The Daddy bought several live chickens at a time from a local chicken farmer, and he and the Mama would slaughter them in the backyard.  I was 11 or 12 when the parents decided it was time for me to help with the slaughtering. Like I really wanted the experience. I suppose they figured a day would come when I would need to slaughter a chicken for survival. Yes, it would definitely be an asset if I were to be chosen for Survivor , the reality show. But, that's if I didn't get kicked off before my team won a challenge that rewarded us with chickens. I digress. My part in the slaughter was simple.  I only needed to hold a chicken firmly down on a block of wood while the Daddy slit its neck. On the day of my rite of passage, I watched the parents do the process a couple of times. Then it was my turn. I kneeled behind the wood, and the Daddy put a chicken beneath my hands, face towards him. He did not let go of the chicken until he was sure the bird could not get away from

I used to think that the Mama was a rigid, but, awesome, cook. Everything she cooked was perfect. Her cutting of meats and vegetables always came out precisely small and neat. Her dishes always tasted consistently the same—yummily delicious. When it came to Filipino cuisine, nobody, including Filipino restaurant chefs, came close to her food. The Daddy came very close. The one dish of his that surpassed hers by a tiny bit was his fried chicken. His was a subtle melt-in-your-mouth delicious, while the Mama's was more a pow! wow! in-your-face delicious. My perception of the Mama-the-cook changed when I was in my late 30s. Suddenly the food she put on the table when I came to visit was different. Her pork adobo no longer was the consistently same delicious taste. It was still delicious, but the taste slightly differed each time she cooked it. At first, I thought she was being forgetful when she cooked. And, perhaps, there was a bit of that. During one visit, the Mama served f

My  Alphabe Thursday  theme -- The Dude, The Husband The Husband is the reason that he and I, the Mama, and Molly the Cat are living together today. About 12 years ago, it became very clear to me that the Mama's health was failing. Her nutrition was poor. Her body was tiring out. Worse of all, living alone, she was lonely.  The Mama moving into a nursing home or a residential care facility was out of the question. She had a horrible time living in a skilled nursing facility for six weeks after she broke her hip. A permanent move to a residential care facility would've killed her spirit, straight and simple. At the time, the Husband and I lived about a two-and-a-half hour drive away in an urban environment. City living was not for the Mama. We were tiring of the mayhem, so we were open to moving to the rural area where I was born and raised.  The tough question was this: Could the Mama and us live in the same house? The Mama is a unique character who can be difficult

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers A note to the participants of the Blogging A-to-Z April Challenge . You can find my "A" entry (A is for Adobo, Pork Adobo) here . "The roses almost reach to your roof," said a friend of the Mama's, as the two were walking up to the house. "You need to prune them back." The Mama smiled at the lovely and so lively roses. Some were taller than her. "I already cut mine," said the friend. "That's good." "It's better that the roses are short." "I like them tall. As tall as the roof. Taller," said the lovely and so lively Mama, shuffling to the front door. It's  ABC W ednesday , a meme began by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and headed   today by Roger Green  and his helpers.   Click  here  to read posts around today's letter L.

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers Last week I was transplanting iris under the lemon tree for the Mama, and I kept knocking my head on the same lemon branch. You'd think I would remember after the first collision. Or, the second time. Or, even the third time. . . . Once I harvest the lemon off this particular branch, it's getting pruned. I love the Mama's backyard. So does the Husband. The one problem we have is that when all the trees and vegetables have completely bursted forth with their leaves and fruit, we can't walk around the yard without knocking our heads on the low branches, bumping into bushes and vines, and stubbing our toes along the narrow pathways. It's not too bad for me since I'm short, but the Husband, uh-uh. There are a couple places he can walk around at full height and without him grumbling, "This place is too small!" It goes without saying, but I will anyway, that everyt

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers It's Spring! Quite a lot of joyful things are going on in a happy organized higgledy-piggledy manner in the Mama's backyard. And, it's all the work of the Mama. Colorful flowers greet the Mama each morning. The Mama nods at the rosebuds that say hello to banana leaves as they unfurl around the roses. An abundant of tomato seedlings surprised the Mama, who is now transplanting them all over the yard. The persimmon and other fruit trees dance in their new dress of leaves, giving the Mama shade as she happily works beneath.  It's time for  ABC Wednesday , a meme began Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and headed   today by Roger Green  and his helpers.   Click  here  to read posts around today's letter J.

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers In the Mama's language of Ilocano, the word inang means mother. This photo is the Inang of the Mama when she was 70 years old or so. The last time the Mama saw her Inang was in October 1949, just before she sailed with the one-year old Only and Older Bionic Brother from the Philippines for the United States. The two were heading onward to their new lives with the Daddy, who was already living in their new home.  I think it's fascinating that the Inang of the Mama signed that photo in 1971 to her daughter not as Inang Mo (your mother) but by her first name Emeteria . That to me is very forward thinking for a woman of the Filipino culture of her generation, which makes me very proud. Having never met the Inang of the Mama, I do not think of her as lola (the Ilocano word for grandmother), but as the bright, beautiful, and bold woman Emeteria.   To know a little something about Emeteria

Bilingual, I am not. A bilingual person is someone who is fluent in two languages. I'm one of those second generation kids (in any immigrant group) who can understand their parents' language but cannot speak it. Oh, sure, I can say some phrases in Ilocano, the Mama's language,  such as, uh,  Awan ti nakkem mo  which means "There's nothing in your head." Something the Mama said to me often when I was a kid. The Husband tells me it's strange to listen to the Mama's and my conversations. She says something in Ilocano and I respond in English. I say something to her in English and she responds in Ilocano. Most times, I don't even realize she's talking to me in Ilocano.  I suppose you could say we are having a bilingual conversation, just that neither of us are bilingual. There are times when I can't figure out what the Mama wants. It's not because of the language difference, but because of the Mama's unique thinking process. She

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers Long ago, the Only and Older Bionic Brother and I talked about the Mama's future and what if she were to move into an apartment. It was a very short discussion. "She'd go crazy," the Only and Older Bionic Brother said. The Mama may be content staying home, but she needs and wants space to roam in the outdoors.  Her gardens are the perfect place and size for keeping her hands happy year-round. I'm participating in ABC Wednesday , a meme began Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and administered today by Roger Green at Ramblin' with Roger . Today is the letter H . Click here to read other H posts.

Recently, Birgit of BB Creations honored me with the Inspiring Blog Award. Thank you, Birgit, I appreciate it very much. The award came with a request that I write about three things that have inspired me this past few weeks. As usual, I started by pulling out the dictionary. Inspire -- To rouse/motivate/encourage/influence/incite someone to do or feel something. In particular, to do some kind of creative thing. Highly incited to clean the bedroom Being bit two nights in a row, and having those bug bites swell and itch to no end, inspired me to find the source and do something about it. Poor Molly the Cat was brushed and combed several times throughout the day. Then I decided to look under our bed since I was being bit on my feet. Horror! Carpet beetles were feasting on a blanket that once belonged to the Husband's parents, which we had tucked under the bed last summer. Out came the vacuum cleaner again! I got down on my stomach and back to vacuum and ended up with a

When the Mama bought her lemon tree, she lucked out big time. Not only does it bear Meyer lemons, but it also gives forth citrons. Someone had grafted a couple of citron branches to the lemon tree, unbeknownst to her and possibly the nursery from which she bought the tree.  Some of the citron are Buddah's hands. They're the ones that are oddly shaped, generally looking like fingers. Buddah's hands can get truly creepy looking. Today I'm hooking up with Monday Mellow Yellows , hosted by Gemma Wiseman. Click here to see other yellow-colored interpretations of the world.

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers For a bunch of years, a long time ago, the Mama raised flowers that won various prizes at the local county fair. However, she never received the praise, glory, or, for that matter, the prizes because the flowers were not hers. They belonged to a female relative of a co-worker of the Mama's. At the time, the Mama was the supervisor of the research technicians at a seed research company. Her authentic green thumbs and fingers made every plant she touched grow happily and abundantly in the fields and the greenhouses. Everyone, from the bosses to the laborers, who worked with her knew it. Of course. The Mama told me this story about three years ago when I was putting together my first flower arrangement entries for the county fair. (I was amazed she had kept this secret for so many years.) Every spring, the female relative of her co-worker purchased a bunch of flower seedlings and gave them to the c

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers In the late 1990s, when the Mama was in her mid 70s, her doctor prescribed her one and only medication -- a pill for low thyroid. The doctor started her with .05 mg, a very low dosage. But, in the Mama, woooo-weee! It made her run the marathon, jump over the moon, and lift several 100-pound bags of soil every day. Essentially, taking the medicine made her tired. And, of course, after awhile she stopped taking it. A few months went by before I discovered she was not taking her medication. While visiting her one weekend, I noticed she was looking very tired so I checked her bottle. She was very good at not refilling prescriptions.  The bottle was the one I had ordered months ago and it was still full. The Mama admitted that she stopped taking it. Sigh.  "Why?" I asked. She shrugged. Her usual answer to questions to which she was not ever going to respond. "That's why you

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers The Mama loves her daisies, but she complains that they're a pain to deadhead. She does it anyway so that they continue to bloom. And, bloom, they do throughout the year. I've taken to snapping off old and spent daisies off the plants in the front yard while Molly the Cat wanders about. When I started, it was to be a good assistant to the Mama. Now, I do it more for me. It helps me find zen. One of these days, I'd like to get her some regular white daisies. Check out what colors and types she has now. Today is the letter D at ABC Wednesday, a fun weekly blog hop created by Denise Nesbitt 16 rounds ago. Currently it is being administered by Roger Green at Ramblin' with Roger , with the help of his ABC Wednesday friends.  Please click here to read other ABC posts.

The other night, around 3 a.m., I noticed a light was on downstairs as I stumbled to the bathroom. It was too bright to be coming from the Mama's bedroom when she leaves her door open. I went downstairs to find the corner lamp in the living room shining on Molly the Cat. She was in sleeping pose on the Mama's reading chair. As I went by Molly, she opened her eyes and gave me a t urn-off-that-light-now! look. No doubt, the Mama had a dream about Molly. In the morning, Mama told me about her dream. Molly had disappeared into a field far, far away from the house. The Mama couldn't see her because the grass was taller than Molly. She finally found her when she heard Molly calling out. The Mama woke up from her dream and immediately went to the living room to make sure that Molly was in the house. The Mama has always had vivid dreams that cause her to wake up worrying. When I was a young thing living on my own in a big city far, far away, she would call me early in the m

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers Clip. Clip. Clip.  That's what the Mama has been doing among her geraniums lately. Pruning off old and decaying branches so that new growth will take place by spring. Just doing her magic among the geraniums, both in the front and back yards.  Always the recycler, the Mama doesn't throw out all of the pruned branches. No, sir-eeee, Bob. She snips off the geranium stems to plant in bare spots in the yard, front and back. They take root, then several weeks later. . .Voila! Flowers! Which stems have a chance of rooting, you may ask? Because, I surely do. Shrugging is her answer. So, I watch her choose the stems to plant. Her selection is based partly from her many years of gardening and horticulture experience. Part is from a feeling, an instinct. And, part is from the geraniums telling her.  At least, that's what I like to think. The Mama is humble. She is surprised as everyo

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs . . .and Fingers The Mama saves the empty plastic bags in which potting mix, garden soil, and wild bird seed come. I'm not talking about small plastic bags. They are bags that once held 1.5 or 2 cubic feet of dirt or 40 pounds of bird seed.  Once upon a time, I threw the bags away only to learn that the Mama fished the bags out of the garbage can and hid them in the garden shed. "I can use them for something," she said,  when I found the bags. Yup. The tiny, 90+, always-resourceful lady did find a use for the bags for her garden work. When she's in cleaning mode, which is pretty much every day, she carries a bag in which to throw leaves, twigs, weeds, and other green waste. When the bag gets too heavy, she leaves it for me to pick up and empty into the green waste recycling can.  Some weeks, the green recycling can gets filled within two days because we've been pruning trees or pulling out v

The sun had set but the Mama continued to bury the dried leaves from the miracle tree into the soil in preparation for spring planting. She was nearly finished and she would accomplish her task. It did not matter to her that night was falling and getting colder. And with luck, her daughter would not come along and bully her to stop and go inside the house already. That was yesterday evening. Her daughter -- me! -- did come along. I don't think I bullied her, but I did make a silly exasperating remark about it being cold and dark, as I put her garden bench away for the night. She did finish her gardening task, by the way. The lovely dedicated crew at ABC Wednesday (begun by Mrs. Nesbitt) is starting a new weekly round of the alphabet today. So, I've decided to do a theme for this round -- The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers . Among this avid, assiduous agriculturist's feats are taking the stink out of broccoli, growing three awesome producing apple

Sawing. Clipping. Raking. Sweeping. Pushing dried limbs, branches, vines, leaves, and seed pods into plastic bags. That's how I spent most of my afternoon. It wasn't what I had planned. When the Husband and I left this morning to do the errands, the Mama was reading the newspaper in the living room. Ninety minutes later, I looked out the back door to see a high limb on the miracle tree precariously hanging above the Mama, who sat beside the tall ladder, stripping dried leaves from skinny branches into her bucket. I was furious. One, the Mama had been up the ladder. And, two, I had asked her the other day, after cutting back her banana trees, if she'd like me to prune the rest of the miracle tree. "No," she said. "The green (recycle) can is already full." Good, I thought, I'd prune the tree next Thursday.  Ha! "You know we don't like you on the ladder," I growled, throwing my purse on the ground, and hurriedly climbing the ladde