Picnics, Church and Sundays

Growing up, Sunday always was my favorite day of the week. Picnic Sundays most of all. I remember "Roca Monte", a park and playground far away from home. It was a treat reserved for special occasions and we so looked forward to it weeks before the date. Far away back then, was an hour or so by bus and with my four other siblings, it meant a load of kid stuff - towels, powder, first aid kit and a clean change of Sunday clothes- and picnic baskets and throw-up bags. Until I was in school, I never got farther than a few minutes on a vehicle without - excuse me - throwing up.

Getting ready on the morning of the picnic was quite a feat; bathing, changing, breakfast not to mention the squabbling in between. We were up at wee hours but by the time we got to our destination, it was time for lunch. And before I was done with the swings and seesaws and the giant elves and mushroom figures in the park, it was pack-up time. I remember always feeling cheated out of my good time, and all because we had to be in church, on time for the 3 o'clock Sunday mass! I think until the day I stopped playing, I never liked church but it was a house rule ever since I can remember: church before anything else on a Sunday.

Now I'm glad I grew up with that house rule because I could never have managed life without my God. Our church Sundays turned out to be my greatest blessing. Many times in my life, people couldn't be there for me and church is where I go and there He will be, never too busy for my cares. When the real world seem unbearable, church becomes my refuge and almost always, I feel better after, like someone has taken the load off me and bore it for me. On really bad days, I go at a time I know only empty pews and my good, old friend on the cross will be there; and then I cry my heart out, shamelessly; profusely.

On Living and Loving....

Even charity has many faces. That of one who gives because it "feels good"; of another who gives because it "looks good"; and yet of another who is simply obliged; or of one who gives to take control of the recipient's life. 
But the best is of one who gives out of love.

Every once in a while, God leaves us to get lost in a maze only because He wants us to learn the art of finding our way out.

There are only a few things I cannot overdo; and one of them is praying. It is when a misfortune comes along that I realize how little time I have spent in  prayer.

It is a waste of time to argue with someone who can't respect my individuality or opinion. He/She is"always right" anyway.

  

I knew I have truly loved when his imperfections became known to me yet I chose to stay and love him more.

I love how simple options can be so momentarily liberating. As with a bad leak on the roof; if you can't afford a new house or a good fix, there's always the pail!

The fastest way to lose a husband is to tell him how, when and where to get his haircut. Remember he was able to decide for himself when he asked you to marry him.      

Sometimes, it is enough for us to believe that what is happening is what is best, even when we don't understand why. This is the kind of faith that moves the Father's Heart.

Forgive always. Then forget - the offense or the offender - whichever leaves you with the least emotional baggage so you can move on.

To each his own star. As soon as  you reach for someone else's, you will lose sight of yours.

Live passionately; love completely; serve wholeheartedly; pray unceasingly...

In most workplaces, bitterness and envy will break your peace. This is when leaving is not an option for evil will persist anywhere, just in another form and face... But while the enemy seeks for every opportunity to pounce on you, seek to be better at what you do. Soon, one of you will have wasted precious time and it won't be you....

(All pictures on this post entitled "On living and loving..." are shared/borrowed from the net and blogger wishes to thank the owners)

Our wonder woman at Home

                Two months ago, my mom fractured her right hipbone while trying to restrain our burly, boisterous house dog. She was in pain for the next few days and was totally bedridden for over a month. It was heartbreaking to see her, someone so mobile and active  suddenly go docile and quiet. When it happened, we just had to tell her we told her so.

                At 83 years old (this coming November 7), she still thinks she is wonder woman sans the costume and she simply hates it when we try to slow her down.  I guess it was God’s way of slowing her down and reminding her she was no longer 30 or 50 or 60; that she is 83!  That was one of the very few times she ever took a leave from her well-loved household chores.

                I am sorry to have to say this… but my mom is extremely headstrong. Before the accident, she insisted on going to the market – everyday, for fresh food supplies; even when we argued that carrying the bags was already too much for her and that she might slip and sprain an ankle going around the wet area.  Many times in the past few years, she’d find herself way, way past our house while taking public transportation on her way home.  She’d laugh it off and reasoned that she was either falling asleep; too engrossed in a thought or that it was simply an honest to goodness human mistake anyone can make. The verdict: There was absolutely no reason for us to worry even if she had to come home late from visits to relatives or from church-related activities.  And not too long ago too, she still took 12 hours overnight bus trips – ALONE! Now every time she isn’t home when she should be, we know she has again outsmarted us by secretly slipping to my father’s hometown, about 100 kms away. A call from a relative always confirms our guess. Well at least, she’s only about 4 hours away by bus and will surely be home by night. 

                Over the years, she has developed pneumonia which, sometimes had her confined in a hospital. Her doctor had seriously advised her against using strong-smelling cleansing agents such as chlorine or Clorox that triggers the recurrence of her respiratory illness.  But my “wonder woman” mom, until now, considers it a myth. Somewhere in our big, old, rundown house she always keeps a bottle. Sometimes, we chance upon it, throw it down the drain; many times we’d come home to find the house spic and span, reeking with the smell of it.  And when she does end up, again, in the hospital, come hell or high waters, she will never agree that chlorine was the culprit! She simply fell sick, period! She has such an obsession to cleaning up both the house and herself. The last time she was confined, Doc gently cautioned her against her obsessive behavior.  She was quietly up before sunrise the next day, in the hospital, and bathed in cold tap water before anyone could stop her.  Boy, were we furious! 

                But I wouldn't have have any other way. My wonder woman mom loves unconditionally. No occasion deserves a less than special treat. She took those long 12-hour trips even if no one can make it with her just to be with her grandchildren on their birthdays and be their cook for a day. Her best-kept recipes are spiced up with a lot of love and a generous amount of service. She stirs and whips with untiring passion and she takes great pains to set the table beautifully even when she knows that in less than a minute, the table will be a mess when everyone, her rowdy grandsons especially, dive for her delicious dishes. Whenever we go to visit her, send-offs are like nowhere else in this planet. She cooks like there is no tomorrow; gives until the kitchen is left empty and refuses to settle with just the send-off bags - she sees us off until the bus is out of sight. 

In this age of electronic mails and messaging, she remains a faithful patron of hallmark cards and  handwritten love letters, given the fact that she can no longer write legibly since years back because of hand tremors. Yet, she will never miss an occasion without sending out a card. 

I guess, if she can have her way, she would have loved to raise everyone of her 18 grandchildren, with as much love and dedication she gave us growing up.

                Now I want the world to know how blessed I am to have her for my mother. For the times I fought with her, broke her heart, let her down, made her feel less loved, unimportant, unappreciated; I wish I could take back every one of them and I am so sorry. But I know she has forgiven me lovingly every time. I hope she knows that I love her constantly and I will always thank God for her in my life. I hope she knows that life is more colorful, more dramatic (ha ha), so much more wonderful because she is my mom.

I have added her picture taken last Jan.1, 2014 during the family new year celebration. She was on her toes before she celebrated her 83rd birthday. Wonder woman is back!