for the email of another friend's daughter who's dean or something of a school he's applying for admission in. I checked my phone for my friend's number so I could ask for her daughter's email address but it wasn't listed. Then I checked my other phone, still for her number, but before I could do so, I saw the message box which read: "No space for new msgs." So I cleared a few text messages from my inbox and as expected, I heard the beep signaling an incoming text message. No name came out, just a number because my SIM cards and phones have been interchanged endlessly these past months. But the message read, "after much prayerful discernment, Jojo has decided to run for barangay capt of Loyola Heights. Pls pray for him and the community he wishes to serve. Ditsy" My God, the very name and number I needed. I was planning to call a sister for her number but before I could do so, voila! God gave it to me. Thanks, God, for the funny/happy surprise.

Three Kinds of Suffering and then... just kidding, and their Resolutions

Tonight we heard mass at the parish and luckily for us, the priest was Fr. Manoling Francisco, SJ. He was outside when we arrived and as we went up the ramp, he saw us and approached us to shake hands. Very gracious of him.

As always he spoke very clearly and his homily was particularly enlightening. As the Gospel had to do with taking up one's cross and following Jesus, he decided to speak on 3 kinds of suffering.

The first one, he said, is pre-moral. It is something beyond our control -- like illness, calamities, etc. We just have to be resigned to it, he said. We should not think of pre-moral suffering as a punishment sent by an evil spirit nor by an angry God. They aren't.

The second he identified was moral suffering. The example he cited was that of a battered wife. According to him, when Jesus said what he did about taking up one's cross, he wasn't referring to moral suffering. According to Fr. Manoling, moral suffering should be confronted and then denounced. For one's protection, a battered wife should up and leave the batterer and take the children along to prevent more of the same.

The last suffering he said is one that results from one's decision to love. Sufferings of this nature include being patient with a senile parent, forgiving an errant spouse, etc. Such suffering, he said, should be embraced.

**********

While Fr. Manoling's homily will not make sufferings of whatever form go away or any less painful, they will certainly be less of a mystery and possibly, just possibly, knowledge of their nature and the proposed Christian solution to them will make them easier to accept/address.

After the mass, as friends and I chatted near the doors of the church, Fr. Manoling greeted us, shaking hands in particular with my husband, son and myself. Though he is who he is, he has remained humble. ANd by the way, we have the same birthday. That's my claim to fame. I share my birthday with a good and holy man.

Fu Restaurant and then some

Haha. "And then some" is a lazy convention I seem to have resorted to in an effort to spare myself of having to think of another title or write blogs separately. Anyway...

Last night, we went to Serendra for dinner. Months back, we received a faxed message on Fu cuisine. There were questions and answers in that faxed info whom someone must have asked for, but which was mistakenly sent to me. Since then I have been curious, plus the fact that it's owned by batchmates whom I know but who don't necessarily know me. Plus the fact too that I have read favorable reviews on it. Anyway...

Prior to entering the restaurant, we looked at the menu to check if it had reasonably priced entrees. Yes, the prices weren't bad. Would the food be good, we wondered. Then a quick look through the glass walls revealed former Solicitor General Estelito Mendoza and family. That it had a VIP for a customer meant, or so I thought, it must serve good food.

We asked the lady who waited on us for recommendations. Finally we ordered the following: roast suckling pig, 3 ways; one bowl of Fu fried rice, one bowl of yang chow fried rice; pan-fried radish cake, fish in barbecue sauce and ha kao. Now let me explain.

Roast suckling pig three ways means an appetizer plate with 3 different kinds of cold cuts. One of course was the roast suckling pig, the second was pork asado and the third was a choice between white or soy chicken. We chose the former. The plate was served with ginger sauce and hoisin. Having both roast suckling pig and asado seems redundant as both are pork dishes, but as they're cooked differently, having them both was fine. Dipping them in hoisin improved their taste even more. I tried the ginger sauce on the chicken and it was all right. But I chose to dip even the chicken in hoisin after trying it on ginger.

The rice: I had the Fu fried rice. This came with Peking duck meat. Hardly noticeable but as all good Chinese fried rice go, Fu's had that distinct Chinese fried rice flavor and aroma. Very good.

Ha Kao was great. It wasn't too floury. I've tasted some versions that leave me disappointed. This one didn't.

The pan fried radish cake I liked a lot. When I asked for sauce to go with it, they gave me sweet chili sauce. When I tried them together, they just didn't jibe. So I used hoisin on the radish cake as well.

The fish seemed to lack flavor. It was served with young corn and slivers of carrots and, maybe, turnips. Nothing special, not at all exciting.

And as our bill reached the minimum P1000 and we paid using a Citibank credit card,
we were entitled to free dessert. Two free desserts, in fact. One was a set of 3 snow balls, the other a refreshing mix of mango juice and melon shavings with crushed ice. Re the snowballs, they're made of sticky rice. They were in orange (carrot-flavored), green (pandan) and violet (ube) and were rolled in dessicated coconut and something powdery -- like the thing espasol is rolled in as well. Ground toasted rice, maybe? The snowballs tasted like palitaw or in Ilonggo, inday-inday. They had a cube of mango inside in varying degrees of sourness/sweetness (half full-half empty thing). Ingenious. On a lazy day, I might yet try making a clone.

Overall, Fu was a happy experience except for the noisy children and the clatter of porcelain made by the waiters/waitresses. That's to be expected in Chinese restaurants, a relative once told me.

As for Estelito Mendoza, his family members (wife and 3 or four children, all young adults) were well-behaved, not at all obnoxious. I was impressed with all of them, Estelito included. But not for long where he was concerned.

They left Fu before we did, but when we went to A Different Bookstore, they were there too. The branch of ADB in Serendra is a bit cramped so that I couldn't move to the back because he was on his way to the cashier. One way traffic situation? Not exactly, but more of a one car at a time thing. He refused to budge so we could move forward, making it necessary for us to move so he could pass. Not very gentlemanly of him. Maybe because he is who he is? Sad.

The Need to Re-examine Long-Running Activities

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. While I subscribe to the said adage, my presumption here is that one has gone over the thing and has seen it to be still working well. The presumption shouldn't be that since something has been long running, it should go on forever without the benefit of being checked upon, once in a while.

I don't propose to say I know the answer to the following dilemma but I think it is a dilemma worth considering.

A school, a prestigious school, has this program where Seniors in high school go to the different public schools nearby to teach Grade Six students Math and English. How noble, I thought, considering that to ensure that the students from the exclusive school do not take matters for granted, they are graded on the lesson plans they prepare. They even get plus points come the choosing of Valedictorian time for proposing and preparing a textbook for Math -- an apparent means to an end: the pot of gold. Never mind if in preparing that textbook, they plagiarize. but that's another story. Anyway...

The reason why the program worries me is that I now tutor a boy who tutors these public school students. And heavens, this tutee of mine cannot even distinguish a noun from a verb from a preposition to a conjunction. Possibly, his students know more and he thinks so too. Once, he told me, their lesson was on "how to make verbs nouns". Of course that means having verbs take on the form of gerunds or infinitives. Do you think my tutee knows that? He who decides on whether a sentence is correctly constructed or not from the sound of it? Anyway, I asked, so how did you teach it? He said he asked them how to do it. I don't know if by now his students have come to the conclusion that they know more than he does. I think that that won't be as bad as his teaching them wrong stuff. I constantly tease him, "pity your students". He smiles because what can he do? He is expected to teach them English... And he has no choice but to do so lest he flunk his fourth year in high school.

Mar Roxas and then some

Was at the wake of a friend's father in Central Luzon at 10 this morning. An hour or so after we arrived, who should come but Mar Roxas. Okay, Senator Mar Roxas. When we were introduced he repeated my family name and said, "Of course you're Ilongga" and when my friend told him I was a Gerry Roxas (his dad) scholar, I added , "yes, in fact when you ran for senator, your mom invited us to your place and we went." He said, "thank you" very properly. His mom then had asked us to support Mar's candidacy and gave us paraphernalia to distribute. I guess he knew that. And as I respect Mar's position on several things -- his providing computers to various public schools, his support for pricing medicines reasonably-- I gladly campaigned for him to the extent I was capable.

After he left our company, he moved to a table where the province's governor was seated. There he ate fried fish with gusto, getting rice, talking, like a regular person. No airs whatsoever. He didn't have a slew of bodyguards. Instead, he just had one companion who looked more brainy than brawny. Maybe his chief of staff? He wasn't loud either, he made no attempt to catch anyone's attention, which was so unlike a young congressman we saw in a tony restaurant last week. I don't know how he positioned his foot as he sat around a misono table but it looked ill mannered of him. And he was noisy. Last night we also saw Migs Zubiri and his wife who was perpetually smiling. She was as lovely in person as in the pictures and on TV but the smile doesn't waver. It's there like it's stuck on her face. Not a twitch out of place... looks wise, she'd make a beautiful First Lady. Anyway, back to Mar.

I was several tables away from him so I could watch him unobserved. When two old ladies who were obviously very rich fashionistas (I'll describe them in a later blog) approached him, he readily stood up and listened to them. He sat when they did and when they left, he stood up again. Apparently a well brought up man. Earlier when we were introduced he asked where we stayed and if I was all right. I guess he was concerned because of my being in a wheelchair.

before he left he stopped by our table and kissed me on the cheek. Mar Roxas in 2010. Seriously. I'd rather him than Loren, Manny Villar, Noli de Castro. Plus he used to take the MRT to office and sports a Timex watch. This morning his polo was so ill-fitting and he didn't look like he cared. He even forgot to button the last one from the top. Wait, I don't like Korina. But never mind, I like Mar's mom.

New words, at least to me

A friend I always tease about being pregnant though she is single and without a boyfriend but whose biological clock is ticking fast so that she wants to have a child soon mentioned the word parthenogenesis to me. I searched Encarta for information on it and it says: A few insect species have developed parthenogenesis—a form of reproduction that side-steps the need for fertilization. In one form of parthenogenesis, the half-set of chromosomes within an unfertilized egg is duplicated, and the egg then develops as if it had been fertilized. Parthenogenetic females do not have to mate, so they can breed the moment environmental conditions are right. This method of reproduction is common in aphids and other small insects that feed on plant sap. Most use it to boost their numbers in spring, when food is easy to find. In late summer, when their food supply begins to dwindle, they switch back to sexual reproduction.

My friend always uses the word in reference to lizards. Does it hold for them too? anyway... my friend is neither an insect nor a lizard, sooo... but she wishes she had this knack as she wants a kid. At least she has a sense of humor.

*********************************************************************************

Stella Matutina - This morning, today being the birthday of Mama Mary, I decided to go to mass. Our parish priest, Fr. Bong Topino, referred to Mama Mary as Stella Matutina, which he said translates to "morning star." Why is Mama Mary referred to as such? The morning star signals the coming of the sun. In Mama Mary's case, she signaled the coming of the Sun of Justice, Jesus Christ.

I like Fr. Bong. Like Fr. Kit Bautista, SJ, he feeds not only the spirit but the mind as well.

Tweetums Gonzalez's article in today's issue of Philippine Star

Modern Living
Happiness from within
SECOND WIND By Barbara C. Gonzalez
Saturday, September 8, 2007

One of the most important lessons I have learned is that happiness comes from within. Sometimes other people make us happy but only for a short while. Then something happens and we are sad again. Real happiness is rarely given, shared, or supplied by someone else. The most effective way to create happiness is to create it ourselves. Look inside you, find out what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, what makes you grateful for life. Find out how you feel about everything.

In this life your emotions are important. Forget what Descartes said about emotions not playing a role in life. They are always there, only many of us, especially men, are unaccustomed to looking at them. So their analysis of life is often incomplete. ..

I used to have a very good friend. We were not classmates but one of my dear classmates asked me why we did not make friends. I thought, all right, I’ll give it a try and for a while it worked wonderfully. When I needed help to move into my Calamba house, she helped me. When she needed help to move into her house in the boondocks, I helped her. It was lovely house in the middle of nowhere, on an almost deserted island on the sea. It had a lot of snakes around and every night I drank scotch to see me through. But in the course of our many conversations I happened to mention that another friend of mine, chairman of a multinational company, was retiring soon. It was just something mentioned in passing, not important to both of us, or so I thought.

Then, months later in the middle of the morning, she rang me asking for my help. She had an American friend who was interested in the chairmanship position of my friend. Could I help her arrange an interview? At first I was stunned. Then I was genuinely offended and ultimately angry. “Wait a minute,” I said, “he is chairman of a big company. Do you think there are no succession plans? And how dare you ask me to set up the appointment? It’s just so unethical. No, I will not do it.”

Then I thought about it further and decided I did not like to have a friend like her. Apparently she looked at my life, the big and small details, and considered them worth bandying about to people I did not know. I require more respect from a friendship. I e-mailed her saying exactly that and terminated the friendship.

Many years later, I saw her again but she was like the wind to me. I could not recover from the offense I took, the offense she caused. On and off I wondered if I was cruel but there was something in me that could not overlook the offense. “You felt used,” Sophie said. “And you don’t like being used.” Suddenly that meant so much to me. Yes, that was it. I felt used, trespassed. “…as we forgive those who trespass against us . . .” a quote from Our Father. Actually, I have forgiven her but I don’t want to be close to her. She no longer makes me feel safe.

I will comment on this article shortly as it clarifies a lot of what I feel about certain people in my life.

Snippets (defn. small pieces)

At the wake last night, a group of parents talked of various issues that are worth noting, among them the following:

Toxicologists. Toxicology is the science of studying poisons, so it follows that toxicologists are scientists who study poisons, yes? So possibly, a doctor's use of the word in the following context isn't apt. She said, "If one were to listen to toxicologists, everything is dangerous to one's health." On the other hand, maybe her use of the word toxicologists is apt in the sense that people like them view anything and everything as toxic to the body. When one reads the papers on health, one begins to worry: nothing seems safe to eat any longer. Something or other which was formerly considered good for the health is suddenly found to be bad. What do we do now? Abstain from food forever? Simply starve to death? Or do we eat in moderation and simply die a slow death? Do we eat heavily and hasten our death? Whatever. As one friend's priest relative who was diabetic said while eating brazo de mercedes, "I want to die happy." Epicures and gourmands, unite!

*********************************************************************************

Putting drops of Joy on a plate, maybe a white saucer with water, can kill mosquitoes within a distance of 10 feet. So a doctor said he read. Interesting, we thought. Then it occurred to me that given such data, before long, toxicologists or their ilk will pronounce Joy washing detergent unfit for cleaning anything used for eating.

*********************************************************************************

A friend in his mid-fifties shared after the mass his concern that we had eaten hopia minutes before receiving commmunion. While the rest of us assured him "That's no longer observed", he wasn't appeased. One said, "Vatican II pa yan." He countered, "No, Vatican II said we had to abstain from food an hour before the mass." So I tried to be helpful and suggested, "Maybe the Jesuits said so?" That elicited a guffaw from him. Like most of us in the group, he is Jesuit educated. He almost concurred with my statement but knowing him, he might just ask a Jesuit to verify. Up till now, his family observes the one-hour rule such that anyone who wakes up late goes to mass hungry.

*********************************************************************************

Fraternities and sororities. Given the Mendez case which is in the papers everyday, he who was a victim, yet another victim of frat hazing, the topic came up in the course of our conversation last night. I guess because I don't come across as intimidating but merely curious, which I am about why people join fraternities/sororities, my companions last night openly answered my questions on the topic.

A doctor admitted he was a frat member in med school. I asked why he chose to become one and he said it was a matter of friendship. While in first year first sem at med school, his team mates in soccer who were older and were frat members said he should join the frat. And so by the second sem he did. I asked if he was paddled/belted and he said he was. I asked if by the time it was his turn to whack whether he enjoyed it and saw it as a chance to get back at someone else (pay it forward?) in recompense for what he himself had gone through. He admitted that the first time he got the chance to whack, he did it with relish. But by the time he was the initiation master, it was he who'd restrain those earnestly paddling the young recruits.

A lady said she was a member of a sorority too. I asked if she went through hazing and yes, she did. The rule was to hit the buttocks only but sometimes the whacker missed and hit other parts, occasionally hard. She said as she was known to be cerebral rather than emotional, when they saw her crying, they saw it as a sign of her breaking down and stopped the physical torture. The ruse worked.

At any rate the frat/sorority members I spoke with admitted that occasionally, victims of hazing needed dialysis, maybe one or two sessions, if the hematoma they suffered was too much for the kidneys to handle. They also said that medical frats/sororities suffered fewer victims possibly because these medical people knew the human anatomy and were aware of what would be harmful/excessive.

Interesting, but the idea of frats/sororities is something I will never understand. Nor is it something I wish to be convinced to side with.

**********************************************************************************

Will I ever get a chance to ask questions as probing of members of the Left? In the course of doing so, I know I will be careful not to show I condemn their ways. I am curious but at the same time certain I'll not be swayed.

GOOD Samaritans

This afternoon, my husband and I went to a wake in Green Meadows. The chapel was accessible only through at least five steps, at most seven. "Chicken" for someone who's able, but a hurdle for someone in a wheelchair and her companions.

On our way up, two kind souls didn't think twice about helping out. We didn't have to say anything for them to decide to lend a hand. Going down was another thing altogether. By then the two kind souls weren't around. In their stead were two indifferent men, undoubtedly drivers of the other guests at the wake. They just looked at us nonchalantly as my husband, this time assisted by my son, brought me down in my wheelchair, step by difficult step. They sat back as though we looked like we didn't need help. They looked disinterested and bored. Meanwhile, as we were on the last step, one of the two earlier kind souls rushed to us in an attempt to be of help. Too late but I prayed to God to bless him.

The story of the 10 lepers and the Good Samaritan are perpetually reflected in my various life situations. Years back, as we negotiated the road from Shangrila Mall to the EDSA Shrine, we encountered a stretch where we needed help. A foreigner who saw us extended a helping hand. In an earlier blog I had mentioned the two men in Galleria and much later, Mr. Gonzalez of Prudentialife, who helped make an otherwise gruelling experience bearable, even happy. There are angels around us but one wishes there were more of them.

Re the 10 lepers story in the bible, on the other hand, I've experienced similar situations. Remember how only one of the 10 lepers Jesus healed returned to say thank you to him? Years back, when I tutored in church (see earlier blog), I had some 5 or 6 students. Come graduation day, only one came to say thank you after the graduation rites. Ironically this student was a saling pusa whose "enrollment" was not officially recognized to begin with. But it was she and she alone who bothered to say "thank you."

These few aforementioned examples and so many others are proofs positive that "history repeats itself." Sad, but true.

TV Commercials (2)

Yesterday, my husband told me of youtube clips of TV commercials of yore. One which he especially cited can be found in this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXGrdXyxstc. It features Tito, Vic and Joey doing a Mike Hanopol, Freddie Aguilar and Sampaguita, respectively, as they try to sell Coke. It's funny, to say the least, and may well explain the staying power of the trio.

TV Commercials (1)

A few days ago, my husband was amused by the Bacchus commercial. I wasn't paying close attention then but I caught the last word uttered by the old lady, she said, "hello" in a most cool way, think sarcastic.

A few minutes ago, the said commercial was shown and so I watched. It started with a married couple (oops, a couple. Why did I say married, I guess because they seemed to live in the same house) holding a can of the Bacchus drink each. They appeared to be in a rush while the Lola, hair in a tight bun, was watching TV up close, as in really close. Her chair was barely a foot away from the TV set. She was watching a quiz show.

The emcee was asking a question, voice over was rather unclear, then the screen focused on the contestant who was at a loss for the answer. The Lola watching TV stood up and said, "Eratosthenes, hello." Cute. Cool lola.

Bacchus - this drink caught my attention when I chanced upon a project of my son in English class where they were supposed to criticize a print ad. He took issue over the fact that the drink is an energy drink when in fact Bacchus is known as a Roman god of wine and intoxication. Good insight, I thought, and that elicited praise from the teacher. So why did the makers of Bacchus name it such? Possibly, it's because Bacchus is also known to represent "not only the intoxicating power of wine, but also its social and beneficial influences."

Above are pictures of the drink and the Roman god after whom it was named.

Celebrities Up Close

Living in Manila offers close encounters with celebrities/hallowed people. One of those I met a year or so ago was National Artist Napoleon Abueva (see image).

It was the first mass of a friend's newly-ordained priest-son in our parish and she invited my family to the affair which was followed by a reception. When she led us to the table she had reserved for us, I balked. In fact, when I saw a table close by, I asked if we could just stay there where mere mortals like ourselves werejavascript:void(0)
Publish Post stationed, but she insisted and so it was. Also in the illustrious table was Fr. Catalino Arevalo, Mr. Abueva's wife, a lady well known in the parish. My family and I were the ordinary mortals.

Napoleon Abueva is a nice old man. He spoke about his works, how he procured materials for them, etc. without being boastful. And to show how down-to-earth he was, before we parted ways, he mentioned our family name, a clear indication that he was listening when we were being introduced. Though I'm sure that by now he has since forgotten us, I won't take that against him. It was enough for us to have been treated the way we were in the table where he was. His wife was as simple, no airs, nothing.

Fr. Arevalo had a lot of stories to share too. And after that particular evening, we had some other encounters with him. For the wake of a good friend James, we offered to pick him up. The drive to Makati was long so we had a chance to converse. He answered my questions and didn't seem impatient doing so. Oh, and before that, we also picked him up to say mass at a house in the area but that was too brief an encounter. Another time, after he said mass, I liked his homily and sent him a text message for the complete list of his enumerations. He sent the list via text very quickly. I was so thrilled because he's known as one of the great Jesuit minds in the Philippines and served as an adviser to Pope John Paul II years back.

Then there's Chito Tagle. Okay, Bishop Chito Tagle (see photo). He was our teacher in college and back then, he had just graduated from college himself. Later, we learned he had become a priest and as he was a good Philosophy teacher, we chose to attend one of his talks when a friend invited us. After the talk, we sought him out and introduced ourselves. His immediate reaction "oh you're the one from the province." Did that offend me? Not at all. Maybe it was the perpetual lilt in my voice? How I moved? How I acted -- that made him know even then that I was from the province. Who cares? People from the province are not to be looked down upon in the first place. Their roots just set them apart because they have a certain graciousness, right? a certain simplicity, right? Haha.

Anyway, fast forward to a few years later. He was appointed bishop of Cavite. I wrote him a congratulatory letter and though he didn't respond to it, weeks later, we received an invitation to his installation (the invitation was his response, I guess) complete with a parking ticket. So we went all the way to Cavite and when after the ceremony was over we lined up to kiss his ring and he saw us, he said my name -- he hadn't forgotten.

Years later, we saw him in a church nearby. He deliberately went to us to say hello. Another great Filipino mind and he knows us.

Now the female celebrities.

Years back, when I was in a mall, a plastic bag fell off my lap to the floor. Right in front of me was COD, preening herself in front of a glass panel in a computer shop. Like her, I was waiting for my son who was engrossed in Counter Strike. She looked at me, at the package, and moved away. A good Samaritan she wasn't. COD is a broadcaster.

Another broadcaster like her is more solicitous. Last year, we were at a venue which did not have air-conditioning. She asked where I would position myself, turned on the fan and directed it to me. Her initials, TMP. We have become friends since and when once her son hadn't arrived home, she called me up to ask if I knew where her son was. Her son is a classmate of my son.

Still another broadcaster I met, but more recently was CFR. I needed to get something from her for a tribute to a good friend, but she offered to bring it to the house. No celebrity airs there and once before a play, it was she who called out to me to say hello. She even knew my name.

Tessa Prieto-Valdez. Now this girl/lady seems to be having a lot of fun and shows it. Her outfits are deliciously outrageous, so with her make-up. She wears false eyelashes up to there (very long and curled), carries a dog to the mall and loves the attention. Once she saw me looking at her in a mall and she smiled warmly. I couldn't help myself. She was right there and who wouldn't look at her?

Many years back, saw Imelda Cojuangco in church and she said "hello." SO did Tingting Cojuangco, also in church.

Not so Miriam Santiago. Though when I wrote her years back, praising what she was doing in the Bureau of Immigration, she promptly answered my letter, in person she isn't too friendly. Maybe she is shy? Oh and one should see her in church. She always has this red bag and matching shoes and her two adopted daughters look like docile ---s, following her around as she goes to the front row even after the mass has started. Is she the reason why the church now has ushers who bar anyone from going inside when the mass has begun?

Also wrote Roilo Golez when he did a superb job as Post-master General and he answered my letter. So did Randy David when I emailed him a letter, relating how much he impressed my son who said he ought to run for President of the Philippines. And Angelo Reyes. Yes, he answered my letter. You see, back in college, we had a teacher in Economics, a Colonel Reyes. He had this military air about him, unsmiling, fast-talking, always prepared for class. So that when once I heard a General Reyes speaking on TV for the first time, the voice reverberated. I recognized the voice and when I looked up from what I was reading, I saw my teacher. But I had to be sure and so I wrote him. And he answered my letter to say that yes, it was he.

Fr. Nebres introduced us to GMA when we went to his mother's wake. She shook hands and smiled, mumbled a few words even, but apparently she was not with us. Her eyes had a distant look to them. Her mind was elsewhere.

Former President CCA we've also seen at mass, but she isn't at all friendly. Now Alex Compton, Richard Gomez, they smile. Alex even said hello.

Fraternities and Hazing

Years back, when I volunteered to tutor public high school students in our parish, my co-teachers were high school students themselves if not college students from then Maryknoll and Ateneo. Okay, I was the eldest in the group and in a wheelchair at that. They all knew each other and I was the odd one out, so we never spoke that much except for three of the girls, one of them a former student of mine, another the coordinator, and still another because she was friendly. The boys, we just smiled.

Fast forward to a few years later. I saw one of my co-teachers in church. His head was bowed, his hands were clasped together. He seemed in deep prayer and it occurred to me he must have had a very serious problem.

Fast forward to a few weeks later. He was in the news. He died via hazing during initiation to a frat in Ateneo. When I saw him in prayer, was it about joining the frat that he seemed to be praying deeply about?

That's one reason, and in fact, it is the only reason I need, for assuming my anti-frat stance. There was this young man I "met", a volunteer co-teacher one summer, who chose to spend his Saturday mornings teaching young public school students, killed prematurely and needlessly.

So I have made known my stance to at least two friends. Friend A -- we talk a lot and as I always tell her, I'm not plastic so that even after I ranted against frats and she told me her husband was a frat member himself in college, I refused to change my mind against frats and I told her so. True, her husband is a good man who doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body, but well, if the frat he joined had given him just one blow that could have killed him... or if he himself had hurt others, then ... Because I believe that just one death via a frat hazing is one death too many.

Now Friend B. His son was expelled from his high school after he and his friends tried to do a Robin Hood and boasted about it. They were referred to as Ocean's Six or something for their outrageous misdeed. What did they do? One of them hid in a box in a room containing computers and when the janitors had left, the rest came back to get stuff. They said they did this to help a friend on scholarship who was having a hard time financially. Well, they boasted about what they did at a party and their friend's mother overheard this and reported them to the school authorities, so they were investigated and a judgment passed on them: expulsion.

Fast forward to a few years later. His dad called me. I don't know if he wanted to brag about it because he certainly didn't sound worried. This time his story went like this: his son was recruited to a frat. He was being made to do "errands" early in the morning, etc. He expected his son to be paddled because that was part of the whole thing. His son's maternal grandfather before him had been a frat brother, same with his uncle. In fact there was a paddle in their house. Gosh, I told my friend, you mean you can stand the thought of your son's being deliberately hurt by some frat members? Aren't we as parents supposed to look after our children's welfare? When they were babies, a mere scratch on their knees would leave us shaking if it was the first time, and now this? I told him, before you know it, you'll see his name in the papers doing the same to those who come after him. What if suddenly succeeds in being one of those responsible for the death of another hazing victim? We haven't spoken about the matter since.

Last week, a UP student died from hazing-inflicted injuries. The frat is mum about the whole thing. One of the students interviewed was my husband's student before. His vehicle was among those identified but according to him, a friend whom he refused to identify had borrowed it. The name of a doctor was mentioned as having brought the hazing victim to the hospital where he's one of the chief doctors. The news says his son may have been involved in the matter. Who knows who else will be identified? The doctor himself is now in hiding. I understand why, he's protecting his son's identity.

It upsets me that this had to happen yet again. Apparently the victim was the eldest child in a family that's not as rich as the friends I identified earlier. He was seen as the hope of the family. Now that hope has been snuffed out, forever, and needlessly.

Random and Silly Shorts

When we were watching The Bourne Ultimatum, I kept wondering doesn't Bourne eat or sleep? There was no instance showing he did either. He was forever running, jumping, etc...

***************************************************************************************

Years back, when I could still stand, walk, and move about by myself, there was a mass in a college chapel. There were so many people then, many of them standing, while I was seated at the end of a bench. When I saw an old lady without a seat, I gave her mine. Perhaps she prayed I'd never want for one so that I now have a wheelchair everywhere I go?!(%#*@

***************************************************************************************

Years back, I told my son, "I bought you three socks." He asked, "oh, one has no pair?" My mistake. I should have said "three pairs of socks".

*************************************************************************************

Floods and Our Barangay Captain

Some months ago, even if there was a drought, the top of our drainage system was filled to the brim. We were aghast as we could almost imagine how much worse things would be when the rains came. Okay, so I prayed they wouldn't even if I knew that was selfish of me. Then I saw the cracked lands in Central Luzon and felt guilty that I wasn't helping pray for rain. So I modified my prayer and asked God to, yes, let it rain, but please don't let there be a flood inside our house, not even on our grounds. He did divide the Red Sea to let Moses et al. pass, didn't he? Humor aside, I really prayed hard. Years back, my son had his classmates over for a project and rainwater was coming inside the house from our flooded garage and our leaking roof. Bizarre. We promptly addressed the roof problem by investing in a roof courtesy of Puyat Steel no less (over a hundred grand pesos but it has spared us a lot of anxiety since), but our flood problem was something else.

I was certain the problem stemmed from what our barangay captain had done to the barangay hall and its immediate vicinity. He constructed buildings galore, put concrete pathways, etc. etc. Shades of his having an edifice complex or to get grease money care of the contractors? Benefit of the doubt? He did put up something or other in these buildings like a botica ng bayan, a conference room, etc. Fine. But whomever he asked to build did not consider the impact of the construction on the houses that shared a wall with the barangay hall. our house was one of those.

I spoke to my immediate neighbor whose drainage passes ours before going out to the barangay like ours does and she had this brilliant idea of hiring a contractor to address our joint problem. The estimate floored me. P200 thousand. I was very frank with the neighbor. I told her I didn't want to spend beyond P5 thousand. She said, "ay tuod, day (pronounced as dye, which translates to "really girl?)?" Actually, last year, we had bought a submersible pump for under P5 thousand but it didn't seem sufficient this time around because as I mentioned earlier, the drainage was full even without the rains.

Upon hearing my astonishing budget, the neighbor pleaded with her contractor (so she told me) to lower the cost. He gave another option - use smaller pipes and pay P120 thousand. That would still mean P60 thousand for each of us. I refused to budge. Neighbor said, let's ask the barangay captain to assume a third of the cost. I said, I still didn't want to pay P40 grand. As one sister of mine said, "suffer the floods, they don't come every day." Somehow, I was willing to do that except that even without rains, the drainage was full (this is the third time I've written this). At any rate, we bought another pump, bigger than the previous one, and had a hose attached to it. The hose resembles the hose of fire trucks, honest. Except that they're blue. Imagine that we have a ladder like PLDT's and a hose like a fire trucks. anyway...

So the bigger pump worked better than the smaller pump which conked out at the height of the second to the last typhoon. But once the storms left, though the garage no longer had water flowing, the drainage system was still ... (you know the answer).

I frequently talk to the maids and believe me they have some insights worth considering. One maid told me that water from the barangay side came to our grounds because their drainage was kaput or something. See, I told her, I was right. Our problem originates from the barangay. We pumped water out just the same because as another maid pointed out, stagnant water could breed mosquitoes. But our neighbor stopped pumping. At least her maids did. Neighbor had gone home to the province. So I texted her, she called and i told her so. Her maids turned on their pump the day after.

Meanwhile, the drainage problem was really getting to me. I reached a point where I felt so furious that I thought of writing the barangay captain. Years back, I did, invoking the friendship of his grandson and my son. That was a ma-drama letter, certainly, but I was desperate and it worked. A few months ago, neighbor and my husband spoke to the barangay captain but he said he wasn't sure he had a budget. He wasn't sure if elections for his position would proceed this year or be postponed. (So? what's its relevance to our problem, we wondered? But I wasn't there to pursue the question and maybe, even if I were, I might not have mustered the guts to ask. anyway...) Desperate yet again, I wrote another ma drama letter. Prior to doing so, I had been sharing this problem with my sister who said, "Why don't you present your problem to Channel 2? They have a special feature on barangay problems."

No, I didn't send any letter to Channel 2, but taking it from there (my sister's suggestion), I wrote the barangay captain and mentioned my sister's suggestion. I said that I didn't want to embarrass him needlessly, though, because I valued the friendship of his grandson and my son, etc.

A few days later, the maid was no longer turning on our pump but there was no water visible on the brim of our drainage system. Alleluia, I thought. was it because our neighbor was pumping water out? Then it occurred to me that possibly, some action may have been initiated by our barangay captain.

As it was night time when these insights flooded (pun unintended)my mind, I asked the maid to pay a visit to the barangay the following day. Lo and behold, they were doing something to their drainage system which made water flow from our side to the canal and their water flow to the canal rather than to our grounds too. whew.

Neighbor still doesn't know of this development as she's in the province. Will she be surprised!

I still haven't thanked our barangay captain because I want to really check out how long this relief will last. There have been rains the past days but they didn't last too long.

Possibly, next week, I'll say thank you properly...