The words unfold themselves in my head. The hands though won't jot them down on paper or key them onto a blank document. That's not an excuse. I have no excuse. The Daddy accepted no excuses from me when I was a kid. If I did something stupid, then I did something stupid. I suffered the consequences. I learned quite early what the consequences were so I did my best not to do stupid things—or, at least, not to get caught. For a man with a gentle voice, the  Daddy gave very stern scoldings. So stern that it brought on the tears. And, should I cry, the Daddy said, "No crying." The longer the crying, the harsher the scolding. The Daddy used his belt for the dumbest decision-making acts I did. One or two quick slaps on my legs. The sting of the leather brought on the tears, too. "No crying," the Daddy said. Sucking up the tears just gave me the hiccups. I only recall two instances when I got the Daddy's belt. Both times I was no where to be fo

It takes being disconnected to the Internet to get me to finally write a post. Go figure. Yesterday evening—around 5:03 p.m. to be approximate—the Husband came into the bedroom where Molly T.K. Cat and I were taking a snooze. Well, Molly napped while I clicked the TV remote in search of a show that would invite sleep for a few minutes.  (Lack of sleep was finally making me feel yucky, for lack of ability to think of precise words.) "The modem is dead," announced the Husband. I was promptly alert and in a state of panic. How was I going to finish my last two assignments? How was I going to send them to the editor? How was I going to . . . you get the picture. The Husband and I went instantly into troubleshooting mode. The husband went back to his computer to play a tetris game (which allows him to think he says), and I went searching for a phone book. I called the computer shop where we bought the last modem. Unfortunately, the shop just closed. Bummer. When something as vit

Holidays. Here they are. Again. In a few hours, I will get up to make the dressing to stuff the turkey that will roast for several hours so it is ready for our regular mid-afternoon meal. As it roasts, I'll put together a few side dishes—mashed parsnips and potatoes, plain Romano beans, and sauteed red cabbage and persimmons—while the Mama makes the gravy and maybe a pot of rice. I hope she cooks rice. I like the taste of her gravy on rice. I could just eat that.  The annual turkey feast will be for the three of us. No, the four of us. I can't forget Molly The Kitty (T.K.) Cat. She doesn't like turkey though. Spam is more her style. I'm not kidding. I found that out last night.  Holding on to the kitchen counter, Molly stood on her hind legs and gazed intently at me as I sliced the canned delicacy (every now and then, we have a yen for spam with eggs). She'd just eaten her expensive raw food so it wasn't like she was famished. But, she was insistent that

I can't believe it is November. How many times have you heard that lately?  And just like that the Presidential election is over. May President Obama and Congress finally work together for the good of our country. May people stop with the scare tactics and may people stop being scared that our country has gone somewhere that it "must be taken back". Like everywhere else, we've been experiencing strange weather in our neck of the woods. Sometimes 30 to 40 degree difference between day and night. Not complaining. No, not at all. I cannot begin to imagine the bewilderedness of going through such a fright as Sandy on the East Coast. May everything work out well for every one there. Hmmm, I had planned to do a post about the Mama's garden. Another day. But, I shall give you a look at the banana that has bloomed in her small circle of a banana grove. She is amazed that it's growing on a "baby" stalk rather than on one of the mature ones. May this blo

What's the word I'm thinking of? Damn. What's the word? That's my life these days. And, that's not good when you make your livelihood as a writer. The word I'm trying to think of is usually a simple word, too. Forget about asking for an example, because I can't remember any one of my 500 million+ instances at the moment. All I know is that the word I'm trying to think of just dangles ghost-like in my mind. I really dislike the way a word plays hide-and-seek with me. If the Husband happens to be nearby, I'll ask him for help. "What's the word that means  blah blah blah." Most often, thank goodness, he knows the word I'm seeking. Some times, he throws out a bunch of words. None of which fit what I'm wanting to write. Other times, well, let's just say that I just type in blab blab blab and move on to my next thought, choosing to believe that the word will show itself. Eventually, it does. So far. Thank goodness. This troub

Pain. We take painkillers for the pain. My question is this: Is the pain still there even though we no longer feel it because we're on the painkiller? Okay, another question. How does the painkiller know which particular spot to de-pain? Or, is it just our whole body has become numb? What, still another question? Molly the Cat. She's a bed hogger. Sometimes, by the time I go to bed, Molly is  sleeping in the middle of my side of the bed. She likes to sleep on my side because I drape an extra blanket over me. It's  a fleece blanket. Ah. Just got it. The softness and warmth of fleece must remind her of her Mommy-Cat. Molly likes to knead it into that perfect now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep spot. Doesn't matter if I happen to be under the blankets. The Mama. Two weeks ago, the Mama was in the hospital for dehydration and pneumonia. The bacterial infection had jut begun, but because her body was dehydrated, it couldn't tackle the infection. The Mama had gotten the bug

The other day I was doing research about Dr. Robert H. Goddard, the father of modern rocketry.  Interesting fellow that Dr. Goddard. Quite a visionary. A lot of people thought he was a crackpot. That all changed when the space program began. Ah, then the adulation and the awards came left and right for the man. Unfortunately, Dr. Goddard was dead by then. I hadn't planned on telling you that, but there it is. What I did want to mention was that Dr. Goddard had a personal holiday that he called his anniversary day.  He celebrated the day he was a kid sitting in a tree and looked up into the sky and had an epiphany about rockets and space. Yes, I know. Pretty cool. Not to worry though. I'm not going to go into the technical stuff about rockets and space. Not like I could. The important part here is that I decided that I need a personal holiday. When I was in my early 20s, I was influenced by the unbirthday idea and did that for a year or so. I chose July 15 because that was

We are on a strict budget right now. Not that I'm complaining. The flow of income can get very tight when you choose to be an independent writer. So,  all of you readers out there who want to be professional self-employed writers, bear that in mind. If you want the independence, you just keep plugging along. If you can't stand the financial insecurity, then you need to shore up on the writing, editing, researching, and computing skills to get a decent paying communications, technical writing, or editing staff job. And, for gosh sakes, please don't underbid your professional worth, which is essentially all professional writers' worth. But, I've wandered. Being financially insecure at the moment isn't my tale. Nor is being a professional writer, which I finally get is what I am. Talk about sometimes not getting it. Do you know the yellow gas station Shell Oil? I don't know how many times I've seen the Shell stations by the time I reached a certain day

"Everything will be all right in the end. If it's not all right then it's not the end." That is one of my favorite lines in the  movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel . After doing a Google search to find out the correct wording, I learned that the phrase has been around for quite a while. Who said it initially? Someone named "Unknown" comes up a lot. Who ever you are, thank you! A lot of not-so-cool stuff has happened this past week. And, that phrase has been my mantra. It is keeping me insanely sane. So is having immediate access to the Internet.   There is the work. As some of you know I make my living as a writer. The project I'm currently working on requires me to write on many different topics, of which I'm no expert. Too many topics to research, understand, and write about that I've taken to whimpering just before giving in to sleep that I'll never ever see the glimmer of light on the other side of this tunnel.  "Ever

I'm old. Old. Old. Old. Old. Old. Well, we're both hold. The Husband and me. Oh, he won't like me saying that. But, it is true. We are old. Yet. Yesterday, we pedaled our cruiser bicycles against that defiant wind for several miles to buy three pounds of freshly-picked locally grown, sun-kissed cherries. Very yummy cherries indeed. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about getting older. As wise folks say, "What's the use of complaining?" I'm just stating the fact today to myself, and you happen to be in on it. Still, no matter how old I am, the Mama is older. As many of you know, nothing is going to stop her from doing what she wants to do.  Example: The back yard that is her jungle of a vegetable garden. The better description is the mad scientist's horticultural sandbox. Any day, I expect her to tell me that she tore out all the bean plants and sown new seeds. Why? Because she can't stand that the plants are producing

Yesterday, I was going to do our taxes. Instead, I took the Mama to the annual Easter BBQ fundraiser sponsored by the local Filipino American  club. Purchasing the chicken lunch is the Mama's way of "making" the Easter meal since she no longer has the stamina to do it herself. It's also her unspoken way of giving me a break from cooking. Well, that's what I like to think. Yesterday was a beautiful afternoon for a picnic. As the Mama likes to say, "Lot of people there." The lunch line was long, about 45 minutes long. I didn't mind standing in it at all, especially when I ended up talking with the guy behind me who turned out to be the nephew of Alice, a friend of my mom's from long, long time ago. What did he and I remember so well about Alice: Her cookies!  I also recall that it could be hot, hot, HOT outside, but so cool, cool, COOL inside her house. Dark, too. But, then that's what made it so cool. While I stood in line yakking awa

A photo I shot in 1976 in San Benito County where I was born and grew up "You've come a long way," a fellow editor had said to me (out of the blue I might add) as three of us co-workers were eating lunch on a lovely Saturday afternoon (it could've been Sunday, but does it really matter)  many years ago. If I had been quick on my feet, or just less shy, I would've retorted, "You came further." She, after all, had migrated from Chicago to San Francisco, while my hometown was less than a 100 miles away. But, she wasn't talking about distance. She was referring to the fact that my parents were "uneducated" immigrants from an impoverished country who did not have a grasp on the English language, and who were only able to "achieve" farm jobs in the United States. As if all that would make a difference on their ability to do well in a new world or for their daughter to complete college and become a —gasp—professional. After al