I AM AN ELITIST

Once again, I am writing about things that may, on first blush, prove how cloudy and arrogant my thinking may be. But I am going to articulate these thoughts anyway lest I forever store them in my brain in the file/bin marked "ridiculous". I may still do that but for right now, what I am thinking makes perfect sense to me.

I am an elitist. And I don't feel bad about it.

Yes, I do believe that there are levels of people in every sense be it social, political, moral, financial, spiritual, cultural or whatever other classification there is. There has to be. I mean, even religious beliefs allude to those who will "make it to heaven" and those who are in the "burn in hell" category. Perhaps even heaven and hell have levels of goodness and evil. I mean, come on, Hitler is just not in the same category as the fulano who stole my guitar.

Having said that, I think that we should treat each other, no matter what category we may place ourselves or others, as God has commanded us---equally and fairly. Now that I've said that, I am also going to state that empirically, people are not created equal. Or perhaps, more accurately, each person is given different gifts and/or varying degrees of capabilities, understanding and talents.

Elitism demands that only a select number of people whose views, skills, actions and status are to be taken the most seriously and carry the most weight. There are those who are gifted with extraordinary skills, abilities, wisdom and clarity. They are the ones who see higher than others, see things more clearly and can invoke change for the better. Not everybody can do this. And therefore, there definitely is a group of elite people, unmarked as they are, who are supposed to help make the world a better place.

The obvious question that comes to my mind is this: how do I know who they are and how do I know if I am part of that group? And if I am not a card-carrying member of this elite force, where can I sign up or at least find out what the membership requirements are? Obviously, I want to be a member. Obviously. And rightfully so.

I have begun to open my eyes and I can see above me. I look at people who are making a difference---those who have not only reached success in their careers but also those who seem to inspire confidence. Here are three of my observations:

First of all, they are obviously elite. By that, I mean that they look the part. They care about their appearance and care about how they are perceived. But there is a delicate balance here. The difference between them and the stereotypical pleaser-type who simply wants to be popular is that they don't define themselves by the perception they want to put out there. They only care about the first impression and after that, their motivations are purely ensconced in their work, their dreams or their goals. The mediocre/losers care only about their appearance, what others think of them and are governed either by the need to please others or the need to look good.

Secondly, they are the ones who seem to have everything. As a result of their work and dogged determination, the only end result of their work is inevitably, success. They seek out the best in everything. Yes, everything. And that includes whatever they deem appropriate to place in their homes, garages or bodies. They create environments that are uplifting and inspiring. And if that means that they have to live in the most exclusive parts of town, so be it. And they make no excuses for this because they understand and appreciate that they need to create environments that can exponentially affect the output of their efforts.

Third, they are not afraid to surround themselves with people who have talents and skills that surpass their own. They seek uplifting people who can pull them up, inspire them and enrich their lives. This is a seeming paradox. Some people actually seek out being with others who are comfortable and within their own sphere and/or those who are below their capabilities. This is because of two reasons: one is because they feel superior being on the top of the pecking order and second, they are afraid to make changes in their lives because it's "too hard", they're too comfortable or simply afraid. Then there are those who actually feel guilty about enlarging their circumstances because they resist the "temptation" to seek "wealth and privilege" because they assume that in suffering as God has suffered, they can achieve some sort of Nirvana. Hogwash. And not to mention bullcrap. But that's another subject that I've already tackled and you can click here if you'd like to read it. All they really do is make themselves more miserable and bitter. But there is a brightness and easy rapport with people who seek out the best company. The elite wants to seek out more of them and more importantly, recognize them. I definitely would rather be in their midst.

With these careful observations, I can figure out how to live my life. It's a mindset. Elitism is a mindset. But being a part of it means actually doing something about it. As much as it makes perfect sense that everyone should be aspiring to be part of the elite, the majority of people won't do it or don't have the chops to do it. Resistance is simply too keen, too strong. Which begs one to ask why. I don't know. But I would venture to say that it's one of four things: fear, lack of imagination, lack of vision and quite simply, ignorance. I think that religion or rather, the interpretation of moral tenets impact the desire to excel and think outside our boxes. I think that education--continuous, meaningful and unquenchable need for education---is the key to unlocking the doors that prevent us from soaring beyond what we imagine we can deserve or are entitled to.

True elitism I think is that quality in us that inexplicably gives us the feeling that we have special privileges and responsibilities to aid in the betterment of man. Education enleashes that quality. Imagination gives one the map to explore. Gratitude and humility are the lenses that clarify our vision, enabling us to recognize those who are supposed to enrich, enhance and enlarge our lives so we can make a difference in others.

I am an elitist. Always have been. Always will be. I renounce everything and anyone that will pull me down. Time is so limited and indeed, life is too short.

TAKING A BREAK

I am SO looking forward to a change in scenery next week. I intend to spend the day in the San Francisco area with a friend just to be together, talk, shop, maybe get a pedicure. The world seems to be getting smaller and smaller here and I need some perspective. San Francisco would be a good place to start. We are going to London in just six weeks for 5 days and then another four days in Berlin just to have a look-see. I am excited about that too. I don't know what to do in July. I toyed with the idea of going to Manila but July's weather patterns are just too iffy with typhoons and the torrid heat...I may not survive that. I am thinking of flying to Quebec perhaps...or taking an Alaskan cruise. I'll have to check. All I know is I want to have a fun summer seeing new places to remind me that there's a bigger world outside of Henderson, Nevada. Being here is starting to strangle my spirit. I just need to see different people and different cultures...a new perspective.

I am also getting a bit annoyed that I can't find a way to express myself in a new way. I think I am going to try painting again---perhaps take a painting class at the local art studio. That would be fun. I just need a new project. This empty nest thing is really killing me. I wish it would just pass.

I am also stressed about going to my husband's family reunion. It's never a good experience for me. His family is not very open and have a very fixed idea of how things should be aside from the inside gossip and innuendo thing that has been going on for decades. So it's never pleasant because it seems that everybody wants to compete or out-do each other in all kinds of ways. I hate it. Why can't they all just be happy and get on with loving each other? And why can't they talk to each other? I am perplexed by it all. Of course, I am always the pariah since I never seem to behave the way they want me to behave and I can't do anything right. So I feel like I am always being watched and then criticized...but always in very subtle ways such that you don't really know you've been slammed until later when the bruise starts to form. Now I know why in many family reunions, there will always be someone who will show up slushed. I mean, I want to show up drunk or stoned myself if I could. But I do have some xanax in case I start to panic and I definitely am looking forward to seeing my grandchild and children.

There's a whole list of things I'm worried about but I think it's just an off-shoot of Hannah leaving for college...different corollaries just pop up because of that and my mind begins to wander.

BROWN BAGS AND SANDWICHES

I ran out of brown bags for packing Hannah's lunches and so I had to run to the grocery store to get some supplies. I had a short list and so I was hurrying along the aisles filling my cart with sundry items.

The brown bags were in the bottom shelf as usual and I was suddenly jarred by the thickness of the pack. 100 paper sacks. Then it hit me. It was a surge of emotion that suddenly paralyzed me. 100 paper sacks. 100 lunches. But I only need about 20. I only have about 20 more lunches to make. My chest seemed to explode and I had to catch my breath in order to stop the tears from bursting out of me. In 4 short weeks, I don't ever have to pack a lunch for any child. Ever again. Not in the same way.

I am glad that those early mornings were happy ones. It has been a privilege to serve my children in so many different ways.

I passed by the high school just to breath in the air there. I will never have children in high school again. No more band practice, no orchestra, no jazz band. Saturday will be the last prom I'll ever see with any of my children in it. There will be no friends hanging around my house anymore making noise, playing DDR or laughing. There will be no more shopping for school supplies or finding that perfect outfit for a dance or an event. I looked at the high school one last time and a sinking feeling came over me. I am closing a door. But this time, it's permanent. I will be an empty-nester.

This is all happening too fast. I still remember when I had four children running around. I still remember their smell, their soft skin against my cheek. I still remember when they used to bite me when they were teething and how they made me laugh. I still remember stepping on legos. That was brutal on bare feet. How I wish I can step on one again.

I am beset with a gnawing feeling of fear and sadness. I feel so overwhelmed. All I've been for 26 years is a full-time mother. My work is done and I don't know what to do now. I mean, I know there is much to look forward to but it's just nothing compared to being needed by the ones I love---my flesh, my blood, the finest parts of me. My children.

I slowly place the 100 paper bags in a kitchen drawer. I am tempted to throw it all away leaving only 20 to use in the coming days. I don't want to be reminded of empty days. I just want new ones.

If only I didn't have to buy brown paper bags.

HITTING THE MIDLIFE CRISIS

I haven't been sleeping lately. I find that I am wide awake all night with music in my head. Last night, I finally just got up, ambled down the stairs and grabbed my guitar. I don't remember being that impassioned about playing the guitar since... well, since 1978. It's so strange. There was a time when I slept, ate, thought and breathed guitar. I'd play all day and then late into the night. When I got married and immediately had my two boys who were born the same year, I had made a decision to put it down. In retrospect, I gave up a lot of the things I loved to do when I became a mother. I know it's really not necessary but I did. I think I was in way over my head. I was simply overwhelmed.

Adjusting to life as a wife and mother in Provo, Utah can be likened to being a frog slowly being boiled to death. They don't know they're being boiled to death. They simply get used to the rising temperature and before they know it, they're dead. While that analogy is, in fact, a myth because frogs will jump and try to escape when the water gets too warm for their comfort, this myth nevertheless, described my predicament. I had no idea that I was slowly being strangled until one day, I tried to breath and couldn't.

I was not born into great wealth in the Philippines but certainly, I was born into a long line of the intelligentsia or the intellectual elite. I come from a long generation of artists and math geniuses, gifted musicians and writers. Circumstances that are germane to how most people of my class live in the Philippines are so different from that of Utah. I grew up with maids who picked up after me. We had a laundry woman who came to our house nearly everyday to wash and iron our clothes. We had a driver who reported early in the morning to drive or pick us up to or from our various destinations. If I felt like a cheese omelette, I simply told the maid and within a reasonable amount of time, she'd have it ready on a plate for me. So I had all the time in the world to study, read, develop my talents or skills and simply use my imagination and create without having to worry about whether my room needs dusting or putting things back where they belong. I still can't get into my system that the work I do around here---the things that our servants used to do---are now my job to do. It's demoralizing even if intellectually I know it's not true, but emotionally, I can't catch up. What I deemed to be insignificant, menial work is fodder for competition here. Let's see who can keep house better, decorate better, cook better and iron better. It's so.....banal. And living in Utah, I lost my sense of direction.

In Provo, there is an unspoken expectation regarding how women are supposed to act. I was only too happy to fit in. All wives were expected to stay home and raise their children. They dress a certain way. (Read: drab and sedate.) They can peaches and pears. They sew and show off their quilts. They tole paint. They own a hot glue gun. They don't wear excessive make-up. They have play groups. They can't be sensual. They can't talk to male friends let alone have one. In other words, a woman's worth is directly connected or reduced to superficial aspects. Imagine this: having your worth directly related to how fast or how slow your baby gets potty trained. It's insane. And I was caught up in it. And I coped by getting fat.

These past few days, I noticed a change in me. I think it's because I'm anticipating being alone now---no children to care for. I know no other life than to take care of my children and husband and I find myself back pedaling to try and find me. Me--- the one underneath all the laundry, the dishsoap, the scrubbing, the cooking, the sewing, the crap of running a household full-time. I need to find that person. I have begun a mid-life crisis.

I feel differently lately. I seem to be looking for those things that used to give me pleasure. My guitar, a good book, good friends and suddenly, taking good care of myself. I don't feel guilty about staying away from people who don't see me nor appreciate me. And I only want to be with people who are like me. I feel no need to please others though of course, I don't want to alienate people either. I discovered that I can be pleasant because I don't have to prove anything. Competition bores me. I used to want so many things and didn't have the means to obtain them. Now I have all the resources to get whatever I want, and I don't want anything. I only want to have the best of anything. Mediocrity is annoying. And most of all, I just want to be regular. Metamucil regular.

And so, I am sitting here with my guitar by my side fully motivated to tickle its strings again.

Now if I can only decide between an M-benz or a Beamer. Make that red.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

The first thing I noticed when I arrived in Honolulu, Hawaii just two weeks after my nineteenth birthday, was the smell. It was fresh, clean and exciting. And when I finally cleared customs and the doors opened to the outside, I noticed that everything was clearer and brighter. The skies were bluer, the ocean absolutely bluer...even the leaves on the trees were greener. Everything was crisp and clear.

But clarity was far from what I would use to describe my first foray into the world of Americanisms and culture. I do need to preface this observation by stating that at 19 years old, despite never having the opportunity to see outside of Manila, Philippines, and speaking only English that I learned from school with my thick Philippine accent, my English was impeccable-- that is, that my verbs agreed with my subjects, my vocabulary made me sound intelligent and my knowledge of American culture, adequate. At least that's what I thought. After all, I watched American movies, read American magazines and 0bsessed about American television. I was so wrong.

The first indication that I was woefully handicapped linguistically happened on my third day on US soil and on campus. I was attending a Friday activity when an American-- a nice young man---introduced himself to me. We hit it off magnificently. After the event, he asked me for a date. I was flattered. Of course, I've never actually been on a "date"...an American "date" like on television. Filipinos just don't date the same way and in my home, I wasn't allowed to do so. So sneaking out was de rigueur if you wanted quality alone time with a boy. I was so excited at the prospect of a real "date" with a nice young American.

"You wanna do something tomorrow?"

" You mean, like a 'date'?"

"Yeah!"

"OK! What shall we do?"

"We can take a walk down the beach, talk...maybe watch the submarine races."

"Really? I've never been to a submarine race before."

He was a bit taken aback. I was envisioning being on some look-out point overlooking the ocean and there would be people sitting on beach chairs. The water would be clear and there would be small submarines all lit up under the clear ocean water and we can watch them "race". I imagined banners and hotdog stands. It sounded exciting to me. I was beside myself with enthusiasm.

"I'd love to go watch the submarine race with you!"

He had a bewildered smirk on his face. I thought he thought I was cute. In retrospect, he probably thought I was a dumb oaf...not a good thing for someone like me who was a national science scholar!

Later that night, my roommate told me what a submarine race was and I think I turned all colours of the rainbow.

The date went well but I found him boring so there would be no second date. But I would never forget old Duane of the submarine races.

Which brings to mind another incident.

I was driving around with a boyfriend one day just having a really interesting conversation. We were on Kamehameha highway with the ocean to our left and the beautiful Ko'olau mountain range to our right. He was regaling me with stories about his experiences having lived in Rarotonga though I was hypnotized by the scenery outside and was really not very attentive to his account . Then he said something that perked up my attention:

"Well, Christie, that was all water under the bridge."

So I quickly turned both right and left to look for a bridge. He didn't notice but my mind went somewhere, already confused because I couldn't find the bridge he was talking about. And dang it. I. Wanted. To. See. That. Bridge!

But that's not the worst of it.

I had been dating this one guy who shall be named nameless to protect his ego. He was really very nice and generous and I just wanted to be nice also since there really was no reason to be otherwise. Besides, I was going to Asia for an extented time during the summer which was in a couple of weeks. We went on several dates. Now, it's important to say that again, I was only 19 and he was much older at around 23 or so. During the course of our time together, he began talking about his future and how he wanted to "settle down". Our conversations, though not fully accurate, can be characterized like this:

"I would very much want to settle down perhaps find a house and a new car. What do you think about that?"

"Splendid! That's a great idea!"

"If I bought a new car what color would you prefer?"

"Hmmmm.....green is always a nice color."

"I'd really love to have children as soon as possible."

"That's a great idea too!"

"What do you think about living in Kahuku or Haleiwa?"

"I think those places are great!"

Thus went our conversations throughout those couple of weeks before I left for Japan. Of course, I saw other guys too during those couple of weeks though in retrospect since he wasn't a student, he wouldn't realize that I was still dating other men.

At the end of the Asia tour, he showed up at my house in a brand new green Datsun to ask me if I wanted to go for a drive. I went.

As we were driving, he began to talk about going to a nice spot so he can"ask me properly". Of course, I had no idea what he wanted to ask me and if I had the answer to whatever question he had at that time, I would have been happy to give him the correct response. Plus I knew I could give a lot of good advise about life and such and as long as it had nothing to do with nuclear physics or advanced calculus, I had a lot of answers.

"Will you marry me?"

"Whoa.....what?"

"Will you marry me?"

Stammering, I was almost angry at his audacity.

"You know, I'm only 19 years old and don't plan to get married for a long time."

"What do you mean? You were all for it before you left for Asia."

"What? I don't remember saying that I wanted to marry you nor did that thought ever occur to me!"

After a spew of words from him, I realized he was mad. So I hopped back to the car and asked him to take me home. The drive home was uncomfortable as hell. He was mad and I was confused. And I was being scolded like a 12 year old girl. The nerve!

Lost in translation? Boy did I learn a lot.

And by the way, after watching the submarine races, all these experiences are now water under the bridge. My subjects, genders and verbs still agree, I only have a slight Philippine accent and my vocabulary is much more enhanced with all the cliches, isms and American parlance I dare need. It's all as easy as pie and I can insert a cliche at the drop of a hat. Yeah...whatever floats your boat and whatever tickles your fancy. I am as American as apple pie even if I've been there and done that too.

KENNY RANKIN...Yeah!

Kenny Rankin playing around...hang in there. He plays "Haven't We Met". Very fast but very fun.

WHERE ARE MY KIDS?
My light stream of consciousness banter

Jordan left for Glasgow this morning by himself. He left a day later than the rest of his group because he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Amy, his girlfriend. I hope this separation brings them the needed reassurance to cement the feeling that they can't be apart. I just love her! She is so smart and beautiful and those two go well together. Anyway, Hannah, Kurt and I get to fly to London for a few days to meet up with him before we fly to Barcelona to spend another few days. It will be SO much fun. Anyway, he is still enroute as of this posting. When he arrives in Glasgow, he will have to find the rest of the group. Apparently they are meeting in a hotel walking distance from the airport. I'm curious to hear how his Aer Lingus flight goes. We get to fly to London via Virgin Atlantic which is supposed to be the best airline to use for this route. I have no idea what I want to do in London other than my usual museum and theatre kick. Art moves me. I can feel so much just looking at a painting or any kind of art. I think that music and art are indispensable as food. If I can just spend time in a museum during the days and watch a good play at night, I'll be happy. And of course, it would be utterly insane...INSANE if we don't watch a Shakespeare play whilst in London!

This will be Hannah's last summer with us before she embarks on her college life at BYU. I have been really emotional about her leaving but like my other three who went before her, I get to the point where I actually get excited FOR them because it is just such a natural transition that to NOT go would be insane and as their mother, I feel great joy when they progress. I do want her summer to be exciting. Other than London and Barcelona, I would like to go somewhere just the two of us. I am seriously thinking about going to Manila with her to go shopping but July is notorious for typhoons and intolerable sultry weather so I seriously stop myself from getting too invested in that great idea. I am thinking Montreal, Canada or just simply take a quick trip to Hawaii. We'll see. But for sure, I want to go somewhere. Maybe I'll check out another Tauck Tour...perhaps Egypt and Morocco?

Tascha will be leaving for Jerusalem at the same time we leave for London. She will be there for seven weeks studying at the BYU Jerusalem Center. It'll be exciting and enriching. I do want the kids to see as much of the world as possible so that their minds are open to everything different. There's nothing I can't stand more than a small mind---or limited perspective. So I am happy that we can provide them with these great opportunities for enrichment and enlarging of the soul.

I posted new photos of Lucy and she is just adorable. I don't think there's a baby in the world cuter than her. Leland and Catherine are just wonderful parents. I do hope that Lee takes advantage of the summer and take the LSAT courses. It will be a huge help. They will be moving into our condo at the end of summer. That should help them out.

Hannah is in Reno right now for a Jazz Clinic at the university. She is having a great time. She feels very empowered. I can't wait for her to come back to tell me how things went. For now, I am just grateful for all the opportunities that have come our way. Tomorrow, I have a lunch meeting with some people regarding business. I hope it works well for all parties. I can't believe I passed up an opportunity to go shopping at Neiman Marcus tonight. I was just so tired. Kurt and I went to dinner at Claim Jumper. I don't think I want to go back there for a while. It's so full of people...

I haven't had harp lessons for three weeks now and I am feeling rusty. I picked up my guitar again. It's been decades. Literally. It's frustrating how I've forgotten so much but my touch is still there. I need to do more of that too. Now if I can just find someone who will do laundry for me, I'll be SO happy.

I spent most of the day creating. Wrote a lot. Worked on my projects. Played music. I discovered an album recorded in Copenhagen in 1991 by the legendary saxophonist, Stan Getz and jazz pianist, Kenny Barron. Brought tears to my eyes. I played the music full blast and sat next to the woofers, closed my eyes and imagined I was in Copenhagen actually listening to Stan Getz. It was unbelievable. I was transported by his music. And greatly moved. Jazz is just unbelievably... fulfilling. It is a gift from God.

WHAT'S TOP ON MY iPOD LIST TODAY?

1. Rio de Maio------------Jane Monheit and Ivin Lins

Wow. A wonderful piece worth listening to when you want to unwind. I've been listening to this over and over and I just feel warm all over. A winner.

2. The Reason------------Hoobastank

I love the lyrics of this song but most of all, I love the catchy melody and rhythm.

3. Sewn--------------------The Feeling

Ok. So the lead singer is cute. But this song is so good!

4. Grace Kelly------------Mika

Pretty much every song in this freshman album chockful of Euro-"poppy" tunes is amazing. I don't have to say that Mika sounds so much like Freddy Mercury...ok, I just did but it's just uncanny. I memorized this song so quickly coz it's so fun to sing.

5. We Might As Well Be Strangers---Keane

I LOVE KEANE. 'Nuff said.

6. FIrst Song (For Ruth)------Stan Getz and Kenny Barron

Barron and Getz were made for each other. This piece is from the album "People Time" which was recorded in Copenhagen in 1991. For all you jazz aficionados, THIS is a MUST-HAVE. Their interpretation of "Night and Day" is a definitive example of perfect fusion between two instruments...nevermind that no one can ever recapture this performance. I'm only glad it's immortalized in this album. Oh my gosh. Can you say: devastatingly beautiful? This is it!

7. She Will Be Loved----------------Maroon 5

Smooth. I like this band.

8. They Are Night Zombies!! --------Sufjan Stevens

Pretty much every song in their album called "ILLINOISE" is a masterpiece. Buy it!!

9. The Luckiest--------Ben Folds

I'm just a sentimental kinda person and this song gives me what I need. Velvet smooth voice.

10. How To Save A Life---------The Fray

So it's so....old....so what? I like it. A pleasure to add to my top ten list for this time.

And how was your week?

Passing Through Gethsemane

Passing Through Gethsemane

 t's been a very difficult month emotionally. My beautiful Hannah just experienced her first break-up. It is agonizing for me to watch her as she takes on each day bravely, with enough resolve not to be bitter, angry or negative as she transcends those painful emotions germane to the ending of a relationship. She is barely 18 and has never before had a meaningful friendship with a boy though their dealings are, in my books, woefully insignificant. Both she and the boy are extremely focused on their schoolwork. Both are on the valedictorian track. Both are busy with their music, he being the star saxophonist in jazz band, she, the keyboardist. Both have hectic extra-curricular and church-related activities. Their so-called "relationship" is actually limited to quick late night phone calls usually commencing after a grueling load of homework and Friday or Saturday night get-togethers with a gaggle of close friends usually in someone's home where parents are present. But the emotions she feels are still deep, tender and most of all, real. Emotions are the same no matter what the age. Little children sometimes fear the dark or looking under their beds and that fear is just as real as the fear I have of snakes. And I was not about to dismiss what she was going through.

I feel her loneliness and melancholy. I feel the pain that she so exquisitely feels as she longs for that warm security of belonging to someone who matters to her. I feel the emptiness she feels not knowing what to replace that hole in her heart with when someone you love is no longer present and that hole gets wider and deeper. I feel her restlessness when the hour approaches when her cell phone is supposed to ring and she can hear his voice wishing her sweet dreams, whispering to her how beautiful she looked that day or simply his "good nights". I sense her fear, that gnawing feeling that rises as she anticipates him being with another girl who will enjoy his smell, his warmth, his voice. And being her mother, I wrestle with the feeling of helplessness because I do not have a magic wand that can take away her longing and her pain and replace them with clarity and assurance. I feel her pain. Ten times more. I feel her pain.

But I am not without my wits about me. I will give her power. I am obviously not an 18 year old. I am her mother and I have passed through this Gethsemane many times. I recognize all those feelings. I see things that she cannot see. I have not lived my live as fully as I have without collecting a menagerie of tools and nuggets of wisdom to help empower her. I will endow her with knowledge and perspective. I will teach her that she has the power to change the world around her by just rewiring the way she perceives it. I will carefully show her how simple human behaviour is...to think outside her pain...to reconnoiter her surroundings to find all the tools and devices to break the paralyzing effects of hurt and disappointment.

I have been with her throughout this experience and by her side. I listen to her talk about her feelings, the events of the day, her plans. I take her shopping, to our favorite restaurants and talk about our planned summer trips to England and Spain. We run to Neiman Marcus to get her the most exquisite prom gown we can find. She will be a revelation on that night. A most beautiful vision. I let her talk about him and I listen with interest, putting myself in her shoes. I help her strategize her days, her inevitable encounters with him at school, his own misgivings. I help her understand his concerns, why he continues to care for her, texting her every night. We wade through these confusing communiques. Then I entertain her with tales of my experiences. Sometimes they are hilarious when told in retrospect. Sometimes, they become fresh again when recollected. She asks me many questions, I offer her perspective. We talk long into the night and sometimes until early morning. My love for her is immense.

I warn her that break-ups are a necessary part of everyone's search for the best life partner--and in our case, an eternal companion. I tell her that she may have at least one or two more break-ups before she finds her true mate. And that they don't get easy. They will still be intense. But her ability to cope should be enhanced depending on her ability to glean wisdom and direction as she discovers her true self. It is not adversity that strengthens us but our ability to dig inside ourselves for that power that God himself has endowed us with to help us pass through our Gethsemanes.
Yesterday, the dam that held her tears broke and I held her close to me. I could feel her warmth and smell her sweet smell as her shoulders trembled as she cried. I told her I loved her. Over and over. My love for her is so deep and so strong. She is my daughter and the best I have to offer the world. She amazes me.

When the tears finally ended, a sweetness came upon us. It was clarity. The clouds had passed. And all of a sudden, she knew. The mist of darkness that had blinded her from seeing her strengths, her gifts and her powers dissipated. She saw herself again and she felt empowered. She had passed through her Gethsemane.

This morning, my wise and beautiful daughter regained most of her confidence and self-assurance. The pain is still fresh but her wounds are on the mend. It has been a month since the break-up occurred and she can now see around her and past the pain. It was as if the rains had stopped.

She has left Gethsemane.

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.

THE RED BICYCLE

We were making the long six and a half drive back to our home at the end of a long weekend spending Thanksgiving with my husband's large family. The children were asleep or occupied the time with a book to while away a lull in conversation. I was quietly mulling over an idea that kept swimming in my head. My husband's younger brother had moved to Idaho and started a job repairing household appliances and money was tight for them. Their three-year old daughter wanted a bicycle for Christmas and my mother-in-law lamented that they did not have enough funds to cover this wish. So I was thinking about getting her the bicycle myself.

Images of different bicycles popped in my head and then Christmas morning at that household in Idaho when the pretty little girl wakes up and sees a beautiful red bike next to the tree. No, make that pink. Or maybe purple. I imagined little Ceci happy and excited. It made me happy to think about it. All I wanted to do was make her happy and feel loved. I wanted to be her doting 'aunt' even if in American culture, I am not really an aunt. In my culture, I would be real family. Perhaps if I showed generosity and thoughtfulness, it will make up for the geographical distance between her family and ours. I wanted to love her. I wanted to be the kind of 'aunt' who would always be there for her. I started to feel joy anticipating her excitement....and a possible meaningful relationship with her and her siblings. And it can start with a red bike.

My thoughts were jolted by a sudden remark from my husband who had been driving in deep thought.

"I have an idea. Let's get Ceci a nice, shiny new bike!"

I was startled. He and I were having parallel thoughts.

"I was just thinking the same thing! Now, how shall we accomplish this?"

"Well, we can just order the bike off a catalogue, pay for it and then have it shipped to Idaho."

Again, there was thoughtful silence. I began to think about logistics.

"Shall we send a card with it? Like...'Merry Christmas with love from Uncle and Auntie'"?

There was a long pause.

"I don't think we should let them know the bike came from us. I think we should send it anonymously."

"Why?"

"Well, I have a feeling they might take offense. It occurred to me that they will for sure question our motivations. They will think that we are trying to outshine their gifts."

"How are we going to do that? I mean, obviously the bike is going to come from Nevada. That's a dead give-away!"

"Not if we order it from out of state!"

There was another long pause. We were both having the same fears.

"Why can't we just give without having to worry about this?"

"You know how my family thinks. They'll just take this badly. We'd be showing off!"

I knew in my heart that he was right. We were doing very well. Perhaps better than all his siblings. We had more than we needed and we were desperate to share. But lost in our thoughts, giving became more complicated.

"What if we just send a gift certificate for a bike?"

"What's the difference? It'll still be a bike. It'll still be a present."

My mind began to spin.

"If we make sure the store doesn't place a gift receipt or any information in the box that would trace it to us, do you think they'd know it came from us?"

"Yes. They would put two and two together. And they wouldn't take it the way we want them to take it. That's the fear."

I now had a different image in my head. I could see her mother pouting and saying, "who do they think they are?" I could see that it might be more fodder for gossip and innuendo. Something fierce churned in my stomach. I knew it. It would not be a good idea. Then a sudden sadness seized me. I can never be that doting aunt. Never. Not to Ceci or her siblings. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I felt frustrated. Subverted. Foiled. There was a long silence again.

"It was a bad idea."

"Yeah. I think we should forget it."

We talked more about our frustration...and sadness. Why does it have to be so complicated?

In the ensuing years, we would become less and less involved with their family. I learned that giving is a very complicated matter. Growing up in a more open and demonstrative family, I simply did not consider that giving could cause so much turmoil and complications. Where I grew up, giving was simply that. And even if there was a sordid motivation, the gift was appreciated anyway because giving was de rigueur.

Needless to say, by the time we arrived home that November day, the excitement about the red bike wore off and we never discussed it again.

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The Insidious Charmer

THE INSIDIOUS CHARMER

She wore a striped dress with a black cord tied around her waist when she arrived at the airport in Salt Lake City. She was nervous but joyously searched the waiting crowd for friendly faces she had never before seen. She spotted three happy faces waving at her. They recognized her from her pictures. They thought she was beautiful.

There was much excitement in the car. Her wedding was in ten days and she was giddy with happiness because his mother and his sisters, 9 and 14 instantly loved her. She felt like she was home. Home. A new home. A new life in a new country. She will combine the best parts of her culture and race with his. The term "in-law" did not seem to mesh with the words 'sister' and 'mother' to her for she saw them as her own flesh and blood now. She surrendered her heart to them and instantly loved them like they had always been meant to be her mother and sisters. She would have another mother to love...someone who would love her, watch out for her, care about her. Nothing can hurt her anymore. She was loved. And she was all too anxious to hold nothing back. She was anxious to love them right now.

Many wonderful words were exchanged. There were hugs and cuddles with her new sisters on that cozy, red rocking settee. There was happy chatter about his other brothers, the nice neighbor next door and Spike, their beloved dog who had a 'girlfriend' in every corner.

His father was at work when she arrived and she would not hear him talk much. But he was in the background. Always in the background. She accepted his minimal participation. This must be how it is in America. Fathers don't have to talk much. Or invest much.

And then came the hushed tones about that woman.

That woman was his older brother's wife. "Be careful with her," they said. "Her feelings get easily hurt. She's a little. . . different." It was a warning. She listened. Without a doubt, there was trouble there. A family squabble! How interesting! She felt a sinking feeling in her gut. Conflict. Strife. It sounded like that woman was not very well liked. Stupendous! She would be their favorite daughter-in-law! She would take their side. That woman is the enemy.

Through the decades, there would be constant whisperings, innuendos and criticisms about that woman. Sometimes tears would be shed in frustration. At times they would huddle about after dinner and whisper their disdain. Nothing that woman did was good enough. They blamed her for all real and imagined problems that existed in her marriage.

One day, her husband's younger brother brought home a girl who was loud and boisterous and very, very young... and already an expert charmer. Lying dormant in this charmer's deepest parts is an insidious manipulator. At first, everyone had a bad feeling but that didn't last long because one by one, they fell for her expertise. Then he married her.

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

In due time, she no longer felt loved. Something happened. Frequently, during family events she would walk in and an uncanny air would fill the room as if there had been previous conversation about her that was obviously unflattering. She could feel it. But she could not confront them. Later, there would be veiled comments. Sometimes she wouldn't catch it until she was on her way home and she would suddenly realize she had just been put down. But in a nice way. And she hurt. It hurt so bad. It got worse and worse. She no longer felt loved. Then she remembered that woman. She suddenly realized that if they can talk so badly about that woman, they can be totally capable of saying the same terrible things about her. She knew it. And she was right.

She became curious about that woman. Thankfully, she discovered that that woman was an amazing person. She found her sensitive, wise, fun-loving and thoughtful. And she lamented that her fine qualities were so woefully overlooked or unseen. She would never listen to the women prattle about her ever again.

The younger brother's wife had a much louder and funny way about her. It was all too simple. And fun. And insidious. Everyone loved her. She was charming...and calculating. She had a talent for subverting love. It was just innate in her to demand attention because there is a gaping hole that needs filling. In due time, they would love and esteem only her. She would be the only daughter-in-law who received love and praises. And she had them. She had them in more ways than one eating out of her hand. She was now the one who "protected" everybody from the other sisters-in-law. She found new and clever ways to subvert their actions or inactions. She interpreted their motives in ways that were unflattering. Sometimes, she acted indignant and protective against imagined slights and offenses. She created competition among the wives when there never was any in the first place. And she was very clever because in the process of making herself look good, all she had to do was put anyone who threatened her position down. She was good. She was very, very clever. All she had to do was create a bigger arena for whisperings, innuendos and criticisms and frequently present them in a funny, witty way. Clever.

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

One day, she got a phone call from the younger brother's wife. She was suddenly and quite out of her character, feeling guilty. She confessed to her that she had always been jealous of her because everybody loved her in the beginning. She wanted to "put one over her" all the time. She said that one day, she stayed up all night sewing an outfit for her little son so that she could show up and "put one over her" and prove that she was a better mother. She confessed that she made fun of her, talked behind her back and consciously tried to make her look bad so that she can take all their love from her. She said that she was "born with her foot in her mouth".

She had never before heard the cliche, "put one over you". Those words rang in her ears all night.

"She wanted to put one over me!"

She thought about all the times when she felt eerily ill-at-ease during family events. She thought about all the times when his little sisters, now young women with husbands, would talk back at her and ridicule her---how sometimes, their comments had bite and sharpness.

The confession she heard that night was quickly forgotten. She knew that if she were sincere, she would call her husband's parents and siblings and confess to them what she purposely did through the years. How she destroyed relationships between family members. How her words and methods ate away and corroded once happy and joyous relationships. Where there was once harmony, there is now chaos. Where there were once good feelings, there is now a growing and nagging suspicion amongst each other. Where there was peace, there is now hurt so deep that many have chosen to stay away. But she did nothing to fix her ways. She had confessed to her--- and that was it. Nothing changed. The damage she caused and perpetrated and encouraged is now so deep and so encompassing that many choices were affected through the years...choices that were propelled by ill feelings, by hurt, by myopic perspectives, by deception, by hateful motivations. The younger brother's wife was in the center of it all. But she had their love now. And we are all broken.

More than two decades have passed. No one really knows why no one speaks to each other. Siblings choose to not invest in their relationships. Others choose to stay away because the hurt is simply too deep, too stressful and...simply too much. Over two decades have passed and no one really knows how it all happened nor how to fix the broken pieces. Perhaps it was always broken. Perhaps everyone just bought the myth that the clan was well and perfect...except for those women--- and then protected the myth.

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

Her children are grown now and they are indeed the best of everything she had to offer. They are a perfect blend of everything good about her culture, her race, her genes as well as her husband's. There is no meaningful contact between her and her once "sisters". There would be no happy chatters, no giddy laughter, no hugs nor cuddles. Her desire to give them her heart has ebbed for her heart lay tattered, bruised, beaten. Her excitement to be a part of their lives has been replaced by a sense of betrayal. Their lives are now so deeply entrenched in each others' absence. She prefers to stay away; to avoid grappling with the knowing glances between the other women, to avoid being in conversations where clearly, the intention is to make her feel left out; to avoid events where her every move is criticized and given meanings that she would never consider. They would all miss out on her fierce love. In the beginning, all she wanted to do was love them. But she realized that they would never love her back the way she expected them to love her in the beginning. And after much time, there would be more pain and hurt than love returned.

In the beginning, she thought she was safe...that no one can hurt her. That sweet anticipation has been replaced by a jaded heart...too scarred and weary to find that happy beat reserved for family. They have become true "in-laws".

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

Gossip

I used to be part of those who thought I was a blessing
Who filled my longing for a place that I was sorely missing
They said they knew me from before, e'en long before my birth
And recognized my spirit in all its eternal worth
I loved them faithfully and with much celebration
Placed my heart in their hands with nary a hesitation
Then lived I without any fear of judgment or of censure
Confident their love, like mine, was vast and held no measure

And then one day a charming person walked into our lives
Her flamboyant nature first confused us that day that she arrived
Her name is Gossip but no one knew, for happily we embraced her
For we could not see inside her heart, her beauty hid that specter

Many think that Gossip has a very ugly face
A warning now I issue here that's not always the case
A friendly smile, a sweet embrace and sometimes even tender
For that is how she can disarm and then have you surrender

She creates competition where before it never wandered
With loud and jovial conversation enrollment she expanded
Disarming everyone she touches with charm and sweet requests
Drowning your heart with importance as her frailties she'll confess
Joyful and loving intentions of any person's heart
Whose needs are borne from quiet wells of a need to be a part
Gossip's friend named Envy, invented motives never existed
Painted over with doubt and questions, all goodness now subverted

Gossip wants all to love her better than any kin
For love to her is a contest, a spot for her to win
With clandestine whisperings in tiny little doses
Just enough to tickle like a dozen thorny roses
Flattering and caressing you but leaving tiny pricks
So you never know the damage done--- that's the best of all her tricks
Little by little she wins your heart without a bit of fight
By destroying those who threaten her, whose love once shown so bright
The insidious fact is despite her smarts, she never really knows
That those whose spirits she destroyed can see her spirit boast

Months now stretch into years and now your love she owns
The damage that her words have made are still to her unknown
Blissfully oblivious of the gravity her deeds do greatly weigh
A family divided now, someday her debts she'll pay

I'm nursing back my broken heart that used to have a home
The pain I feel is deep and dark while here I write this poem
For Gossip breeds a creature dank that cannot be erased
The damage is just exquisite and shattered lives lay waste
When whisperings and family are partnered in this sport
There are no happy endings here so sadly I report
Still no one knows that she's the culprit, she boasts her charms malignant
For that is how her magic works she makes us feel indignant
And though the closeness we all knew is now just plain pretend
I pray that soon that day will come when we can all transcend
The veil that Gossip used well, "putting one over" and smiling put-downs
Retrieve our family, our lives, our joy---snatch quickly now the Gossip's crown!
Copyrighted. All rights reserved. Christie Faux, 1999.

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Missing NYC Already

We arrived home last night after a spending our last morning in New York City. The weather was cold but absolutely beautiful. I purposely walked the busy streets trying to stop time...or at least slowing it down to take in every detail that I could absorb. I love the rhythm of the city, the sounds, the smells---everything about it. We did catch a Broadway play every night although one night, I did give in to watching "The Producers". I realized, after sitting through this musical that I really didn't want to be entertained as often as I hunger for being intrigued and stimulated intellectually. And that's why I enjoy watching a well-written and well-produced play instead. The three plays we saw certainly accomplished all that---Prelude to a Kiss, Talk Radio and Journey's End. I do have to admit that some scenes and actors were not at the top of the game but most of the cast members made up for their lack. Liev Schreiber is as electrifying as ever. We had seen him in Harold Pinter's "Betrayal" which won the Tony for Best Play Revival, won Juliet Binoche a Tony for best actress and a nomination for Liev for best actor. In "Talk Radio", Liev was brutally good. I would be surprised if he doesn't nab the Tony this year. The play was written by the controversial Eric Bogosian. I came away thinking a lot while walking back to our wonderfully luxurious one-bedroom condo at the Hilton Club located on two floors of the Hilton Towers on Avenue of the Americas.

I do think that purchasing membership to the exclusive Hilton Club has been worth it. The service is fantastic and the accommodations are wonderful. We especially enjoyed the Hilton Club reception hall on the 37th floor----there's always food and drink available! And the location is just superb. The Museum of Modern Art is across the street. We are a block from 5th Avenue. Broadway is three blocks away. Rockefeller Plaza, NBC and FoxNews Studios are minutes away by foot. And walking to Central Park is just a quick jaunt. We had lunch at the famous Tavern-on-the-Green on Central Park since we wanted Hannah to experience that. It was certainly lovely and we got seated in my favorite room---the garden room---with its amazing pastel colored ceilings, grand crystal chandeliers hanging all over, luscious fresh flowers and amazing garden scenes outside the glass walls. I wouldn't call the food fantastic but the experience was wonderful. For a grand lunch, we went to Oscar's located on the ground floor of the Waldorf-Astoria. Now THAT was superb. At a mere $27 per person, their lunch buffet is the best bargain in Midtown Manhattan, in my opinion. And the service is attentive.

But for the best street food, hands down we vote for the Hallal food cart located on the 53rd street side of Hilton. Queues are long and winding but at $5 a plate you get a warm plateful of lamb or chicken, pilaf, fresh lettuce with your choice of red sauce (spicy) or white sauce (tzazikki). Marvelous! And more than enough for two meals. The food is so good that this street vendor has been featured on the NYTimes, David Letterman, FoxNews, Good Morning America and Today shows. Of course, you can't beat the honey roasted nuts being sold for $2 a bag in every street corner. That's a staple.

It's now Easter Sunday here in Nevada and I'm already feeling blue. I'm back in my environment where small minds abound and pettiness reigns supreme.

Well, back to binge-ing.

In A New York Minute

John Mahoney, Annie Parisse and Alan Tudyk in "Prelude to a Kiss"

IN A NEW YORK MINUTE

We just came back from watching The Producers at the St. James Theater on 44th Street. It was very enjoyable although I kept on imagining how infinitely better it would have been with the original leads Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. The concept is hilarious and some of the actors were superb.

Last night, we saw a play called Prelude to a Kiss and it was absolutely mesmerizing. I try not to miss any production from the Roundabout Theatre because they turn out some wonderful and award worthy projects. Last winter, we saw Alec Baldwin in Entertaining Mr. Sloane and loved it. Alec also played the lead in Prelude to a Kiss when it premiered off-Broadway and this time, Alan Tudyk plays the lead with Frasier's John Mahoney as the Old Man. I got really emotional towards the end. It was just SO well done. I am looking forward to seeing two more plays before we head back to the desert. I did take Hannah shopping on 5th Avenue and bought her a couple of items.

Tomorrow we will run over to Neiman Marcus to look at prom dresses and lunch at the Tavern on the Green on Central Park. There's just far too many things to see and do and we are running out of time. It doesn't help that we sleep in although tomorrow morning we have to meet with our Hilton rep to talk about our privileges as members of the NYC Hilton Club. So far it has been great. We love our one-bedroom Manhattan dive and the service has been phenomenal.

There's a little gyro cart across the street that always has a long, LONG queue that sometimes snakes around the block. Everytime we walk back from a show, there's always loads of people. So we queued up again and got us a plate of lamb, rice and lettuce with tzazikki sauce. Street food is phenomenal here in Manhattan! And cheap. I couldn't finish my plate.

Kurt talked to his sister today. And that's another subject that I would love to tackle later. But for now, quickly, one thing that came to my mind is that sometimes, people desperately believe a myth that's been presented to them because it is a better alternative to what's really out there. And if someone comes along and points out what's real and essentially snatches the myth away, the initial reaction is to smash the observer to a pulp. Sadly, smashing the poor fellow doesn't make what's false, true. Giving in to the impulse to destroy the observer is a common reaction and keeps one in the dark....avoiding the dire need to embrace what's real. . . and what counts. Yeah. Kill the messenger who brings bad press. Kill the observer who sees what you don't want to see. Smash the handyman who wants to fix the leak because we don't want to believe the water's rising. Meanwhile, in the end, we all drown. In a New York minute.

My 50 Year Old Man

I Am Now Married To A Fifty-year Old Man!

Last Friday, I threw my husband a huge surprise. It was a celebration of his 50th year on earth. I wanted it to be super special so I invited 100 of his friends and associates. Then, the biggest surprise of all, I flew ALL our children plus grandchild down from Utah. Although they were all busy with college and work---at the Brigham Young University---they all came. It was such a treat to see the shocked look on his face when he saw me carrying Lucy who is now 6 months old. At first he didn't believe his eyes and when he realized it really WAS Lucy, at the same time, he saw the rest of the children and he got all emotional and happy. It was super!


We threw him a Filipino party complete with lechon (roast whole pig), a Filipino dance troupe who came to do three native dances and karaoke! Everybody loved it.


Here's the damper: I spoke with Kurt's father on the phone and invited him to come. His response: we'll have to check our schedule. Shocked? So am I. But the biggest rub was the day after when my mother called to tell me that she and my stepfather are coming down to help Kurt celebrate and said that they wouldn't miss this for anything! The disparity between the two camps hit me sorely. My family adores Kurt. Why doesn't his family? None of his siblings called. And worst, his parents didn't even call the day of his actual birthday. NOT A WORD. One would think that a 50th birthday would be a milestone. We even sent them two roundtrip tickets to see us. A year passed, and many wonderful events as well to merit coming down but they let the tickets expire. They were full-price tickets too. I don't understand. What the hell did we do that was so bad?


It probably wouldn't bug me as much if I weren't a parent myself but I'm a mother and so I can't relate ..... And a phone call is easy to make.

Anyway, Kurt is so affected by it. He told me that he feels like an orphan. This has been going on for years so... I just accept it. But it sure is frustrating to see Kurt hurt. And then, to see him trying so hard--- to keep on plugging away at trying to maintain and invest in a relationship.


But the party was such a huge success and we all had a fabulous time.