Until this past week, since April 8, the day after the Mama's funeral, all I wanted to do is sleep. Sleep, to catch up with not having slept. Sleep, to not think. Sleep. Tonight, sleeping takes a back seat to playing in Photoshop. The piece above is from the top left section of this photo. I'm linking up with this week's Creative Every Day , hosted by Leah Piken Kolidas. Thanks, Leah. Now, I'll go to sleep. Good morning, All.

The Husband and I are listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival , while I'm clicking on the keyboard. It was a fun morning. We drank freshly-brewed coffee and ate olive bread with butter and cheese, as well as finished the leftover berry strudel and custard tart that a friend brought over for dessert last night. The food and drink put me in a giddy mood. Still am.  I think the coffee was made from drunken beans. Yes, I do. As we got breakfast together, we wondered what to do today. We knew what we didn't want to do. And, so far I haven't done the laundry and the Husband hasn't cut the lawn. We thought of what we could do—maybe hike at the Pinnacles National Park, or drive over to Monterey, or go see a movie. We haven't done any of that either. I doubt we shall. We did some stuff this morning. The Husband brought in the garbage cans and cleaned Molly the Cat's litter box. I collected all of the Mama's artificial flowers around the house and washed them

"Does Manang have a rosary?" asked Helen, a friend of the Mama's. ( Manang is a term of endearment for a woman older than you. It means sister.) We were standing before the Mama's casket on her funeral day, waiting for it to be closed and taken to the church. "I can give you one," said Helen. "It's in her purse," I said, pointing to the blue cloth clutch embroidered with bright red and white flowers next to the Mama's body. It also held the Mama's favorite compact, which the Only and Older Brother gave her when he was 12 or 13, reddish-pink lipstick, two large scarves, and one or two other things that I no longer recall. I like to think the Mama's spirit might enjoy having them. "Did you break the rosary?" asked Helen. "Am I supposed to?" I asked, feeling a panic coming on. "Mama only told me not to put it in her hands." When I had researched about what Ilocanos do with rosary beads for the

Religious rituals throw me off guard. Do I adhere to them? Shall I disregard them? What would the Mama want? Today marks 40 days since the Mama scampered out of her body. I like to think she gave a big sigh of relief and smiled grandly at the Daddy who took her hand and they danced into eternity. The Mama did not have to sit around in some holding space just beyond reality for enough people to say the right amount of prayers to move her forward into heaven. It's not like how that guy who recited prayers at an auntie's rosary said, "Now we know that Sister's going to heaven, but we need to pray for her so that she can get a better seat next to Jesus."  Really! I made sure he did not recite the rosary for the Mama. When I was planning the Mama's funeral, one of her friends reminded me to get in touch with the church to request a nine-day novina for the Mama, which is nine straight days of praying for the Mama's soul after she has been buried. Yes, r

I'm participating in this week's Friday's Hunt , hosted by Teresa at Eden Hills.  The photo depicts the letter S for sweetness, which is the Husband. It's my favorite photo this week. And, it shows a smile .  To join in on the fun and/or see what photos other participants are sharing, please click here . 

"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