The last Friday before Christmas I went out dancing inspite of a slightly itchy throat. The nightclub where we went was like an enormous freezer with people packed like sardines. Everybody goes dancing these days it seems. The next day I woke up with a high fever, both my tonsils swollen and no voice–a state that hardly improved for the entire Christmas week, inspite of massive doses of antibiotics.
"Wages of sin", as my friend Balti would say. He once studied for the priesthood and cannot get rid of some of his Jesuit judgments! And he actually starts his day talking to his Guardian Angel and that is not really his wife, Tessie Baltazar, the Anti-Corruption Commissioner.
But what is so sinful about trying to dance the ocho-ocho (I cannot begin to describe this current dance craze)? Ridiculous perhaps but certainly quite harmless. Even GMA is doing it and will be doing it all over the country come the campaign.
Anyway, that is what I did last Christmas. I was only glad that somehow I managed Noche Buena which I "cooked" long distance from my bed, giving instructions to my cook in hoarse whispers and tasting things when they reached the final stages. Although even my taste buds were not to be trusted and the food turned out to be generally salty.
But my kids (all two of them) and the grandkids ate their old favorites as enthusiastically as ever. All the old Christmas rites and rituals were observed–the only change was "No kissing allowed" and I was kept at a safe distance for the sake of hygiene and sanitation!
After dinner I was ensconced in a rocking chair (is "old rocking chair" getting me at last?). Actually, the chair belongs to another dear friend, Franz Viana, who four or five years ago decided to move to the US for good. For want of a warehouse she dumped all her old antiques on me, including the rocking chair that belonged to her grandmother. Remember Mrs. Teague of the old Realistic? She lived till age 102. I hope some of that longevity rubs off on me, as I sit in her chair. Sitting there all my presents were "presented", one by one, I got the most presents; they represented the extra solicitude my kids had for me in my "weakened state" starting with the "major gift"–a huge modern exercise bike that looks more like a high tech scooter–"to strengthen your legs". Also a very fancy "stroller" complete with basket and a seat if you get tired. "This is better than holding on to somebody’s shoulder," they assure me. "You will not get lopsided." Apparently, that is the one advantage this sleek stroller has over using a good-looking man as a cane!
Aside from these artificial props were a modern thermometer that beeps when your temperature level has been reached, a surprisingly old fashioned rubber hot water bag which was bought in the flea market of Bangkok because "nobody makes rubber hot water bags here anymore!" There was even a foot spa for my worn-out feet. Also enough shawls to keep me wrapped for life!
Incidentally, the cutest Christmas message came from my friend Ernie Martinez (he runs an insurance company for fun) saying, "I asked for what I wanted most for Christmas–a good friend. So if a big fat man comes around and tries to wrap you up, please cooperate!" Well, if Santa had come around this Christmas Eve he would have found me already Christmas wrapped in as many multi-colored shawls as Salome’s seven veils.
Besides all this, I got about a dozen books to read during my enforced bed rest. After which I’m supposed to get my strength back using all those gadgets I got for Christmas. So Merry Christmas to me.
But I did manage to ride out to La Vista on Christmas night to taste my daughter’s turkey–a virtual masterpiece of culinary skill, with three kinds of stuffing and all the traditional side dishes. She does it all herself starting from the defrosting, an all-night operation that requires soaking the turkey in a huge vat of water. One year there was general panic when at the last minute she discovered there was no cranberry sauce to be bought in all the shops in town. So what to do? Luckily, Ana my eldest granddaughter had not yet left her apartment in Cambridge. So a fast long distance call and the precious cranberry jelly was ordered and hand-carried by her a thousand miles over the Pacific just in time for Christmas night dinner two days later. Ain’t modern science wonderful!
I’m so glad I made it to the Christmas dinner, because there I got the most encouraging insight into the local political mess. Talking politics and the coming elections was starting to get depressing with everybody speculating on "What if HE wins? What will happen to the country?" Then with his characteristic humor, Henry Esteban said, "What are you worried about? A few hundred years ago the Pope was a 12-year-old boy–and yet the Catholic Church still survives!" And somebody added, "And he probably did not finish high school either!"
Then everybody started laughing. Somehow we all felt less depressed if not exactly hopeful about our political prospects! Time solves everything.
Right now my temperature has disappeared and I feel fine, but too late to join the New Year trek to Baguio. Telephone reports from Baguio inform me that the old Baguio gang is there. But there would be no picnic in the Sison’s pine forest; Louie Sison is down with dengue. But the O.V. Espiritu annual lunch on their mountaintop went through as usual. Lorna Laurel says to tell me that she climbed up on her own two feet because last year I had written that she had to be carried up in a chair. "Tell her I climbed up on my own–you are all witnesses," she told the gang. Congratulations, Lorna, you still can do it! See you on the old mountain trail next year. We will survive!
And on that hopeful note, dear friend, I’ll have to sign off because my mahjong quorum has arrived. When all else fails mahjong is always the last resort! I plan to play until New Year’s Eve when I expect to be fully recovered and ready for whatever 2004 brings.
Happy New Year, dear friend and to friends all over. When you can enjoy good friends, life will always be great.
Love,
Jeanie