Lately, I’ve been wandering around the house looking for my prescription reading glasses. I have two pairs, the red ones still yet to be found. Until 2020, I had worn eyeglasses, or contacts, for 50-some years to correct my nearsightedness. That year, the first year of the Covid pandemic, I had cataract surgery in both eyes. The clarity, sharpness, and colors of nature, as well as being able to see words, things, and views far away that I could suddenly see after each surgery was delightfully amazing. The downside was I could no longer see the finer things like tiny letters up close. I can live with that.   Blurriness began in third grade for me. I thought it was normal to see wiggling letters on the blackboard. In fifth grade, the annual school eye exam showed I wasn’t seeing normally, so off to Daddy’s eye doctor Daddy took me. Dr. Green was his name. A nice old man with white hair, smelling crisp and sharp like his white medical top. His examination room was interestingly odd with

Petite. Resilient, strong, assured. Loving, generous, kind. Beautiful. Heart-felt chuckles and smiles. Lilac and grey plaids. Soft, colorful scarves.   Biko , a sweet rice dessert baked in lots of brown sugar and fresh coconut milk. That’s how I remember my godmother Magdalena Hafalia Sagun. Ninang Deling is what I called her.   Ninang means godmother in Ilocano. I had several godmothers growing up. I’ve always thought of Ninang Deling as number one godmother. She was part of my life for 36 years, from the moment I was lifted out of Mama’s womb. (I was a Caesarean birth, thank goodness for both Mama and me, a story for another day.) Ninang Deling  taught me to count in Ilocano. Four year old me recited, happily bouncing on the couch beside her, maysa, dua, tallo, uppat, lima, innem, pito, walo, siam, sangapulo . One to ten. After which, she’d point to the parts of her body, eye, ear,  mouth, arm, and so on as I identified them in Ilocano. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Magdelena Hafalia was