Further reminder to be patient with oneself

Dear X,
I was just thinking that a great thing about being thirty-something is seeing myself, literally, as a grownup. As in, I look in the mirror (or, oftentimes, a photo) and I swear I see my mom. I love that I see the resemblance more and more.

It reminds me of how you said to me once that you don't mind finding the occasional gray strand because you associate those stray hairs not with growing old but with an air of grace and dignity. Like mother, like daughter...

Dear O,

What would I do without you? Thank you for sharing this...You're right: turning 30 brings me further into an unfolding into that which I most admire.

I love you and am so blessed by your friendship.
Love, X

Crossing over to the dark side (well, it's sort of a light violet gray)

Dr. Really Cool Dude (former Medical Director of my soon-to-be-ex clinic) said I'd be entering a "different world" and I'm looking forward to the move to Downtown Hospital in a couple weeks. Of course, it didn't help that while Dee and I were out with some of her ED buddies last Saturday, one gal called it a "zoo" over there and another one piped up about stories she'd heard. Hey girls, try not to overwhelm me with a pep talk; it's too late for me to un-quit my current day job.

Like I said before, I'm excited. It's a terrific pre-nursing opportunity: inpatients and RN's galore. Plus I already have a healthy respect (pun intended) for the mental health field, so Psych should be a perfect fit. Wish me luck, folks!

"I never promised you a rose garden. I never promised you perfect justice and I never promised you peace or happiness. My help is so that you can be free to fight for all of these things. The only reality I offer is challenge, and being well is being free to accept it or not at whatever level you are capable. I never promise lies, and the rose-garden world of perfection is a lie...and a bore too!"

--Deborah Blau's therapist in I Never Promised You a Rose Garden by Joanne Greenberg

P.S. for Dee, who didn't know some of my earlier references

Whoopsa daisy

I may have sat through Breakfast at Tiffany's as a kid but I don't remember much about the romantic comedy-- other than my mother telling me how Audrey Hepburn was right up there with the most beautiful and stylish women in the world (e.g. Princess Di, Jackie O, Iman) while I thought to myself that I preferred My Fair Lady because it was funnier to watch Eliza Doolittle go on about "the rain in Spain" with marbles/rocks/whatever stuffed in her mouth than to try to listen as Holly Golightly strummed "Moon River" on her guitar. I had no clue back then about being confused-thwarted-inspired by the pangs of romantic love.

Lucky for me, these days I live with someone who has a knack for recalling details, including certain arbitrary statements that I've made and then (almost) forgotten about. According to my beloved GF, I said I was serious about wanting to learn to play the ukelele. Therefore, I should *not* have been taken by surprise when today after work (after making me don my sleep mask after she caught me peeking) Dee placed a small, guitar-shaped case in my hands. "OK, you can open your eyes and present! Surprise, happy birthday!"

I *have* been wanting to have a hobby I can do on my own with minimal fuss; whereas I tend to view fits of blogging on my laptop as more a form of Art Therapy (versus Entertainment).  Anyways, Dee figures if I get tired of practicing at home, my new uke is lightweight enough to be transported to Greenlake or other fresh air spot.

Hollywood romance: Won over with diamonds or ukeleles?

Took off on the ferry to soak up Mississippi blues and music from the bayou:

Mr Terry "Harmonica" Bean at Blues Fest

As she was taking pictures of musicians, Dee pointed out the steel guitar (left, front) to me.

Sunpie Barnes worked the crowd onto their feet. There wasn't much of a dance floor at this particular venue, but the audience was stomping and singing along (whether they knew the words in English, French, or gibberish =)

Always wanted a washboard apron to jam with!

A Brief Recap of Where I'm At

Despite Dee's warnings that I was setting myself up for disappointment, I got all psyched and applied to the Blue Scrubs program at Crazy-Expensive Catholic School. And I got in. And I even got one of the scholarships I applied for. But I haven't been able to come up with a grand total of 30K/year, so it's highly unlikely that  matriculating there this Fall - unless I happen to strike it rich by winning the lottery (mmm better start playing). I'm sincerely bummed.

I know, I'll get over it. Hopefully sooner rather than later, while I can still enjoy the rest of summer.

Could really use a wish or two right now.

Annie Update!

Someone found her in their shed: The neighbor's landlady came by Emerald Acres to add items to storage and locked up Annie too without realizing it. Our kittycat definitely lost some weight; about 3-4 fingers' worth, according to how loose her collar feels. Behavior-wise, she's been walking around underfoot (or climbing into our laps and meowing emphatically) more than usual.  But hey, we're not complaining!

Dee made an appointment with the Vet for next week to give Fraidy Cat a chance to relax before punishing her with a full-on exam. The good doctor said we should keep Annie indoors for a few days, in order to monitor her eating and voiding. Otherwise, she appears happy and healthy. Annie's back home!

(As Dee puts it, "Our family's together again!")

near impossible to ask around here but Rain, Rain, Go Away!

I'd be the first to admit I'm probably a mole-ish creature at heart. My first conversation of the day from this morning, for instance, underscored fact that I spent countless hours from childhood-thru-latent-adulthood hidden among the bookshelves at the library. For a Person O Color, I was kind of a pasty kid.

DEE: Rise and shine, dear! Time to drop you off to work!

ME: Oh wah noooo! I've been up since practically pre-dawn. I got up to go to the bathroom and afterwards I could hear the heater making funny noises. Then the birds had to start in with their chirping. Tweet tweet tweet tweet...There was a whole chorus outside, including a particularly high-pitched soprano. Tweeet tweet TWEET!

DEE: Say what?

ME: I got my eye shade and ear plugs, but it still took FOR-EV-ER to fall back to sleep.

DEE: Why the eye mask?

ME (rolling eyes): Uh, because the glare of the morning sun broke in through the windows...

DEE *: Sounds like spring is in the air!*

*If I recollect correctly, Dee actually said "Will you stop being a crab-ass".

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Speaking of March-April madness, we saw Disney's new Alice in Wonderland on the big screen this weekend. Maybe Tim Burton's storyline didn't to stick too closely with the book or previous film, but we both thought the animation stole the show. Alice's animal crew were totally cutified! On the other hand, we were somewhat taken aback by the movie's 3-D violence (a la IMAX). Fight scenes with eyeballs and sewing needles = eeewww. Several days later...

DEE: Emergency Room, Charge Nurse.

ME: Hello, how are you? How's work?

DEE: We're on Psych Divert. What's up?

ME: You're right! The fighting dormouse was a girl.

DEE: How do you know?

ME: I read it on the internet.

DEE: Basically, you'll take the word of some movie reviewer over what I was telling you before.

ME: Or...hooray for investigative journalism resolving our difference of opinion!

DEE: G'bye.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Seriously though; while other peeps may have spent their Easter Sunday running around after hardboiled eggs, Dee and I were putting "Lost Tabby Cat" posters in mailboxes and on telephone poles throughout Em Island.

Two weeks is a long time for cans of usually coveted whitefish with gravy (WET food for goodness' sake) to remain untouched, even for an indoor-slash-outdoor cat who's never been shy about "visiting" with mice and other woodland creatures around the cottage. I mentioned to Dee that her rascally tabby--sorry, cherished kiddo--isn't the same madcap explorer anymore at 14, 15, 16 (?) yrs old but I'm loathe to crush a stubborn hope (which has turned into nightly dreams) that Annie's alright. I would love for Dee to be right believing in that Little Annie will emerge from her rabbit hole once the rainy season dies down a bit.

Aimee Nezhukumatahil's "Swear Words"

Even now I laugh when I see the look on my mother's face
when I swear in Tagalog. I have no idea what these phrases
really mean, but they've been spattered on me since I was still
a fat, bawling baby--and scattered onto my head when I've toppled

juice glasses on white carpet or come home past curfew.
Sometimes even the length of my skirts or driving her through
a red light produces ones with a bit of a gasp, a wet sigh
of disapproval. Now I catch myself saying them out loud

when I knock my knee against the coffee table,
slice a bit of my knuckle with paper. When I asked her,
she told me one phrase meant 'God,' so of course I feel guilty.
And another is 'crazy female lost piglet," which doesn't even

make sense when I think of the times I've heard her use that,
and still others, she claims, are untranslatable. But the one
I love best is Diablo--devil--pronounced: Jah-blew! She uses it
as if to tell me, "I give up! You do what you want but don't

come running to me, " after I tell her I bounced a check
or messed up a romance with a boy she finally approved of.
Diablo! Diablo! Here comes a little red devil, tiny pitchfork
in hand, running past the terra-cotta flower pots

in my mother's sunroom Diablo! Diablo! And still another from behind
the kitchen curtains, a bit damp from the day's splashes of the sink.
Today when they meet, they dance a silly jig on the countertop, knock
over the canister of flour, leave little footprints all over the place.

Super Extra-Special Valentine From 2005

"Mommy"--Mom's mom, my last surviving grandparent--passed away last week and her funeral is this Valentine's Day.

Writing in this journal is supposed to be mind-clearing, and I don't know when I'll be "ready" to confront [or finish coping with] the loss of the woman who helped raise me until I was three years old; the person I nicknamed "Mommy" as soon as I learned to speak English.

In a way, I'm grateful to be unavailable for the Wake. I'd like to remember her as she was the year Before, when I flew up for Daddy's funeral. The image of my newly inked back delighted my grieving grandmother. Mom, true to form or Nature, was aghast by the shoulder-to-shoulder design. While she scolded her only daughter--a lesbian!--over unfeminine tastes, Mommy sat shaking in her wheelchair, hysterical-laughing over the tattoo and absurdity of the situation.

C. Masikat (a former seamstress and then teacher by profession, whose first name bears my namesake) was a bright and enduring presence. She never lost her courage or sense of humor in spite of increasing physical debility. Following in her footsteps, I don't mean for this post to sound morose. In the Philippines, death is just another excuse to throw a party. It's like celebrating a birthday only you're saying goodbye to a loved one.

Bye Mommy. Love you.

(Mahal kita, 2/15/2005)