NON-CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, EARTHQUAKES, FLOWERS, AND SINGING

Accent Lights in the Living Room

This past season I had purchased flashing Christmas lights for the outside of the house.  The price was basically one dollar per string.  We bought four stings in Bacolod and I put them on the front window.  What I didn’t notice was the randomly exposed wires (guess where they were manufactured, hmmm?) and thus with the very first JOLT, those colorful line of lights immediately got my attention.  May I comment that 110 volts has nothing on 220 volts. Accordingly, I went and bought electrical tape (only came in yellow color) and had junior (Diana’s brother) tape all the exposed wires.  Along with the cheap price came the short lasting bulbs.  Within the first day, I had to go to the local retail store to buy another string (at over double the price to Bacolod) to cannibalize (packets of spare bulbs didn’t exist in my neck of the jungle).  Still, the lights looked pretty good as they flashed on and off for the sea of carolers who visited this past December.  

On January 3rd, I took down those lights and placed them away in storage only to bring them back out again on January 8^th and taped them to the ceiling encircling the living room.  The kids loved the color and flashing lights whereas twelve year old Clarisse thought our house now looked more like a Videoke Bar.   I personally thought it put out a warm soothing light in comparison to the bright energy efficient bulb in the ceiling.  Then I got my utility bill on Saturday and noticed it had gone up $5 for December and am now wondering if that was such a good idea.   I guess we will find out with next month’s utility bill.

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Last night as I was watching Star Trek, The Next Generation DVDs (Thank you for loaning them to me Mark), when there occurred a slight earthquake (5.0 on the Richter Scale).  I felt the soft rocking effect of the chair while experiencing a wavelike sensation in the soles of my feet.  The kids had gone to bed, but Diana and Junior were still up.  Amazingly, I was the only one who felt the trembler.  Diana was dozing on the couch as Junior sat on the floor.  Seemed even more unusual that a sixteen year old could not feel it, but still I did and guess that was all that mattered.  Location was about 50 miles to the SW of me.  I also reported that I had felt it on the USGS (US Geological Survey) website.  Within the hour there were three aftershocks, but I didn’t feel any of them. 

When I was stationed on the island of Adak in Alaska, we had some form of earth tremor/quakes every single day.  When sitting in your chair or laying upon your bunk, you could experience a gentle swaying motion like being in a rocker.  Sometimes the initial shock would be strong, but then settled down to a nice wave motion as the concrete structure would “go with the flow” of the trembling rock beneath it.  Just like electricity, I don’t fear earthquakes, I just maintain a great respect for them and aware of the potential dangers associated. 

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You know that you have a happy home when there is singing or whistling by individual family members within the four walls.  It seems that recently, Charissa Mae (Mae Mae) had decided that the acoustics were perfect for singing in the bathroom as she performed her daily duties.  Sometimes I would hear religious songs being sung within that enclosed space, but yesterday I heard her singing:  “Watermelon, watermelon…papaya, papaya….bana –na- banana, bana – na banana…fruit salad, fruit salad.”  It was sung to the tune of Frère Jacques or in English, Brother John.  At the end of each song, she would then yell, “TISSUE  PLEASE!” Now, try to tell me you didn’t sing those words with that tune in your head….

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Giant Marigold Plants - Blogger won't let me rotate picture

When we (the whole family (except for Mae Mae) walked from Binalbagan to Hinigaran a few months ago (another story in the making), we came across some Marigolds.  I absconded with a couple of blossoms from the burgeoning plants growing alongside the highway and planted the seeds after returning home.  In the states, marigold bushes would grow to about two, but no more than three feet in height.  It appeared that was not the case in the Philippines.  The seeds I planted are no less than five feet high as I write.  The family doesn’t like the pungent smell of the flowers, but I don’t mind the strong aroma.  Donarae had sent over a bag of Marigold seeds in a Balikbayan box in October and, upon its arrival, I discovered the parcel had been inspected by the US Customs Service.  They had cut open the box right where the seeds were located and then sliced open the plastic sandwich bag within.   I am confident they had thought those were marijuana or some other type of narcotic seeds, only to discover that they were the innocuous Marigold variety instead.

RETURNING TO SCHOOL, ESCALATORS, AND PRAYERS

Just a note that my little camera has gone to camera heaven and thus, my photo opportunities will now be severely restricted.  Still, I will try to provide pics with each segment.

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School resumed this past week as the Christmas recess came to an end.  I will be the first to admit (along with many other parents) that the children returning to classes was a blessing as well as a curse.  The blessing was the house became quiet for a few hours each day, allowing me time to write, which had not been the case in recent months.  The curse was the return to the 5:30 a.m. wakeup calls.  The children, as well as me, had gotten used to going to bed at 10:00 p.m. and waking up at seven or even eight in the morning, but it had all come to an end.  Another problem was the fact that there were going to be Saturday classes for the rest of the school year.  It appeared that there had been too many days out of school during the first semester and now it was time to make up for it.  I had to acknowledge the fact that earth tremors and tropical storms stopped or at the least ended the school day early.  When Typhoon Pablo passed south of the island, classes were canceled for three days (even though it hardly rained and there were insignificant winds associated with the system).  

On taking the children to school that morning, I noticed the school grounds were eerily quiet.  I peeked through the open gate and saw no students traversing the large grass field in front of the classrooms.  Within

Himamaylan Central School on a busier day

the hour, the two boys had returned home. They were the only student’s to show up in their respective classrooms.  Thus, the teachers had them do some general cleaning (no janitor’s at most Philippine schools) and then they were dismissed for the day.  In the case of Clarisse, five students showed up besides her.  They did a smattering of school work and then were sent home at lunch for the rest of the day.  As for Saturday, only the six grade students were required to attend and out of forty-one students, only eleven appeared.  Again, a little school work, a couple exams and then the small group was released at noon.  It troubled me that there was no enforcement of school attendance.  It upset me further that the school had been without electricity for over a month because the electric bill had not been paid.   This equated to the students having to suffer in sweltering classrooms without the benefit of lights, much less electric fans.  In the United States, it would not have been tolerated.  But this was the Philippines and I was confident that nothing would be done about it.  

Personally, I think my children are receiving an adequate education under the present circumstances, but am debating whether to send them to a private high school to finish out their education.  

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On Friday I took the two oldest children to Kabankalan to buy MORE school supplies.  Fortunately, the trike drive was uneventful….although we saw an overturned sugar cane truck at the curve just outside of that city.  It seems that at least one truck misses that particular curve and crashes into the buildings that are located there.  Last year, the highway department constructed a concrete barrier to protect the wood/bamboo structures, but it seem that all it did was allow the tipped over truck to slide, on its side, along the barricade until it came to the end and then the vehicle slammed into an unprotected business.   In the states when there is an accident or truck broken down on the road, there are those little reflective triangular signs posted behind the vehicle. The sugar cane truck had closed my lane and the only warning was a tire (laid on its side) with a couple pieces of sugar cane stuck out of its hub.   Then since it was a blind curve, you took the chance of, when driving around it, hoping that someone else didn’t come barreling at you from the opposite direction.  

In Kabankalan, the traffic had settled down from the previous week and one could actually drive with a certain amount of safety, but as with all driving in the Philippines, you were never safe.  I had never felt so vulnerable until I arrived in the PI.  In the states your biggest fear was dying from old age, but in the PI, I had come to the conclusion that a truck or bus may get me before then.  

Diana had come along and we shopped for a grill to cook some of the meals.  A grill in the states is a big

It's small but it gets the job done

affair, whereas a grill in the Philippines is quite small.  Since Gaisano’s mall didn’t have what we needed, we ventured over to Unitop.  I recall when K-Mart (Big K now) would have so much merchandise that you

could barely fit down the aisles (some Wal-Marts were that way too).  It is still like that in the Philippines.  Now I have to consider that two Filipinos could probably fit down the rows quite nicely, but given my SIZE, it is not an option…..especially when they are stocking their already overloaded shelves. 

Returning to Gaisano’s, I told the trio to go upstairs and shop for the school supplies and I would stay downstairs and wait….you couldn’t carry any shopping bags into the store.  They have four escalators in the complex….of which only three are operating.  For the longest time, none of them worked, but were finally repaired one at a time.  

I stood in the main walkway in front of a line of tables with Christmas items STILL on sale at “Drastically Reduced Prices!”  To my left and right were the escalators going to/coming down from the second floor.  To the right of the “UP” automated stairway was a set of three large mirrors.   I could gather no reason for that other than it allowed people to look at themselves?  At first, those reflective objects had not attracted my attention, but slowly I began to observe the customers as they used that electronic human conveyor.

When it first came to my consideration was a young couple who were riding upward.   He was on the mirror side and as they ascended past those mirrors, she leaned back a bit to brush back her long hair and smooth the makeup on her face.  The entire time, her suitor seemed to be blind to the touching up.  As the moving stairway passed the inspection opportunity, the young woman snuggled tightly to his left arm content that she had passed her own personal inspection.  As the number of customers continued their trek to the upper level, I discovered that the males rarely looked into the mirrors; leaving me with the impression that they were either oblivious to those reflective panes or their personal appearance wasn’t that important.   Also, groups of young women, mothers with kids, along with single young women did the same thing – apart from the children, the rest pretty much ignored those mirrors.  However, if it was a boyfriend/girlfriend; more often the girl stood a step behind to make sure she looked good in the mirror and if there were any adjustments to be made, she didn’t want her boyfriend to notice.  Interestingly though, there was another group who was also concerned with their appearance.  Amazingly it was middle aged females.  Infrequently I would see one touch up her hair or pull down the back of her t-shirt as they rode their way upward.  

After what felt like a very long time of waiting, the three returned with the needed school supplies and what made me feel like a papa was when Toy Toy and Clarisse both came up to me and gave me the biggest hugs.  So, I stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts and bought a eighteen Bavarian Creams to go.  I know, if you want sweets, just suck up to papa. 

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Last night as the kids were retiring for another night of slumber in expectation of a new day in scholastic learning, I observed Toy Toy sitting in bed with his hands folded.  It warmed my heart to see, even at the age of eleven, a child saying prayers (if even silently to himself) before retiring.  Somehow, seeing that restored my faith in our future generation, but more so in knowing that I had done the right thing at taking these children and providing them with dreams of a future which had never existed before.

ANTS IN YOUR BOXERS

Of my several years in the Philippines, I have discovered a few things about its wildlife structure.  One is that Gecko’s are a constant co-resident in my house.  Previously, they clung to the walls and ceilings devouring unsuspecting insects that might happen to land or crawl nearby.  However, in the house I currently live in, there are a special few who actually traipse across the floor too.  I have been told that is rare, but I adapted well to having things skitter in front of me as I would walk from one room to the other.  On the downside with floor walking Geckos, Mae Mae came running out of the kitchen a couple of nights ago screaming as she had stepped on one with her bare feet.  Seems that as it was racing across the floor, when her foot and its body collided.  The poor thing was in its death throes by the time we had cone to investigate.  I have even had the baby ones jump from the top of the bedroom wall or ceiling onto the bed.  At first, it was a bit unnerving, but then I accepted the fact they were youngsters….and we all know how rambunctious young ones can be. 

We have also had the dreaded cockroaches to contend with.  When I first moved here, they were literally crawling out of the cracks, but after a year long eradication campaign, they had, for the most part, been removed from my block abode.  Mice had come to visit, but were no match for those American built mouse traps and peanut butter bait.  When sitting outside in the late afternoon, I would witness RATS of all sizes scampering across the roadway in front of my cement refuge.  Fortunately, none ever came to pay a visit.  There had been other unnamed insects assaulting my body when riding the motorbike around sunset.  They would pepper my face and filter their way down my t-shirt to which I constantly had to smash and remove those crawling creatures from my upper torso for awhile after I returned home.

Still, the most abundant insect and unending nuisance was the ant.  I had been pretty successful at wiping out everything else, but the ants had been unceasing in their intrusion.  I used bottles of ant poison and, at times, thought that I had won the battle against those six legged foragers.   Unfortunately, after a few days the hoards would return with a vengeance.  Ant spray had been a minor deterrent, but again they would make new inroads toward their objective of scavenging for food while making my life miserable.  If the kids dropped a minute piece of food scrap onto the floor, an army of red soldiers would appear out of nowhere to engulf, break down, and haul away their prize. There was no room immune to their invasion. When I had first arrived, they were even coming out of the ceiling in my bed chamber.  

It is with that in mind, that I had come to the conclusion those spindly creations were becoming just as aggressive at defeating me as I was at exterminating them.  You could be sitting on the throne in the “comfort room” and observe the crusty creatures walk along the top lip of the porcelain tile half way up the wall.  They were tiny red devils that had a bite which would sting like the dickens along with leaving a decent little red welt upon the aggrieved flesh.  For me, they were a plague upon my sanctuary and had to go.  Little did I realize they had the same plan for me.  

One morning I was sitting quietly upon the “throne” contemplating my day ahead.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, an ant had decided to investigate the roll of toilet tissue I had hung on the bath rack.  As I unraveled the tissue from the roll, I discovered the errant creature upon the separated fiber.  I flicked the paper strip with my free hand and went back to the mission of the day.  I never gave it a thought as to where that tiny mufti-legged bug would land.  

I pulled the boxers up at the end of my daily routine and while washing my hands, I suddenly felt this strange burning sensation from between my loins.  It quickly occurred to me that I had not been diligent in watching which direction the ant had flown from the toilet tissue and it appeared it had landed where no ant had gone before.  However, as a second burning sensation rapidly made itself apparent, I was confident the earlier discarded hexapod had not traveled far enough.  I immediately returned to the comfort room and hastily removed my shorts but not before the devilish ant had sunk its mandibles into my flesh a third time. 

I brushed out my boxers and then poured cold water (no such thing as hot water here) upon my “undercarriage” in hopes of flushing the creature from my searing flesh.  I squeezed an abundant amount of body wash onto one hand and lathered up below in an effort to cleanse myself of that six legged scourge. Even though the biting had ceased, the damage had been done.  The terrible consequence of ant bites was not so much the initial irritation, but it was the incessant itching afterward.  For the next two days, no matter where I was at, I was constantly tormented by an overwhelming urge to itch where I shouldn’t. 

My children always attempted at having the last word in our many conversations, but it was the lowly red ant that ended up with the “last bite”.  

Daryl A. Cleveland

01-05-2013