THE POWER OF NEEDS
Thirty eight years ago, during the New Year’s Mass in 1970, I uttered a simple and very short prayer: “Lord, I want to marry this year. If it will be good for me and if it will be for the greater glory of God please send me the right woman”. God was so good. He sent me not the woman I wanted. God sent me the woman I needed.
It turned out to be a mutual answer to a mutual prayer. She also needed me and that magic filling of each other’s needs made our married life intact. Every time we thought we were tired of each other we always rediscovered that we needed each one.
I watched her watering the plants this morning with her usual get up of green duster and bilateral anti-rheumatic bands on both legs. I also noticed bunch of white hair appearing at random underneath her obviously dyed hair. It was the same blondish hair that left a mark in my mind when she was just a little girl I saw with her eldest sister one time when they paid our family a visit. Our eldest sisters were “kumadres”. We only knew each other because of them, long before God sent her to me to fill my void.
She need not water the plants herself this morning as we have several helpers but she enjoyed doing it and at the same time thought that only she could do it the best way. She was like that even in cooking or doing anything – a kind of messianic complex which is ok with me except that she was always tired.
I noticed that she was still slender and erect in spite of the years that passed-by. Her 27-inch waistline when I married her was now “immeasurable” at sight but she still exuded a mystical aura that probably filled the needs of my esoteric personality.
She still goes to Manila to attend to her many activities, selling this and that items – a hobby she has to do to keep her up and about – her own special tonic; the shot of adrenalin that keeps her systems always on the go. Most of the time, I am left at the provincial home alone with only the helpers. We are in a kind of marital arrangement that keeps us needing each other and filling each other’s needs. We are happily enjoying our very own brand of marital bliss
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
TO BE REMEMBERED
TO BE REMEMBERED
“If you want to be remembered when you die, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing” said someone, sometime. In my case I honestly don’t care whether I am remembered or not when I leave this world. What is more important to me is if I am not forgotten while still alive.
But of course it brings good feelings when you know that some people are reading what you are writing no matter if they only do that out of courtesy if not by accident.
Since blogging has become common I enjoyed writing my thoughts that I entered into my blogspot whenever I feel like doing so. After all not all senior citizens are capable of doing that no matter how popular or intelligent they were once upon a time. Most septuagenarians are alien to the internet and other helpful “toys”.
I know many are reading my blogs because they tell me and sometimes request for more. At least I am assured that somehow I am still remembered because I force them to do so.
It thrilled me to the bones when a competent writer told me one day that she wanted to write about me and what I am doing with my life. I have no idea what she is going to write about me but I trust her because she is a reputable journalist that contributes to an American Journal.
Many have offered to write about me before but being the shy person that I am I refused the offers as I also refused some TV appearances. As it is I am happy within my cloistered haven where I can help a lot of anonymous people presenting different problems needing my help, approval, suggestion or at time simple consoling words.
There is nothing more rewarding for me than being able to share a bit of myself to people who need it. It is therefore immaterial whether I write things worth reading or do things worth writing. I am aware that when I leave this world, whether I like it or not, sooner or later, I will be forgotten. My good genes are already flowing freely to my descendants; mingling with other equally good genes guaranteed to perpetuate goodness for a long, long time.
“If you want to be remembered when you die, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing” said someone, sometime. In my case I honestly don’t care whether I am remembered or not when I leave this world. What is more important to me is if I am not forgotten while still alive.
But of course it brings good feelings when you know that some people are reading what you are writing no matter if they only do that out of courtesy if not by accident.
Since blogging has become common I enjoyed writing my thoughts that I entered into my blogspot whenever I feel like doing so. After all not all senior citizens are capable of doing that no matter how popular or intelligent they were once upon a time. Most septuagenarians are alien to the internet and other helpful “toys”.
I know many are reading my blogs because they tell me and sometimes request for more. At least I am assured that somehow I am still remembered because I force them to do so.
It thrilled me to the bones when a competent writer told me one day that she wanted to write about me and what I am doing with my life. I have no idea what she is going to write about me but I trust her because she is a reputable journalist that contributes to an American Journal.
Many have offered to write about me before but being the shy person that I am I refused the offers as I also refused some TV appearances. As it is I am happy within my cloistered haven where I can help a lot of anonymous people presenting different problems needing my help, approval, suggestion or at time simple consoling words.
There is nothing more rewarding for me than being able to share a bit of myself to people who need it. It is therefore immaterial whether I write things worth reading or do things worth writing. I am aware that when I leave this world, whether I like it or not, sooner or later, I will be forgotten. My good genes are already flowing freely to my descendants; mingling with other equally good genes guaranteed to perpetuate goodness for a long, long time.
Friday, April 25, 2008
GRANDCHILDREN GALORE
GRANDCHILDREN GALORE
One Advantage of a senior citizen is that he has more time to be alone by himself; to think and evaluate things subjectively and objectively to his own delight. He may no longer indulge in building castles in the air but one very interesting subject he enjoys contemplating on is his grandchildren. They are the tangible realities of his future, the living proof of his romantic existence in this world.
While a grandson carries the flag for the continuity of the revered family name, the granddaughters serve as ambassadresses of goodwill to the vast global village. A granddaughter may opt to pursue a career that widens the social standing of the whole clan while another one may decide to walk proudly towards a royal highway.
Politics is generally for male but a granddaughter could introduce the great difference that may change the whole political perception for a better and more lasting result. Still another granddaughter may yet turn out to be a great scientist who shall contribute big things beneficial to mankind.
To a grandfather his grandchildren are his valuable trophies; his tonic that keeps him feeling strong and healthy – the forces that invite him to go on living for more years. It is an endless process of projecting further and further away into the future in as endless as recalling back in memory the glories of the past.
People who never had grandchildren must be very lonely. They must have missed terribly, the joyous giggles, the curious queries they keep on asking repeatedly, the fun, the challenges as well as the hope that they brought into this world. They are not only the apples of the eyes but the genuine extension and lively projection that shall continue to travel on and on for as long as there is life – ‘till kingdom come.
Having five beautiful and intelligent granddaughters and one healthy look-alike grandson is enough reason for me to claim that I am fulfilled, that I triumphed. With six grandchildren, all bringing joys and hope, who say I am poor?
One Advantage of a senior citizen is that he has more time to be alone by himself; to think and evaluate things subjectively and objectively to his own delight. He may no longer indulge in building castles in the air but one very interesting subject he enjoys contemplating on is his grandchildren. They are the tangible realities of his future, the living proof of his romantic existence in this world.
While a grandson carries the flag for the continuity of the revered family name, the granddaughters serve as ambassadresses of goodwill to the vast global village. A granddaughter may opt to pursue a career that widens the social standing of the whole clan while another one may decide to walk proudly towards a royal highway.
Politics is generally for male but a granddaughter could introduce the great difference that may change the whole political perception for a better and more lasting result. Still another granddaughter may yet turn out to be a great scientist who shall contribute big things beneficial to mankind.
To a grandfather his grandchildren are his valuable trophies; his tonic that keeps him feeling strong and healthy – the forces that invite him to go on living for more years. It is an endless process of projecting further and further away into the future in as endless as recalling back in memory the glories of the past.
People who never had grandchildren must be very lonely. They must have missed terribly, the joyous giggles, the curious queries they keep on asking repeatedly, the fun, the challenges as well as the hope that they brought into this world. They are not only the apples of the eyes but the genuine extension and lively projection that shall continue to travel on and on for as long as there is life – ‘till kingdom come.
Having five beautiful and intelligent granddaughters and one healthy look-alike grandson is enough reason for me to claim that I am fulfilled, that I triumphed. With six grandchildren, all bringing joys and hope, who say I am poor?
Friday, April 18, 2008
RITUALCOUGHING
RITUAL COUGHING
After indulging myself in medical practice for forty seven years I thought I have been exposed to all kinds of coughing and is already an authority on it. Not until I stumbled on one shiny stair step that traumatized my left lower back when I slipped downwards. (Pls. read Wrong Step)
The trauma was not that hard and could have been unnoticed had I not been coughing because I happened to be allergic to summer dust. Now every time I cough the traumatized muscle of my back is somehow stretched and an atypical pain results. Likewise when I sneeze or laugh.
The pain though not very disturbing invites a kind of movement that results into a ritualistic pattern only me with my backache could produce. When the urge to cough begins, my shoulder twists a little to the right as my head moves a bit backward.
Meantime my right hand moves counterclockwise very slowly as it is brought towards the traumatized portion as if to shield it from a coming attack. This is followed by the movements of my eyelids as if flirting for attention.
The maneuvers are supported by invoking the Holy Spirit to “make me an instrument of God’s healing power”as I touch the affected part. It sounds funny but it is the only ritual that works to minimize the otherwise excruciating pain. Doing the ritual is not really difficult as it be comes automatic but the result on the onlookers is another thing. Some thinks I am a victim of Bell’s palsy or a long standing stroke.
As I result it is no longer thrilling to chat at the net café to avoid other chatters from entertaining wild thoughts whenever I have to cough. Attending the Church service also becomes a problem as other Churchgoers shall be wondering while I suddenly exhibit interesting movements.
For a person like me with a very healthy sense of humor, forcing to suppress my laughter is a kind of flagellation but it is very amusing to discover these funny incidents after experiencing a simple accident brought about by a new maid trying to make an impression.
As a compromise to myself I tried not to expose myself to dust to prevent allergic coughing as if it is possible during summer and you happen to be in the province. I also keep away from people saying funny things to avoid simple giggling or hilarious laughing. I thought it is that easy until my friends start inquiring what my problem is and why I suddenly turned too serious.
Even during my “wildest“meditation I never thought that a mild back trauma could result to so many changes in my lifestyle as well as that of others. Come to think of that – life is nothing but entertainment with the two faces – the sad and the funny one. Let us live it well.
After indulging myself in medical practice for forty seven years I thought I have been exposed to all kinds of coughing and is already an authority on it. Not until I stumbled on one shiny stair step that traumatized my left lower back when I slipped downwards. (Pls. read Wrong Step)
The trauma was not that hard and could have been unnoticed had I not been coughing because I happened to be allergic to summer dust. Now every time I cough the traumatized muscle of my back is somehow stretched and an atypical pain results. Likewise when I sneeze or laugh.
The pain though not very disturbing invites a kind of movement that results into a ritualistic pattern only me with my backache could produce. When the urge to cough begins, my shoulder twists a little to the right as my head moves a bit backward.
Meantime my right hand moves counterclockwise very slowly as it is brought towards the traumatized portion as if to shield it from a coming attack. This is followed by the movements of my eyelids as if flirting for attention.
The maneuvers are supported by invoking the Holy Spirit to “make me an instrument of God’s healing power”as I touch the affected part. It sounds funny but it is the only ritual that works to minimize the otherwise excruciating pain. Doing the ritual is not really difficult as it be comes automatic but the result on the onlookers is another thing. Some thinks I am a victim of Bell’s palsy or a long standing stroke.
As I result it is no longer thrilling to chat at the net café to avoid other chatters from entertaining wild thoughts whenever I have to cough. Attending the Church service also becomes a problem as other Churchgoers shall be wondering while I suddenly exhibit interesting movements.
For a person like me with a very healthy sense of humor, forcing to suppress my laughter is a kind of flagellation but it is very amusing to discover these funny incidents after experiencing a simple accident brought about by a new maid trying to make an impression.
As a compromise to myself I tried not to expose myself to dust to prevent allergic coughing as if it is possible during summer and you happen to be in the province. I also keep away from people saying funny things to avoid simple giggling or hilarious laughing. I thought it is that easy until my friends start inquiring what my problem is and why I suddenly turned too serious.
Even during my “wildest“meditation I never thought that a mild back trauma could result to so many changes in my lifestyle as well as that of others. Come to think of that – life is nothing but entertainment with the two faces – the sad and the funny one. Let us live it well.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
WRONG STEP
WRONG STEP
I slipped from the fourth step of our stairs while holding a bag of goodies on my way down to the terrace. My left elbow and left lower back were hurt – but not seriously. I am sure no bones were fractured. The pain is tolerable except that I am also coughing and every time I cough and sneezes my left lower back would create excruciating pain that forces me to exhibit different bodily distortions to temporarily lessen the discomfort.
I simple muscular trauma can do that much trouble to a senior citizen. But I don’t admit that it was a senior citizen’s wrong step that caused the accident but rather because a new maid under training, in her attempt to impress me, tried to clean the floor and the stairs ‘till they were shining and slippery. I cannot blame her for a very good intention (sigh).
Anyway I lied on my biomat for infra-red and anion therapy. It helped much but the following day I discovered that it is not only sneezing and coughing that causes the pain but also simple giggling and heartfelt laughing. Back to my biomat ritual but meantime I also looked for a professional reflexologist. Someone recommended a young man who was trained by an orthopedic surgeon.
The first session with the reflexologist relaxed and calmed all my muscles except the traumatized part. I know it will take time – possibly days or weeks for the traumatized muscles to function normally. Meantime I am moving in slow motion very typical of many seniors. If this is God’s way to remind me to slow down, so be it.
Anyway I can still do my routine sit-up exercises every morning. I still enjoy reading and writing. My zest for life is still intact. I still go regularly to the net cafe to chat, to e-mail, to surf and to blog. I can still attend to my garden and still serve as a shoulder-to-cry-on for people with problems. Who says I am old? Not even that shinny and slippery step could insist that I am.
I slipped from the fourth step of our stairs while holding a bag of goodies on my way down to the terrace. My left elbow and left lower back were hurt – but not seriously. I am sure no bones were fractured. The pain is tolerable except that I am also coughing and every time I cough and sneezes my left lower back would create excruciating pain that forces me to exhibit different bodily distortions to temporarily lessen the discomfort.
I simple muscular trauma can do that much trouble to a senior citizen. But I don’t admit that it was a senior citizen’s wrong step that caused the accident but rather because a new maid under training, in her attempt to impress me, tried to clean the floor and the stairs ‘till they were shining and slippery. I cannot blame her for a very good intention (sigh).
Anyway I lied on my biomat for infra-red and anion therapy. It helped much but the following day I discovered that it is not only sneezing and coughing that causes the pain but also simple giggling and heartfelt laughing. Back to my biomat ritual but meantime I also looked for a professional reflexologist. Someone recommended a young man who was trained by an orthopedic surgeon.
The first session with the reflexologist relaxed and calmed all my muscles except the traumatized part. I know it will take time – possibly days or weeks for the traumatized muscles to function normally. Meantime I am moving in slow motion very typical of many seniors. If this is God’s way to remind me to slow down, so be it.
Anyway I can still do my routine sit-up exercises every morning. I still enjoy reading and writing. My zest for life is still intact. I still go regularly to the net cafe to chat, to e-mail, to surf and to blog. I can still attend to my garden and still serve as a shoulder-to-cry-on for people with problems. Who says I am old? Not even that shinny and slippery step could insist that I am.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
LOOK ALIKE
LOOK-ALIKE
“He is your look-alike! announced my youngest son in reference to my newly born grandson in Australia. “Yes”, I said, “I saw his picture and I recognized that his nose is mine”. “No, even his whole face is yours”, explained my son.
Immediately some very unusual and mysterious creeps traveled all over my body. I couldn’t explain the feeling upon hearing that my first grandson is my look-alike, whether it was mentioned only to encourage me to visit them in Sydney. My mind wondered at some distant dreamland of peace and quiet. I tried to figure out how I looked like when I was a little boy while at the same time I was horrified to imagine any newborn that looks like me now at my ripe age.
At any rate the news boasted my feeling so much. The more I want to see my grandson in person and the more I am disturbed, not really aware of how I will go about it . (Pls. read Grandson in the Global Village). There is now a living projection of myself that makes me qualified to leave this world in peace.
Having a look-alike grandson makes me feel very, very proud and contented. So after all my blood and my genes are that strong to be carried in future generations. Now I can continue what I wrote about “The Portrait of Five Generations”. From Herminigildo Aviñante, the Patriarch, to Fernando, to Gaudencio, to me, to Peter-Jonathan and now to Milo Kanstantin (through Paul and Mykee), the generation portrait shall continue to glow.
It is thrilling to trace the genealogy of our family. I can feel that good traits are passing from generation to generation. I hope that the hurrying world now will not obstruct the flow of our good genetic trait. Somebody in the family must continue following up our blood and genes while we also continue sharing them with others, blood and genes for the improvement of the race in this fast whirling and technologically perplexed society.
Welcome to the Clan, Milo Konstantine Policarpio Aviñante. Carry our flag. For many years we carefully and proudly preserved our name. Be a good boy. I want you to perpetuate most of my positive attitude and good outlook in life. Be a good athlete too, like your Tito Otan and your Dad Paul; Have interest in sculpture and carpentry and be culturally concerned like your great grand “Lolo Gauden”; Be musically inclined and enjoy the arts like your great, great grand “Lolo Adong”; But most of all be a good leader with genuine community involvement and concern like your great, great, great, grand “Lolo Gildo who had been twice a Gobernadorcillo of Alfonso, Cavite.
“He is your look-alike! announced my youngest son in reference to my newly born grandson in Australia. “Yes”, I said, “I saw his picture and I recognized that his nose is mine”. “No, even his whole face is yours”, explained my son.
Immediately some very unusual and mysterious creeps traveled all over my body. I couldn’t explain the feeling upon hearing that my first grandson is my look-alike, whether it was mentioned only to encourage me to visit them in Sydney. My mind wondered at some distant dreamland of peace and quiet. I tried to figure out how I looked like when I was a little boy while at the same time I was horrified to imagine any newborn that looks like me now at my ripe age.
At any rate the news boasted my feeling so much. The more I want to see my grandson in person and the more I am disturbed, not really aware of how I will go about it . (Pls. read Grandson in the Global Village). There is now a living projection of myself that makes me qualified to leave this world in peace.
Having a look-alike grandson makes me feel very, very proud and contented. So after all my blood and my genes are that strong to be carried in future generations. Now I can continue what I wrote about “The Portrait of Five Generations”. From Herminigildo Aviñante, the Patriarch, to Fernando, to Gaudencio, to me, to Peter-Jonathan and now to Milo Kanstantin (through Paul and Mykee), the generation portrait shall continue to glow.
It is thrilling to trace the genealogy of our family. I can feel that good traits are passing from generation to generation. I hope that the hurrying world now will not obstruct the flow of our good genetic trait. Somebody in the family must continue following up our blood and genes while we also continue sharing them with others, blood and genes for the improvement of the race in this fast whirling and technologically perplexed society.
Welcome to the Clan, Milo Konstantine Policarpio Aviñante. Carry our flag. For many years we carefully and proudly preserved our name. Be a good boy. I want you to perpetuate most of my positive attitude and good outlook in life. Be a good athlete too, like your Tito Otan and your Dad Paul; Have interest in sculpture and carpentry and be culturally concerned like your great grand “Lolo Gauden”; Be musically inclined and enjoy the arts like your great, great grand “Lolo Adong”; But most of all be a good leader with genuine community involvement and concern like your great, great, great, grand “Lolo Gildo who had been twice a Gobernadorcillo of Alfonso, Cavite.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
"GOOD THINGS" AGENDA
“GOOD THINGS” AGENDA
When my children were in the primary and secondary schools, I required them to conduct a meeting every Saturday after dinner. One of the five presides while my wife and I served as observers. The agenda was to report about at least three good things each one has done during the current week.
The idea was to inculcate into their minds the importance of doing good things. After the individual report they were allowed to talk about anything under the sun that interest them.
But first they should scrutinize their weekly experiences to find out if they had any problems encountered in school with their teachers, with their classmates, with their friends, with their parents at home or with each other at any time of the day.
The animated discussion lasts from a few minutes to several hours depending on how the flow of the meeting goes on. We all find this occasion quite enjoyable and a very good learning experience. All the time I just considered it a game to keep them together even for a while, until one time when my eldest son joined a retreat, I was suddenly awakened by its impact.
A portion in the retreat demands a kind of optional public confession. There were many interesting stories shared. Some were sad, even terrifying and unbelievable as well as happy ones dramatized by the retreat participants. My son couldn’t think of anything to share or to confess, so he instead, talked about the weekly family meeting.
Somehow it touched the Retreat Master that since then he kept on mentioning about it every now and then until the end of the retreat. My son proudly relayed to me what happened as he eventually realized the value of what we have been casually doing.
Now my daughter in Canada who has two daughters of her own is asking me how I managed to care for them, during their growing up period. I simply advised her to practice the “good things” agenda while giving her kids a sense of protection, a sense of concern and a sense of love. They will never go wrong.
When my children were in the primary and secondary schools, I required them to conduct a meeting every Saturday after dinner. One of the five presides while my wife and I served as observers. The agenda was to report about at least three good things each one has done during the current week.
The idea was to inculcate into their minds the importance of doing good things. After the individual report they were allowed to talk about anything under the sun that interest them.
But first they should scrutinize their weekly experiences to find out if they had any problems encountered in school with their teachers, with their classmates, with their friends, with their parents at home or with each other at any time of the day.
The animated discussion lasts from a few minutes to several hours depending on how the flow of the meeting goes on. We all find this occasion quite enjoyable and a very good learning experience. All the time I just considered it a game to keep them together even for a while, until one time when my eldest son joined a retreat, I was suddenly awakened by its impact.
A portion in the retreat demands a kind of optional public confession. There were many interesting stories shared. Some were sad, even terrifying and unbelievable as well as happy ones dramatized by the retreat participants. My son couldn’t think of anything to share or to confess, so he instead, talked about the weekly family meeting.
Somehow it touched the Retreat Master that since then he kept on mentioning about it every now and then until the end of the retreat. My son proudly relayed to me what happened as he eventually realized the value of what we have been casually doing.
Now my daughter in Canada who has two daughters of her own is asking me how I managed to care for them, during their growing up period. I simply advised her to practice the “good things” agenda while giving her kids a sense of protection, a sense of concern and a sense of love. They will never go wrong.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
THE MAGIC OF BELIEVING
THE MAGIC OF BELIEVING
Psychological catharsis, emotional ventilation, screaming aloud, crying endlessly; they all mean one thing. They all serve as outlets for something suppressed. Unexpressed ideas, comments or opinions kept intact in the innermost recesses of the emotion are very unhealthy. Things undone, good words unsaid, logic unexplained or just anything suppressed could be detrimental.
Those suppressed things shall all look for an outlet. If they find the head, insomnia soon follows then severe headache, then psychotic behavior may ensue. If they find the lungs, hyperventilation results then are wheezing sounds and finally asthmatic breathing. Those that reached the heart could cause palpitation, angina pectoris and real heart ailments if unstopped properly.
Those that reached the gastro-intestinal tract can cause hyperacidity, spasms and eventually peptic ulcer if not dyspepsia and other “butterflies in the stomach”.
Muscles and joints if chosen to be the destination may give rise to rheumatic and arthritic pains. Those that affect the nerves stimulate neurological symptoms that are very disabling.
Why suppress anything when simple honesty and sincerity could easily find a shoulder-to-cry-on? Shouting or simply singing is a good outlet. Sometimes writing your thoughts, re-reading it then burning it can turn to ashes all your problems in a wink of the eye.
Let us not entertain problems for a long time. Solutions are always available. If the available solutions are not readily attainable let us just relax and allow time to heal our wounds.
The confusion in the world is already overwhelming. Let us not add more of ours. Let us follow the suggestion of Cinderella immortalized in her favorite song…”No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on "believing, the dreams that you wish will come true”.
Psychological catharsis, emotional ventilation, screaming aloud, crying endlessly; they all mean one thing. They all serve as outlets for something suppressed. Unexpressed ideas, comments or opinions kept intact in the innermost recesses of the emotion are very unhealthy. Things undone, good words unsaid, logic unexplained or just anything suppressed could be detrimental.
Those suppressed things shall all look for an outlet. If they find the head, insomnia soon follows then severe headache, then psychotic behavior may ensue. If they find the lungs, hyperventilation results then are wheezing sounds and finally asthmatic breathing. Those that reached the heart could cause palpitation, angina pectoris and real heart ailments if unstopped properly.
Those that reached the gastro-intestinal tract can cause hyperacidity, spasms and eventually peptic ulcer if not dyspepsia and other “butterflies in the stomach”.
Muscles and joints if chosen to be the destination may give rise to rheumatic and arthritic pains. Those that affect the nerves stimulate neurological symptoms that are very disabling.
Why suppress anything when simple honesty and sincerity could easily find a shoulder-to-cry-on? Shouting or simply singing is a good outlet. Sometimes writing your thoughts, re-reading it then burning it can turn to ashes all your problems in a wink of the eye.
Let us not entertain problems for a long time. Solutions are always available. If the available solutions are not readily attainable let us just relax and allow time to heal our wounds.
The confusion in the world is already overwhelming. Let us not add more of ours. Let us follow the suggestion of Cinderella immortalized in her favorite song…”No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on "believing, the dreams that you wish will come true”.
Friday, April 11, 2008
A GRANDSON IN THE GLOBAL VILLAGE
A GRANDSON IN THE GLOBAL VILLAGE
After the joys, the cheers, the happiness and everything good brought by five grand daughters, the coming of a grandson brings about a different kind of excitement.
Like flowers with dainty colors and pleasant scents, grand daughters are lovely dolls that brighten every corner of the house bringing songs and laughter everywhere.
However, a grandson is another thing. He is the flag-bearer of the family name. He is the potent link to the future generation, the bridge of the coming events in history. Of course I want to see my son in person. But he is in Australia where he was born, miles and miles away from me. To go there and cuddle my grandson is not an easy decision for me, an aging "lolo".
Like other senior "lolos' anywhere in the world, I am already experiencing many pains, and many changes in the functions of my systems. My organs are not getting any younger. Like me, they are tired, their functions are greatly diminished, and they are no longer as useful as they used to be.
A general and thorough physical check-up will surely reveal the bitter truth that I am no longer very healthy; that I will need this and that kind of medications; that my life shall go on with so many limitations. The medications in turn, aside from releasing their curative effects, shall also give out many side effects that shall in turn need more treatment.
I know this will be the beginning of a burdensome existence. My life will never be the same as it will be getting worse. As of now I am feeling in every way ok. Will my intention to see my grandson in person be the trigger mechanism to a world of ailments that I may later find too difficult to handle?
Furthermore it is not very easy to leave a house to the fallible care and decisions of helpers. I am not turning into a negative thinker, for I am just seeing things the normal way, as they really are.
The truth is not always exciting to accept as most of the time it hurts. But aging has its own challenges that usually are not simple enough to deal with.
The strong lure of a newborn grandson is there, requesting for a visit but the accumulated obstacles of aging are also there, greatly opposing. Surely, visiting grand children in Australia could be most fulfilling experience but only if this visit could also accomplish a visit to grand children in Canada.
This is the age of globalization and it is not surprising for families to have members all over the world. But is not always advantageous as it separates families physically to a depressing reality no matter how brightly you want to look at it.
The only best thing to do is to leave it to God. So I pray: "Lord, Your will... nothing more, nothing less and nothing else. Amen".
After the joys, the cheers, the happiness and everything good brought by five grand daughters, the coming of a grandson brings about a different kind of excitement.
Like flowers with dainty colors and pleasant scents, grand daughters are lovely dolls that brighten every corner of the house bringing songs and laughter everywhere.
However, a grandson is another thing. He is the flag-bearer of the family name. He is the potent link to the future generation, the bridge of the coming events in history. Of course I want to see my son in person. But he is in Australia where he was born, miles and miles away from me. To go there and cuddle my grandson is not an easy decision for me, an aging "lolo".
Like other senior "lolos' anywhere in the world, I am already experiencing many pains, and many changes in the functions of my systems. My organs are not getting any younger. Like me, they are tired, their functions are greatly diminished, and they are no longer as useful as they used to be.
A general and thorough physical check-up will surely reveal the bitter truth that I am no longer very healthy; that I will need this and that kind of medications; that my life shall go on with so many limitations. The medications in turn, aside from releasing their curative effects, shall also give out many side effects that shall in turn need more treatment.
I know this will be the beginning of a burdensome existence. My life will never be the same as it will be getting worse. As of now I am feeling in every way ok. Will my intention to see my grandson in person be the trigger mechanism to a world of ailments that I may later find too difficult to handle?
Furthermore it is not very easy to leave a house to the fallible care and decisions of helpers. I am not turning into a negative thinker, for I am just seeing things the normal way, as they really are.
The truth is not always exciting to accept as most of the time it hurts. But aging has its own challenges that usually are not simple enough to deal with.
The strong lure of a newborn grandson is there, requesting for a visit but the accumulated obstacles of aging are also there, greatly opposing. Surely, visiting grand children in Australia could be most fulfilling experience but only if this visit could also accomplish a visit to grand children in Canada.
This is the age of globalization and it is not surprising for families to have members all over the world. But is not always advantageous as it separates families physically to a depressing reality no matter how brightly you want to look at it.
The only best thing to do is to leave it to God. So I pray: "Lord, Your will... nothing more, nothing less and nothing else. Amen".
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
400 BLOGS TOO MUCH
400 BLOGS TOO MUCH
After having entered more than 400 blogs, I believe I have casually said most of what I wanted to say. In order not to bore my readers to death for my corny and monotonous comments in my blog spot I decided to slow down a little. I shall not be blogging regularly unless something terrifically important happens that I must share to everyone.
All the time that I was regularly blogging I have always tried to be positive in my approach. I have always propagated hope and optimism to the point of extracting them from the darkness of a pessimistic corner, all ideas and opinions that I tried to carefully convert into the brighter end of the pole.
As exponent of love I tried t o propagate its essence everywhere in various ways that it could be explained, though it seems next to impossible to impose the idea of love so easily. That is why I discovered that it is also important to introduce the other aspects of love in some important moments, no matter how paradoxical it appears.
We cannot fully love the light so let us hate the darkness instead. It is paradoxical but by hating the darkness light seems to appear immediately. Let us hate the evil and suddenly good is available. Let us hate the bad man and he is quickly stripped of his outside covering thus exposing the good in him.
Let us therefore hate all things that are negative. That way we convert everything negative into positive. Hating could also be a hobby by consistently hating the darkness we continuously discover new sources of light that could brighten our ways and dispositions.
I think more than 400 blogs are already enough to convey 400 positive ideas that one could pick anytime… as needs arise.
After having entered more than 400 blogs, I believe I have casually said most of what I wanted to say. In order not to bore my readers to death for my corny and monotonous comments in my blog spot I decided to slow down a little. I shall not be blogging regularly unless something terrifically important happens that I must share to everyone.
All the time that I was regularly blogging I have always tried to be positive in my approach. I have always propagated hope and optimism to the point of extracting them from the darkness of a pessimistic corner, all ideas and opinions that I tried to carefully convert into the brighter end of the pole.
As exponent of love I tried t o propagate its essence everywhere in various ways that it could be explained, though it seems next to impossible to impose the idea of love so easily. That is why I discovered that it is also important to introduce the other aspects of love in some important moments, no matter how paradoxical it appears.
We cannot fully love the light so let us hate the darkness instead. It is paradoxical but by hating the darkness light seems to appear immediately. Let us hate the evil and suddenly good is available. Let us hate the bad man and he is quickly stripped of his outside covering thus exposing the good in him.
Let us therefore hate all things that are negative. That way we convert everything negative into positive. Hating could also be a hobby by consistently hating the darkness we continuously discover new sources of light that could brighten our ways and dispositions.
I think more than 400 blogs are already enough to convey 400 positive ideas that one could pick anytime… as needs arise.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
TWILIGHT TIME
TWILIGHT TIME
Twilight generally brings gloom. Sometimes it is depressing. It is the setting of the sun announcing the coming of darkness. A beautiful sunset even at Manila Bay is still a sunset… an end to brightness… a goodbye to light. What could be a more lonesome scene than twilight?
When light takes a rest and darkness is born, a new kind of life reigns. In the kingdom of darkness evil prevails because the devil thrives well in the dark.
But let us not forget the moon and the stars… millions of them though far from each other contribute to the newly created light. These are the new lights that emanate new glow, new glitter, new beginning, and new hope. Come to think of it. A newborn darkness gives birth to a multitude of light which are uncoordinated but also help one another because there is coordination in their ‘uncoordinatedness’.
Human mind is like the light of a distant star. Human minds are minute glitters that together creates a congregation of glow more beautiful than sunshine. Our minds do twinkle like the stars. Oh how lucky what we are.
Politically we are now in the midst of darkness but let us not lose hope. Let our own glitter contributes a bit to brighten the atmosphere. Let us paint the sky with our own twinkle and glow. In the cosmos some stars die but they leave behind lights that travel billions of light years to reach our eyes… If each of us can only generate a little light, it will also help during dark, dark nights… to drive away the devil that cannot survive in the presence of light.
Let us not fear darkness, literally or figuratively. Let us not be afraid of the impending food shortage. We are probably eating too much that is why we get too sick too easily. Let us not be afraid of over population, it is just one night of darkness. Sunrise shall come again when everything shall be bright. Yes, there is darkness in the Philippine sky but let us all wait for the coming of the stars and enjoy their twinkles every night no matter how dark.
Twilight generally brings gloom. Sometimes it is depressing. It is the setting of the sun announcing the coming of darkness. A beautiful sunset even at Manila Bay is still a sunset… an end to brightness… a goodbye to light. What could be a more lonesome scene than twilight?
When light takes a rest and darkness is born, a new kind of life reigns. In the kingdom of darkness evil prevails because the devil thrives well in the dark.
But let us not forget the moon and the stars… millions of them though far from each other contribute to the newly created light. These are the new lights that emanate new glow, new glitter, new beginning, and new hope. Come to think of it. A newborn darkness gives birth to a multitude of light which are uncoordinated but also help one another because there is coordination in their ‘uncoordinatedness’.
Human mind is like the light of a distant star. Human minds are minute glitters that together creates a congregation of glow more beautiful than sunshine. Our minds do twinkle like the stars. Oh how lucky what we are.
Politically we are now in the midst of darkness but let us not lose hope. Let our own glitter contributes a bit to brighten the atmosphere. Let us paint the sky with our own twinkle and glow. In the cosmos some stars die but they leave behind lights that travel billions of light years to reach our eyes… If each of us can only generate a little light, it will also help during dark, dark nights… to drive away the devil that cannot survive in the presence of light.
Let us not fear darkness, literally or figuratively. Let us not be afraid of the impending food shortage. We are probably eating too much that is why we get too sick too easily. Let us not be afraid of over population, it is just one night of darkness. Sunrise shall come again when everything shall be bright. Yes, there is darkness in the Philippine sky but let us all wait for the coming of the stars and enjoy their twinkles every night no matter how dark.
MY BRAIN HURTS
MY BRAIN HURTS
On the door of a comfort room hangs a poster with a picture of somehow angry man ready to attack. Written in bold letters is the caption: My Brain Hurts. Now how can one feel comfortable in any room when one’s brain hurts? So, you begin asking, what is in this room? It doesn’t suggest it is a comfort room and that’s what makes you feel more curious that your urge to open it and find out gets stronger and stronger as time passed-by.
Speaking of time you glance at the wall clock to find out that the time indeed is right but there is something wrong with the clock. It is a mirror image of a clock except that the hands are not at the right position. A little to the right and above the clock hangs a quotation: Live well, Love much, Laugh often… he-he-he!!! It is really interesting...then you are toured around the garden that like Paradise and Gethsemane has no exotic flowers and colorful blooms but trees of different varieties. After the tour you would have finished a 400 step walk that resulted into a double loop that created a crooked figure of eight. You would have encountered countless shrubs and ornamental, each one of them exuding out positive vibrations beneficial to your health. Unknowingly though, you also exuded out carbon dioxide and other by-product of metabolism very much needed by the plants. Then you feel a new vim, a new vigor and a new vitality because after that symbiotic existence with nature for a while, you are actually energized.
While before the simple and interesting exercise your brain actually hurts, now you simply feel great… you entered the “Brain Hurt” room and find it not only a comfort room but as one British Priest exclaimed one time, “Come everyone, this is a museum!”
So, back to the Terrace of Merriment where you can see the Balcony of Reconciliation, this time waiting for a especially prepared brewed coffee. After having seen the Friendship Nook, the Rosary Corner,the Meditation site, the Scream Out Area, The Counseling Corner The owner’s Grave site and the Hut for Amicable Settlement near the Wishing Well you just feel like staying overnight at the jetterrhaus to cherish the genuine sound of nature. Who says my brain hurts? I am in fact fully revitalized and completely rejuvenated. Thank you for my jardin GAUDOM experience one Saturday. -( from a guest)
On the door of a comfort room hangs a poster with a picture of somehow angry man ready to attack. Written in bold letters is the caption: My Brain Hurts. Now how can one feel comfortable in any room when one’s brain hurts? So, you begin asking, what is in this room? It doesn’t suggest it is a comfort room and that’s what makes you feel more curious that your urge to open it and find out gets stronger and stronger as time passed-by.
Speaking of time you glance at the wall clock to find out that the time indeed is right but there is something wrong with the clock. It is a mirror image of a clock except that the hands are not at the right position. A little to the right and above the clock hangs a quotation: Live well, Love much, Laugh often… he-he-he!!! It is really interesting...then you are toured around the garden that like Paradise and Gethsemane has no exotic flowers and colorful blooms but trees of different varieties. After the tour you would have finished a 400 step walk that resulted into a double loop that created a crooked figure of eight. You would have encountered countless shrubs and ornamental, each one of them exuding out positive vibrations beneficial to your health. Unknowingly though, you also exuded out carbon dioxide and other by-product of metabolism very much needed by the plants. Then you feel a new vim, a new vigor and a new vitality because after that symbiotic existence with nature for a while, you are actually energized.
While before the simple and interesting exercise your brain actually hurts, now you simply feel great… you entered the “Brain Hurt” room and find it not only a comfort room but as one British Priest exclaimed one time, “Come everyone, this is a museum!”
So, back to the Terrace of Merriment where you can see the Balcony of Reconciliation, this time waiting for a especially prepared brewed coffee. After having seen the Friendship Nook, the Rosary Corner,the Meditation site, the Scream Out Area, The Counseling Corner The owner’s Grave site and the Hut for Amicable Settlement near the Wishing Well you just feel like staying overnight at the jetterrhaus to cherish the genuine sound of nature. Who says my brain hurts? I am in fact fully revitalized and completely rejuvenated. Thank you for my jardin GAUDOM experience one Saturday. -( from a guest)
Friday, April 4, 2008
RAINING 3 C's
RAINING 3 C’s
Experiencing heavy rains during summertime is something worth remembering. I expected the day to be very hot as it was during the previous days. But just minutes after the scorching heat a heavy downpour of rain came suddenly. The ground must be very thirsty that in a moment the thick rainfall was absorbed completely.
That night a fairy’s wand must have done its magic all over the place. The following day, sprouts of green grass appeared from nowhere. The cactus in front of the terrace bloomed, the ‘dried’ Alibangbang showed green fresh leaves while the mango tree exhibited a tricolor of dark green old leaves mingling with the younger light green-yellow ones plus brownish yellow newly sprouted leaves with some tiny white blooms alternating . The Doña Luz leaves were also beginning to appear and the giant San Francisco shrubs proudly swayed in multi-colored joy.
Rainy days must be coming soon. My garden shall be dressed anew with healthy freshness. Appetite for food shall be stimulated as food shall be more palatable and enjoyable to eat. Dust shall disappear and moods shall be calmed.
I prayed and hoped that the rainy days shall stimulate the growth of unity in the garden of this greatly divided nation. Cory’s Colon Cancer somehow bought about a kind of news that for a while kept everyone Cool, Calm, and Collected. The 3 C’s must be doing magic to the Filipinos. Consultation, Coordination and Cooperation could yet save our country from Criminality, Corruption and Condemnation by other countries.
Christianity Can Control the situation if Christians Can Connive together. Let us all Concentrate and Correlate our Consciences. We are one Color with one Cause for our Country. Let us all welcome the rainy season with 3 C’s. Let us all be Careful with our Capability and Credibility.
Experiencing heavy rains during summertime is something worth remembering. I expected the day to be very hot as it was during the previous days. But just minutes after the scorching heat a heavy downpour of rain came suddenly. The ground must be very thirsty that in a moment the thick rainfall was absorbed completely.
That night a fairy’s wand must have done its magic all over the place. The following day, sprouts of green grass appeared from nowhere. The cactus in front of the terrace bloomed, the ‘dried’ Alibangbang showed green fresh leaves while the mango tree exhibited a tricolor of dark green old leaves mingling with the younger light green-yellow ones plus brownish yellow newly sprouted leaves with some tiny white blooms alternating . The Doña Luz leaves were also beginning to appear and the giant San Francisco shrubs proudly swayed in multi-colored joy.
Rainy days must be coming soon. My garden shall be dressed anew with healthy freshness. Appetite for food shall be stimulated as food shall be more palatable and enjoyable to eat. Dust shall disappear and moods shall be calmed.
I prayed and hoped that the rainy days shall stimulate the growth of unity in the garden of this greatly divided nation. Cory’s Colon Cancer somehow bought about a kind of news that for a while kept everyone Cool, Calm, and Collected. The 3 C’s must be doing magic to the Filipinos. Consultation, Coordination and Cooperation could yet save our country from Criminality, Corruption and Condemnation by other countries.
Christianity Can Control the situation if Christians Can Connive together. Let us all Concentrate and Correlate our Consciences. We are one Color with one Cause for our Country. Let us all welcome the rainy season with 3 C’s. Let us all be Careful with our Capability and Credibility.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
THE GREASE MAN
THE GREASE MAN
What could this man be thinking at the moment? He is leaning on a plant in front of the bank building, staring at nothing in particular. His arms are crossed over his body while resting over his knees which are bended up to the level where he sits.
His eyes are deep, his teeth are white. He is wearing a dirty pair of shorts and an even dirtier sweater. His complexion is dark brown and covered with dirty grease, the reason he is called the grease man. He must be in his late 20s and with his slightly receding hairline he could be very handsome had he been dressed formally in coat and tie.
What could have turned him into a grease man at a very young age? I wish I could answer the question myself but I am as ignorant as he seems he is. He is not affected by people and vehicles passing-by; in fact, it seems he is not affected by anything. What must he be feeling in that situation where he is now? Did he have his breakfast already? Where does he rest to sleep? How many are roaming around like him in other towns and communities? I am sure there are many, many more in the cities and more advanced urban communities.
I feel bad and mad. Why is this happening in a very Christian world? My Dane visitor yesterday was even madder that is why he couldn’t believe in God who in His greatness allows things like this to happen. During our casual conversation yesterday I happen to asked Casper, my Dane guest, what his religion was and that was when he said he could not belong to any religion since he couldn’t even find it easy to believe in God.
A God to him, with all His power should not allow things that caused suffering. I, together with his companion, Kristian, tried to explain to Casper that God gave man free will and should not be blaming God for every bad thing that happen around.
Casper and Kristian are here in the Philippines as volunteers to the Shelters for abandoned children. They happen to know Anthony who came from ERMA Kanlungan at Ermita, Malate in Manila. Anthony is now my gardener because he is already released from the Kanlungan. The Danes visited him in my home.
In the course of our conversation we talked about many things and varied topics of interest, including Hypnotherapy which I happened to be doing. Both Dane know nothing about Hypnosis and so instead of explaining to them the many ramifications of the topic concerned I decided just to demonstrate to them how it is done and how it works when applied scientifically and sincerely. After the session, Casper felt so good and so convinced of its good effects.
Their former vague idea associating hypnosis to evil practices and other negative interpretations were changed. I hope his own idea about a carefree God will also be changed in time so he will understand better that what he is doing as volunteer to abandoned children is a result of the free will offered to him by God at the beginning of the creation.
What could this man be thinking at the moment? He is leaning on a plant in front of the bank building, staring at nothing in particular. His arms are crossed over his body while resting over his knees which are bended up to the level where he sits.
His eyes are deep, his teeth are white. He is wearing a dirty pair of shorts and an even dirtier sweater. His complexion is dark brown and covered with dirty grease, the reason he is called the grease man. He must be in his late 20s and with his slightly receding hairline he could be very handsome had he been dressed formally in coat and tie.
What could have turned him into a grease man at a very young age? I wish I could answer the question myself but I am as ignorant as he seems he is. He is not affected by people and vehicles passing-by; in fact, it seems he is not affected by anything. What must he be feeling in that situation where he is now? Did he have his breakfast already? Where does he rest to sleep? How many are roaming around like him in other towns and communities? I am sure there are many, many more in the cities and more advanced urban communities.
I feel bad and mad. Why is this happening in a very Christian world? My Dane visitor yesterday was even madder that is why he couldn’t believe in God who in His greatness allows things like this to happen. During our casual conversation yesterday I happen to asked Casper, my Dane guest, what his religion was and that was when he said he could not belong to any religion since he couldn’t even find it easy to believe in God.
A God to him, with all His power should not allow things that caused suffering. I, together with his companion, Kristian, tried to explain to Casper that God gave man free will and should not be blaming God for every bad thing that happen around.
Casper and Kristian are here in the Philippines as volunteers to the Shelters for abandoned children. They happen to know Anthony who came from ERMA Kanlungan at Ermita, Malate in Manila. Anthony is now my gardener because he is already released from the Kanlungan. The Danes visited him in my home.
In the course of our conversation we talked about many things and varied topics of interest, including Hypnotherapy which I happened to be doing. Both Dane know nothing about Hypnosis and so instead of explaining to them the many ramifications of the topic concerned I decided just to demonstrate to them how it is done and how it works when applied scientifically and sincerely. After the session, Casper felt so good and so convinced of its good effects.
Their former vague idea associating hypnosis to evil practices and other negative interpretations were changed. I hope his own idea about a carefree God will also be changed in time so he will understand better that what he is doing as volunteer to abandoned children is a result of the free will offered to him by God at the beginning of the creation.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
KEEPING THE 'THROWABLES'
KEEPING THE THROWABLES
I was awakened by the ringing of my cell phone, disturbing my very pleasant dream that I was never able to recall afterwards. I felt very tired with muscles aching all over that I almost was not able to do my routine morning sit-up exercise.
Suddenly I realized it is almost three weeks now that I am sorting out things from boxes and bags of all sizes and colors containing supposedly ‘throwable’ materials.
‘Throwables” refer to things we want to discard but cannot do so because of different values attached to them, These ‘throwables’ were from my daughters’ dwelling places who cannot find ways to deal with them so they found it easier to send them to our old provincial home where I should be enjoying my retirement (sigh!)
In line with my positive conversion theory, I am trying to convert ‘throwables’ which have a very strong negative connotation, to ‘keepables’ so I am sorting them to the right boxes to be worth keeping. Some of them are really almost worthless now but for sentimental reasons should be cherished a few more years. Some are bought so expensively that discarding them now is almost a kind of sin. You don’t just give them to charities as they also find it difficult to whom to distribute those things which after all were not what the fire and flood victims really needed.
So no matter how crowded the provincial home turned into, I still try to keep those ‘throwables’, aware though that every rainy season I’ll have to keep repacking them into new boxes to be replaced in another cabinet.
Sometimes I am entertaining the idea that probably during one of my previous existences I was one time a museum curator or possibly an anthropologist. I just find it so difficult to discard valuables. Exactly the opposite of my wife who uses a thing once or twice then completely forget all about them including those little gifts that I gave her directly from my heart.
I remember my very first gift to her after we married was a black jewelry box with a dancing ballerina inside. I never remember her putting her jewelries there but instead when we have our first child she used the jewelry box as a toy because of the dancing ballerina. So the boy removed the arms of the ballerina but it was still dancing. I showed it to my grand daughter when they had a vacation here last December. The little girl was so amused when I explained to her that it was her dad’s first toy 37 years ago.
I hope when I die they don’t just throw away my ‘throwables’. There are many hidden treasures there.
I was awakened by the ringing of my cell phone, disturbing my very pleasant dream that I was never able to recall afterwards. I felt very tired with muscles aching all over that I almost was not able to do my routine morning sit-up exercise.
Suddenly I realized it is almost three weeks now that I am sorting out things from boxes and bags of all sizes and colors containing supposedly ‘throwable’ materials.
‘Throwables” refer to things we want to discard but cannot do so because of different values attached to them, These ‘throwables’ were from my daughters’ dwelling places who cannot find ways to deal with them so they found it easier to send them to our old provincial home where I should be enjoying my retirement (sigh!)
In line with my positive conversion theory, I am trying to convert ‘throwables’ which have a very strong negative connotation, to ‘keepables’ so I am sorting them to the right boxes to be worth keeping. Some of them are really almost worthless now but for sentimental reasons should be cherished a few more years. Some are bought so expensively that discarding them now is almost a kind of sin. You don’t just give them to charities as they also find it difficult to whom to distribute those things which after all were not what the fire and flood victims really needed.
So no matter how crowded the provincial home turned into, I still try to keep those ‘throwables’, aware though that every rainy season I’ll have to keep repacking them into new boxes to be replaced in another cabinet.
Sometimes I am entertaining the idea that probably during one of my previous existences I was one time a museum curator or possibly an anthropologist. I just find it so difficult to discard valuables. Exactly the opposite of my wife who uses a thing once or twice then completely forget all about them including those little gifts that I gave her directly from my heart.
I remember my very first gift to her after we married was a black jewelry box with a dancing ballerina inside. I never remember her putting her jewelries there but instead when we have our first child she used the jewelry box as a toy because of the dancing ballerina. So the boy removed the arms of the ballerina but it was still dancing. I showed it to my grand daughter when they had a vacation here last December. The little girl was so amused when I explained to her that it was her dad’s first toy 37 years ago.
I hope when I die they don’t just throw away my ‘throwables’. There are many hidden treasures there.
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