THE SIGN IN THE SKY

Ten days before our wedding, my husband-to-be boarded an airplane in Honolulu to Salt Lake City, Utah. I had already spent a week in his family's home preparing for the big day and now, with only two days left, I was excited to end our time apart.

As his plane began to lift off, he noticed that his heart began to pound. He was thinking about the wedding...no, he was thinking about the marriage. In a last minute effort to find some definite sign that he was not making a mistake, he said a prayer: Lord please let this plane crash if I'm making a mistake.

After a few hours, his plane finally taxied on the runway at Salt Lake City Airport. He was relieved.

Later after a joyous reunion, we began our drive home. We were so happy.

After a good deal of visiting, he revealed to me what he had prayed for under his breath as his plane took off. I was mortified.

"You prayed for what?"

"I prayed that the plane would crash if I'm making a mistake!"

"So, you want God to take everybody's life just to give you a sign? You actually are willing to die to be proved wrong about this decision?"

He looked startled. That thought never permeated his frightened mind. He was simply focused on his fear and nothing around him mattered. He didn't have a strong enough conviction about what he was about to do to stand on its own. He was focused only on one thing: fear.

Many thoughts filled my mind. But I stopped them from flooding in my head. I stopped them all clean right then and there. Perhaps it was because I was young. Perhaps it was because I just wanted to get married. And then perhaps it was because I was afraid to face the possibility that this man didn't really love me enough to be sure. This last thought was the most frightening one of all with all its implications not just about how he felt about me but about myself. And like a steel safe, I closed that opening in my mind. Very tightly.

As if to alleviate his own guilt about this pathetic slight, he began to act sheepish.

"Well...not really. They... can all survive the crash."

"That's ridiculous!? What about their injuries, their pain, their broken bones? Did you consider that?"

"Geez...I don't know. It was just a prayer."

"Yeah but you can't be asking God that sort of thing!"

"Well...I wasn't really thinking, ok?"

"Do you think God answered your prayer then? Do you think he approves?"

"Yeah...obviously."

This was the extent of our conversation regarding that matter. I didn't know if I should feel good, angry or simply laugh. But I married the man anyway.

MY BEAUTIFUL HANNAH

She called yesterday afternoon after school because she had locked herself out of her car. I was only too happy to pick her up. She is my last one of four amazing children and I wanted to steal every moment to be with her.

Every morning, I make her a lunch bag. I take some whole grain bread, spread some goat cheese and then some pesto sauce on both sides, lay a slice of provolone cheese on one side and then pile some roast turkey breast on top of it. I then arrange a few slices of avocado, seedless English cucumbers and roma tomatoes and top that off with a crisp curly lettuce leaf. After making sure the sandwich is now a beautifully arranged tower of yummy goodness, I will carefully wrap it in foil. I usually make two trips a week to Whole Foods Store to get Honey Crisp or Ambrosia apples for her lunch but I found some beautiful organic red Bartlett pears. So yesterday, I washed a pear and lovingly dried it with a paper towel just for her. After placing the sandwich and pear in a brown bag, I decided to throw in a small bag of raw almonds. Hers would be a healthy lunch. I love preparing her lunch and relish every detail. In time, I will not have the privilege to do so.

She will be graduating in June as valedictorian in a very competitive high school. She will give a valedictory speech. Her life is ahead of her and there are wonderful experiences that she is well prepared for. I'd like to think that I gave her an abundance of tools to empower her ability to govern herself wisely. I've been with her through high school crushes, romances, a break-up. . . and oh that was fierce. But with great insight and intelligence, she has borne it all so wisely. My daughter is a sage... an ancient spirit in a beautiful vessel. And if kindness were a living, breathing entity, then it would be her.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment and in that moment, I can capture images of her. Sometimes she is practicing her violin and I am awed by her music. But most of the time, I see her playing her piano. She is so gifted. She is working on a jazz piece and each time I hear it, it sounds different. She is improvising. I remember when she was just learning to read notes. Now, she is playing music. I can tell from her music and touch if she is feeling happy. And I can tell when she is playing with a certain longing. Our home was always filled with music. And I take it all in desperately trying to embed every note, every chord, every touch of the keys in my heart.

The door opens and she is home. She has a special someone who gave her a ride home instead. I wonder if he knows how privileged he is to have her attention. She is exceptional in all she does. There is something innate in her that moves her to compete with herself---to extend, to reach, to excel. I don't have to bribe her or push her. She simply knows what to do.

I feel like doing something for her so I invite her to the mall to shop for an "outfit". There is no reason for it. And perhaps others will say that I spoil her. But how can I spoil her? She is unspoilable. I have a fabulous time with her. She is beautiful and whatever she tries on magically looks marvelous on her tiny frame.

I have the extra key to her car and after our mall purchases, I drive her to the high school parking lot where there is a lone car sitting in the middle of a vast student parking lot. I park my car next to her little Corolla. I watch her start the car and wait for her to drive out and then I follow her home.

The traffic light turns yellow and she slows down instead of speeding ahead. I stop behind her mindful that she is again playing with her hair as she waits for the light to turn green. I remember how thick and wild her hair was when she was born. Her face was flat and chubby. She was so adorable and calm. My baby will be graduating from high school and before the summer is over, will leave for college and I will not know what to do.

She signals to make a right turn and I do the same. I watch her maneuver the car smoothly to complete a turn and I marvel that this same child who used to tug at my skirt can go places by herself with such confidence. She is turning into our gate now and as I stop behind her while she waits for the gate to open, I wonder if she knows how many times I've driven her to and from her various destinations. I wonder if she will remember the times when she sat next to me in the car and talked about school, her projects, her friends and knock-knock jokes. I wonder if she will remember all the kisses, hugs and cuddles with her mommy.

She is now turning into our driveway as the garage door opens. I know she is listening to her ipod and that her mind is on many things--school and a certain boy. I carry a prayer in my heart that she will always remember that she has the power to change the world just by choosing how to view it. Suddenly, I remember that it wasn't so long ago that I carried her around on my hip just because I enjoyed her baby scent, the softness of her arms, the satin feel of her wild hair. Now she is a beautiful young woman fully grown and she is flesh of my flesh, forever a part of me.

She opens her car door and pulls out her backpack. I open my door and we walk towards the house now. Me and my beautiful Hannah. We are home now. And for now, all is right with the world.

THE BLACK DOG

Las Vegas, Nevada is a very arid desert and it can suck the youth out of you with no problem. Funny thing is, the few times when it does rain, we get flashfloods and throughout the 18 years that I have lived here, I've never really seen rain fall like the rain in the Philippines during the monsoon season. I laugh every time we get a "storm" warning and then the "storm" that finally falls upon us is merely what we would call "ambon" or a light drizzle in the Philippines. I remember rain that falls in sheets, the nervous eerie feeling one gets when the eye of the storm passes, the rolling thunder and lightnings that remind everyone that there is a greater power above, the sublime feeling of being so insignificant amidst a power that quite literally, changes the world around you. That is the storm that I know. That's real rain. Macho rain.

But this story is really not about rain. Although, it was raining sheets that night. For some reason, the night "felt" very black...as if blackness were a living, breathing entity that seemed to permeate the already starless, moonless, dark night. My sister and I were alone in our house with our father's young cousin, Pete, who lived with us and who was charged with watching over us. I was about 13 years old at the time when it happened. It had been raining all day but by this time, though large amounts of water were pouring, it was cascading in a strangely calm manner. It had already dominated during the day and this time, this night, relentless as the volume of water was pouring, the stillness communicated the supremacy of conquest. The rain was our conquering master.

Not a single person was on the street. All were summarily vanquished to their homes to hunker down without resistance to the majesty of the rain...and the darkness.

It was early evening and our gate was wide open. For some reason, we all felt that the gate needed to be closed so we could all feel secure. But Pete showed a strange reluctance to open our front door, walk the few paces past the driveway and then to the yard to grab one side gate, pull it to the center, walk across, pull the other side of the gate and then finally, bolt them together. It seemed all so simple. But there he was, frightened to open the front door to let himself out.

We pleaded with him to close the gate.

Finally, because he knew he had no choice, Pete took a breath, opened the front door and darted out slamming the door behind him. I held my breath. All was still and quiet.

Suddenly, the front door opened and in comes Pete with a shocked expression on his face nervously stammering about "a dog".

"What are you saying?" we asked.

"There's...there's a dog outside!"

"What dog?"

"There's a big, tall black dog outside with demon eyes!"

"Don't scare us like that, you jerk!"

I didn't know if I should succumb to fear or get angry at Pete being scared of a stupid dog. That didn't compute. And if the dog was the devil himself, I instinctively decided to deny that that was true. I got mad instead.

"What are you----a girl? So what if there's a dog outside?"

"It's a dog I've never seen before. He just stood there looking at me---straight through me. He knew who I was! He's not a dog. He's a demon disguised as a dog!"

The fear in his eyes grabbed me like static electricity. The anger I latched on to for defense melted away and in its place, sheer terror began to surge. Pete was now starting to panic. My sister and I were frozen. I began to shape some words in my mouth.

"I don't believe you!"

Perhaps because of the dire to need find some solution to alleviate our situation, denial began to take the place of my terror. It seemed logical. If I pretend that Pete's lying and convince myself that a demon-dog does not exist, all can be made well.

"I'm going to open that door!" I screamed.

I charged to the door suddenly armed with the cloak of denial. Then I turned the door knob. I slowly but deliberately opened the door to take a peek but at the last minute, decided to fling the door open. And...

I was jolted by the sight of a large, tall, black dog. He came to about my chest level but his head was raised and his crimson eyes staring at me with such malevolence that he seemed tall enough to be eye-level with me. He did not bark or growl. He just looked at me. He looked like he had the power to just pounce at me in a twinkling of an eye, crush my head and vanish. Terror began to surge again. I slammed the door. Locked the door.

A few moments later, the malevolent feeling subsided, and I nervously opened the door again. The black dog was gone. The gate was bolted shut. Rain was still falling in sheets. There would have been no place for him to get out unless he could jump the gate or the walls. The eerie feeling was gone.

I slowly closed the door.

It rained all night that night.

The next morning, the rain stopped. And the skies were clear and blue again.

STRANGE LAS VEGAS PHENOMENON

Thought I'd put this video in that I made last December. Snow in Las Vegas? That's super WEIRD.