Irene's 75th

Irene's 75th, December 1, 2009

The celebration was on 29 November, the Sunday before December first her actual birthday.

A sumptuous ala carte luncheon prepared by daughter Grace, son in law Howard and grandsons Damien and Alex. A memorable feast with the number of guests limited by dining room space for a sit down affair. The pictures speak better than my words, so I will leave this as a pictorial account. Thank you to Grace, Howard, Damien and Alex for your wonderful gesture. We appreciate it because 75 years is truly an occasion for God's blessings.

Master Chef Howard Boorman

Iron chefs Damien & Alex

Guests Ritsuko and Neil Crawley

Ritsuko, Edd Aragon, Menchie Maneze

Maitre d' Grace

Le grand menu

entrees

main course

Uko Legarda Nelson

chicken curry

Aragon & Maneze with a surprise musical interlude

"You'll find that life is still worth while, if you'll just smile...."

Le grand dessert

The photobugs, of course, displayed their individual styles. Uko Nelson and Mario Aldeguer.

A souvenir CD of '50's music featured three songs by nephew Jaime Pineda.

To commemorate her 75th, I labored on this portrait ala oriental scroll. Just a small gesture of my appreciation for this companion for more than half a century. May she enjoy another 25 years and surpass the living record of her

104 -year-old mother.

—Irene's 75th—

There's a Harlequin Bug In My Hibuscus

She was guarding a batch of eggs when I chanced upon this winged jewel among the hibiscus.

The Hibiscus Harlequin bug (Tectocoris diophthalmus) hails from the beetle family known as shield bugs (because of their shape), or stink bugs (because they release a strong unpleasant smelling liquid when disturbed). As visually attractive as they look in bright orange with iridescent blue dots and trimmings they are really nasty invaders who wreak havoc on the helpless hibiscus without giving anything in return. They are armed with a long proboscis which they inject into young shoots and buds to suck out all the nutrients. Nevertheless, I tolerated this mother and her brood to keep vigil on the progress of the young ones for some months ( April to July ), after which the tight cluster of tiny bugs just sort of scattered and then just disappeared one day as winter began to bite. The poor once-flowering hibiscus plant was left denuded.

It is still recovering.

The eggs hatched and began to cluster on a leaf

The hatchlings clustered in a two story level, first resting on the bottom leaf and then crawling up to the higher leaf, while the mother stood vigil. She hardly moved from her post throughout the months.

The tiny bugs were bright orange at the start but took on darker blue coloration over time.

The flower bud withers and dies as the tiny predators suck all the life out of it. A shelless snail near them likes the damp decaying leaves but the beetles favor the warn sunlight.

The moon was still visible in the morning when I took this photo. The following day the bugs had scattered about in twos or threes after which not one was spotted the following day.

—There's A Harlequin Bug In My Hibiscus—

IMPRESSIONS ON THE SAND

Nature is the original artist. Our sensibilities merely assimilate and borrow what we have observed from Nature. Mountains. Trees. Flowers. Birds. Insects. Sky. Ocean. Nature's super sketchbook is the sand on the beach. Here, with the rhythm of the winds and tides, she can readily leave and erase a mark. I have just appointed myself the temporary curator of some of Nature's fleeting artworks on Fraser Island's beach and present to you this mini gallery.

Wind and the water's rhythm create and recreate patterns on the sand

Other creatures also use the sand for their own communal ideas

This tiny crab and its companions are the architects of this field of tiny sand balls

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The wind in turn plays with these globules of sand

Waters rushing from inland to the sea leave footprints

A raindrop applies its own little signature

A Dingo was just here

Water and colored minerals do a Jackson Pollock

The Common Sundew (Drosera Spatulata) has sticky, hairy leaves adorned with dewdrops to catch insects

—Impressions On The Sand—

The Bush Burners

September here is the time for bush burning in anticipation of the scorching Summer heat and the dreaded season of bush fires. September weather is not too dry with quiet and gentle winds. It is wise to keep the now blooming underbrush from turning into fuel for those rampaging bush fires in the hot, dry, and —in the worse of combinations—windy, Summer.

Controlled burning is quiet a spectacle, specially when it happens right on your doorstep, a few meters from your precious home. I watched with some anxiety as these fire fighters set fire to the bush systematically while their comrades stood ready to douse the flames that quickly rose 20 to 30 feet high. It is comforting to know the fire-fighters get good training through these controlled burning.

Garbed in bright yellow, these bush-fire men and women descend on your neighborhood in a pack of fire trucks going straight for the fire hydrants. The bush—just meters from the houses adjoining the forest—is set afire; the underbrush allowed to burn to charcoal and then doused with fire hoses. However, since fires can easily get out of hand, helicopters are on call to bombard these towering runaway flames with their enormous dangling buckets of water. Even when things look like they have died down, the embers beneath the wet ashes easily re-ignite. All you need to spread the flames then is for the wind to pick up and disperse flying sparks and embers a good distance. They could easily land on rooftops. Its pretty scary.

That’s what happened Saturday evening, and again the afternoon of the following day, keeping the fire-fighters busy as angry bees in putting out these resurgent fires. But happily everything has gone off smoothly and life is back to humdrum normal once more.

Hey, you can’t say life in the suburbs is pure boredom.

View from my house.

The house next door, on the street where I live.

What would you call a lady fire fighter? A firewoman?

Its not easy work.

The fires reignited that same evening, and the fire trucks had to come once more to put out the blaze.

—The Bush Burners—

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Part 2: Sydney Light Festival

Here is part two of the Sydney Light Festival to round off my coverage of this event. Aside from the Sydney Opera House the other building that was bathed in changing light patterns was the Maritime Museum also at the Circular Quay. It is really quite fascinating how the same edifice can change before one's eyes by simply changing it's color. There was an audible "Ooooh" from the crowd whenever the lights changed

the building's face.

In other parts of the Harbour the use of lights were more modest and playful. Some just cast gigantic shadows on an edifice, others played with the effects of colors, others were basic applications of light as line sculpture.

We chanced upon this stall that offered workshops on candle art.

—Sydney Light Festival Part Two—

The Sydney Opera House: One Man Show

Sydney has come up with a new festival to warm up the lifeless Winter months in this beautiful city. Called Vivid Festival, it was a celebration with music and light.

For two weeks there were concerts at the Opera House. Low wattage sculptures lit the landscape from the harbour foreshore to the top of Observatory Hill. The maritime Museum’s facade became a screen that assumed different colors and patterns. A spectacle re-enacting the burning of the ship Three Bees in 1814 was performed on the water at Campbells Cove.

Through all these the most visible and most accessible show was Brian Eno’s “Lighting The Sails”, a sort of art form using light projections on the famous arced, white tiled-roof (the “sails”) of this city’s best known icon, the Sydney Opera House. The “sails” of the Opera House was utilized as a magnificent canvas on which —gradually through the night—changing patterns in a multitude of colors were “painted” on the edifice. The Sydney Opera House by the harbour became this fantastic, luminous, chameleon on the water. What a show!

It had rained a bit that Sunday afternoon and it was a bit chilly, but Irene and I braved it because it was the last night. We caught the train to meet up with camera bugs Mario and Lene Aldeguer at the quay. Tripods in hand, we happily soaked in the festival atmosphere. What a joy to see the city alive. This should become an annual affair. Let there be light.

I focus on the Opera House “Lighting the Sails” part of the festival now, and will

tackle the rest next time around because this must be savoured on it's own.

Moving up close and personal beneath the Opera House "sails" you experience being

inside the paintings and only then do the sculptural qualities of the architecture strike you.

—Sydney Opera House—

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Life at 103

My mother in law, Caridad Morente Pineda 

is 103 years old. 

Born in Pinamalayan, Mindoro, she reigned as Miss Mindoro at the celebrated Manila Carnival of 1927. She taught at the University of the Philippines until she married Jesus Pineda a young lawyer and land owner from Tarlac. She raised six children, all of whom acquired MA degrees in their respective fields of study.

What is life like at 103? At 98 she suffered a fall that required a hip operation. She has not been able to walk much since, so she is bed-ridden and, on good moments, chair-bound. She seldom leaves her room to avoid the risk of infection which in her physical condition could be fatal. Nevertheless her mind is lucid and there are moments when she can engage visitors in conversation. 

In one of our recent visits to her, Baby compared her own slightly arthritic hands with her mother’s, and my mother in law’s fingers were more slender. I remarked to my mother in law, “Matanda na ang anak mo” (your daughter is old) to which she laughed and replied: “You are always joking”.  So although she often repeats her questions, I know her mind along with her sense of humor have not abandoned her. 

A song that she probably learned when she was a young lass clings somehow to in the bodega of her mind and whenever I request her to, she sings it to me:

Pregunta a las estrellas

si por las noches me ven llorar

Preguntales si yo no busco

para adorarte la soledad

Pregunta al manso rio, si el llanto mio. no ve correr

Pregunta a todo el mundo si no es profundo mi padecer

No olvides nunca que yo te quiero, que yo me muero loco de amor por ti...

That’s as far as she remembers. I googled the song and the words differ here and there but I would attribute this to sea-changes over time through various countries. I recall hearing this song decades ago in Zamboanga and my mother in law’s words run closer to that version than those I googled.

To be 103. 

Practically a full circle to childhood. 

God’s blessings on Caridad Morente Pineda, Miss Mindoro 1927.

This one photo was taken October 2008 a few months before she turned 103 in January 2009

On waking she has her blood pressure checked

 She reads the labels on the presents Baby brings her

She has a soft diet spoon-fed to her which takes quite a bit of time as she 

chews very slowly. Baby asked her to look at her watch and tell us the time, 

and she scrutinzed her watch and said accurately: "quarter to seven"

Caridad Morente Pineda  

—Life At 103—