So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mostly I have become deeply aware of two things. I hate sleeping on the ground and kids are kids. Don’t hang out with them if you expect gratitude, or respect. Not that there aren’t moments of both those things in varying amounts, but in general, teenagers are very self-absorbed and it is exhausting.
Yesterday, we hiked a short distance to a water fall in the Dominguez-Escalante National Conservation Area. If unfamiliar with the canyon, it’s a spectacular place carved by the Gunnison River with slick red rock walls, arroyos, and flat top mountains. There are falcons and big horn sheep and Ute petroglyphs. I was blown away. Most of the kids-less. I was partners with a boy during a game to identify symbiotic relationships. He was a flower; I was a bee. He didn’t think we had a symbiotic relationship, because as a flower he thought there were plenty and no more were necessary, meaning pollination was a waste of time. The guide was great. She thanked him for his interesting perspective. I thought I was doing good to not roll my eyes and tell him that he should perhaps think the same thoughts concerning his personal reproduction. It’s thoughts like this that remind me that I am too old for this job. While most of the kids sat in the heat and pouted, the adults splashed around in the waterfall.
On the drive to Denver, the van stalled out in Parachute. I was left with the kids at a big Love’s with a McDonalds while a mechanic was consulted. I listened to the boys debate whether Mississippi had a shoreline for a very long time. I also texted a few friends asking if they would come kidnap me.
We finally landed at a church near downtown Denver. The church hosts a variety of twelve step programs. One was about to start in the church courtyard when we arrived, we either had to stay in the basement during the meeting or leave the building and chill in the park across the street and had two minutes to decide. We decided out, but had a cringy moment of the, “Hi, I am….” as we walked past.
I tried not to make eye contact with then people in the circle to protect their privacy, but the voices echoed in my head as we made our way to the park. I don’t talk about my son’s addictions much, but his struggle with substances is real. I recognize that meds don’t drown the voices and he turns to other things to help. He has made gains, and has had his falls. It is one of the most powerless parts of mothering I have experienced. Most days, I feel part of the web. I don’t have to be an addict myself to feel the pain of the problem. It doesn’t help that I am hyper aware that it is the tenth anniversary of the first signs of psychosis. I can’t quite shake the image of watching a paramedic sink a needle into his arm to stop his screams. I know we have come a long way since that day, so I don’t know why the memory is so fresh. I do wonder if it will ever feel differently.
When I was in the park with kids last night, watching the lights of the city begin to blink on, I realized that even though I am ready for the trip to be over, I do love Denver. The kids will probably yawn and pout when we have our Haitian dance lesson, but the memories will be there and hopefully they will be the kind to reach for when things are dark.
Another blog post from inside my sleeping bag. The last time I wrote from inside a sleeping bag, (yesterday) I was trying to keep warm. Now I am trying to keep the light out. The accommodations are in the basement of a Unitarian church with emergency lights that don’t shut off. Other than the light, this has been the best overnight so far. There is carpet and couches, and cushions and foamy blocks that one of the kids built a bed from. The church people brought us dinner AND breakfast and have just been incredibly nice. I slept better here, but only a little.
The third day of Road School was a slower pace. We only had one activity–a visit to Thistle Whistle farm outside of Paonia. There we saw a goat milking demonstration and also had a tour of some of the greenhouses and fields. The farmer grows a wide variety of plants. He had the class sample herbs and greens he had gathered and he told origin stories about the species and why he was growing particular items, and offered test tastes. He allowed us to pet goats and then we helped him organize an entire shed of planting containers. It was really hot, but also really fun.
The afternoon brought us to Grand Junction. There was no escaping my memories of living in this area when the flattop mountains came into view. I saw the Barnes and Noble that Shayne and I spent every weekend, the mall with the arcade and the movie theater. I remembered how hard it was that year to be away from my family and friends and everything that I was used to. And it made me realize that I have essentially been away from my home for three weeks now. I am not obsessively worried about Shayne, but thoughts of him flit through my day. Is he okay? Is he taking care of himself? Is he taking his medicine? June has not been historically a good month for us and even if I try not to think too much, the memories come anyway. Driving through the streets in a place where my little boy was joyful is bittersweet.
I had some downtime today and I created a cartoon about the fish hatchery and started some ideas to create more meaningful written curriculum to connect experiences with learning. I wonder if anyone is learning as much as I am. Mostly, I thought about how this road trip could make a great reality show or documentary. Maybe I need a GoPro for whatever comes next in my life.
I am writing this post from inside my sleeping bag. It’s 50 degrees and the wind gusts are three miles per hour. I am dressed warmly, and I have tried to tuck myself tightly into the bag to avoid any air seepage. It’s not working because I am cold. I could go in the old trading post where we are staying to finish out the night, but that’s on a hardwood floor. At least outside there is comfortable porch furniture. To a point. The roughest part of Road School is sleeping. To get through three more nights of this might require a stop for an air mattress.
Day two of Road School took us over Independence Pass which I vaguely remember traversing as a child with mom clinging to the dash board with her eyes squeezed shut, tears of fear running down her face. That’s probably why I don’t remember the breathtaking views from the summit.
Taking in the vegetation at Alpine elevation.
While I snapped photos, the students drew pictures of plants they saw and made observations to compare with vegetation at the altitude we live.
Spring in June–Independence Pass
The real destination for the day was Paonia, Colorado, a small community nestled in a valley of towering peaks. Many years ago, I spent a year on the Western slope near Paonia, and vowed I would never return. I was a little afraid that memories would resurface, but when I saw the sign for the town I lived in, not much stirred. Instead, I just remembered how breathtakingly beautiful it is with the roaring rivers, picturesque creeks, the spring run off bringing cascading waterfalls to the roadways, green, green meadows and wild flowers everywhere. This is the Colorado on the postcards.
In Paonia, we stopped at the Learning Council which is a place that uses locally grown produce to make food and feed the community. We entered a large commercial kitchen, washed our hands, donned aprons, and started chopping greens, sautéing onions, and building empanadas.
There were about five or six volunteers when we arrived at the kitchen. I have to believe that fourteen extra pair of hands shortened the work time. I saw the regular volunteers walking around as we wrapped up, kind of amazed that the work was done hours before the deadline. The food that was prepared was served at whatever cost patrons could afford at the evening Farmer’s Market. For such a small town, the market was impressive-live music, a lot of produce, a few artisans with products also locally sourced–Alpaca yarn, honey, soaps and candles scented with lavender and other fragrances grown in the valley. It was a great way for students to see how production, processing, and consumption work together. It was also fun to hear them say things like–“You’re eating the empanada that I made!”
In two days, I have seen so much growth in these kids. They are starting to take off their armor and open up to new experiences. Last night, they all set off on a walk around the trading post land together, excited to see the stars without light pollution. One of them even knew about the strawberry moon. (I had to google it.)
The sun is coming up; I can hear the kids stirring. I have two goals for the day: Be open for the new experiences. Buy an air mattress.
I guess this is my summer of firsts. First time of Asian travel, first time of sea kayaking, first time of grilled squid, and now my first day of Road School. I have had many first days with classes of kids, but I have never met them in a parking lot ready to get to know each other in a moving landscape. Like all my new adventures I have had recently, it was exciting and inspiring.
Here’s a list of things we did the first day: 1. Watched people surf the waves at the wave park in Salida. The kids were asked to choose three surfers and calculate their time in the waves for three trials and then average the times and make observations about elements that impacted the rides. 2. The next stop was a fish hatchery. We learned the process of egg to river or lake release and got to see most of the stages of the fish and then got to feed them. 3. After a short drive, we climbed out of the van in Leadville and climbed onto mountain bikes to hit the trails. 4. If that wasn’t enough, we settled in Leadville in a church community center. The kids made dinner and had some choice time. They could walk around town (supervised) or take a trip to Turquoise Lake for sunset fishing. 5. School wasn’t out until after a study hall which included journaling, a quick math drill, and a quick grammar practice. 6. The kids (and instructors) were so tired that bedtime was easy.
I really didn’t do any of the planning for the day, or design any of the curriculum. I felt very much along for ride. I showed some kids how to average; I took some kids off the single track trail when their fear became apparent. I bought nightcrawlers and drove the fisherboys out to Turquoise Lake. I ended my day walking around helping kids with math and grammar. The day was easy mentally, but physically a bit demanding and sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag, definitely made me realize that I am decades older than everyone on this ride.
My take away is a lot deeper though. These kids are quiet, trying not to draw attention to themselves. They keep their eyes averted hoping not to be seen. As the day went on, glimmers of their personalities began to break through. The boys thanked me for taking them to the lake and we all agreed how stunning it was to watch night fall on the water.
My thoughts and emotions are whirling with the day’s experiences. I can see how the program is to teach kids to take risks by trying new experiences. Failure is not an option because with trying comes learning. For me, I can see how being in the classroom has given me the tools to be great at being out of the classroom. My mind is whirring with ideas for portfolio development and lessons to really capitalize on the activities. I am not going to get ahead of myself though. There is a lot of road ahead on this journey.
I have been home from the Philippines almost a week. Usually when I get back from a trip, I am happy to sleep in my own bed and be around all that’s familiar. I didn’t feel any of that upon my return. It was good to hold my cats, see my son and connect with my friends, but I realized that this house, this town, this place is symbolic of the cage I have put myself in. I am antsy for change, freedom.
The house was much as I left it, despite, three teenagers, a man, two cats, and a part-time dog being in the house while I was gone. No one did a damn thing with the yard. I believe it rained everyday for two weeks and my weeds flourished. I have spent the last three days waging a war on taking my yard back.
I have thoughts on gardening that aren’t all positive, but one great thing about it is that it allows a lot of contemplation time. People keep asking me if I am moving to the Philippines. While my experience there was life changing, it really stirred other desires rather than retiring and living like a queen.
I keep thinking about the bone thin cats, and scraped up dogs, and shelters built from tin and plastic. I think about walking in the rainforest and seeing for myself the delicate green leaves reaching for the light. It stirred this great desire of humanitarianism inside my soul. Also it made me yearn for all the vistas I have yet to experience. It made me realize that I still want to help others, help the world, help kids, but I also need the freedom to be creative and not be bound to four walls and a single text. I need to be able to breathe.
The weeds have not been completely demolished and I didn’t get to painting the bathroom, or cleaning the porches, but I am leaving home again. This time in a van with high school kids failing at school. Some of them I have known since kindergarten, some of them are new to me. I don’t really know all their stories or the reasons why they are not succeeding at school, but I understand how the expectations of the classroom can be disjointed. I understand about checking out and failing. In some ways, I have been floundering in the classroom, feeling stifled and unable to help kids the way I feel they need to be helped.
The offer to join road school came at just the right time for me. The idea of going on the road with kids speaks to me. It’s a way to bring new vistas, and rekindle hope for kids who are struggling to find their way. It’s creative, brave, and challenging.
I feel both excited and nervous about this new adventure and even though I know I should be rested for my first day on the road. I couldn’t sleep and when I did I dreamed I was in the backyard of the house I grew up in. It was different. The grass showed signs of being mowed, but was too tall in places. The bamboo was growing in random places, instead of in the patch by the pond. The pond was gone, but the trees were still there, but trimmed way back; the giant limbs cut short. I walked around remembering how things used to be. The mower was out and my dad’s faded red toolbox was nearby. The house was empty, but the kitchen was full of snacks Mom had made for my trip. My old art students were with me, one of them grabbing up a sweatshirt I left behind on the over grown grass and another hitting the garage door button so we could pull the van onto the road. I woke up thinking about all that.
I can see how this dream took me back to my foundations of my youth. My parents gave me tools and nourished me with love which is at my core. The yard symbolizes that while I have transformed, there are many things still growing and continuing to flourish. My art students reminded me of my creativity and how much comfort and joy creating gives me and I love sharing that joy with others.
All the roads I have traveled have lead me right here. Road School might be the perfect blend of all my gifts, talents, and experiences. I am ready to share the magic of new vistas with students. May it continue to be transforming and life changing for us all.
My trip to the Philippines was full of firsts–island hopping, sea kayaking, walks in the rain forest. I saw my niece graduate and display mad skills on the soccer field. I saw brilliant sunrises and new ways of living that I’d never thought of before. And I also had my first experience of paralyzing cataplexy.
Cataplexy is a sudden weakening of the muscles that can be briefly paralyzing. It is a condition of narcolepsy and often accompanies strong emotion like laughter, anger, shock, or fear. My cataplexy is so mild that I went most of my life not really knowing what it was. I thought I was just having occasional muscle tremors when I was laughing. I am positive, that I was the only one able to tell it was happening.
I am blaming the cataplexy episode on the Weng-weng. Weng-weng is a Philippine cocktail known for its potency. My brother ordered two pitchers, after we finished sea kayaking. It was very hot, and the drinks were very cold. I am sure no explanation is necessary to paint the picture of fruity cocktails on the shoreline of a tranquil sea. Old family stories started to unfold and laughter followed taking us to dinner time.
To my credit, I am not much of a drinker, and no one ever told me that people with cataplexy shouldn’t drink. So while laughing, and trying to respond to something my brother said, my muscles in my face fell and my head dropped and I couldn’t move. My family rushed around me thinking that I’d had a stroke or a heart attack. I could hear everything and see everything. Maria wanted to give me CPR and Kevin asked if he should slap me. I wanted to both laugh and tell them that I was fine, but I could do nothing until I came out of it. Even though, it’s never happened to me before, I knew what it was, so I wasn’t scared. Maria called the hotel medical people to check me out. They came with their blood pressure cuff and pulse oxygen reader, and my vitals were great. I felt completely ridiculous; I always knew tequila was bad.
My niece and her friends joined us for dinner and it happened again. My brother really wanted to slap me. He said it would be great for my blog. 🙄 Now my sister-in-law is really scared and concerned for me, but I am fine.
I have been living with this condition for a long time and it’s so mild that I didn’t even really know what it was for years. If alcohol makes the cataplexy more pronounced, then my umbrella drink days are over. But I suspect, that, in addition to the Weng-weng, my emotions were very strong. Everytime I say goodbye to my brother, I pray it’s not the last time. My time with him always feels so short. Being with him both grounds me and gives me wings.
I am saying goodbye to my brother, my sis, my nieces, the South Pacific, the incredible food, and all the people who have made me feel welcome on the islands. The momentary paralysis of the cataplexy was a bit of a wake up call for me. Nothing like really being paralyzed to realize that even if I feel that I am trapped, I am not. There is more of the world to see and that’s my quest.
June 1. The sun rises on my last twenty-four hours in Southeast Asia. I am at Shangri-La, the mythical Eden, and also a luxury hotel on the island of LapuLapu. Luxury hotels are a pretty new experience for me. Usually, I don’t stay in hotels, because I just see them as a place to catch a nap, and hell, I can sleep in my car for free. When I am traveling, I usually vie for an air B and B, because I like to feel like I am at home. But this hotel life is pretty awesome.
When we got here, my brother and I rushed into our swimsuits. It so reminded me of growing up with him. Checking out the pool was our first priority as kids. We skipped the pool and went right for the ocean, because I don’t get to the beach everyday. As always Kevin got right into the water, not hesitating with the sudden chill of the temperature shift, meanwhile, I slowly immersed myself, exclaiming about the cold, and the FISH swimming around me. Finally, I got my head wet and swam out to join my brother. This actually says a lot about our personalities, but I don’t want to overthink that right now.
My brother had found a rock that had something growing on it. We didn’t know what it was, but we thought it might be a sea animal, so we respected its space. Then we swam out to a platform that was set up for diving, or maybe just a destination to swim to in deeper water.
While we were standing on the float, some teenagers asked if they could join us. The girl started chatting us up. She was very friendly and thought Kevin and I were a couple. When we told her we were siblings, she commented on how different we looked, which we didn’t reply to. I am pretty sure that’s a comparison that’s been made our whole lives. Then she started talking about where she lived and how it was boring, especially for “(no offense, I don’t mean to be ageist)” elderly because of all the hiking. Kevin and I were both polite, but we both had the same inward reaction. Elderly? Hiking? We’re from Colorado! Bring on any damn trail, we can do it. We left the float to her and her cousins and we swam back to the shore and then analyzed being called elderly. Just for the record, we are NOT elderly.
Dinner was an Asian buffet that I am going to miss when I get home. I have had sushi or squid everyday since I have been here and it is so fresh and amazing. Last night the squid was grilled and it was fantastic. There was also a show of native dancing and ice cream for dessert. Then we went to an arcade. We played Pac-Man, pool, pinball. My nieces played air hockey together and seemed so happy. We might have been staying at a five star resort, but it was like being with my brother when we were nine and ten and spending the night at a roadside motel, discovering new things and making the most out what was in front of us.
In a way, I think it’s ironic that I am ending my trip at the Shangri-La, mythical Eden. I have been on an inner and outer quest to find more joy in my life and find where I really belong. I realize that it’s not about where I am, or what I am doing, it’s about connecting with what is my heart. And being brave enough to listen to where it is leading me.
Bohol is an island next to Cebu; it’s round, rather than long and skinny. Its natural climate is tropical rainforests, encircled by white, sandy beaches, and the clearest blue water imaginable. I could not wait to start my day of island hopping; however it got off to a rough start.
I made the mistake of checking my email and a message related to my last months in the classroom popped up. So instead of being filled with joy about embarking on an adventure, I was sitting in the hotel lobby with tears running down my face. The concierge noticed and it’s impossible for Filipino people to be unkind, I think. He said, “Ma’am, what can I do?” I did my best to smile at him and put on my shades, even though it was five thirty in the morning and raining a bit. I told him I was fine.
The excitement of the voyage, crept back in as we entered the harbor and I took in the large ferries and other passenger boats. I snapped some pictures and took my window seat on the boat, delighting in the curves of the waves and shades of the water and sky. I was almost fully into the spirit of the adventure when the ferry docked in Bohol and my phone rang. My son’s car was overheating and he was ten miles out of town. It was so like my son, calling me to fix his emergency even though I am half a world away. I tried to get him to think through other solutions. Call Triple A. Call a friend. Meanwhile, I was shuffling my way off the boat, with the harbor noise all around me. He wanted twenty bucks, because his wallet was at home. He thought coolant would solve his problem. Again, I am in ASIA. Yes, I could transfer some money into his account, but I’d both changed my accounts and got a new phone and couldn’t remember my password at the top of my head and locked myself out of account, trying. The time difference made it impossible to call and reset the password, and there was really nothing I could do until the US banks opened in the morning which was my evening. He needed someone else to help him. So, I told him he would have to either call Triple A or one of my friend’s or family to help him. I listed off some options–Pam, Lisa, James. He asked if I would start the text for him. Jesus, Lord, help me not punch my son through the phone. Meanwhile, I am off the ferry somehow, in a car that my sister-in-law has hired for the day, and just waking up to the fact that Bohol is very different than Cebu. The city had disappeared and tropical island vibes were all around me. I set my phone down, fastened my seatbelt, and tried to block out all the voices from home trying to draw me back into their traps.
The first destination was the Chocolate Hills. The Chocolate Hills are a geographical marvel comprising of a thousand or more limestone hills covered in grasses. In the dry months, the grasses turn a brown, creating the illusion of chocolate hills in the jungle. The rainy season is starting, so the hills were more green than brown, but still amazing. They are protected from people, but the thousands of visitors who arrive to witness the marvel of these mounds, may trek up a large, high staircase to the top of one hill. From there, the vista opens up to the hills as far as the horizon. Rice fields lay below and stream rising from hot springs floats in spiraling billows. I have always dreamed of going to the rain forest, and for the first time, I was overlooking a tropical rain forest. It was unforgettable.
Lunch came next. We went to a family owned “natural” (organic) chicken place. Just in case there was any doubt about “natural,” there were “viejos” (old ones) in front of the restaurant with chickens, being readied for something, or maybe someone. Inside there were a variety of protein options besides chicken–beef, shrimp, and anchovies. Once in college, as a bold move, I ordered anchovies on my pizza. I will never forget biting into what tasted like pure salt, and gagging. Why would anyone think that was a good taste? But anchovies in the Phillipines are delicious, lightly fried and crisp and NOT salty. Just don’t look at the skin and maybe eyes? But I just saw chickens alive and well on the porch of the restaurant and then one was on my plate. It’s best not to overthink being a carnivore, especially when it is literarily farm to table. I mean that’s why it’s called “natural chicken!”
After lunch, we headed into the forest to see the tarsier, or the smallest primate in the world. I mentioned something about snakes that live on the island–cobras, pythons. The driver asked me if I wanted to hold a snake. I shrugged and said, “Sure, but not a cobra. Maybe a python.” Of course he knew of such a place, but the tarsiers came first.
The tarsier is a very small primate, with large eyes, a rat like tail, and venomous saliva. It is highly sensitive and when stressed can bang its head until it dies, therefore captivity is lethal. I immediately related to the sentiment. The part of the forest that the tarsier is found in is among a mahogany forest. Rangers build shady shelters to draw the tarsiers close so tourists can take their camera shots. I took some photos of the tarsier, of course, but also of tree roots, and flowers, and the ways the leaves overlapped, and the dew trapped in the foliage. I couldn’t believe that I was actually walking in a tropical rain forest.
I could have been satisfied with the forest, but we still had the beach on the docket, so we piled back into the car and set off. I didn’t want to doze, but the cadence of a capable driver and winding roads always puts me to sleep, so I was kind of surprised to open my eyes at a roadside zoo, and not the beach. Oh yeah, the snake. Crap.
I am going to use zoo losely. It was unlike any zoo I have ever been to before. First of all, there was a personal tour guide. She took us to see Carlos first. Carlos is a seven year old Bengal Tiger. He seemed a little skinny compared to the tigers I have seen in the States, but maybe this is how tigers really look? He didn’t have a big enclosure and I felt sad for him. Tigers don’t belong in cages. There was another tiger and the girl asked us if we wanted to feed him for two hundred pesos–that’s like three of four dollars. There were live chickens in a nearby pen. We didn’t feed the tiger. Then came the python. The guide took us into the cage with her. Picture it. A young tour guide girl. Three educated women in their fifties and the biggest snake you can imagine in your life. The girl said, “You want to hold her?” Mmmm. Not really. But she went over and picked up the head of the snake. Apparently, it had been fed (chicken) so it wasn’t inclined to move much. I put my hands on it. The skin was kind of slippery, but also sticky and I could feel the muscle and power underneath it, even if it was disinclined to move. I told my sister in law to hurry and take the picture. Then she sat next to the snake and petted it like a dog and I felt like we had entered some weird alternative universe of a tropical petting zoo. I had this image of making a woman version of “The Hangover”, only instead of Las Vegas, the characters are roaming over Southeast Asia petting snakes, and feeding tigers live chickens and putting on lipgloss and taking selfies. At that exact moment I saw a young man in a grass skirt. It was time for a photo op with the “natives” as they danced and breathed fire. You can see by the video clip, how incredibly ludicrous this “zoo” trip was.
We laughed about it all the way to the beach. Finally the ocean. White sand. Clear blue water. Boats drifting along. When I think of paradise this is what I see. About a month after my parents died, they came to me in a dream. They were on a boat, anchored at a white, sandy beach, they welcomed me, but were anxious to set sail. In my dreams, they are always near the ocean. My parents are never far from my mind. Some of my happiest memories are travels with my family, so I guess being with my brother on this trip reminds me of that time when I was young and had all the joy and wonder of discovery in front of me. Being at the beach reminded me that joy and wonder are still possibilities for me, but I have to choose to remember that.
Bohol is like a jewel, magical and beautiful. It needs to be shown off, but protected at the same time. It’s not too hard to see myself there in a modest little house by the sea. Yeah, sure there are typhoons, but I have been living in a storm for a long, long time. I am always trying to be just ahead of the worst of it and I am constantly dragging my loved ones out of harm’s way. Its’s exhausting, and I am feeling like the tarsier with too much sensory input. I have been banging my head on the wall. I have been waiting for someone to stop me and show me the way, but maybe I can really only save myself.
The lights and noise of the city rushed in when the ferry returned from Bohol. I texted my son. He got through his crisis without me. I know he is fragile and doesn’t cope with stress well, but maybe he is stronger than I give him credit for. Maybe he doesn’t need me the way we both think he does. That leaves my job in a big thought bubble over my head. The fact that it can upset me to the point of tears when it’s summer and I am a half a world away is weighing heavily on me. But I have three more days in this beautiful place and I am going to trust that the answers for the path forward are out there.
Magellan came to the Philippine Islands twice. The first time he brought a statue of the baby Jesus as a gift. The Feast of Santa Nino is still celebrated.
The second time Magellan arrived on the coast, the natives got suspicious and killed him in the harbor. I feel like this is a political lesson that is important to heed.
The islands are full of unique flora and fauna.
Animal dwarfism is common on islands due to limited resources. Smaller bodies have better adaptability to compete for survival.
However, the whale shark, the biggest fish in the world dwells in the island waters. I am going to swim with one this weekend.
Many shipwrecks have occurred near the Philippian Islands. I don’t think it is because of whale sharks though, probably storms.
The wrecks have left pottery from many centuries and many lands. It was intricate and fascinating for me to see the glazes and forms. I had so many questions. I don’t really know when the pottery wheel came into being. How do I not know that?
There was also pottery fragments from burial grounds. Some of it was a shade of yellow like a butternut squash. I would love to get my hands on some of it.
After the museum, I went to a nail salon where my brother is well known. I showed the girls a baby picture of him with cake all over his face. Once a big sister, always a big sister.
Today I am taking a boat to see the smallest monkey in the world.
My sister-in-law took me to her farm in San Fernando, a province in Cebu. For hours, I have been trying to put words on the page to describe the experience. Imagine riding shotgun, and feeling kind of drowsy, to the point where you might actually be slipping into a dream, then all of a sudden, a pointed roof like maybe a Swiss Chalet, or a Disney castle has dropped right in front of you, and magic gates are swinging open welcoming you, but then shutting behind you, because the secret of this absolute paradise is so special that it’s not for everyone. I found myself rubbing my eyes, and wondering, “Is this for real?”
My sister-in-law said she had a farm, but my idea of farming is very American, so I didn’t quite imagine what farming on an island would look like. I also knew she was building an A-frame cottage, but my only reference for A-frame buildings is an ancient A-frame in front of the grocery store that opened as a restaurant when I was a child and is now a smoke shop, I think. I was in it once when I was very small. My memory was looking up at the roof that angled into darkness. My imagination put vampire bats up there. I remember wrapping my arms around my dad’s legs. I never set foot in it again. I never really understood how a triangle could be an efficient accommodation. All my assumptions were blown away.
First off, here is an incomplete list of things that can be grown on a farm in the Philippines–bananas, limes, avocados, papaya, eggplant, lemons, dragon fruit, jack fruit, and tangerines. Second of all, a triangle house is strong. It will more than likely survive a typhoon. The structure is devised into three floors, each with an eye for comfort, esthetics, and function. Each level has its own balcony to take in the sea, the distant islands and the overreaching Pacific Ocean. Imagine a vista of all the shades of blue. I stood on the balcony and watched the sky change from periwinkle, to pink, to velvet black. I could stand there forever and be endlessly at peace with the view.
My sister-in-law asked me to help her put together a collage of photos of our Taylor family. I sifted through a small box of snapshots. I know most people use cameras more than ever, but handling photos printed on paper has a kind of magic digital photography can never capture. I picked up an old Polariod of my brother and myself. It was Christmas 1972. I was three and Kevin was two. I instantly remembered that moment. It was nighttime and we were sitting on the dining room table; my Mom’s Christmas plastic table cloth with poinsettias had a big wrinkle in it and a glass of water had spilled, running along the channels of the wrinkle. My brother was crying because he was tired and he didn’t want me touching his Playskool garage. I was reaching for the little man with the red plastic ball cap hat anyway, because it was fun to tease my brother. My mom took the photo to catalogue what a brat I was. I remembered all that in an instant.
I always think looking at old pictures will make me sad, but it never does. Putting the collage together was extra special because it highlighted how our family has grown and changed over the years. The delight of my parents’ joy in holding their grandchildren is forever captured in single shots. It’s a reminder of how much love I have been blessed with in my life.
My sister-in-law built the space with her own ingenuity and creativity. It is beautiful, expansive, impressive. and inspiring. Just like she is. It is one of the few places in my life that I have felt my soul breathe. I felt my power there: anything was possible; my words could leap from the page; color could flow from my brush; and the images in my head could be transposed to reels amplified by the silver screen. This oasis by the sea has a magic that sparked my life. I will never forget my day at the A-frame farm. I will be forever grateful for this gift.
Just Another Damn Thing to be Strong About 