Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

(Thought-Random)

        I am watching the rain through my window as I type this away.... making me feel like I'm listening to the song..... as I come out of a migraine apparently triggered off by certain stressful thoughts... as I figure that just about this time, a dear friend of mine and family are embarking on dear soil I so miss!

        Anyway....let me say that  rain, I love, - I love for the beauty it cuts as it slants across the view that it superimposes itself on,  -the view of a line of towering green trees with gray clouds hovering above them.  Kinda projects a dismal feeling, if you ask me.  You would think so too, wouldn't you?  And that would certainly  be nothing but normal!  But I am trying to find semantic shades that are at least embedded within the strands of this window picture of mine..... perhaps a thought or two that I could cull from within the colors of this day. ..  Okay, so what do I see:  -the dampened silver of the raindrops, and behind it, -the dark green of the wall of trees, and above them, -the gray clouds hovering, pushed here and there by gusts of wind ...... .now, hey we have some motion in there!  So let me take over the motion command:  -let's let the wind go on and push aside these gray clouds for us to get a glimpse of some blue sky..... let's let the branches of the trees part a little to bring out a little of the sun..... let's let the raindrops -lovely raindrops- stop now to bring about the color-laden rainbow.... and presto -

        I vicariously feel with my dear friend embarking on dear soil I so miss... and  guess what:  - with the rainbow on my new horizon,  I feel the raindrops aren't really so bad anymore! They aren't really so bad afterall!  And I do wonder,  -just what might you, on the other hand,  be thinking about right now?

Invitation to Commitment

(A Toastmaster Speech)

Ladies and Gentlemen:

        Let me tell you the story of a man named Roger who one morning ordered live chickens for his daughter's school project.   You know, for the kind of things kids would do like feed them and monitor their growth and later make reports to submit to the teacher.  The same morning, however, he had to take the family out to meet up with another family and so off they went locking up the house.  After a couple of hours, the delivery man arrived with the chickens and finding no one at home simply left them at the doorstep and left.

        Now when Roger and family came back, they found the chickens all over the place and so the family had no choice but to try and catch them.   You could imagine all the commotion that ensued: the chickens cackling, the children screaming, the running here and there.   The chicken-chasing even went as far into the backyard of the neighbors.   Well, for the children, it definitely was fun.   But for the couple... for the husband and wife, - it certainly was an ordeal, and Roger wasn't a bit happy about it.  After having had gathered all the chickens, thus, he picked up the phone, called the delivery man up and - Hey Johnny, - he complained,  that wasn't very wise what you did.   You shouldn't have left the chickens by the doorstep!  See,  they all got free and we had to run all over the place to gather them back.  And the bad thing was we caught only 11 chickens!   Johnny laughed, however, and to that he replied:  - Man, that wasn't so bad at all! You say you caught only 11? Why I left only 7!!!!

        My dear friends, you might have been entertained by the story, but you know, I'd say it mirror-reflects a value called commitment.  By definition, commitment refers to the state of being bound emotionally and intellectually to a course of action or to a person..... it is a trait of sincere and steadfast fixity of purpose.  Roger and family wanted the chickens... they needed the chickens....and they had to have them back even if they had to chase them far on to the neighbors' backyards.  And nothing stopped them till they got them all.  And as it was, they even got more!

       Commitment, Ladies and Gentleman, surfaces in many aspects of life.  Take marriage, for example. It takes commitment to have it happen as it does to make it stay. A man who has decided to take a particular woman to be his bride will do all he can to achieve his goal.  He'll send her chocolates and flowers, he'll travel half the world if only to be with her, he'll even court her parents until the wedding day.  And when the marriage is already there and both spouses want it to last, it needs both of them to make it work out in terms of unending give and take - till death do them part as it may.

        Yet another example might be Michaelangelo..  Who, among us, Ladies and Gentlemen, wouldn't know him and his famous masterpiece at the Sistine Chapel!  For years and years, he painted the fresco with his back laid on canvas with the paint dripping into his eyes till he was almost blind. And these weren't just up and down strokes of the brush, mind you.  This was a painting of the Creation and of the Last  Judgement.  So you could imagine all those people and all those faces, and in effect- all that detail.  But uncomplainingly, he went on and on until it was done.    And if that wasn't commitment, I don't know what it is.

        But now dear friends, shall we have the limelight on us?    I am sure that after signing up with the West Conn Toastmasters,  you came to know about all the intellectual fun we enjoy in here.  On the other hand, I am  sure you also realize that leadership and communication skills can here be achieved by doing - that is, by listening, by thinking, by speaking.....by trying to climb both the Communication and Leadership tracts-  by trying to deliver our speeches and more so we earn our respective norms.   Of course, it is not easy in itself.  But you'll have to agree with me that what makes it easy is putting alongside with the task the fun and the camaraderie that we have.   Just like living one day at a time, I am sure you can make a commitment to set a goal and move towards it step by step.   And if you do, who knows, - instead of catching only 7 chickens, you might just catch 11!

Mister Toastmaster.....

A Little Bit of Connecticut

  (Gillette Castle)
  (Camera-Random)

        There is this quaint part of Connecticut we discovered yesterday when we visited the Gillette Castle which is located in the town of Chester.  Well, my interest was immediately captured by this small but lovely town, what with its downtown cluster basically made up of its bank and library and  restaurants and shops and galleries and taverns and......... right across each other along a street that winds around the town.

        I would've wanted to stay a little longer than we did to soak in the simple beauty it manifested but we had to be on our way to the Castle. We had chosen to use the ferry service as the castle was located  across the river from where we were --top of a hill, the highest, apparently of seven named the Seven Sisters by the locals.

So while we enjoyed the ferry ride,  I was actually thinking of crossing a bigger expanse

of water like the Pacific or the Atlantic to reach another favorite destination of mine.... :)

Bing and Anika enjoying the scene.......

          At the reception room............

This was one Gillette built - an outcome of his great love for trains.

   And we walked towards the Castle......    

The pathway toward the Castle owned by William Gillette, - no relation to Gillette Blades.  Instead, he was an actor who played the role of Sherlock Holmes for almost half a decade.  He lost his wife to pneumonia in his 30s and went into a deep depression after which later, he built this castle with amazing stone- and woodwork!

The staircase going up to enter the castle

    

Willaim H. Gillette

        

Some of the walls carpeted

Looking up the ceiling

....... and up on the second floor -

Through a window overlooking the river

       

    

His study

    

And yet another fireplace

His bedroom... and as in all over the house, electronic switches are made of wood!

His shelf of drawers

     

Ah but he did have the usual kitchen and bathroom amenities

     Now from the second floor, we are told Gillette would have a view of what goes on at his bar down the left side from a mirror below the window on his right.....

          

    

....... and of who was coming in at the door (that would be below where he stands) from the mirror below this middle window down and  in front of him:

Both entrances lead to a balcony (with a fountain) overlooking the CT river.

Corridor leading up to the third floor

From a third floor window overlooking part of the gardens, Bing and Anika waiting for me

From yet another window overlooking more of his amazing stone structures: a balcony

  Two of the forty-seven doors of which none is like the other.

    

A door lock and some switches

      

                

Out of the castle now.....

........moving to the left

      

      ..... and walking out of the castle's premises...

   

   

     

        And as I leave the Castle in awe, I ask myself,- or rather, may I ask you:   -with all the phenomenal aspects of this magnificent wood and stone creation, would you want to live in one like it?                                        

Showcasing Toastmasters

(A Toastmaster Basic Speech)

Ladies and Gentlemen:

             One of the common questions asked out there goes: - "What's this thing they call Toastmasters?"  Otherwise, if you are already one of them,  one of the so-called Toastmasters, the question would be -"Just what do you do in there?"  And I think that is a good question.

             Do we toast bread?  Do we make toasters?  Or do we raise our wine glasses in celebration and offer someone our best wishes or congratulations?  I'd say we go by the third allusion because in Toastmasters,  we do celebrate.  We celebrate speech, we celebrate oral communication, ... and in Toastmasters, -because we are goal-oriented, we celebrate goals achieved!

             Toastmasters is an international organization geared to help people be competent and comfortable in front of people.  It also addresses people who'd rather die than speak in front of an audience.  But more important, this organization of nearly 250,000 members in more than 12,000 clubs in some 106 countries offers an enjoyable way of practicing communicative and leadership skills.

             Like any normal organization, Toastmasters International has a structure which looks like this.

Here, the Member belongs to Toastmasters International in terms of World Headquarters through a system of governance from the Club he belongs to, to the Area, the Division, and the District.  So starting from the Member, that's you, it takes at least 20 active members to form a club; - 20  individuals interested in being a better listener, a better thinker, a better speaker. Then it takes at least 3 contiguous clubs to form an Area led by an Area Governor; 3 contiguous Areas to form a Division led by a Division Governor, and in turn, at least 3 contiguous Divisions to form a District led by a District Governor;  and finally, - all the Districts all over the world are under the supervision of World Headquarters of Toastmasters International, which by the way, is located at Mission Viejo in California of the USA. The names of the Officers and of the Board of Directors you will find in each copy of  The Toastmaster,  a monthy magazine which you, as a Member,  receive from Headquarters together with your speech manuals.

             Now the Club, like any other club, has Officers from out of the membership to keep it running: A President, The Immediade Past President, 3 Vice-Presidents (one for Education, one for Membership, and one for Public Relations),  a Treasurer,  a Secretary,  a Sgt-at-Arms. These officers are responsible for trying to achieve club goals, one of which is to help its Members achieve their own goals as well. They are further responsible for well-planned regular Club Meetings which identify as the heart of the Toastmasters Club.  It is in these structured meetings where the Members enjoy fun and camaraderie as they gain knowledge by participation... where they gain  self-confidence with each attendance they make.

           Well then, dear Friends,- being in this particular Toastmasters' Meeting right now, you certainly recognize the structured parts. The three major portions point out to The Introductory Portion, The Educational Portion, and The Evaluation Portion.  We had fun of sorts listening to the Joke Master and participating in the Table Topics Session during the Introductory Part.  The Table Topics Session invited some members to speak impromptu for 2 minutes on the theme topics prepared by the Table Topics Master.  As I speak, we are brought to the Educational Portion which calls for members who are ready to deliver prepared manual speeches.. This will then be followed by the Evaluation Portion where the General Evaluator handling this portion will call on the individual Evaluators of each speech to point out the excellent aspects of the speech as well as the aspects where the speaker could improve on. The General Evaluator will also call on the Members assigned to give a report on how we managed our time in speaking, how correct our grammar was, and on how well we tried to avoid uttering linguistic crutches like 'ah', 'umm', 'you know',  and others... after which, he will also comment on how well the meeting as a whole was handled. From there, the Meeting ends. But I must mention the fact that meetings, while following standard parts all over the world, could also be governed by certain cultural differences.

             Time now to return the focus on the Member, dear friends. Because Toastmasters International is goal-oriented, you would understand why goal-achieving starts with the Member. There is what we call the Educational System in Toastmasters.  As a Member, you will get to know the complete picture so that for tonight's purposes, allow me to just go through it briefly.

             This system provides Members with a curriculum to develop both his Communicative and Leadership skills.  By going through both tracts in his own good time and pacing, the ultimate goal would be a norm or award conferred by Toastmasters International on the Member.... that of Distinguished Toastmaster (DTM).  The Communication Tract  found on the left has the Member first achieve the Competent Communicator norm, followed by the three levels of Advanced Communicator, namely: Bronze, Silver, and Gold.. Simultaneously with, or one after the other, the Leadership Tract  on the right has the Member achieve the Competent Leader norm,  followed by the two levels of Advanced Leader: Bronze and Silver. After the Member has achieved both the Advanced Communicator and Advanced Leader norms, then  is he conferred the highest norm,  which is Distinguished Toastmaster (DTM).

             But see,  what I have given you is just a tip off the iceberg regarding what Toastmasters is all about....just a showcase window.  The next thing for me is now to invite you to come into the store and look closer into the many good things Toastmasters offers you.  To you, our Guests, come join us within the context of intellectual fun and camaraderie that you can experience only in a Toastmasters Meeting such as this.  And having said that, may I invite you further as I propose a toast.  (raise wine glass) Ladies and Gentlemen, here's to excellence in the name of Toastmasters!

Mister Toastmaster......

Ebb Tide

(A Short Story)

        The Editor of the Satellite - the first paper that hired Fred was giving him his initial assignment.

        "We need features, man", he said vaguely but hurriedly riffling through a set of papers on his desk.  The telephone rang  and he lifted it.  "Try for human interest - get anything you can.... ..  - yes?"

        Fred was young and alone in town.  As a matter of fact, he always had felt alone ever since he lost his family during the war.  Somehow he managed to get through a course in Journalism but not without years of hard work and perseverance. He would often remember with gratitude Monsignor Aquitania- the kindly pastor who sent him to college- fiftyish and tall, who looked through rimless spectacles with deep-set eyes and with the type of mouth that if they ever had to do a film of his life, they would have to get Rossano Brazzi.

        Now Fred was on probation with the paper.  And he felt awkward about it.  But as he walked through the cheerless November dusk toward the park,  the dreams- the thing young people have plenty of - helped him forget.  He found a place in one of the benches.  He had to think.  He fished out a cigarette and lighted it.  

        The blue of the sky was already darkening,  the cold deepening,  but he still sat there with a blurred vision of the Editor pointing to the door.  He knew he wouldn't make it.  Not while he felt that way... thoughts scattered,  restless and for no reason at all!    "This is ridiculous!", he muttered under his breath. Just then he caught a tinker of laughter and looked up to three youngsters, bats over their shoulders  and balls in their hands,  racing probably homeward.  This brought back reality.  So he stood up,  hands in his pockets and started for home.

        Back in his apartment,he lay on his bed trying to steady his nerves.  Through his half-closed window, he could gaze into the star-studded moonless night while the radio softly played.  This, however, didn't even create an appeal to him.  Abruptly he got up.  On his table was his typewriter.  "Maybe if I tried",  he said to himself,  "maybe at least if I began -"

        He rolled a bond paper into the machine.  But when he tried to strike the keys, his finger rather stiffened, making the typing sounds give the impression of an amateur typist which simply was not him.  He didn't give up though.  After some fleeting moments, he paused to read what he typed.  But, Trash! - he blurted out desperately.  Angrily pulling the sheet from out of the machine, he crumpled it and flung it into the waste can beside the table.  He rolled another sheet in but time and again, after a few lines would be written, it'd only end up in the trash.  He finally got up from his chair, - very cross- once more picturing the Editor with the odd sinister look on his eyes.  He had to give in his article first thing in the morning if it was to realize an ardent aspiration.  And there he was, twelve-forty-five in the morning without a sensible thing in mind.

        He opened his locker and reached for his jacket.  He was going to walk the streets.... aimlessly,  for that matter.  Never mind the biting cold of the night.  Maybe he'd be able to get something out of it... perhaps a fleeting glance at Dracula's shadow?  An envelope fell out from his jacket's pocket.  He remembered receiving it that morning but his restlessness since then made him forget all about it - even all about trying to guess from whom it came.  Now the childish handwriting was familiar and the spell-weaving smile of Linda came floating into his mind.  How well could she be doing right now?

        Linda and he were friends ever since they were in grade school.  Just after the war, her parents -distant relatives - were so kind as to let him live with them.  Linda had no brother.  And she wanted one so much... one who would go with her to school.... one who would fight the boys that would tease her after school until it was Monsignor Aquitania who took over sending him to the university.  Through the years, they had written to each other now and then, each telling the other how he was getting along.  And every time Linda turned on a new year,  Fred would send her orchids.  Could she be wanting them now?  But it's only November and her birthday won't come until after the holidays!  He opened the letter to read - "and don't send the orchids this time.  Mom and Dad have finally consented to letting  your little sister enter the convent.  Please bring the orchids with you on my birthday?"

        Fred heaved a long deep sigh.  The jacket and the letter slipped off from his hands as he slowly but firmly held on to the chair and then sat down.  Out into the darkness of the night, through the half-closed window,   he tried to create images.  In the first place, why did he want that job so badly?  Ambition, maybe?  Perhaps a dream to show the kindly Monsignor his gratitude?  Or was it for Linda - the young woman who to him had always been beautiful.... beautiful the way only a woman who could love much  and was much loved could be beautiful? The last thought caught him in a solid moment's standstill as it resolutely sank deep, deep into the essence of his very existence.

        Suddenly now he felt like writing.  Once more he slipped a bond paper into the typewriter.  At first, his fingers struck the keys with uncertainty.  A little later, he did it faster,  faster,  until the rhythmic sound of his typing sounded like a mockery to the early hours of the evening.  It was already two quarter in the morning when he stopped.  "That'll give me more or less six hours before I face that heck of an editor",  he muttered, glancing over his finished article with expressionless eyes.  He heaved another deep sigh then began to read it:

       "The Editor of the Satellite - the first paper that hired........"

        

As Time Goes By.....

(Thought-Random)

             Last night,  I was so filled up with readings on  stuff like sin and syntax...   like  plot and structure ... Umberto Eco and literature,  -that I decided to get into a time-out and visit Netflix for one of those old classic films.  And my mouse settled down on Casablanca for some relaxation.    Not one of those happy endings but it certainly was a slice of life.   Kinda giving me a sense of reality hold.

             Humphrey Bogart was dashing,  I'm okay with that!   I can't complain.   Ingrid Bergman was nothing but sweet.    That,  too,  I  can go along with.   What haunts me up to now,  though,  was the song which you know goes  - 'You must remember this,  A kiss is just a kiss.  A sigh is just a sigh...... The fundamental things apply as time goes by.....!'   But not necessarily did the words play any significance to me at all.    It was the melody that seemingly like a soft breeze wafted into my sleep, -ghostly.... ephemeral,  if I may say so and yet not quite.    It is unsettling that I can't explain why this melody comes and goes.... and when I can't explain or understand something, I  really just can't let  go.

             So I listen to this melody over and over again and relish the strains that go climactic and then kind of mellow down a little into a tentative plateau... this now  followed by some definitive closure of sorts. And as  my thoughts merge with the music,  I realize I am brought into an allusion to life as in concepts of ups and downs, of highs and lows and in-betweens, of bursts of energy and simple soft spurts.....which further are woven among the threads of time.   I'm not sure if I am making any sense in here but I now am thinking that the song is aptly titled 'As Time Goes By'.   In my very life, as in yours and probably everybody's,   I've had joys and sadness, triumphs and failures, expectations happily realized as well as disappointments.... all these coupled with hopes and aspirations yet to be achieved.   Isn't it that all these go as time goes by?

Peel that Orange!

 (Thought-Random)

            An orange is an orange is an orange just like a rose is a rose is a rose.  And it isn't just the euphony of it that I love.  I love the orange mismo... that orange-colored, tangy fruit...that vitamin C- laden representative of the citrus family.  Nights when I used to burn the midnight oil trying to finish mountains of reports for the next day, I'd peel an orange, inhale the refreshing aroma that comes with it with much gusto till I feel tranquilized.  Then would I eat the pulp bits up to the last of it, unhurriedly, segment after segment after segment.  That would have me awakened and enabled to finish the job at hand.  And should the sandman insist on sprinkling more sand into my eyes, I would follow it with a sprinkling of juice from the orange peelings... and presto, Mr Sandman is a subdued competition!

             I am much older now than I was when I'd do the above life-saving orange trick to have me do what I had to do.  Things have somehow changed... some actually having changed to be the opposite of what used to be.   Like if I tried to keep myself from falling asleep in my younger years, now I try hard to make myself fall asleep as the hours of the night turn to hours of the day.   If  then I  used to need to stay awake, now I need to be able to fall asleep that I ask others just how I should be able to do that... -fall asleep when it is time for bed.   Interesting how I am advised to exercise before bedtime... to drink a warm glass of milk...to soak in a hot bath... and so forth, and so on.  But nothing seems to work.  Well, being nocturnal does me some benefits though, I get a lot done!  Notwithstanding this, still, I have to get more sleep than I am actually getting!

             Now guess what.  It's way past midnight as I type this away.  I passed by the fridge on my way to my room for the night and spied a big so-orange orange with other fruits.  I had picked it up and took it along with me at the spur of the moment.   And now this orange sits across my computer on a pile of books and I look at it without anything in my mind for it.  Nothing.  But I simply continue to look at it.  Suddenly choices present themselves to me. I still have to have more sleep. But for now, that beautiful once-upon-a-time feeling beckons to me:  that lovely feeling brought about by peeling the orange, inhaling that aroma that comes with it, then eating the pulp bits, later to be followed by crushing the peelings with my hands close to my eyes to give them a good cleansing, -among others! Now please, what do you think I should think?

On Loyalty to One's Native Language

    

          I had reacted violently in devastating frustration when copied a series of articles entitled

Diversity Shock, - all these, authored by Firth McEachern.  He is a Canadian stationed in the Ilokano speaking part of Northern Philippines.  And he had expressed distaste for a particular 

observation, one among others, - that some  Ilokanos shrink from their own native language 

apparently because it was supposed to be 'corny, old-fashioned, low-class, and considered too

native '!   From a number of instances, he found out that even when spoken to in Ilokano,  

some would answer in Tagalog just because the latter was the national language!

       To go along with McEachern's words -" Healthy cultures do not dismiss themselves so 

readily!....They (some Ilokanos)  threaten to kill the language they grew up with....and this is 

disrespectful to one's language, to one's culture,  and to the generations of parents who came 

before them, all of whom, until now,  succeeded in passing on their native language."   My 

sentiments, exactly.  And certainly, there is much more to be said but let me cut it short 

 here.  Am sure there'll be other times for it.   I might just express the fact that it was actually

a foreigner who mentored me to appreciate my own Ilokano language as unique, poetic, and 

linguistically rich - particularly, in semantic shades.   In two of my own studies of the 

language,  I had in fact made the conclusions that Ilokano is pregnant with meaning and that 

it is no less than a language in poetry! Few of the many reasons I can revere my own native 

language.

        In the above-mentioned reaction,  I had stated that the news came with the lightning!. 

(Kinadua daytoy nga damag ti sal-it!)  Sal-it means 'lightning'!  But used colloquially, it may 

have well functioned as a curse word...not nice!  But another word which also means 'lightning' 

would be 'kimat', a term more nuetral.   So I had gone on from saying  (Kinadua daytoy nga 

damag ti sal-it.) to mellowing it down with  (Sige ngarud, uray kimat laengen.!),  translated 

roughly as  'Okay, let's then rather use kimat'.  I realized I hadn't exactly spoken politely and 

not even apologize to the community I was addressing.  That 's another thing  not nice!  

But here and  now, I would like to say:   Agpadespensarak man Apo!  I  am sorry!  I truly am...and truly sincerely!

And He Had to Follow It

(A Short Story)

                                                                               I 

        Fred walked up the long flight of steps he had been wont to ascend during his childhood years.  It led him up to a  residence  that could have been easily and unmistakeably regarded as home to an affluent family. 

At the top of the stairs he reached for the doorknob, let his hand stay there for a while - motionless, as though the mere touch gave an inexplicable sensation..  Then he turned it and stepped into the house he once knew to be his home.  It was so quiet inside.  He could even hear the faint rustling of the leaves outside... hear his light footsteps resound... almost hear his own heart beat.  Slowly he walked in while his eyes roamed through the spacious living room.  The furniture was still arranged the way it used to be - the table lamp, the radio, the newspaper rack, the book shelves.... everything!  The room was complete; only it was so empty of anything animate save some fresh flowers nicely placed in a vase on top of the old black wine cabinet .  The old woman took care of the house for us after all, he muttered.  And he went near the cabinet.  On the wall a little above it hang a big picture frame.  His eyes brightened with an expression both of joy and affection at the sight of it.  And it always stayed where it used to be, he whispered... where father always wanted it to be.  For a while Fred was lost in his thoughts.  His mother passed away while he was yet in the grades but his father never married again. This wedding picture of theirs was apparently enough company for his old man through his remaining years.

        Towards his right was a door to a room.  In measured steps, he went to it  -the room he had  had all to himself  because he never had a brother to share it with.  Nor a sister.  In the corner between the two big windows was a three-decked shelf that was painted blue, his favorite color.  And on top of it still stood the old framed picture of him as a three-year old kid.  As he let his fingers run over the edge, his thoughts continued to race in his mind.

        Every time he celebrated his birthday or brought home a one-hundred -per-cent marked test paper, or just when he could memorize a poem, his father would buy him a story-book.  Eventually the shelf was filled. The big chair beside his bed was also still there... the chair on which evenings, his father used to sit with his face buried in a newspaper.  Those nights were spent so quietly but to him, these had been enough to compensate for the lonely moments of the day.  He would only be able to sleep when he saw his father sitting there... his father to whom he looked up with so great respect and love, reasons perhaps for which he never was spoiled, unlike other only-sons who usually are expected to be so.  He never even tried to demand things he wanted to own... like books.  But he never asked for them anyway.  He knew better ways of getting them.

        Now he was a man.... a full-grown man.  Much more, a doctor.  It was in the city where his father sent him to study.  And it was in his second year when his father passed away.  It was then that he realized how lonely a man his father must have been, seeking only the company of his own son, making him happy in all ways he could.  For this, Fred felt grateful and his love for his father grew intense. But then, as suddenly as he seemed to walked out of the trance he was in, he walked out of the room. He muttered  vehemently under his breath, No, no.- not me.  I'm never going to let this happen to me.  I'm going to fill this house with children.... my children..... dozens of them....dozens of them....

                            
                                                           II

        Linda was the sweet and lovely young girl Fred met in college.  The dorm she stayed in was next door to his.  In each school activity, they'd be in the same group enjoying every work and play the academe demanded of them.   After classes, they'd find themselves going home together that in each day that followed, they realized they had so many things in common.  Soon their acquaintanceship bloomed into a close friendship.... and a fascination for each other..... which eventually turned into love.

                                                          III 

        Big candles steadily burned at the main altar of the church.  Linda, lovely in her gown and a veil of immaculate white, was marching up the aisle that was lined up with  chains of flowers.  With the half smile she wore on her lips, she was easily the most beautiful even among her pretty purple-dressed bridesmaids.

  She was already beside Fred with whom she stood in front of the officiating priest.  And the ceremonies began.  A soft melodious voice from the choir loft filled the air with soothing strains of the Ave Maria as the priest,  by the words of matrimony, asked Fred,  "Do you take this woman as your lawful wife........"  So suddenly a feeling of uncertainty swept over him.  He simply stared when he was supposed to answer.  So the question was repeated, "Do you......?"  This time, his eyes gave an expression of helplessness and he fidgeted under the level gaze of the priest.  He couldn't meet the searching eyes of Linda , pained and surprised.  Now the other eyes turned to him in askance.  For the third time, the priest patiently worded the question.  But this time, Fred's lips were firmly set.  Slowly but still silently, he turned his back to the priest.  Linda passed out.  But he didn't mind.  He didn't even try to look back at her.  In measured strides, he found his way down the very same aisle on which Linda had tread only a while ago.  As though wanting to retrace her steps,  he walked on,  the steady gaze on his expressive eyes thrown high above the heads of the people who could only stare cautiously.....high above to a strange unseen power that seemed to invite him to a far more sacred task as a man - a powerful force that was beckoning him towards the wide open doors of the church.  And he had to follow it.

       

Ella Anika

(Thought-Random)

        She climbs up on my lap as I type away on my computer,  this lovely little 4-yr old of ours - the live wire at home..... some of the family call her Ella, I call her Anika.  Because she sweetly asks, May I please use your computer?, and in order to escape the towel of kisses that now wipe my face and the tight arms around my neck that threaten my life, I promise to give her my computer after this.

        I like to think of how fast her mind associations go. Like one time she just comes to me with a sheet of facial tissue and asks for a flag out of it.  Well a soda straw she just used is close at hand so it serves; -this, on which to glue her tissue.  The easiest to print on a facial tissue would be just a red solid circle on the middle of it and presto, the Japanese flag! She happily takes it and waves it around.  I say you should also shout 'Banzai'! And she does.

        A couple of days afterwards, she comes upon me on facebook and notices the profile pic of  my friend.  It is a nice shot of the sunset - the redish sun smack right in the middle of the frame.... and she comments: Why that's a little Banzai! :)

        But a couple of days earlier, we were in Virginia- in Lexington, to bring one of her sisters back to school at Washington and Lee University.  At one spare time I was enjoying with her as we soaked in the sights of the university campus, I pointed out to her one of the brick buildings that filled it up saying, Hey Anika, look at this brick house.. just lovely no? And she positions herself just a little closer to the wall and starts to huff, and puff, and huff, and puff... but she couldn't blow the house down!!!! LOL!.

        And today at Borders where I whiled away some time  (and missed Erin a lot) -after mentoring a toastmaster colleague on her speech,  Anika and her mom came to fetch me.  At once her new look arrested my attention.  She now dons a pixie look... her hair cut short sweetly becomes her, I realized....

         .....in comparison to her once long hair.....

           ..... cut just some inches shorter for the summer.....

         And now - as I inspect her hair cut, I discover the jagged edge of her hair line..... She just cut her own hair with her scissors! Bing volunteers the info..... She was supposed to be cutting colored paper!!!!  :(

        Much earlier than Virginia in Massachusetts, though  - in Wrentham,  for this spiritual retreat Erin and I made at the St. Mary's Abbey, this time she couldn't help imitating the sisters at prayer........

      .....so devoutedly.....

        ..... and wanted to make sure that.......

        ......."Was my picture taken yet?! :)

        Well, once upon a time,  monastic life intensely touched my thoughts and aspirations. I tried to assess my person in its totality in conjunction with a contemplative way of existence. I still fondly remember the people and the circumstances that played a role in this segment of my life.   But I took up the marital vows instead and would like to think  I certainly was true to its demands.  Now that was way long, long ago.  At this very  moment, however,  I  wonder:   -will Anika ever possibly pick up from where I left off?