Sometimes Molly the Cat and I like to wander in the Mama's garden (which is the whole back yard) first thing in the morning. Molly does her sniffing-the-ground rounds, while I take photos of the sights. There are always new things to see, such as "Wow, look how well the Asian pears are growing." This morning, Molly said, "Why don't you keep tabs on the progress with pictures?" Well, she looked at me as I was thinking it. And, you know how cats have a way of transferring their thoughts to our minds. I agreed with Molly. So, over the next few months, I shall take photos of these spots in the Mama's garden. Vegetable boxes Vegetable boxes (another angle) Apple Tree

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers Serenity now? Go into the Mama's jungle then. The north end, in particular, is where you can surround yourself with a quietude. As you make your way along the narrow paths, flower and vegetable bushes and vines brush against your legs and arms in welcome.  Be careful though. You may need to crouch a bit beneath the tangles of branches of apricot, apple, and persimmon trees. And, there may be fruit hanging low up ahead. Today is the letter Q at ABC W ednesday , a meme began by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and now managed by a team of wonderful folks.   Click  here  to read posts by other participants.

Here's another post that I wrote for my first blog, Cu'Pie Bird Says Chirp. Chirp. FYI: I slightly edited the post for today. Tomorrow, I shall be back to regular posting. Maybe. Gourds for the Eating (originally published November 20, 2008) Several years ago, in the upcountry of Maui, I heard birds coo, “Ta-boong-ow. Ta-boong-ow.” I wondered if they were hungry for the gourd, and whether they wanted the long, bat-shaped ones or the ones that look like hourglass women. Taboongow is the Ilokano word for upo, which is the Tagalog name for the gourd. (Please note that I’m phonetically spelling ta-boong-ow according to what my American ears hear.) Many people think of this vine-growing vegetable as an ornamental plant to dry and use for display or to make into crafts or musical instruments. Taboongow is also yummy to eat when they are still fresh. If you eat the gourd young, you can eat the center white part as well. Otherwise, you cut it away so you cook only the lig

Today is another archival post from my first blog, Cu'Pie Bird says Chirp. Chirp . Superstitions (originally published Tuesday, October 9, 2007) Today was originally supposed to be my mom's quarterly doctor's appointment, but because it would be falling on the ninth of the month, I had to change it. According to my mom, the ninth is a bad day to go anywhere, make critical decisions, just do anything important. Hence she reminds me that I should not be traveling, paying bills, or signing contracts on the ninth.  However, this is in contradiction to an astrological article I once read that stated the ninth is a lucky day for Sagittarius. So whenever my mom tells me not to do something because it's the ninth, I tell her it's okay for me. But I do wonder whatever happened to her--or to an important adult in her life--on a ninth or on successive ninths that causes her to say the ninth is a bad day. After all isn't that how superstitions begin. When I was

I'm posting articles from my archives for the next few days. Here's a piece I wrote for my first blog, Cu'Pie Baby Bird says "Chirp. Chirp."  My Turn (originally published August 9, 2007) Thirty-six years ago, my mom didn’t hold my hand, but pushed from behind to ensure I looked good for the prom. Yep, I went to the prom, the only date I had in high school. Even in hindsight I am amazed I was asked to the prom. (Thanks, Mike!) Guess there is something to having a nutty, sparkling personality. I say that facetiously. Let’s also say that by the end of my senior year, I finally embraced the fact that I looked and thought somewhat differently from the norm and went with trying to conform as a nonconformist. So my idea for a prom dress was sewing a patchwork granny dress. My mom nixed the idea very quickly and adamantly. She enlisted my dad and together they took me shopping for a dress at a genuine dress shop in Salinas that specifically sold fancy dresses for

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers For nearly 27 years, the Mama worked in applied seed research. She had a hand in getting the stink out of broccoli and creating an oblong tomato that would be easier for machines to pluck without bruising, among other horticultural feats. This was many years before genetic engineering in agriculture came to be. Back then, seed research involved people cross pollinating generations of cabbage, tomatoes, corn, pumpkins, squash, peppers, broccoli, melons, and other vegetables and fruits. It's not as easy as you think. It takes steady hands and a focused mind. And, if you're working with the Mama, you definitely cannot be a slacker, at least on the job. I ought to know. I worked for her for two summers when I was a teenager. One of the best paying jobs to have back then. The Mama was the supervisor of the crew of seed technicians. Summer being the busy season, she hired two or more teenagers t

My earliest memory of the Daddy's vegetable garden was floating a pea pod in the water rushing down one of the narrow vegetable ditches. I was about four years old. I remember the garden being tall, green, and wild-like. Every year, the Daddy put up a vegetable garden for the family, growing many Filipino vegetables that we couldn't buy in the grocery store. We ate a lot of long beans, bitter melon, Japanese eggplants, tabongaw (a type of gourd), Kabocha squash, saloyat (okra leaves), parda (a hairy, bigger, and thicker pea), and kabatiti (a kind of squash with ridges) during the summers. Also into the winters, after the parents bought a big freezer. When the Daddy came home from a long day of irrigating vegetable fields, he went straight to the garden to see what needed tending. The Mama went into the garden to harvest vegetables for the evening's meal.  The Daddy was always getting after the Mama for picking the bitter melon leaves from the top rather than the bott

"How come you have so much tripe?" I asked the Mama, as I stared at a large clear plastic bag full of white, honey-combed cow stomach lining. "Your godfather gave it to me," she said. "That's a lot of tripe. How many pounds is that? "Twenty." "What are you going to do with all that tripe?" "Put it in the freezer." I lugged the heavy bag to the big freezer in the garage. What the heck? On top of other more frozen items was another large clear plastic bag of tripe. Just as I closed the freezer, Frances, one of the Mama's friends walked up the driveway. The garage door was open. "Hello. Is your mom home?" "She's in the house. Come inside," I said. "I need to get something out of the car first," Frances said. "I have something for your mom." She ran out of the garage. I opened the door and yelled into the house, "Mama! You have a visitor." Then I went to see if

This is the Mama's spoon, the one with which she cooked for as long as I can remember. And, for those who are new to the blog, I'm in my early 60s and the Mama is 30-some years older than me. I like cooking with the Mama's spoon. It's smooth, fits in my hand, and has the perfect heft to it. I also like the way the metal spoon sounds against a pot or pan. Most of all, I like cooking with it because it's the Mama's spoon. When I pick up the Mama's spoon, I think of her using it to stir her bittermelon chicken soup, eggplant-bittermelon stew, tabongow chicken soup, pork adobo, ginger beef, fried rice, scrambled eggs, pancit, and diningding (a soup of all the Filipino vegetables in her garden). In my mind, I see her making Thanksgiving dinner with that spoon. She sauteed the ingredients for the dressing. She basted the turkey. She mashed the potatoes with the back of the spoon. And, she stirred and stirred the gravy. She cooked a lot of meals with that

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers I got this orchid plant as a gift six years ago. Every year it has bloomed again because of the Mama, who took it over from the moment it came into the house. She doesn't feed it any special orchid food.  She just waters it and reminds me not to water it. Today is ABC W ednesday , a meme began by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and now headed by Roger Green  and his helpers.   Click  here  to read posts around today's letter O.  If you've come from the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge , my S post is over here .

We usually have cooked rice in the refrigerator, ready to be heated as is or made into a fast and easy fried rice dish. Rice is the one dish that the Mama usually makes. I'd rather cook it because hers comes out too dry. But, I let her prepare the rice because I think it makes her feel that she's contributing to cooking the meals. When I warm up the rice in the microwave, I just add a bit of water. So no big deal. Twice a year, the Mama sees her eye doctor who always asks,"What's your secret for long life?" "I eat rice," she tells him. "Eat rice for a long life. You don't get so many wrinkles." I don't know about that.  But, hey, she is 93 years old. Click   here  to find other A to Z challenge participants.

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers Those white blossoms may one day produce Asian pears for us. The tree had quite a lot of blossoms this year, but then we had a couple days of rain. The rain was wonderful for us, since we're in a drought, but not so much for the blossoms. So we shall see. Look in the background and you can see some clusters of buds of the avocado tree. If they all wake and do their thing, we're going to have a huge crop this year. What else is new in the Mama's garden? This past week, she planted long beans and some other kinds of beans, which I can't recall. She says that sometime soon she'll plant green beans. Yup. We like our fresh beans. Seeds that the mama dropped into the soil a few weeks ago have popped up. These are parda plants. I have no idea what the English word is for parda . Not even sure if I'm spelling the Ilocano word correctly. It's a kind of bean that look

Whenever I visited the parents, and then later only the Mama, I was sent home with a care package. Lots of fresh vegetables and fruit from the garden, as well as freezer bags full of cooked rice, lumpia, pork adobo, fried chicken, and bibingka. Whether I was single or married, living alone or with roommates, food always came home with me. Much of the vegetables and fruits were given away to neighbors and friends. The cooked food went into the freezer and eventually most were eaten by friends, spouse, and myself. In my 20s, I said to the Mama, "No, no, that's too much."  In my 30s, I sighed and just accepted the food. In my 40s, I appreciated everything that she picked in her garden and cooked in her kitchen. In my 50s, the Husband and I were living with the Mama. If we had not, I'm very sure that when we visited the Mama, she would've given us lots of food to take home. And, now that I'm in my 60s, I realize that the Mama was sending her love ho

Knock, knock. Someone was at the kitchen door, which was the back door at our house on 44 Shore Road.  The Mama opened the door. I was sitting at the kitchen table, keeping her company as she prepared dinner. It was Uncle Frank, the Daddy's younger brother. He carried a tree stump in his arms.  "I cut down a tree in my back yard," said Uncle Frank, putting it down on the floor, next to the kitchen counter. "I thought it was the right size for Susie." I was four. I don't recall much of what happened other than being helped up on the stump and being able to see over the kitchen sink. I don't remember much of those very early years. But, I must've been in the kitchen a lot with the Mama. Enough so that Uncle Frank thought I should have something just for me to stand on when I was there. Click   here  to find other A to Z challenge participants.

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers This crazy looking tree is the Miracle Tree. That's not its real name.  The Mama calls it the passion tree, but it's not. I looked it up and the tree doesn't resemble the passion tree from Australia.  Once-upon-a-time I knew the name of this tree.  Doesn't matter if I don't ever know it again. I like calling it the Miracle Tree. I may have told this story before, so if you heard it, that's okay, you can wander over to another post. About 25 or so years ago, the First Husband gave the Mama a packet of seeds that he got in the mail from a Native American tribe. He nor I had any idea what kind of plant the seeds were. The Mama, being the Mama,  planted them in the backyard to see what they may become. It was shortly after the First Husband died that I noticed the tree. "What kind of tree is that?" I asked. "I don't know," said the Mama. "Wh

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