"No more grandma," said an old woman who I've seen at Filipino parties but never met. The Husband said she greeted him the same way when he welcomed her into the house for the Mama's post funeral service reception. I imagine the stone-faced woman thought her quip was quite comforting and witty. She reminded me of once-upon-a-time visitors to our home when I was a kid who talked about how fat I was in their language not knowing that I understood what they were saying. We stood in the backyard. Smiling, I held up my arm and waved at the Mama's garden in full bloom throughout the yard. "Mama's here," I said. "Always." The woman looked at me, queerly. No doubt she thought I was crazed. After all, I requested "I've got the joy, joy, joy joy down in my heart" for the procession song as we rolled the Mama out of the Catholic Church. It's the letter Q at ABC Wednesday . Thank you, Roger, Di, Melody, and the rest of

I signed up for the 2016 National Bike Challenge, which goal is "to unite 100,000 riders to pedal 75 million miles from May 1, 2016 until September 30, 2016," according to its web site. The challenge has competitions for prizes. It would be nice to get one, but that will only happen if my name is drawn randomly out of the hat. The reason I'm participating is to help maintain my motivation to pedal Tilda-Hilda on a regular basis. Tilda-Hilda and I started out again the day after the Mama's funeral services. The short uphill ride to the cemetery was simply hard. Pufff, pufff, pufff. Over the next two weeks, we rode a little bit further every day, stopping by to see the Mama and the Daddy at either the beginning or end of the fun. If I could've done it without hurting myself, I would've pedaled all day. There is comfort in mindless pedaling, as well as seeing the countryside. As it is, I came down with a cold so today is the first time Tilda-Hilda and I h

"Mama's gone." Four Fridays ago, in the early evening, I walked into the kitchen to let the Husband and Molly the Cat know that Mama's spirit had slipped into the ever after. I had started making dinner. As I put the frying pan on the stove, I had a feeling and I didn't want to know. The Husband and I had been sitting at the kitchen table, talking about the house. How we needed to replace faucets in the kitchen and in the Mama's bathroom. That one day we would need to replace the linoleum and maybe it would be better to take out the carpet and put in a wooden floor. House stuff that neither of us had ever done or been interested in doing. But, at that moment, it all seemed natural for us to do. With the frying pan on low, I went to check on the Mama. She was warm, but she no longer breathed. She looked quite content. I like to think that the Mama heard us talking in the kitchen and she felt assured that her house would be in good hands and that the Hu

Photo courtesy of Rosalie Phillips Except for a few instructions from the Mama, I had carte blanche to plan her funeral services. Would I follow the traditional way, which I regard as much too somber, tight-lipped, not a crack of a smile, and full of smelly moth balls? Or, would I follow my heart and let loose with the joy that is life, living, and, most of all, the deep essence of the Mama who denied it so often while she lived? Was there any doubt that I would do the latter? At times. Especially after freaking out when I read the what should be's when it comes to funerals, in particular, Ilocano funerals. One superstition, or tradition, is that no family members shall be pallbearers. Bad luck would be theirs otherwise. Before I read that, I had decided to be one of the Mama's pallbearers. I wanted to go the whole nine yards with the Mama. But, maybe I ought to pay attention to the superstition. Then I recalled I was a pallbearer for Uncle Frank several decades bac

Hello Dear Readers and Blogging Friends, Thank you for your notes full of concern and love during my absence. Molly the Cat, the Husband, and I appreciate each and every one of you. I believe the Mama's spirit does, too. Yes, it's true. I'm sorry to say that the Mama is no longer with us. She left her aged, tired body behind on April 1, 2016 and is now soaring freely and, I verily hope, peacefully and happily through eternity. So for today's post I give you the Mama's obituary, which I'm linking with the letter O at ABC Wednesday . Please be sure to check out this weekly meme begun by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and administered today by Roger Green and his ABCW team.  Frances Domingo Echaore lived to the grand old age of 94. Hollister was her first and only home in the United States, having immigrated from the Philippines nearly 67 years ago with her one-year-old son to reunite with her husband, the late Santiago Echaore. Born Francisca DeGuzman Domingo,