Lola’s Legacy

If my grandmother was alive, she would have been 108 on this day. *sigh* It’s amazing how most of my childhood memories go home to thoughts of her…the epitome of a matriarch. Growing up, I’ve had mixed emotions about living with her from Day Zero of my life because she was strict, conservative and strong — enough to drive a tween or a teenager crazy during the typically tumultuous time of puberty, with the pursuit for academic excellence forced down our throats vis-a-vis a strong regard for good breeding and refinement. “Good breeding brought about by ancestral refinement is different from the breeding brought about by acquisition of instant wealth”, she would always be quick to say of the tasteless neouveau riche who try to prove themselves by flaunting their freshly acquired wealth, wearing their wallets around their necks while looking down on others. She made sure we knew the difference good enough to stick to the values she had worked hard to inculcate in us.
She has also taught me that “Simplicity is beauty, but if you’re terribly simple, you’re simply terrible.” One of the rare occasions when she’d serve her iconic words of wisdom with a little humor, and still make sense.
And I won’t forget that day I mispelled a word in a handmade card I sent out to an aunt when I was in third grade. I carelessly wrote “RECIEVE” instead of “RECEIVE” and I never heard the end of it. I have been extra careful about my spelling since that day. I’m not perfect. I don’t even write well even if I write too much, hahaha. My grammar isn’t in top form. But I’ve been cringing everytime I see a word mispelled by others since then — though I must say that the advent of text messaging and Facebooking makes it almost less of a crime in my book now.
I can go on forever about the things I learned from my grandmother..that perfect lady who was cold yet caring in her ways, thoughtful and generous yet practical, feeling yet seemingly unemotional. Always composed but will be quick to put her foot down. Regal, so to speak.
All I can say is…
Looking back, I have no regrets. I might have had mixed emotions when I was younger, but that is too shallow compared to the relief and gratitude that she indeed played a big role in making me the person that I am now. I feel very blessed that she was there to keep me focused and on the right path. And I feel blessed that I was there to attend to her needs when she started getting weak. And that I have spent not only just summer vacations with her, but almost everyday of my life until I left for college.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lola’s Singer Sewing Machine

Usually, I have a title before I even write the blog. Or at least a topic, a concept…a blueprint to trace as I compose and weave the words into a tapestry that makes sense (or nothing at all such as how the future of this particular entry looks). Maybe. Maybe not.

I’m randomly shooting blanks right now and you can perhaps blame it on the caffeine withdrawal (for attempting to stop drinking coffee for the bazillion-gazillionth time — that is if you don’t consider sucking on a piece of dark chocolate as a slow shot of caffeine for now).

I’m starting to show signs of brainlessness even at work. It’s not the first time that our Quality Control Scientist called me for my usual scientifically-minded opinion (because I do take job excellence seriously at times) and I got back with a totally jaw-dropping DUH-esque response (hey at least I responded!). One time, he asked me what color the capsule was for purposes of scientific description and journalizing and instead of the expected “cream-colored capsule or softgel” answer or something like “light shade of yellow with dark specks possibly due to oxidation”, I smarty-pantsy quipped, “uhm….khaki?” He walked away smiling (but I thought I saw a spark of Eureka moment-ish look in his eyes while holding the petri dish …aaaah khaki capsule it is!). The doctor who popped his head to eavesdrop in my cube laughed so hard in a very entertained yet totally non-condescending way. And so it seemed that I came across as a huge smart a$$ making a big sarcastic joke on their level — ONLY…really, “khaki” was all I could think of at that moment, because the capsule’s shade matched the exact color of the sleeves of my work jacket. Plus, it seemed like a far better alternative to my first choice which was “light sauteed mushroom”. (Gosh, what’s happening to my brain cells? I’m watching way too much HGTV and Food Network).

Then, since I have long managed to cross over the boundary and jump into geeksvilleness, swimming along with the sarcastic jokes shared within it, I could come up with the world’s dumbest answers and still seem like I’m just making a big casual joke out of the matter (even if, seriously, that’s all I can manage to say). Today, the scientist made a presentation on the current status of an oil-based softgel that had some issues. We investigated, inspected and analyzed the properties, and when it was time to discuss the scent of the oil that seeped through the product, I just said, “well, it reminds me of my grandmother’s old sewing machine.” And he bought it again. Seemingly understanding that I had meant “mild solvent-like fumes”… and/or “similar to the scent of lubrication oil of an internal combustion engine”…uhm, Singer? Valvoline? That’s taking it too far.

Suffice it to say, my brain cells have been short-firing lately, and getting so comfortable with affective rather than intellectual endeavors. That’s why I enjoy acting dumb sometimes—pretending to be someone smart who’s acting dumb, that way you won’t be able to tell the difference. Most especially in an intellectually charged scenario when all my brain could pull off is reveling and basking in the nostalgic smell of my grandmother’s old Singer sewing machine (Ahhh, I miss you, Lola…aaaahhh good ol’ memories of warm childhood summer afternoons, barefooted and sitting on the floor in the corner of her room by the narrow secret door…seeing the orange sun rays spill through the huge capiz windows and unto the wide wooden floor planks in long and stretched out rectangular patterns, hearing the floors creak in a very soothing way, smelling the ancestral dust of the old house, while almost being lulled to sleep with the steady drone of that sewing machine as the maid pedals away and alters Lola’s linens —- chu-chug-chu-chug-chu-chug…almost like a far-away train that never approaches).
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. That’s the scent sticking to my fingers now, and I’m keeping it!

~2011~

Hot Chocolate in the Air

NO, not the Swiss Miss 

but this…

I smelled hot chocolate permeating the air at work today. Surprisingly, it’s not the usual hot chocolate that you buy in powdered form. It smells so much of the tsokolate that my childhood is made of…

 

4:00 pm in a warm summer afternoon

the sun is spilling through our capiz windows

I’m playing in our caida

It’s so quiet I hear the occasional creak of our wooden floor

I walk barefoot

I smell dust

I smell the smell of our old ancestral house

 

Then I smell the hot chocolate in the air.

Our cook, Nanay Ana, is preparing our merienda

Tsokolate…made from Tablea

 

I hear my Lola’s voice

 

It’s such a warm feeling that up to this day,

fifteen years since her passing,

I still know that voice.

 

Comforting, yet strict

Serious

Scary

But boy, I miss her laughing fits on the dining table

 

I can still see it all in my mind. Her blush, her smile, her hand covering her mouth with a servilleta. She could barely breathe from happiness. The gold on her front teeth.

 

Those moments are rare.

So they are precious.

 

I’m happy I still have them all in my heart.

 

I miss my Lola.

 

It’s amazing how most of my childhood memories go home to thoughts of her. Even that smell of hot chocolate in the air.

 

06.05.09