Too old for that

I'm not anti-social, I just prefer to be a loner. Though sometimes my preferrence for solitude makes Howard Hughes look sociable, I have no problem making friends....because as Chat likes to say: If they're hospice bound, insane criminals or just plain insane, I attract them. True enough, two months after I arrived here in Cebu, this bipolar neighbor of mine found me. Or maybe I found her.

But as quick as we bonded, was how quick I had to desist from her because I have no energy to tackle her manic and argumentative moods. I understand that to choose friends who are only like me is a form of narcissism, but I just could not hack it having to defend my position every time I say something. I could take her opinion about my opinion, but I'm too tired and too brain dead to be on the defensive position all the time.

I am an introvert in the sense that most of the time I am preoccupied with my own thoughts, but I love social contact; I enjoy people and their stories and I long to be with people---just not in big doses. Or with bipolar beings. Being with people 3 days in a row (or one hour with her) would land me some place with men and women in white coats and hardly readable handwriting. And where most of their supply gowns are straightjackets. No wonder I love cats. They don't talk back so I don't have to argue. And no wonder I'm still single.

Look who's older (2)

I don't usually celebrate my birthday except when Chat wants to make a big deal out of it. But this year I wanted to make a big deal out of it, so I celebrated it for 2 days. Last Saturday was the pig extravagansa; we grilled the ribs, roasted the head, braised the legs and stewed the rest. The "hood" ate all day, then took home everything that was left. Then yesterday was the icing on the cake; I took my "writing students" to go with me to a town south of here. We rode the airconditioned bus, which was a treat for everyone because none of them had been on a bus --more so an airconditioned one.

Chicken drumstick, rice and hot soup for breakfast after we got off the bus. They asked for hot soup because they said the air on the bus was so cold for their stomach. It made sense, until they said they want a cold soda too.

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We then took off to the countryside and hang around by the water.

And by lunch time I was very tired. And broke. But very happy.

Look who's older..

Chat asked me what I wanted for my birthday, so I told her I want a pig. "And what are you going to do with it?" I told her to just look at my blog after she sends me the money. The goat snuggling up with the pig.
I wonder what the USDA agents and the homeowners association would do if I do something like this in my apartment in Dallas. I told the neighborhood boys I am buying a pig (or Chat is) for my birthday but I have no guests and they can cook the pork in any way they like and whoever happens to come by gets to eat. I didn't get to eat because I had so much fun because this is what my dad used to do---open house to the hoi polloi. (Well, the hoity toity is welcome too if they can stand the fun.)

Again....the future (fill in the blank)

That's why I love cats because the relationship is straightforward---you don't entertain any hope that you can train them. They train you.

With kids, it's different. You silently believe that you can bend them and mold them. Into becoming writers. Best selling authors even. Or just do what I tell them to do. But....this one here, all her writings are about going to school and brushing her teeth when the sun rises. But she goes to school only once every full moon or when her brother beats her up all the way to the school house.

Then there's this one. She insists on being a screenwriter. I keep telling her: Narrative, narrative. And she keeps writing a dialogue....with her dog or with her dead father.
This one, for the life of me I can't make her stand up to read her story.
Then here's the oldest of them. She insists that her story is in her head and no need to write it. "I want to tell it orally." She says. I said: This is a writing class. And she says no, she wants to tell it orally. With pictures even.
And this one? Of all of them he has the best ideas for a story, if only I could make him write more than a teaser 5 lines. (Or make him stop smoking. Or at least wait if he lives past the age of 11) I tell him he would make a good journalist or an author but he said he wants to be a doctor, not a writer. I encouraged him and told him that his chances are great of becoming a doctor, especially since only he can read his own handwriting.

It's food nonetheless

Before 6 a.m. this morning I was already out of my apartment to get some fresh air in the country and visit my buddy Ken, down south. I needed more caffeine drip but Ken wanted to go to his favorite restaurant because "they have huevos rancheros", the Mexican omelette he really likes. I thought, yeah, I want to see this place he's been so excited about. Well, here we are.

You see that crispy fried fish head? That's not mine.
After we ate, we walked towards the town square and passed by this. Crispy, crunchy "adidas"...chicken fingers.
We then took a bus and headed farther south and strolled around the market and found more .......food.


Why bother with modern ovens?

The Future....(fill in the blank)

Meet the future authors. That's what I'd want them to be, but I don't know what the future holds for these kids. It was not out of the goodness of my heart that I started teaching them, but I miss my writing group in Dallas and it's so expensive to buy books here in Cebu. So I thought I'd invest in notebooks and pens and beat these kids into submission and make them writers.
These kids come with their own unique story: One of them has a mother who is very sick but when she is able to get up, she drinks herself to death and the girl on the front right would have to pull her out of the ditch or from along the road and drag her home. She doesn't know who or where her father is. The oldest in the group doesn't know her mother or father because her mother left her at the place where she worked and told her co-worker, the woman who now takes care of this girl that she can have her. The mother has 4 kids and all have been given away. Except for one, all of them are not living with their parents.

And after only 3 meetings, they've all encouraged me with their progress. They're all stepping up to the plate and coming up with interesting thoughts and ideas. One of them even produced a short but interesting narrative. And the youngest one who is 9 years old wrote a dialogue and when I asked her how she came up with it, she said it's what she created in her mind. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the future Pulitzer awardee.

The world according to...

I believed you when you said you would come back after the storm.


I meant what I said until the cute fireman showed up.

You argue like cats and dogs, while we have a bigger problem.

Speaking of Children

Here's a report issued by the Chief of Police in Houston, Texas back in the late 60's. It was entitled: 12 Rules for Raising Delinquent Children.
( These twelve rules were originally created by Dr. Paul Cates and published in Strictly for Parents )

1. Begin with infancy to give the child everything he wants. In this way, he will grow up to believe the world owes him a living.

2. When he picks up bad words, laugh at him. This will make him think he's cute. It will also encourage him to pick "cuter' phrases that will blow off the top of your head later.

3. Never give him any spiritual training. Wait til he's 21 and then let him "decide for himself."

4. Avoid use of word "wrong". It may develop a guilt complex. This will condition him to believe later, when he is arrested for stealing a car, that society is against him and he is being persecuted.

5. Pick up everything he leaves lying around --books, shoes and clothing. Do everything for him so he will be experienced in throwing all responsibility onto others.

6. Let him read any printed matter he can get his hands on. Be careful that drinking glasses and the silver ware are sterilized, but let his mind feast on garbage.

7. Quarrel frequently in the presence of your children. This way they will not be too shocked when the home is broken up later.

8. Give a child all the spending money he wants. Never let him earn his own. Why should he have things as tough as you had them?

9. Satisfy his every craving for food, drink and comfort. See that every sensual desire is gratified. Denial may lead to harmful frustration.

10. Take his side against neighbors, teachers, and policemen. They are all prejudiced against your child.

11. When he gets into real trouble, apologize for yourself by saying, " I never could do anything with him."

12. Prepare for a life of grief. You will be apt to have it.

Stuffed chicken

I am very consistent. I am always behind on modern gadgets, so naturally I am 30 years behind on this turbo oven. And boy, do I love it!

I was experimenting on stuffing the chicken with glutinous rice with sweet Chinese sausage. I love the contrast of the sweet and salty taste of the meat. Soak overnite or 3-4 hours if you don't have time, then blanch it or cook it till the last 5 minutes of it being done. Brining the chicken overnite makes it real juicy and I find that it's really necessary when using the turbo.

A properly punctuated life

When my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer and soon died, it spinned me 360 degrees 5 times over, and it was the turning point in my life. But unlike the English writer Lynne Truss after her sister died, I didn't publish a book bemoaning the problem of poor punctuation in today's world. Eats, Shoots & Leaves is the title of her book and she illustrates it by telling a story of a panda who enters a cafe, orders a sandwich, eats it then pulls out a gun and starts shooting. When a waiter asks the panda to explain his action, he hands him a poorly punctuated wildlife guide and asks him to look up the description of a panda. It reads: "Panda. Large, black and white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves."

You see why proper punctuation can mean life or death? When I was young(er) I used to thrive on deadlines and I was constantly operating on an exclamation point, never knowing when to pause or stop. I know God meant for us to use every punctuation ever invented; every dot or tittle in any sentence or in real life is meant to have a purpose. But getting older with my now tired bones, I tend to apply the period sometimes too much..... in other words, I have become too lazy. Too lazy that I often have difficulty re-punctuating, especially a sentence like this: "Not getting any better. Come at once."