Hi All,
I know this is not the fun, light, and lovely messages I usually write about, but I am truly concerned about the world we are leaving to our precious grandchildren so this oil spill in the Gulf is a disaster too horrid for us to ignore. And, after reading the item in bold below, please keep this disaster in your prayers - our fragile ecosystem needs all the help it can get, and at this point, the Big Guy Above needs to send us a miracle.
I just read this comment (below in bold) about the oil spill in Yahoo. If this doesn’t scare the beejesus out of everyone I don’t know what will. Every disaster movie that was ever made would pale in comparison if this holocaust did happen. The person who wrote this sure sounds like someone who knows what he is talking about. God help us all.
"A lot of people here are missing the jist of what is happening there under the sea.
BP has not capped the well because they are terrified of a problem they have not yet discussed in public. Namely that the rig explosion cracked and damaged the sea floor around the well head, and that besides the broken pipe there are other, more fragile leaks of oil coming up from the sea floor itself.
This is why they are so cagey with information, and why they are keeping everyone not directly involved with the repair out of the area.
They have not capped the well because they are afraid if that if they totally capped the pipe closed, the pressure would back up into the damaged well bore and cause a blow out of the damaged sea floor around the well head.
This would be a much, much, MUCH bigger disaster than what is happening now; with little or no hope of us being able to control it. They are purposely letting the leak run in order to keep the pressure low in the well and minimize any further pressure damage to the well bore. A 20 inch pipe leaking into a containment cap is much better than a 75 foot wide crack or hole in the sea floor rocketing an enormous unstoppable geyser of oil into the Gulf. If that happens, it's goodbye Charlie. The Gulf would be overwhelmed in a short period. They have to do this, no matter how frustrating it is. This is also why they are capping it in increments, so they can carefully observe what each change in well pressure does to the damaged area.
This is why it was unacceptable when the first cap iced over, because it was blocking the oil flow, and again the pressure would back up into the well and might cause a catastrophic sea floor blow out.
When viewed in this context, what they are doing makes sense. They are trying their best to avoid the worst case scenario, and it definitely can get worse than what is happening now. They are not letting the pipe leak just for their health or negligence, or for financial gain.
Barack Obama did not cause this, and he is trying as much as possible to stay out of their way so that they can think and work without government hassle in order to try and get this extremely dangerous situation under control.
The US government is not an oil company and does not have the expertise to handle this, although it's obvious BP doesn't really have it either.
There is a distinct possibility that if the government shoved their hand in there to get things going, it would end up making it far worse. What is happening now is a disaster. If the sea floor blew out at 5,000 feet, it would be a holocaust."
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mi Mami - my mother - Paquita Rodriguez de Bowie - Memories this Mother's Day 2010
She arrived with her mother Amparo, her sister Enriqueta and her best friend Nieves. It was around 1938 and pre-war Manila was a charming, beautiful city. They had left the horrors of civil war ravaged Barcelona to join her brother Carlos, sister Sara, nephew Fernando and other extended family who lived in the gracious, lively, cosmopolitan city that was called the Pearl of the Orient. She was petite, with a perfect oval face, lovely dark hair which she curled herself, and with flashing black eyes and a ready smile, she soon became popular among the Spanish/American/Filipino community that made this city the envy of other Asian capitals around it. My mother loved to dance and until the rheumatoid arthritis restricted her to a wheelchair decades later, she could dance anything any orchestra threw at her. She told me she loved Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers and when little, she adored Shirly Temple who tapped danced into many a little girl's heart.
She met my dad on a sort of blind date concocted by her brother Carlos. My uncle was then married to a lady (her name was Alma) who worked at the KZRH (later, MBC, owned by the Elizalde family), where my dad was one of the main newscasters. They all decided to go bowling at the YWCA and the moment my dad took one look at her, he fell in love and told everyone and anyone who would listen that he was going to marry Paquita Rodriguez Fernandez. My uncle told him that would be next to impossible. Stacked against him was the fact that my grandmother was a strict Spanish lady who didn't believe young unmarried ladies should go out with a man without a chaperone; secondly, my mother did not speak any English and he not a world of Spanish; thirdly, my mother like her mother and sisters, was a devout Catholic and dad was Lutheran. My dad's response? In today's vernacular, "no problem!" He set out to woo and win the hand of this lady - whatever it took. First, he got both himself and my mother corresponding Spanish/English dictionaries. Then, he came around to visit my mother's home, endearing himself to my grandmother and uncles and aunts. (And, did! Until she died, my grandmother and dad were kindered spirits and in some ways, were more in tune than my mother and father.) He became a fixture at the Rodriguez home and slowly and surely won my mother's heart. He proposed to her on top of those double decker tour buses that used to go down Dewey Blvd. with my her sister (my Aunt Sara) sitting 3 seats behind them. He converted to Catholicism before he married her and on December 7, 1941, my mother walked down the aisle of the Malate Church (she swore it was the longest aisle of any church anywhere!) to meet the love of her life, Hal Bowie. Of course Fate had more serious events going on - at the moment my parents were saying their vows, the Japanese were bombing Pear Harbor. My parents' honeymoon in Tagaytay was cut short and a month later, the Japanese came and "escorted" by dad to Bilibid prison before incarcerating him in Santo Tomas (the Japanese concentration camp for all Allied countries' prisoners). Since my mom was a Spanish citizen (and the war broke out before she could get her American passport), the Japanese did not require her to go into the camp but my mother had centuries of her Spanish Catholic faith woven into her very bones and she made a vow and by golly, she was going to keep it! So, she marched up to Bilibid and insisted that she be joined with her husband and the incredulous Japanese - shaking their heads and telling her that if she went in she couldn't come out - let her in. After a year and a half in Santo Tomas, the Japanese decided to take about 2,000 able-bodied men out of Manila into the foothills of Mount Mackiling (Sp.?) to the little town of Los Banos, Laguna. The women followed a bit later. And therein that camp, in the middle of a typhoon at 1:35 AM of July 16, 1944 my mother was delivered by cesearian section of a 2 pound 2 ounce baby girl - me! That she, and I survived that is surely a miracle on many levels but my mother attributes it all to Our Lady of Lourdes to whom she was devoutely faithful. In fact, after I was delivered and my mother was under heavy sedative and the doctors and my dad weren't sure this little thing was going to survive, so he went looking for a priest and asked his good friend Johnny Oppenheimer what name he could give me, and Uncle Johnny said, why not Lea, so in front of Fr. Reuter who witnessed my baptism, and another priest who actually performed the ritual, I was christened into the Catholic faith. When my mother came out of the fog of sedation, she asked my dad what he named me and he said Lea and she was not happy as she had never heard of the name before and had promised Our Lady of Lourdes that if all went well and she had a girl she would name her Lourdes. But since I had already been baptized, they placed Lourdes as my middle name though I rarely use it.
Aftter the war was over and surviving a harrowing rescue by the 11th Airborn Division of the Los Banos Internment Camp, my parents came to the United States for a while but after 3 years decided to return to the Philippines and make their life there.
All through my childhood, girlhood, and teenhood, my mother was the center of our little family. Daddy was the one who 'brought home the bacon' but my mother made sure it got to the pan. Both she and my father were marvelous cooks and though by today's standards we lived very normal middle class lives - my parents gave me a wonderful childhood. We never wanted for anything....and I know that sometimes times were hard. Dad changed jobs from radio to newspaper to television and these ups and downs rocked the family economy now and then but I never wanted for a pretty dress for a party nor stopped me from enjoying the privilidges of being a member of the Army Navy Club which was a mecca for us teenagers who lived in Ermita and Malate. I should've been more sensitive to those times but teenagers are an uncouciously selfish lot and I just went on my merry way not appreciating then how comfortable my parents made my life. There were times when my mother's rheumatoid arthritis was so painful she could hardly move, but you never heard her complain. Dr. Fores prescribed cortisone for her and at that time it was the miracle cure-all but after a while, the cortisone made her appear bloated and the pain returned, so he cut of the cortisone completely and then her pain was so bad, tears would run down her cheeks but she still didin't complain. There was a time the cook and the housegirl either quit or had to go to the province for something or other so I cooked lunch and supper for my parents. But the good times were good - Christmas was especially wonderful. No matter what, good times or bad, there was always a hefty pile of presents under the Christmas tree on Christmas mornings. Once when younger, I wanted a "Tiny Tears" doll soooo much. And I got it. But the extras for the doll were expensive since it included a whole layette, so my mother made a whole layette of baby clothes herself for the doll. Just as she made all the baby clothes for me in the Japanese concentration camp from silk and linen slips and thread and needles she managed to find around the camp. I may have had what I needed ,but not always what I wanted - that I was taught to earn, like roller skates - I worked hours in the yard picking up calachuchi leaves from the ground, mowing the lawn, painting my mother's flower pots and other chores to earn the money for those skates. When I finally got the money to buy them, (it was near my birthday), my parents surprised me by presenting the skates to me. But they taught me the lesson. When I was young, I adored my dad and loved my mother. You know the difference. Daddy always made me feel good about myself, but my mother was the moral compass I had to follow and hers the roots that kept me grounded to the earth. Then, I resented my mother for being the killjoy I thought she was, but my dad balanced it off by waving away the cobwebs and expecting that pot-of-gold at the end of the rainbow (what else could an Celtic/Irish man believe in?). My mother, however, knew that there was no pot of gold anywhere unless you saved for it and all those doom and gloom predictions she gave me were just about always right. And thank goodness I listened to her too. Now, many, many years later, through many trials and tribulations and watching my mother fight and finally give in to the arthritis that crippled her limbs (but not her heart and soul), I know that if my father was the wind beneath my wings, my mother was the strong thread that kept me (and, continues to keep me), grounded to earth.
My mother died 15 years ago on a March afternoon in Barcelona, 21 years after my dad passed away during a typhoon in Manila in 1974. I was not at either of their sides when they left the bounds of earth and I don't think I have ever really come to terms with that, but it's just as well. I was lucky enough to see them before they died (my dad a year earlier and my mother 3 months before), so I remember them whole and happy. I've often wondered why God or circumstance deprived me of being by the side of my parents before they passed away but maybe He knows better. Being their only child, I don't know and I don't think I could've have the strength to watch them leave this earth, and me. But, I have a lasting memories from both of them. From my dad - the last long, long letter he wrote to me for my birthday in July 1974, telling me of his plans and that the place he was staying for a while during the week, had a great brick oven that he could bake the best bread in! And my mother - I was visiting her in Barcelona Christmas/New Years of 1994 and the night before I left I had a splitting headache and she told me to put my head on her lap and she stroked my hair and my head, just as she did when I was little, calling me "corazon" which she did very rarely and she hadn't called me that in years, and told me that everything would be alright. I will never forget thinking that though her hands were crippled badly with the arthritis, they were not stiff, but soft and gentle...........
And so, here I am, 15 years after she died and almost 66 years since she gave birth to me, and I still miss her today as heart-wrenchingly as I did the day I found out she passed away, minutes before I was going to board a plane to fly to see her in Barcelona.
I know she's up there in good company with her mother, my dad and all her family and I know she watches over me, and my daughter, who is now a great mother herself, and I hope she knows that I may be her "corazon" but she will mine forever..
Feliz Dia de la Madre, Mami. Te quiero como siempre.........
She met my dad on a sort of blind date concocted by her brother Carlos. My uncle was then married to a lady (her name was Alma) who worked at the KZRH (later, MBC, owned by the Elizalde family), where my dad was one of the main newscasters. They all decided to go bowling at the YWCA and the moment my dad took one look at her, he fell in love and told everyone and anyone who would listen that he was going to marry Paquita Rodriguez Fernandez. My uncle told him that would be next to impossible. Stacked against him was the fact that my grandmother was a strict Spanish lady who didn't believe young unmarried ladies should go out with a man without a chaperone; secondly, my mother did not speak any English and he not a world of Spanish; thirdly, my mother like her mother and sisters, was a devout Catholic and dad was Lutheran. My dad's response? In today's vernacular, "no problem!" He set out to woo and win the hand of this lady - whatever it took. First, he got both himself and my mother corresponding Spanish/English dictionaries. Then, he came around to visit my mother's home, endearing himself to my grandmother and uncles and aunts. (And, did! Until she died, my grandmother and dad were kindered spirits and in some ways, were more in tune than my mother and father.) He became a fixture at the Rodriguez home and slowly and surely won my mother's heart. He proposed to her on top of those double decker tour buses that used to go down Dewey Blvd. with my her sister (my Aunt Sara) sitting 3 seats behind them. He converted to Catholicism before he married her and on December 7, 1941, my mother walked down the aisle of the Malate Church (she swore it was the longest aisle of any church anywhere!) to meet the love of her life, Hal Bowie. Of course Fate had more serious events going on - at the moment my parents were saying their vows, the Japanese were bombing Pear Harbor. My parents' honeymoon in Tagaytay was cut short and a month later, the Japanese came and "escorted" by dad to Bilibid prison before incarcerating him in Santo Tomas (the Japanese concentration camp for all Allied countries' prisoners). Since my mom was a Spanish citizen (and the war broke out before she could get her American passport), the Japanese did not require her to go into the camp but my mother had centuries of her Spanish Catholic faith woven into her very bones and she made a vow and by golly, she was going to keep it! So, she marched up to Bilibid and insisted that she be joined with her husband and the incredulous Japanese - shaking their heads and telling her that if she went in she couldn't come out - let her in. After a year and a half in Santo Tomas, the Japanese decided to take about 2,000 able-bodied men out of Manila into the foothills of Mount Mackiling (Sp.?) to the little town of Los Banos, Laguna. The women followed a bit later. And therein that camp, in the middle of a typhoon at 1:35 AM of July 16, 1944 my mother was delivered by cesearian section of a 2 pound 2 ounce baby girl - me! That she, and I survived that is surely a miracle on many levels but my mother attributes it all to Our Lady of Lourdes to whom she was devoutely faithful. In fact, after I was delivered and my mother was under heavy sedative and the doctors and my dad weren't sure this little thing was going to survive, so he went looking for a priest and asked his good friend Johnny Oppenheimer what name he could give me, and Uncle Johnny said, why not Lea, so in front of Fr. Reuter who witnessed my baptism, and another priest who actually performed the ritual, I was christened into the Catholic faith. When my mother came out of the fog of sedation, she asked my dad what he named me and he said Lea and she was not happy as she had never heard of the name before and had promised Our Lady of Lourdes that if all went well and she had a girl she would name her Lourdes. But since I had already been baptized, they placed Lourdes as my middle name though I rarely use it.
Aftter the war was over and surviving a harrowing rescue by the 11th Airborn Division of the Los Banos Internment Camp, my parents came to the United States for a while but after 3 years decided to return to the Philippines and make their life there.
All through my childhood, girlhood, and teenhood, my mother was the center of our little family. Daddy was the one who 'brought home the bacon' but my mother made sure it got to the pan. Both she and my father were marvelous cooks and though by today's standards we lived very normal middle class lives - my parents gave me a wonderful childhood. We never wanted for anything....and I know that sometimes times were hard. Dad changed jobs from radio to newspaper to television and these ups and downs rocked the family economy now and then but I never wanted for a pretty dress for a party nor stopped me from enjoying the privilidges of being a member of the Army Navy Club which was a mecca for us teenagers who lived in Ermita and Malate. I should've been more sensitive to those times but teenagers are an uncouciously selfish lot and I just went on my merry way not appreciating then how comfortable my parents made my life. There were times when my mother's rheumatoid arthritis was so painful she could hardly move, but you never heard her complain. Dr. Fores prescribed cortisone for her and at that time it was the miracle cure-all but after a while, the cortisone made her appear bloated and the pain returned, so he cut of the cortisone completely and then her pain was so bad, tears would run down her cheeks but she still didin't complain. There was a time the cook and the housegirl either quit or had to go to the province for something or other so I cooked lunch and supper for my parents. But the good times were good - Christmas was especially wonderful. No matter what, good times or bad, there was always a hefty pile of presents under the Christmas tree on Christmas mornings. Once when younger, I wanted a "Tiny Tears" doll soooo much. And I got it. But the extras for the doll were expensive since it included a whole layette, so my mother made a whole layette of baby clothes herself for the doll. Just as she made all the baby clothes for me in the Japanese concentration camp from silk and linen slips and thread and needles she managed to find around the camp. I may have had what I needed ,but not always what I wanted - that I was taught to earn, like roller skates - I worked hours in the yard picking up calachuchi leaves from the ground, mowing the lawn, painting my mother's flower pots and other chores to earn the money for those skates. When I finally got the money to buy them, (it was near my birthday), my parents surprised me by presenting the skates to me. But they taught me the lesson. When I was young, I adored my dad and loved my mother. You know the difference. Daddy always made me feel good about myself, but my mother was the moral compass I had to follow and hers the roots that kept me grounded to the earth. Then, I resented my mother for being the killjoy I thought she was, but my dad balanced it off by waving away the cobwebs and expecting that pot-of-gold at the end of the rainbow (what else could an Celtic/Irish man believe in?). My mother, however, knew that there was no pot of gold anywhere unless you saved for it and all those doom and gloom predictions she gave me were just about always right. And thank goodness I listened to her too. Now, many, many years later, through many trials and tribulations and watching my mother fight and finally give in to the arthritis that crippled her limbs (but not her heart and soul), I know that if my father was the wind beneath my wings, my mother was the strong thread that kept me (and, continues to keep me), grounded to earth.
My mother died 15 years ago on a March afternoon in Barcelona, 21 years after my dad passed away during a typhoon in Manila in 1974. I was not at either of their sides when they left the bounds of earth and I don't think I have ever really come to terms with that, but it's just as well. I was lucky enough to see them before they died (my dad a year earlier and my mother 3 months before), so I remember them whole and happy. I've often wondered why God or circumstance deprived me of being by the side of my parents before they passed away but maybe He knows better. Being their only child, I don't know and I don't think I could've have the strength to watch them leave this earth, and me. But, I have a lasting memories from both of them. From my dad - the last long, long letter he wrote to me for my birthday in July 1974, telling me of his plans and that the place he was staying for a while during the week, had a great brick oven that he could bake the best bread in! And my mother - I was visiting her in Barcelona Christmas/New Years of 1994 and the night before I left I had a splitting headache and she told me to put my head on her lap and she stroked my hair and my head, just as she did when I was little, calling me "corazon" which she did very rarely and she hadn't called me that in years, and told me that everything would be alright. I will never forget thinking that though her hands were crippled badly with the arthritis, they were not stiff, but soft and gentle...........
And so, here I am, 15 years after she died and almost 66 years since she gave birth to me, and I still miss her today as heart-wrenchingly as I did the day I found out she passed away, minutes before I was going to board a plane to fly to see her in Barcelona.
I know she's up there in good company with her mother, my dad and all her family and I know she watches over me, and my daughter, who is now a great mother herself, and I hope she knows that I may be her "corazon" but she will mine forever..
Feliz Dia de la Madre, Mami. Te quiero como siempre.........
Monday, April 5, 2010
One lovely week - Lovely Easter weekend and happy early Spring!
First of all, I hope everyone had a happy and blessed Easter Holiday.
I was supposed to get my granddaughter Laura to stay with me from Tuesday morning on until Easter Monday but it was raining sheets on Tuesday so her mother brought her over on Wednesday morning and for 6 days and 5 nights I had my sweetie with me.
One of those cutsie sayings out there is that "our grandchildren are our reward for not killing our children." Now, y'all will agree that there are fleeting moments (especially when they are in their teens) that we have entertained the thought of strangling our offspring. In any event, my granddaughter and I (who is all of 11 already! (birthday March 18)) get along splendidly. She enjoys shopping with me especially when we go look at the handbags. We had to buy her some summer tees and jeans and God bless Old Navy. At least here in the Big Manzana, we would all walk around naked without it. The prices are rock bottom and the clothes are trendy but useful. The trick is in accessorzing. A cool scarf and attitude will make a $25 outfit go a long way. We watched Vogue's The September Issue 2007" (we both like to pretend we are sitting there wearing all those cool shoes, clothes and handbags and we can critique better than anyone on "Project Runway" and what woman DOESN'T wish she was Anna Wintour!), and also watched the sweetest 3-hanky dog story on DVD titled "Hachi" with Richard Gere. TIME magazine recommended it and if you like dogs and sweet movies, don't miss this. We had our first Baskin and Robins ice cream for spring - twice and raided Barnes and Noble (she, because she had 5 gift cards to use up, and me so I can jot down books I want to get on my Kindle). Ah, another thing my Laura likes to do is read, but I can't get sole credit for that - my daughter and I, her grandfather (my ex), and my parents, are and were all avid readers so she comes by that almost genetically.
On Saturday, Frances came to stay with us as she was doing Easter Sunday Mass with us, and my son in law went to stay with Cliff (Frances's dad) and later on Saturday evening we had a lovely pre-Easter dinner (we couldn't get a reservation in for Sunday - it was fully booked) at "Buttermilk Channel" - a lovely restaurant in the French boit style three short blocks from my apartment. The dinner was excellent and the gentlemen treated the ladies, natch. Coincidentally, Saturday was April 3 and it was 45 years ago that I had walked down the aisle with Cliff in Manila. My, my. The roads I have travelled since then, yet 45 years later, albeit divorced so long we can't (or he can't) remember what it was like to be married, we sat with our only child and granddaughter for Easter dinner. Life is not so bad.
So here you have me giving you a glimpse of my Easter holiday, on Monday afternoon, April 5th, feeling blue because my little apartment feels so empty without my girl(s). Tomorrow back to the office to earn my daily bread. But for the moment, there's a little breeze blowing thru the new curtains in the windows at the back of my apartment - making my cat Marco happy as the windows are up and the screens down and he can have some fresh from the garden smells of birds and squirrels after being denied all this, this long, cold, wet, winter. And though I grumble about having to work, I am glad I have a job as it keeps my mind active and worse things could happen to me, I guess. Spring is here (though I don't think we're through with the cold yet, April is a tricky month), and Life is not so bad.
I was supposed to get my granddaughter Laura to stay with me from Tuesday morning on until Easter Monday but it was raining sheets on Tuesday so her mother brought her over on Wednesday morning and for 6 days and 5 nights I had my sweetie with me.
One of those cutsie sayings out there is that "our grandchildren are our reward for not killing our children." Now, y'all will agree that there are fleeting moments (especially when they are in their teens) that we have entertained the thought of strangling our offspring. In any event, my granddaughter and I (who is all of 11 already! (birthday March 18)) get along splendidly. She enjoys shopping with me especially when we go look at the handbags. We had to buy her some summer tees and jeans and God bless Old Navy. At least here in the Big Manzana, we would all walk around naked without it. The prices are rock bottom and the clothes are trendy but useful. The trick is in accessorzing. A cool scarf and attitude will make a $25 outfit go a long way. We watched Vogue's The September Issue 2007" (we both like to pretend we are sitting there wearing all those cool shoes, clothes and handbags and we can critique better than anyone on "Project Runway" and what woman DOESN'T wish she was Anna Wintour!), and also watched the sweetest 3-hanky dog story on DVD titled "Hachi" with Richard Gere. TIME magazine recommended it and if you like dogs and sweet movies, don't miss this. We had our first Baskin and Robins ice cream for spring - twice and raided Barnes and Noble (she, because she had 5 gift cards to use up, and me so I can jot down books I want to get on my Kindle). Ah, another thing my Laura likes to do is read, but I can't get sole credit for that - my daughter and I, her grandfather (my ex), and my parents, are and were all avid readers so she comes by that almost genetically.
On Saturday, Frances came to stay with us as she was doing Easter Sunday Mass with us, and my son in law went to stay with Cliff (Frances's dad) and later on Saturday evening we had a lovely pre-Easter dinner (we couldn't get a reservation in for Sunday - it was fully booked) at "Buttermilk Channel" - a lovely restaurant in the French boit style three short blocks from my apartment. The dinner was excellent and the gentlemen treated the ladies, natch. Coincidentally, Saturday was April 3 and it was 45 years ago that I had walked down the aisle with Cliff in Manila. My, my. The roads I have travelled since then, yet 45 years later, albeit divorced so long we can't (or he can't) remember what it was like to be married, we sat with our only child and granddaughter for Easter dinner. Life is not so bad.
So here you have me giving you a glimpse of my Easter holiday, on Monday afternoon, April 5th, feeling blue because my little apartment feels so empty without my girl(s). Tomorrow back to the office to earn my daily bread. But for the moment, there's a little breeze blowing thru the new curtains in the windows at the back of my apartment - making my cat Marco happy as the windows are up and the screens down and he can have some fresh from the garden smells of birds and squirrels after being denied all this, this long, cold, wet, winter. And though I grumble about having to work, I am glad I have a job as it keeps my mind active and worse things could happen to me, I guess. Spring is here (though I don't think we're through with the cold yet, April is a tricky month), and Life is not so bad.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Holy Week - yesterday and today......
Its been sometime since I've written - almost a whole month but I was in a winter funk what with all the lousy weather we've been having but spring has sprung and though I'm still not in full spring mode as it is still cold but at least sunny, I am looking forward to spending the upcoming week with my sweet granddaughter Laura and having my whole little family with me on Easter Sunday.
And keeping in the spirit of Holy Week, I am herewith posting a poem I wrote in high school (either in my freshman or sophomore year) which I want to share with you. It was submitted by either Miss Juco or Miss Ocampo or even Sr. Mary Angela (my Paulinian classmates know of whom I speak) to the Manila Bulletin and it was published during Holy Week then. Now, over 40 years later, I think I should post something fitting for this solemn week before Easter.
The Vigil
A woman stands beside the cross
Her beautiful serene eyes are glistening with tears
Her rose-tinted skin is now almost transparently white with grief
Her glorious mass of shining chestnut hair
Has tumbled over her shoulders
Now shaking with her silent weeping.
She raises her head toward the figure hanging on the cross
And as she looks at Him, a dagger pierces her soul
The Man hanging on the Cross is her only son
She is filled with anguish, pain and sorrow
But, helpless to do anything for Him.
There is a woman beside her sharing her sorrow
A woman called Mary of Magdala.
A group of soldiers are gambling for His seamless robe
Which she made for Him, so long ago.
The sky has suddenly become dark.
Lightning and thunder break through the unearthly stillness
With an angry force
And the woman hears a voice she knows to be her son’s murmur….
“Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.”
And a soldier exclaims in terror and wonder…..
“Truly, this is the Son of God.”
A soft drizzle begins to fall
As two men take the Savior off the cross
And they lay Him in His mother’s arms.
There is still great sorrow and pain in her heart
But, she is also happy.
That He is rid of His suffering and agony.
His hands still bear
The marks where the nails had been cruelly driven into
Those divine hands
Which had caressed her cheek as a babe,
Had helped His father at work
Had healed the sick, the blind and the lame
And had changed bread and wine
Into His own Body and Blood.
The people had demanded the death
Of her Divine Son
This innocent Man
Lying in her arms now
Who had come down to earth
To save man from his sins
Their God and Creator
Who had brought the message of…
Love your neighbor as yourselves.
She thinks about this as she lays Him in the tomb
And she weeps again
But this time, for those who have denied Him
Hoping they will find Him again.
And as she walks down the path, away from the tomb,
We see a Queen, a Mother, a Saint, an Angel
And her name is MARY.
Have a Happy and Blessed Easter, all!!
And keeping in the spirit of Holy Week, I am herewith posting a poem I wrote in high school (either in my freshman or sophomore year) which I want to share with you. It was submitted by either Miss Juco or Miss Ocampo or even Sr. Mary Angela (my Paulinian classmates know of whom I speak) to the Manila Bulletin and it was published during Holy Week then. Now, over 40 years later, I think I should post something fitting for this solemn week before Easter.
The Vigil
A woman stands beside the cross
Her beautiful serene eyes are glistening with tears
Her rose-tinted skin is now almost transparently white with grief
Her glorious mass of shining chestnut hair
Has tumbled over her shoulders
Now shaking with her silent weeping.
She raises her head toward the figure hanging on the cross
And as she looks at Him, a dagger pierces her soul
The Man hanging on the Cross is her only son
She is filled with anguish, pain and sorrow
But, helpless to do anything for Him.
There is a woman beside her sharing her sorrow
A woman called Mary of Magdala.
A group of soldiers are gambling for His seamless robe
Which she made for Him, so long ago.
The sky has suddenly become dark.
Lightning and thunder break through the unearthly stillness
With an angry force
And the woman hears a voice she knows to be her son’s murmur….
“Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.”
And a soldier exclaims in terror and wonder…..
“Truly, this is the Son of God.”
A soft drizzle begins to fall
As two men take the Savior off the cross
And they lay Him in His mother’s arms.
There is still great sorrow and pain in her heart
But, she is also happy.
That He is rid of His suffering and agony.
His hands still bear
The marks where the nails had been cruelly driven into
Those divine hands
Which had caressed her cheek as a babe,
Had helped His father at work
Had healed the sick, the blind and the lame
And had changed bread and wine
Into His own Body and Blood.
The people had demanded the death
Of her Divine Son
This innocent Man
Lying in her arms now
Who had come down to earth
To save man from his sins
Their God and Creator
Who had brought the message of…
Love your neighbor as yourselves.
She thinks about this as she lays Him in the tomb
And she weeps again
But this time, for those who have denied Him
Hoping they will find Him again.
And as she walks down the path, away from the tomb,
We see a Queen, a Mother, a Saint, an Angel
And her name is MARY.
Have a Happy and Blessed Easter, all!!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Snow Days and Disasters.....in the Movies!!!
Well, its been a heck of a winter especially the last two weeks here in beautiful downtown Brooklyn. I woke up (well, actually, I was woken up by a text and email blast from the university that there would be no classes or administration going on), at 5:30 AM on Friday morning to a world of white outside my windows. The good thing is that I got to stay home and read, eat when and what I want, watch movies and make my cat Marco happy by keeping him company and playing with him. Besides, all the birdies and squirrels he watches or tease him from the windows have disappeared to wherever those creatures disappear to when there are big snowstorms or heavy rain. In any event, its pretty for the first 24 hours and since it snowed for 24 hours it was pretty to look at and take photos off. I wish I could play in it but these not so spry and not so resilient bones of mine can't take that sort of thing anymore. What my bones are really asking me is why don't I take them to some warm sunny beach or warm sunny anywhere! And they say there's more snow to come this week. Aaaarrrgghhh.... My granddaughter will be going to school till July if this keeps up to make up for lost school days.
Then I had a slight heart attack (figuratively) because Thursday night it was snowing heavily already and my Direct TV dish was burried under the heavy WET snowflakes and I thought I would miss the ladies figure skating final at the Olympics but milagro! It came back on just about 9:30 pm. Wasn't that Korean girl just exquisite?!!
Nothing much else exciting is going on. Well, there is this earthquake in Chile, which is not exciting but horrid for those people and that tsunami scare because if it is supposed to reach Hawaii and Japan, the Philippines isn't far off but so far, it hasn't happened.
When I was a kid in Manila, really young, I had seen a movie called "Fair Winds to Java" and it was about a tsunami and for years and years I used to have nightmares about a tsunami rolling over us thru Manila Bay. When the real thing happened not so long ago in Banda Asche (Sp.?), I thought - some nightmares do become real. I know I may be a trifle weird but I rather like watching "disaster" movies like the original "Poseidon", "Earthquake" with Jennifer Jones/Charlton Heston, "Twister" (I like watching the movie but I can't relate too much to tornadoes not having really experienced or seen one in real life and I don't live in Oklahoma or Kansas), "Impact" or something with an impact about asteroids hitting the earth, which are a bit scary, and the two movies about nuclear bomb explosions, one had Jason Robards in it, "The Day After" and those are scary too. And then there's "The Towering Inferno" which those nasty terrorists made all too real and a thousand times worse by giving us a taste of the real thing. But I have the movie in video and I like it because of all the actors in it: William Holden, Fred Astair, Steve McQueen, Jennifer Jones, Susan Blakely, Paul Newman, Faye Dunaway and even OJ Simpson, who had a good supporting role. I like ""Dante's Peak" wth Pierce Brosnan (I like anything with him in it), "The China Syndrome", "On the Beach", "Titanic" and "A Night To Remember" (to some even better than Titanic by Cameron), "The Devil at Four O'Clock" (Frank Sinatra and Spencer Tracy), and "When Time Ran Out" with Jacqueline Bissett, Paul Newman and William Holden (talk about the dream team actors!). Anyway, I'm into a disaster mode and I haven't even included movies like "The Hot Zone" or "The Adromeda Strain."
I guess I'm from the older generation because I'd rather watch any of the above movies again than something about Iraq (The Hurt Locker), or blue people with a "message" (Avatar). Which brings me to the (drum roll) the Oscar's next Sunday. I have my favorite actors and actresses but none will win because everyone is now so "PC" (I HATE that term), but I like the spectacle and like looking at the dresses and who makes it or doesn't. I wish I could work the red carpet as an interviewer just for that night. As I'ved said previously, I like the Golden Globes awards better but the Oscar's are a tradition, so something to look forward to.
And for those of you who ARE "PC" and think that I should be talking about more serious stuff in here than old disaster movies, well, we get the serious stuff in our faces every day in the news, on TV and in our lives so I can indulge in old fashioned harmless memories of rotten and not so rotten movies that do what movies are supposed to do - entertain. Your entertainment may be French noir or Italian comedy or Merchant/Ivory films (I love them!) or Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice. Whatever works, I say.
And then there's always my Kindle. Just finished reading a lot of non-fiction like "The Lost City of Z" and "The Johnstown Flood" so yesterday I indulged in a bit of chic lit called "Very Valentine" and loved it. The second of the trilogy by the author of this book releases in the middle of March and I can't wait.
Last but not least, last night I watched "The V.I.P.s" with Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Orson Wells, Maggie Smith, Elsa Martinelli and Rod Taylor and fell asleep watching Cameron's "Titanic" and hated Billy Zane all over again! Besides, not a thing to watch if you hate the cold!
Then I had a slight heart attack (figuratively) because Thursday night it was snowing heavily already and my Direct TV dish was burried under the heavy WET snowflakes and I thought I would miss the ladies figure skating final at the Olympics but milagro! It came back on just about 9:30 pm. Wasn't that Korean girl just exquisite?!!
Nothing much else exciting is going on. Well, there is this earthquake in Chile, which is not exciting but horrid for those people and that tsunami scare because if it is supposed to reach Hawaii and Japan, the Philippines isn't far off but so far, it hasn't happened.
When I was a kid in Manila, really young, I had seen a movie called "Fair Winds to Java" and it was about a tsunami and for years and years I used to have nightmares about a tsunami rolling over us thru Manila Bay. When the real thing happened not so long ago in Banda Asche (Sp.?), I thought - some nightmares do become real. I know I may be a trifle weird but I rather like watching "disaster" movies like the original "Poseidon", "Earthquake" with Jennifer Jones/Charlton Heston, "Twister" (I like watching the movie but I can't relate too much to tornadoes not having really experienced or seen one in real life and I don't live in Oklahoma or Kansas), "Impact" or something with an impact about asteroids hitting the earth, which are a bit scary, and the two movies about nuclear bomb explosions, one had Jason Robards in it, "The Day After" and those are scary too. And then there's "The Towering Inferno" which those nasty terrorists made all too real and a thousand times worse by giving us a taste of the real thing. But I have the movie in video and I like it because of all the actors in it: William Holden, Fred Astair, Steve McQueen, Jennifer Jones, Susan Blakely, Paul Newman, Faye Dunaway and even OJ Simpson, who had a good supporting role. I like ""Dante's Peak" wth Pierce Brosnan (I like anything with him in it), "The China Syndrome", "On the Beach", "Titanic" and "A Night To Remember" (to some even better than Titanic by Cameron), "The Devil at Four O'Clock" (Frank Sinatra and Spencer Tracy), and "When Time Ran Out" with Jacqueline Bissett, Paul Newman and William Holden (talk about the dream team actors!). Anyway, I'm into a disaster mode and I haven't even included movies like "The Hot Zone" or "The Adromeda Strain."
I guess I'm from the older generation because I'd rather watch any of the above movies again than something about Iraq (The Hurt Locker), or blue people with a "message" (Avatar). Which brings me to the (drum roll) the Oscar's next Sunday. I have my favorite actors and actresses but none will win because everyone is now so "PC" (I HATE that term), but I like the spectacle and like looking at the dresses and who makes it or doesn't. I wish I could work the red carpet as an interviewer just for that night. As I'ved said previously, I like the Golden Globes awards better but the Oscar's are a tradition, so something to look forward to.
And for those of you who ARE "PC" and think that I should be talking about more serious stuff in here than old disaster movies, well, we get the serious stuff in our faces every day in the news, on TV and in our lives so I can indulge in old fashioned harmless memories of rotten and not so rotten movies that do what movies are supposed to do - entertain. Your entertainment may be French noir or Italian comedy or Merchant/Ivory films (I love them!) or Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice. Whatever works, I say.
And then there's always my Kindle. Just finished reading a lot of non-fiction like "The Lost City of Z" and "The Johnstown Flood" so yesterday I indulged in a bit of chic lit called "Very Valentine" and loved it. The second of the trilogy by the author of this book releases in the middle of March and I can't wait.
Last but not least, last night I watched "The V.I.P.s" with Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Orson Wells, Maggie Smith, Elsa Martinelli and Rod Taylor and fell asleep watching Cameron's "Titanic" and hated Billy Zane all over again! Besides, not a thing to watch if you hate the cold!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Valentine's Day, February 14, 2010 (The Romantic Valentine, not the Familial One)
If you notice, the title of this posting doesn't say "Happy" only because I don't think Valentine's Day is a happy one for everyone. I mean, I know we all truly love someone - husband, child, parent, etc. but I am thinking that some have lost a truly loved one, hence, though not a tragic day, not the all hearts and flowers one for many people.
I received a sweet email valentine from an old love a few days ago and though in email and short, it was sweet - and since none of you who read this know who he is - I will quote from part of it - to share -
"Happy Valentine's Day Love. It doesn't seem possible that this will be the sixth one since our flight. Thoughts of you give (me) as many goosebumps as they did V day '05. Maybe more. I think memories of a relationship grow with the years as the mind gradually erases any flaws in the relationship and constantly homes in and magnifies what was, and still is, wonderful about it. Stay warm love."
The above sure made my day as any woman, or guy, reading it can appreciate.
And speaking of loves - and in my case, a love lost, I wrote this poem truly spontaneously one summer morning about two years ago. I woke up from dreaming about this particular person and the first lines of the poem were literally already in my head. I had to go to the office but as soon as I got to my desk, I took out a notebook and started writing and in about 45 minutes it was done - just as you see it below. The power of love or love lost is strong indeed. Probably this all came about as "closure" (I truly hate the word but I can't think of a better one for now), when this man finally placed a period to the long relationship we'd had since I first met him in 1969. The why, how and where is not important because its done with but this poem lingers as a testament to what it was and how I felt. Those close friends who I sent it to and to others who knew nothing about my life or didn't know that I had written it, where skeptical that I had actually written it, though impressed. Because I wanted to preserve the integrity of this poem and the emotion that conceived it, I had it copyrighted and received my official copyright # from the US copyright office about 6 months later.
Well, here it is. An old friend of mine who passed away not long ago (God bless him), thought it a little raunchy but that's a guy for you and the only man who read it. The women all understood.
Antonym
I hate you.
I hate you because you come to me
In my dreams
And take over the night
I hate you because you waken memories
Long dormant
And take over my day
I hate you because I taste your mouth,
Your skin, your maleness,
And it’s only a memory
I hate you because you always walk away from me
In my dreams, in my life
I hate you because all others diminish in comparison
And they are nobler than you
I hate you because our past obscures the present
And denies the future
I hate you because there is no present
There is no future
I hate you because I look for you
When I know I will not find you
I hate you because you once were mine
I hate you because you now belong to another
I hate you because you were only on loan to me by Fate
I hate you because we breathed the same air
I hate you because we don’t breathe the same air
I hate you because our bodies joined lifted me
To heights unknown to mortals
I hate you because I knew your body
Better than mine
I hate you because you completed me
I hate you because now no one does
I hate you because we connected without words
I hate you because we now cannot connect at all
I hate you because I will not watch you grow old
I hate you because I only remember our youth
I hate you because you took the best of me
I hate you because I didn’t take the best of you
I hate you because you never heard my silent song to you
I hate you because I never realized yours to me
I hate you because I cannot,
No matter how much I try,
Learn to hate you.
Lea Bowie
Summer 2008
And this is the person I wrote this poem about. The photo was taken in the summer of 1974.
I received a sweet email valentine from an old love a few days ago and though in email and short, it was sweet - and since none of you who read this know who he is - I will quote from part of it - to share -
"Happy Valentine's Day Love. It doesn't seem possible that this will be the sixth one since our flight. Thoughts of you give (me) as many goosebumps as they did V day '05. Maybe more. I think memories of a relationship grow with the years as the mind gradually erases any flaws in the relationship and constantly homes in and magnifies what was, and still is, wonderful about it. Stay warm love."
The above sure made my day as any woman, or guy, reading it can appreciate.
And speaking of loves - and in my case, a love lost, I wrote this poem truly spontaneously one summer morning about two years ago. I woke up from dreaming about this particular person and the first lines of the poem were literally already in my head. I had to go to the office but as soon as I got to my desk, I took out a notebook and started writing and in about 45 minutes it was done - just as you see it below. The power of love or love lost is strong indeed. Probably this all came about as "closure" (I truly hate the word but I can't think of a better one for now), when this man finally placed a period to the long relationship we'd had since I first met him in 1969. The why, how and where is not important because its done with but this poem lingers as a testament to what it was and how I felt. Those close friends who I sent it to and to others who knew nothing about my life or didn't know that I had written it, where skeptical that I had actually written it, though impressed. Because I wanted to preserve the integrity of this poem and the emotion that conceived it, I had it copyrighted and received my official copyright # from the US copyright office about 6 months later.
Well, here it is. An old friend of mine who passed away not long ago (God bless him), thought it a little raunchy but that's a guy for you and the only man who read it. The women all understood.
Antonym
I hate you.
I hate you because you come to me
In my dreams
And take over the night
I hate you because you waken memories
Long dormant
And take over my day
I hate you because I taste your mouth,
Your skin, your maleness,
And it’s only a memory
I hate you because you always walk away from me
In my dreams, in my life
I hate you because all others diminish in comparison
And they are nobler than you
I hate you because our past obscures the present
And denies the future
I hate you because there is no present
There is no future
I hate you because I look for you
When I know I will not find you
I hate you because you once were mine
I hate you because you now belong to another
I hate you because you were only on loan to me by Fate
I hate you because we breathed the same air
I hate you because we don’t breathe the same air
I hate you because our bodies joined lifted me
To heights unknown to mortals
I hate you because I knew your body
Better than mine
I hate you because you completed me
I hate you because now no one does
I hate you because we connected without words
I hate you because we now cannot connect at all
I hate you because I will not watch you grow old
I hate you because I only remember our youth
I hate you because you took the best of me
I hate you because I didn’t take the best of you
I hate you because you never heard my silent song to you
I hate you because I never realized yours to me
I hate you because I cannot,
No matter how much I try,
Learn to hate you.
Lea Bowie
Summer 2008
And this is the person I wrote this poem about. The photo was taken in the summer of 1974.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
SNOW DAY!!! February 10, 2010
Hey there folks,
Here I am, still in my pajamas while the world outside my windows - all five of them - is just a blizzard of white! I don't remember snow like this since my first winter in New York in 1966! Let me see if I can attach a picture or two I took from my windows, earlier today, though now, at 2 PM, its snowing even harder and the wind is picking up.
The picture above was taken from my kitchen window of my back yard. The screen is still down outside of the window pane hence the criss-cross lines, but that tree that is bent down from the weight of the snow is a lovely "butterfly tree" (I call it that because all during warm weather butterflies gather to it, especially Monarch butterflies) which is so lovely during the spring and summer. This was taken at 8 this morning but now at 2 pm half of it is practically on the ground and the other half is hanging over my neighbor's fence. Hope nature does its thing and it comes back to its glory in spring. It has beautiful violet flowers when it blooms.
I took more pictures of my front yard facing the street but since the windows face north,there are droplets of water of melted snow flakes and everything is a blur of white. Wonder of wonders, the mailperson who fails to deliver mail on nice days, actually delivered mail in a blizzard. Go figure but, goodie for me, I got two Netflix DVDs that I can watch.
I know, this is all pretty boring but for my friends in warm climes, this is a little taste of life in the Gran Manzana. I hope my friend Cora Arando Frattali, who is supposed to fly to Nevada made it out of here today.
Nothing much else going on but now that I can download pictures, I will see if I can download some more later on.
Happy snow day everyone!
The picture above was taken from my kitchen window of my back yard. The screen is still down outside of the window pane hence the criss-cross lines, but that tree that is bent down from the weight of the snow is a lovely "butterfly tree" (I call it that because all during warm weather butterflies gather to it, especially Monarch butterflies) which is so lovely during the spring and summer. This was taken at 8 this morning but now at 2 pm half of it is practically on the ground and the other half is hanging over my neighbor's fence. Hope nature does its thing and it comes back to its glory in spring. It has beautiful violet flowers when it blooms.
I took more pictures of my front yard facing the street but since the windows face north,there are droplets of water of melted snow flakes and everything is a blur of white. Wonder of wonders, the mailperson who fails to deliver mail on nice days, actually delivered mail in a blizzard. Go figure but, goodie for me, I got two Netflix DVDs that I can watch.
I know, this is all pretty boring but for my friends in warm climes, this is a little taste of life in the Gran Manzana. I hope my friend Cora Arando Frattali, who is supposed to fly to Nevada made it out of here today.
Nothing much else going on but now that I can download pictures, I will see if I can download some more later on.
Happy snow day everyone!
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