Speed Racer

Mayet has been running very consistently for the last nine months now, logging about twenty miles a week. That is twenty miles pushing a stroller with two children with a combined weight of about fifty pounds. When she came to visit us she kept up her running routine despite the pouring rain and cold. Well, cold for her anyway, since she is now a Southern Californian.

For her birthday, she got a new pair of shoes specifically selected for her feet's running dynamics, expensive technical socks that promise eradication of blisters, and a pair of custom fit in-soles for good measure. As this was the first time she'd ever worn a pair of "custom fit" athletic shoes with top-of-the-line moisture wicking socks, she thought she could now conquer the pavement with absolute ease. So that very evening, she took to her running route determined to pound out an easy, breezy, nine miles.

 

She didn't accomplish her intended nine miles. She stopped at seven only because her feet and calves were aching very badly! She was so embarrassed to tell me that she might have to return the shoes because they were horrible!

Well, I take the blame for not warning her about custom foot orthodics and motion control shoes. It is always advised, and I practice this advice myself, to break in the new shoes or orthodics gradually. As in, wearing the combo for thirty minutes at a time, walking or lightly jogging, gradually increasing the minutes to to hours, before finally wearing them on a hard run. So I told her to give her new shoes a running chance  -  no pun intended.

A few days later, we went hiking. She wore her new shoes, but also brought her old shoes just in case...

Mayet normally wears clothes that make passers-by take a second look at her. In a good way, of course. This photo may look like it's me, but it's not. That's Mayet wearing my hat and her future mother's-in-law jacket, with Jaida's water bottle poking out of her pocket. (I had Shea's ®Cars water bottle.) I dressed very similarly, only with a properly fitted waterproof jacket. Still, this made me realize how blah I look. No wonder nobody looks at me! If they do, they're probably thinking "poor girl, why is she trying to hide from the world?"

And when those sympathizers see what I had to do for a parking pass, they'd say "Oh so sad! She's also an air head..."

See, most trails in our neck of the woods  - again, no pun intended -  require a parking pass for your vehicle. In my excitement to go hiking for the first time this year, I completely forgot to grab my pass out of my purse before I left the house.

I am a veteran parking offender. In my desperation to curb my track record of parking tickets, I left this note on the dashboard.

"Mm-hm," I can just imagine the park ranger thinking. "Whatever, Air Head. I'm giving you a ticket for sure!" (But no, I didn't get one, gracias ginoo!)

Had I gotten a parking ticket, I would have been too depressed to gorge on burgers and onion rings. And since I didn't, and because I forgot to bring my purse, Mayet sprung for me.

A few days later, I went jogging with Mayet. As we started off, I thought to myself I'm a stronger runner than Mayet, this is going to be an easy jog, especially if Mayet pushes the stroller the whole way. Boy, was I wrong!

She took off almost immediately. She didn't even wait for me! But, I thought, half the route was uphill, and I will catch up to her eventually.

Indeed, I caught up to her on Cherry Street, a very steep incline for about 200 yards. "I'm dying!" she huffed, taking short breaths that sounded like wheezing. "[Bleep!], Shea is so heavy!"

Huff-wheeze-huff-wheeze.

"My double stroller is lighter than this dinosaur of a Bob!"

Wheeze-huff-wheeze-huff.

Now I felt guilty. I offered to push the stroller. But she only let me push it for about a minute. "I'll..."

Huff-wheeze.

"Take..."

Wheeze-huff.

"It...

Huff-wheeze.

®Bob makes a wonderful stroller for athletic parents. They're stable, shock absorbent, equipped with five-point harness system for each passenger (Mayet's Bob is a double, of course), and designed specifically for athletic activities on or off road. And of course, the latest models are more superior than their predecessors. I have the ®Bob Sport Utility from 2008, and although it coasts like a dream, it's not as aerodynamic and ergonomic and whatever-other-nomic as the latest Bobs.

"Yeah," I said for moral support, "this Bob is about as heavy as yours, even though it's a single." But I wasn't going to offer to take it again because it was, indeed, quite heavy!

Remembering a Running tip I read a few weeks ago, I encouraged her accordingly.

Still feeling the guilt of owning this outdated stroller which Mayet was pushing with agony, I suggested to take a quick breather at the crest of the hill, and enjoy the view while we were there.

The Sport Utility is the only model that has a hand-brake, quite practical when going downhill on a dirt trail. While taking our breather, Mayet remembered this. "I wonder if the brake is on?" she murmured. And a second later, "DAMN!

THE FRIGGIN' BRAKE HAS BEEN LOCKED THE WHOLE TIME!

NO WONDER I'M DYING HERE!

AAAAAAARG!"

At that, she unlocked the brake, and took off.

This time, she took off even faster than before. So fast that traffic had to be stopped to let her pass!

Well, not really. Traffic had to be stopped because of some road construction that we had to run by. But, seriously, she did take off like a sprinter in contention for the Olympic Gold Medal.

The distance between us grew exponentially as we continued on with our jog. Eventually I completely lost sight of her.

When I finally pulled into my driveway, Mayet was relaxed and calm, as if she hadn't even exerted an ounce of sweat. She must have completed her stretches long before I got there.

Enough said. I see my warrior days coming to a close.


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Jaida Talk

Jaida is practically two years old already!

When asked, she'll point at her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her head. Which helps when one can't quite decipher her baby talk.

She imitates what she hears. So when I told Sonya to down,  Jaida repeated "So-yah dun!"

"So-yah het" meant I want to touch Sonya's head.

"Sah-yeeh cheh" meant I want to sit in Uncle Scotty's chair.

"Watts pooteh" meant I want to watch the computer.

"Peecheh so-ya seep! Kooh nigh!" meant Preacher, Sonya, go to sleep! Good night!

But this smile doesn't need words to convey what a good morning it was!

A Child's First Birthday. Party.

I went to a 1st birthday party last weekend. This is Noah. He is Little Brother to a four year-old, son to a young man whom I first met when he was maybe seven years old?, grandson to very close friends of my family whom I took up to call Tito and Tita, and great grandson to my father's childhood friend.

It was very nice to catch up with familiar relatives, and it was entertaining to get familiarized with new characters. A particular conversation that caught my attention was one with a soon-to-be bride and her uncle and aunt. The uncle, whom I've met a handful of times now, is the type with a youthful and playful heart who keeps up with all things macho including guns, cars, and once, even wore what looked like a fighter pilot's jump suit with badges to boot. I don't know what he does, but I know for sure he is not in the military, much less a pilot of any branch of any organization. Just a father and uncle who enjoys a loving banter with his daughters and niece, the bride-to-be.

The aunt, the uncle's sister, shared his playfulness and his sense of fashion, for, just short a beret, she looked the part of an Army drill sergeant, albeit one with a friendly smile and matronly demeanor.

Bride-to-Be: We have a DJ, not a band. 

Uncle: Can I make song requests?

Bride-to-Be: [with a hint of trepidation, holding up a finger for emphasis] Only ONE song!

Uncle: [paused, pondered his request, as if to make sure he chooses THE ONE best song in his arsenal of wedding party songs.]

Aunt: [interjecting with a bright idea] Me, I have only one request... [pause for dramatic effect, and then holding up both hands, palms facing out in exclamation] Endless Love! [beaming with resolution]

Bride-to-Be: Aw, was that your wedding song?

Aunt: M-hm! [nodding with fond recollection]

Uncle: I would like to hear... [poising to deliver a declaration] LOVE HURTS!

The bride-to-be, having known her uncle perhaps her whole life, shook her head admonishingly and changed the subject before her uncle garnered any leeway into his banter.

Now looking to redirect his humor elsewhere, the uncle turned to his own daughter... I like your hair! It's short on one side, and long on the other! To which the daughter responded with disdain, "um, I've only had this haircut for two weeks now!"

At any rate, this was Noah's first birthday party. But I don't think he cared at all that it was in his honor. He didn't like the loud crowd and unfamiliar faces. He clung to his mommy, his grandpa, or Uncle Daniel, and no one else. 

Frankly, I think this celebration was held for the adults. To celebrate the milestone of life's first year. To indulge in the cutest outfits and most colorful interactive toys, to ooh and aah at the very things they cannot use for themselves anymore. To regress into childhood's blissful, inconsequential recklessness! Case in point...

Most importantly, for any islander, whether Micronesian or Filipino, we gather for the food! And with mouths full, sing Happy Birthday, all the while chewing between the lines of the song. (The food tastes better when you talk - or sing - with your mouth full, I swear!)

I look forward to next year's birthday party!

And many mooooooore!


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Big Brother Accolades

It's great to be a little brother because you get to share in your Big Brothers' accolades. For instance, this week Big Brother No. 2 was inducted into the National Honor Society. We all got to sit in an auditorium and watch a ceremony that involved lighting candles, big-big kids making long talks not about Bakugan, getting annoyed by my Tita Netty to practice applauding for when the time came for it, and finally my brother marching up to receive a piece of paper.

Then I got hold that piece of paper as if it were mine too!

And I got to hang out and be cool with my Big Brothers and their friends!

And all this time, I was in the lime light, like I just discovered the highest secret to destroying the dragon to save the princess in distress at the end of gruesome video game!

Then, because I was the littlest one there, I got to run around and hide amidst a forest of legs while the adults and my Big Brothers had to stand still for the camera.

Later, much to my delight, my mom chose to celebrate the occasion at a restaurant where Santa and Christmas tree trimmings were still on the mantel!

These adults ought to be so grateful for this occasion because this meant they - ahem, Tita Netty, I'm talking about you now - could break their Lenten fast since it was still Christmas there!

Dear Santa, 
Thank you for the special dispensation, which you disguised as Christmas in spring, that allowed my grumpy Tita Netty to finally stop pestering me...

[Burrrrp!]

If it weren't for the endless supply of ice cream, Tita Netty would still be in my ear about wooping and hollering for Big Brother No. 2 getting a piece of paper.

Thank you also for starting me out as a little boy who doesn't have to worry about checking Facebook updates every two minutes, and Tweeting about the fried chicken, fried shrimp, fried rice, fried beef, fried fish, and French fries on the tables.

And about my Big Brothers' accolades... can they count toward MY future accomplishments too? Afterall, Mommy did say that Big Brother No. 1 was inducted into the National Honor Society twice. The first time when he was still in mommy's belly, and the second time three years ago. These pictures show me holding that special piece of paper...

Trying Hard,
Jamesie Cat

 

I Confess: Love

The Mass has a new "ring" to it. I know - no, I KNEW the Nicene Creed by heart. I've only been reciting it since the second grade. I had to know it (I memorized it in Trukese, initially) before my First Confession. One day last year, in the middle of saying the Nicene Creed in Mass I caught myself stumbling for the right words as the rest of the congregation carried on flawlessly. Man, my memory is failing! I thought to myself. Then I noticed that everyone was reading from a placard...

This is new. "Consubstantial" and "incarnate" taketh away the poetic ring of the Nicene Creed to my ears...

But that's not what I want to write about today. This passage from the New Testament hit home with me today. I've heard many, many, many times before, but today it was different. 

Today's Second Reading is the most read and used passage in Scripture in the history of church.

Cousin Ain told me about her experience at her church three Sundays ago. A couple left before the Mass was finished. And Mattie asked his mom if they could transfer to a different church.

Iwon'ttalkaboutit.

Then the communion hymn struck up. It reminded me of the men at the St. Joseph's Church Winter Shelter, the cripple begging for alms at church, the young man in the dirty clothes at the bus stop who lowers his head to avert your gaze, the mangy dog cowering at the kids throwing rocks at it because it's funny. [Of course I believe dogs have souls! If you've ever allowed yourself to receive the adoration of a dog -  or a cat, or horse, or any other animal that smiles, thrills at your arrival, and lavishes at your presence -  then you'll know it.]

Finally, the closing hymn made me think of one person in particular, another cousin of mine, who is on a quest for Love.

By the way, this post was quite difficult for me to write. I deserve a reward!

Breakfast tacos with Morning Star vegetarian sausages, broccoli, scallions, spinach, and freshly grated parmesan cheese, washed down with glass of sparkling apple cider!

Amen!

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I Confess: That's My Photo, In Lieu of Other Things

I've been volunteering as a photographer at my church. [In lieu of other obligations... Ahem... I don'twannatalkaboutit.]

How it goes is, I get an email with a request for me to take photos. I either accept or decline, depending on my schedule and mood. Yes, mood is very important! Because if I feel just a tad ornery, and I decide during a shoot that I don't appreciate the lip I'm getting from church members offended by my presence - yes, I've gotten a few words, but mostly stink-eyes from folks who don't like a big camera lens in their direction - pictures turn out bland. For instance, this one says I'm just going to snap a few shots so I can get outta here already!

Man, did I get some glares that evening!

Next time, I asked to be given a name tag that identifies me, and associates me with the church. Man, that sure made a difference! Pretty soon, I'm a regular presence with the camera, and the parishioners begin to conscientiously put on their best smiles, even suggesting how to pose, and camera angles, etc., etc., etc. The latter is a matter that peeves me! (Well, why don't YOU take the pictures then?!) But I will opine to that no further, in lieu of other things. I'mnottalkingaboutit.

Until last Sunday, I had no idea what the church did with my photos. So when I saw this, it warmed my heart, knowing that my volunteering actually counts for something, in lieu of other obligations.

Which, Istilldon'twannatalkaboutit.

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