Chiq Boutique » boredom busters

quirky restroom

Chiqui — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 17:39:18 +0000

My sister wondered what took me so long inside. I was taking pictures. No restroom in Los Angeles is as fun and as kooky as the one they have at Wacko/La Luz De Jesus Gallery. Every inch of that tiny place is covered with pictures. The theme of the moment is fish.

Even the cabinet beneath the sink has door handles made of large plastic goldfish.

Every picture is a collage. There is always a fish in each one.

This is a warning to would-be thieves. People steal pictures from restrooms? That doesn’t sound so sanitary.

I had fun looking at these images on the wall. I chuckled to myself as I read their captions. Hey, that girl seated on the throne looks familiar!

Housewife Makes it Big in Blogging Biz

Chiqui — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 07:40:02 +0000

bigtime housewife n her kids

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I still have to see the big bucks that my brother, who makes his living off the internet, told me I could earn if I became a professional blogger. The last time I checked, my revenue from the ad clicks on my website only totalled $23 and several cents. Considering that I’ve been at it for more than two years, it’s not a very encouraging amount.

cherry blossoms-the park is lovely when they’re all out in spring

When I started blogging in 2008, I didn’t know what to write about. A housewife’s world is not that big and exciting. Desperate for topics to discuss, I took my tiny camera wherever I went. It was with me when I walked to pick up the kids at school, to buy stuff at the market, and just about anywhere. I photographed flowers in the park and outside apartments. I snapped pictures of insects, trees, buildings, and people. Oh, I was a paparazzi, with two assistants tagging along!

“Is it really worthwhile?”, I asked myself with a heavy sigh after learning about my latest blogging income.

studying the instructions on the container of ladybugs

My kids and I used to spend most of our time indoors. Watching TV, doing chores, reading, playing with toys, and hunting for nice things to buy at the mall. Blogging got us out of the house. It gave us a new way of looking at things. A new set of eyes. We became like eagles, constantly scanning every nook and cranny of our environment. We learned to prefer the park over the mall. Shopping ceased to be the highlight of our week. We took pleasure in the tiniest changes in nature. We noticed the different shades of green in the leaves of the bushes outside our apartment gate . Transfixed, we observed an inchworm weave a silky cocoon for itself. Like bees, we reveled in the beauty of springtime flowers . We started a small garden at our apartment patio. I am amused at how my daughter can now cradle an earthworm in the palm of her hand without screaming her lungs out. My son regularly monitors the leaves of my pepper plant to check for aphids. When he sees an infestation, he urges me to get some ladybugs at the garden store. Ladybugs can wipe out all your aphid problems overnight. They’re so good at it, it’s amazing! Sometimes my son gives me ideas. “Mom, there’s a hummingbird! Quick! Take a picture for your blog”, he would say, his voice filled with excitement.

My girl loves scenes like this. And I thought preschoolers only cared about cartoons!

All this looking up and down and all around had a profound effect on my daughter. Back in 2009, when she was just three years old, I opened the window of her bedroom. It was sundown. “Mom, look! The sky is blue and pink and white and yellow and pink again. So pretty, mom!”, she exclaimed behind me. I nodded in agreement and asked her why it was like that. She answered that she’s a butterfly and that she painted those colors in the sky. “I fly up, up the sky and paint it, mom”, she added. I gave a her big smile and two thumbs up. She expressed a similar opinion weeks before. We were climbing up the stairs and upon reaching the fourth floor landing, she ran to the steel railings and called my attention. “Mom, the sky….look…it’s beetiful. Look the colors. It’s pink and blue. It’s beetiful, mom!”, she enthused. Then she looked down at the garden below. There was a bush abloom with pink rose-like flowers. Her nature observation was far from over. She pointed at them, “Mom, look the flowers! They go up, up, up the sky and the color is pink like that.” It is true what they say in developmental psych books. Preschool is a time when kids’ imaginations go overdrive. “It’s beetiful, mom”, she concluded and walked toward our door. A three-year-old gushing about the color of sunsets? So strange for me. I was never like that even when I was in my teens. She could hardly pronounce her words right and get her sentences straight, but she sees and appreciates things most people older than her take for granted. I felt blessed. Silently I thanked my God for this special little girl.

Twenty three dollars is a long way off from the million bucks I had dreamed of raking in as a professional blogger. What was I thinking? Will I even earn a hundred? That’s the big question. Moneywise, I have not gained anything much, but I realize now that I had cashed in my intangible profits just right after I started this venture. Were I to stand beside facebook billionaire, Mark Zuckerberg, I would remind myself not to feel small. I, too, am a very wealthy person afterall.

Exploring Santa Fe Dam

Chiqui — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 14:16:06 +0000

January 6 was a Thursday. The rains have stopped. T’was not too cold. Nice day to be out. I had my money ready for the parking fee at Santa Fe Dam Recreation Center in Irwindale, but when we got to the gate, there was nobody there. We got in for free. Great.They don’t charge on weekdays. No crowds. No car noises. No out of tune big brass bands practising. Just a lot of quacking and honking.

Armed with a few gelatin treats, my kids and I hiked the 6.5 mile perimeter of the man-made lake. As usual, my son did what he does best: whine. I am tired. I am thirsty. I am itchy. Are you sure this place is safe? Why can’t we go somewhere else?

“Do you know how to skip stones on the water?”, I asked. He looked confused. So I told him that it was time for him to learn how to do it. They started hunting for flat stones. The whining subsided.

Handing him a pair of binoculars, I asked him to tell me about the birds on the lake. He liked being in charge of that gadget. He puffed out his chest and peered into those lenses like an explorer. We noticed that the Canada Geese were no longer around. There were new visitors though. They were all assembled far away on the opposite bank, but even then I could tell right away that they were cormorants. These black water fowls like to to stand motionless for long periods of time and stretch their wings while basking in the sun. I wonder if they ever get tired. Last summer I saw a crowd of pristine white herons landing on some bushes. I was intrigued because I always thought of them as solitary creatures. I had hoped to see them up close as a group and find out whether they could also be as boisterous as the geese and the ducks. No luck. On this particular day I only saw one. It was too far and too quick for me to get a decent picture.

The park vegetation was not very pretty. Hopefully it will be when spring comes. Only two colors greeted our eyes: drab browns and tired greens. There was this one and only cluster of vibrant daffodils that broke the monotonous view. Excitedly, I recited a line from a favorite poem: I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high over vales and hills. when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils.

Somebody must have thrown some bulbs here and the plant must have thickened through the years. These are not a natural part of the chaparral landscape of Southern California. A bright idea popped up in my head….. I will buy some flower seeds, make a seed bomb and scatter them around the park. When the plants grow and blossom, other hikers will feel the same pleasure I felt when I chanced upon these lovely things.

My kids loved this unique playground. It had a large jungle gym made of thick nylon ropes. My little girl scampered up and made her way to its trampoline center . There was also a modified monkey bar where you have to hang on to a handle and glide down.

This was not a nice day for taking photos. The sun was playing hide and seek among the clouds. This picture would have been better if there was more light. I like those blue posts by the water’s edge. They liven up the dull winter scenery. If you study it closely, you will see a seagull perched like a sentry on several posts. I can’t really understand why there’d be seagulls here. We’re too far from the coast. The background is my most favorite part. Snowcapped peaks. We live in the shadow of the San Gabriel mountain range. Everytime I step out of my home it beckons me to look up. Takes my breath away….always. And automatically I murmur a “Thank you” to my creator.

How to Irritate Your Husband (Tip #3)

Chiqui — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 09:02:58 +0000

Tell your kids that they can be whoever they want to be when they grow up. This tip is especially effective if your husband is the traditional kind, the type who wants his children to go into prestige professions. My husband , who works at a hospital, dreams that one day he will hear the hospital paging system summon his son by announcing: Paging Dr. Baylon, you are needed at the emergency room.

Children, 12 years old and below, have the zaniest notions of what they want to be in the future. I should know. When I was six, I wanted to wear an apron and be a maid. At ten, I wanted to fix my country and be the president of the Philippines. Though I never showed a musical aptitude, there was a time I told my mother I wanted to be an opera singer.

My son seems to have ambitions that are quite unique, too. When he was six, he was crazy about dinosaurs and wanted to be a paleontologist. In second grade, we read about endangered rhinos. He was so touched by the book that he wanted to save rhinos from extinction. That was his nature conservationist stage. His grandfather told him he would have to live in the wilds of Africa, where there are no bathrooms. He would have to go pee and poo among tall grasses, where lions could be lurking. Shortly thereafter, he thought that snipers were cool, that perhaps the military was the best place for him. “OK, but you have to practise eating fast from now on because they don’t have leisurely meals during training”, I suggested. Then his Indian friend read his fortune, told him that he was going to own a restaurant someday. After thinking long and hard about the revelation, he concluded that she was probably right. He loves to make sandwiches so he decided that he was going to have a sandwich shop.

One day, when we were all gathered at the dinner table, my husband went into his “my-child-is-going-to-be-a-doctor-someday” mode. The boy told him he didn’t want to be a doctor. Hubby explained how the surgeons, in the hospital where he works, drive the most expensive cars and earn the most money and respect. His voice took on a dreamy quality as he started saying,”Paging Dr. Baylon, you are needed at the emergency room.” His reverie was broken by his son’s loud and obstinate declaration: “No, I’m going to make sandwiches!” Explosion ensued. “I don’t work three jobs just so you can make sandwiches at Subway!”, the father answered.

I kept a straight face, but I was laughing on the inside. “Maybe your son wants to be a chef. He could study at Le Cordon Bleu. That’s a prestigious culinary school”, I tried to placate my husband. That seemed to calm him down. In his mind he was probably imagining his son as the next Anthony Bourdain or Andrew Zimmern. He loves watching their shows on TV. “Mom, I don’t want to do fancy cooking, like the ones they have on TV. I just want to cook the way they do in small restaurants in the Philippines”, explained my son. “Carinderia cooking? Is that what you mean?”, I asked. He nodded. I turned to my husband and said,”Dad, remember your suking carinderia in Bacolod? What was the name of that place? Burangos Eatery? Arrange for your son to be an apprentice there and we won’t have to spend for college education.” Unable to comprehend why his son would rather saute GOT (garlic, onions, and tomatoes) than heal the sick and get the chance to drive a Mercedes SL, the father turned his attention to his food.

When he had finished eating, his mood was more cheerful. He smiled at our four-year-old daughter who was finishing off her plate. If the son doesn’t want to be a doctor, there’s still hope in the little one. “She’s gonna be a doctor someday”, he said brightly. Again, his voice took on that dreamy quality as he delivered his usual line: Paging Dr. Baylon, you are needed at the emergency room.

“No, I wanna be a mermaid”, came her vehement objection.

My poor husband uttered a not-so-very-nice word in Hiligaynon and shook his head in defeat. Two points for me.

Tuesday at Barnsdall

Chiqui — Wed, 26 May 2010 20:29:16 +0000

Tuesday of last week was not a very good day for me. The usual motherhood drama had gotten me simmering like a pot of toxic brew. I was ready to erupt at any moment. When I was done with my errands at the Hollywood/Vermont area, I dropped by Barnsdall Park. Stayed there for a couple of hours, hoping to let out some steam. There weren’t a lot of people there: just a man reading the paper, a jogger with a very loud ipod, a couple fussing over a little boy, and a white-haired old man stretched out under a purple tree. Very nice.

I dragged a metal chair to a sunny spot on the lawn and had lunch.

A bottle of root beer and 3 french macarons, which I had bought at the nearby Figaro Bakery and Cafe. Diabetes Delite!

When I had devoured my sweet treats, I walked around. It was pleasantly peaceful on a weekday. And look! There were scrap metal sculptures all around. I breathed all these in. Maybe the art might somehow seep into my subconscious and refine my boorish soul.

That’s the Hollyhock House, designed by a famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. The Barnsdall Park area used to belong to an oil heiress. She donated it to the city government, who turned it into a park. That picture above is not a very pretty one. It was a cloudy day and most of my pictures looked awful.

Hey, look! A beautiful flower. I like this better than the building. I wonder what it’s called….

Barnsdall Park is on top of a lone hill in the middle of busy city streets, sandwiched between Sunset Blvd. to the south and Hollywood Blvd. to the north. It is small, but very pretty. You have to go up a long flight of steps to reach it. The hillside is planted with rows of young olive trees. I’d like to be here in five to ten years and see how the mature trees would change the look of the place. Up there you get a good view of the Griffith Observatory, the Hollywood sign, and the City of LA. I took this picture around 2:45 PM. I was hurrying down the steps like Cinderella. It was time to go and pick up the kids from school. The air was filled with loud and shrill bird songs. Hummingbirds! I knew the sound . They were fluttering and singing among the olive trees. I had to stop and look around. I love the color of hummingbirds.

I was not so lucky so I consoled myself with these flowering weeds. They looked cheerful and delightful.

Picked up some not-so-dandy dandelions. My daughter goes crazy over them. I sat down for a while, taking more than twenty shots of these lowly flowers. Then it occurred to me. How silly I must look, sprawled on the hillside photographing some weeds from many different angles with my camera phone. I went LOL at myself. I know these pictures wouldn’t make it on the pages of National Geographic, but I went home with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I felt my life force lighting up by several bars. Bring it on, kids! I’m ready for another day of the usual motherhood drama.

Chiqui: Wildlife Photographer Extraordinaire (Adventure 2)

Chiqui — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 21:01:59 +0000

Lake Balboa Park – Again. Can’t get enough of this place. There’s so much more here that my camera hasn’t captured. I’m hoping to get a picture of a pelican and those tiny yellowgreen birds. Last time I was here it was January, a rainy month. This picture was taken on the last Sunday of March.

This is a day when you wish you can paint pretty pictures just like that man right there in the shade. How lucky is he to have the kind of talent that others like me could only wish for.

Pleasant sunny day. The cherry blossoms have started coming out and the park looked cheerful. Splashes of pink everywhere. Gentle breezes were shaking petals down into the water and the ducks were scooping them up. I didn’t know they ate flowers! Just the memory of it makes my heart as light and fluffy as a marshmallow.

I learn something everytime I visit. These birds, for example, are not ducks but coots. The one on the left is just about to dive. They’re so cute when they’re underwater. They can stay there for at least 10 seconds. I didn’t see this before. Then I noticed that their feet are not as prominently webbed as duck feet. My newest vocabulary acquisition: fissipalmate.

This seems to be the heron’s favorite fishing spot. Shallow and rushing water. Best of all – no quacking. It’s not the kind of picture I really want to have, but it’s better than the last one I took.

Ooops! That’s not part of the Lake Balboa wildlife, but a harassed and distracted mother may sometimes forget and mistake it for one. That’s my son rolling down a gentle slope.

My daughter is counting the holes and calling for their gopher residents to come out and play.

Goose, coot, mallard. Do you see the silhoutte of a big fish on the right side of the picture? Barely visible under all that murky water. Almost two feet in length. A carp. I don’t think it’s going to be tasty when cooked. You’ll have to drown it in tons of sweet and sour sauce for it to be palatable.

I just can’t put a finger on it, but there’s something about this picture that I love. Ducks are very sociable creatures. I always see them swimming in threes. These could be the ones that the Birdman of Lake Balboa has named Huey, Louie, and Dewey.

Chiqui: Wildlife Photographer

Chiqui — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 23:09:17 +0000

Lake Balboa Park in North Hollywood

While cooped up in the house for days due to the maddening rains, I promised myself I’d go to Lake Balboa Park once the sun came out. I developed a burning desire to take pictures of the birds there, probably the result of watching too many nature shows. My mind was made up. I was going to be a wildlife photographer, just like in National Geographic. And why not? I have a fancy schmancy camera, the one my workaholic husband gave me last July, his “I’m sorry” gift of sorts for spending the entire day of our 11th wedding anniversary snoring away like a broken down truck engine.

January 24. The clouds had thinned somewhat. The sun, like a shy little kid, hesistantly stepped out of its hiding place. I slung my camera over one shoulder and nagged my three-year-old daughter to quit lollygagging. She was taking her sweet time putting on her socks and shoes, refusing my offer to help. I can’t understand why she has to insist on being independent just when I’m in a hurry to go somewhere.

The photo above doesn’t qualitfy for a spot on National Geographic, but this is a moment I don’t wish to forget. My daughter talking to a tiny duck. Three pompous geese parading by the water’s edge, honking loudly for attention. A family of four seated on the grass, observing them with amusement. I was reminded of Georges-Pierre Seurat’s painting, “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grand Jatte”. How I wish I could paint!

“Are those cormorants?”, I thought with excitement. I didn’t see a single one of those birds when I visited the park last October. I wonder if they’re just passing through. Those big black birds perched high among the trees looked like evil, ominous sentries. They’ve always fascinated me eversince I had seen the video below.

After being in the water, they like to spread out their wings for long stretches of time, as if trying to dry them up in the sun. Other water fowls don’t do this as often. They don’t seem to mind if their feathers are wet.

Cormorants are different. They’re so OC . So like my husband.

On and on I wandered, looking for interesting things to photograph. My daughter followed me around, furiously pedaling, huffing and puffing on her trike.

Finally she grew tired and reached into the basket behind her for a bag of cereal. Little did she know that she was being watched. The moment she snapped open that ziplock bag, the ducks, cautiously but persistently, waddled closer, expecting to be fed. My daughter panicked, got out of her trike, dragged it behind her, and screamed that she wanted to go home.

Don’t you just love the head of the mallard duck? Most of the time it’s just plain black, but becomes a shimmery green when the sun shines directly on it.

Can you spot the bird? That’s a heron keeping a close watch for any fish that might swim downstream. I wish I could get a better picture. This shot was taken from above and doesn’t do justice to the bird’s beautiful form. A heron is an elegant and solitary creature. It likes to stand patiently in shallow water, far away from the noisy ducks and geese. It never moves a muscle and then suddenly…..BAM! Quick as lightning, it stretches its neck down into the water. When it straightens up, there’s a struggling fish in its beak. You can’t help but admire such a skill.

This yellowgreen bird is just a little bigger than a hummingbird. I followed it as it flitted about. Finally it settled on this tree. I stood ever so silently and waited for it to straighten up so I can get a good shot. My daughter, not content with whining, suddenly shrieked behind me. The more I ignored her, the more hysterical she became. See those long yellow things dangling from the branches? The ground all around us was thickly carpetted by those yellow worm-like things. My daughter wanted me to carry her because she was scared of them. “They’re not worms, they’re parts of the tree”, I explained in frustration. “I scared the plants”, she insisted. So I clicked the camera and got this picture that I don’t really like.

We moved to a different area. I set her down. No more yellow worm-like thingies. I saw a spotted brown bird perched on this tree and tiptoed closer. My daughter, maybe wanting to be helpful, announced in a loud voice “Mom, I see a bird! There, mom. Look!” That’s how I ended up with this picture of an escaping bird.

The sun was going down. We left the park and dropped by my mother’s place. I was startled when I saw two piercing marble eyes staring at me from above this vine-covered fence. Crouched like a black panther, Bechang, my mom’s overweight cat, was stalking birds in the backyard. I suppose, in a way, this would pass for a wildlife photo. I snapped this picture and wagged my finger at her. “Come on, Bechang! Leave them alone. Don’t kill the cute little birds”, I lectured. My three-year-old assistant burst into tears and declared that she wanted to go home. “What’s wrong this time?”, I sighed. “I ‘fraid of cats”, she sobbed.

MY THOUGHTS

*Get longer and better lenses. Hopefully this July, when my husband snores away again on our 12th wedding anniversary. Or maybe I just need to study the manual of my camera.

*Three-year-olds don’t make good assistants.

*I bet National Geographic photographers don’t have the kind of issues I have to deal with.

*Maybe I should start with animals that don’t move around too much. I’m too ambitious.

High School No. 9

Chiqui — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 15:01:09 +0000

So glad I picked up a copy of the Sept. 7 issue of the Los Angeles Downtown News. When I was done reading the front page story, I breathed a sigh of relief. Mystery solved. Now we can pass through the 101 freeway without that thorn on our sides. I feel enlightened and free now that I know what that weird structure on Grand Avenue is. For the past two years, everytime we drove by it, my husband and I would wrack our brains trying to figure out what that spiral montrosity could possibly be.

IDEAS FROM OUR BRAINSTORMING SESSIONS

It’s a diving board or a contraption for the newest extreme sport
It’s an artwork. Afterall,the Walt Disney Music Hall, the MOCA, the Cathedral of Our Lady of Angels, and the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion are just a few steps away on the same street.
Not an artwork. LAUSD (LA Unified School District), which owns the property, cannot afford an unnecessary and enormous thing like it. They’re currently laying off teachers.
It’s a punishment device for students. If the kids are bad, the principal will make them go up to the top and jump down below.(evil laughter)
It hides a water pipe inside it. It’s a giant sprinkler in disguise, constructed to fight really big fires.
Not a giant sprinkler. Why on earth would a giant sprinkler be spiral?

WHAT I LEARNED

Just newly opened this month, the LAUSD property is called High School No. 9, a High School for the Visual and Performing Arts. It’s divided into four academies: dance, music, theater, and visual art. Its price tag is $232 million.(Whoah!) The spiral thingy with the box on top is indeed a piece of art, a sculpture designed by Wolf D. Prix. When viewed from the top, the spiral looks like a No.9. The box that’s perched at the tip of the structure is supposed to be an events space, but it is unfinished due to budget concerns.

MY THOUGHTS

All this time I’ve been viewing the scuplture from only one vantage point. That’s why I never fully appreciated it. I should have looked at it from other angles. After having seen different pictures, I think it’s not that bad. It might take a while before I can say that it’s “beautiful”. I need some time to get used to it.

Impressive, yes. It’s amazing how many artistic and architecturally notable buildings and institutions have congregated on Grand Ave. in downtown LA. This area is virtually a one stop shop for people in search of eye candy.

I am perplexed. LAUSD keeps on building new schools but doesn’t have the money to keep its teachers. In our area alone, I can count four schools that were built within the last four years.There’s another one about to be constructed. What good are these schools if the people who make it work are treated like disposable rags? Today my son told me that his first grade teacher, Ms. Meza, is no longer working at Frank Del Olmo Elementary School. She was laid off. I feel so bad for her. I know how hard she worked. In the third world country where I come from, teachers didn’t earn much, but, even if they were terminating employees right and left, teachers had nothing to fear. They were indispensible. I hope they still are. Sigh. But this is America and their ways are unfamiliar to me.

I wonder how I could get my kids into that school. My son has a flair for dramatics. He has the ability to cry on cue, usually when I put vegetables on his plate. For him, I’m thinking- theater arts. My daughter could go into visual arts. These days, whenever she sees a picture hanging on a wall, she calls my attention saying, “Look, mom! It’s a art!” Plus she likes to draw on our sofa. So just maybe…

Second thought. Two of my siblings are artists. Sometimes I worry about them. Last year when my sister, an aspiring film director, was soliciting additional funding for her independent film, I was so anxious for her. I dreamt my sister quit being an artist because she was starving. Then she became a salesperson at a mall. I woke up sobbing. I guess it’s okey if my kids don’t get into that school. I don’t want to have the “starving artist” dream again.

Lesson from a Purse

Chiqui — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 09:16:04 +0000

Lesson #1 Santa Claus is a myth invented by adults for holiday entertainment

Ever wonder why women always carry purses and men don’t? My youngest sister, Haydee, lugs around a shoulder bag that’s bursting at the seams. I never see her without it. Not once, but many times, have I frowned and asked her, “What’s inside that thing? Are you going camping?” Women are forever curious about the stuff in the next woman’s bag.

When I was a little girl my mother had this black and white shoulder bag, a promotional giveaway from Allied bank. It was durable, ugly, and very heavy. We called it her basurahan (trash can). Something came over me one day. I started taking things out of it. Maybe I was curious. Maybe my mild OCD trait was prompting me to organize it. Among the many papers it held, I saw several opened letters addressed to Santa Claus in the North Pole. I recognized my handwriting in one of them. Confused, I waived them up and asked my mother, who was busy with something across the room, “Why are these letters still here? Didn’t you mail them?” She snatched them away and snapped at me to keep my hands off her things. Her anger puzzled me all the more. That was when I began to seriously doubt the existence of jolly old St. Nicholas.

Of course I had my misgivings about Santa before, but not in a major way like this one. Back in 1979, my first grade classmate, Vicente, announced that Santa Claus gave him Lemon Corn for christmas. Lemon Corn!!!??? I couldn’t understand why he would give such an unspecial gift on a very special day? How could he be so cheap with Vicente and so nice to me? He gave me toys and Snow White stickers while he gave my classmate an everyday snack that you can buy for 25 cents at the 3 Brothers, a store close to our school. But I came up with an explaination for that. This boy liked to tease other kids. Perhaps he had been classified as “naughty” and therefore didn’t deserve to get a toy.

Santa isn’t real. This is one significant life lesson that came my way via my mother’s purse. It ranks way up there with other earth-shaking personal realizations like “My father is an adulterer.” Rifling through a woman’s purse can reveal much about the owner and also about life. That’s why women’s magazines love to ask celebrities about their expensive handbags and what’s inside them. And I admit — I enjoy reading that kind of crap.

Sometimes when I tidy up my bag, I like to spread out the things that I’ve taken out of it and pretend I’m a celebrity being interviewed by Cosmopolitan. The other night I went a step further and photographed them. Tonight, I went a little bit crazy. I thought that if Cosmo doesn’t care to put me on their pages, I can still let the world know about the contents of my handbag. Curious? Look and see. Who knows….you just may get an epiphany the way I did.

Stuff that will come tumbling out if I turn my bag upside down:

ratty old flowery wallet
eye glasses that have been twisted out of shape by Athena when she was just a year old
purple duck barette
cosmetic case with four shades of lipstick
red plastic coin for a singing toy piggy bank
4 pens
cepacol lozenges
ricola cough drops
my super duper ouchless Goody hairbrush
small notebook for random lists
medicine cup
M&M’s plain, to calm Athena’s tantrums
crumpled receipts
wads of table napkins from fastfood places
imitation pepto bismol, just in case I feel a diarrhea coming
maximun strength cortizone 10, anti-itch
check book
Sony Cybershot
puzzle pieces
paper clip that doubles as a hairclip
Rupert’s blue star eraser
opened but unused sanitary pad, violated by curious little hands

My Spring Collection

Chiqui — Wed, 06 May 2009 11:27:48 +0000

Eight years in the US but I’ve never really experienced spring until now. Where have I been all along? Cooped up in my apartment while the flowers bloomed, I guess.That’s what usually happens when you’re a city-dweller. You live life vicariously, limited to second-hand experiences that are culled from books, movies, internet, etc. Carrying a camera everywhere makes you look around more. You get to see things you never bothered with before.

This spring I am looking at ordinary plants in a new light. It’s amazing how they all seem to compete with each other for attention. Daw mga karandagan kag mga kiatan nga mga babaye. Masako ang pulopasunshu. Gapa sapak-sapak.

dreamy yellow trumpets

red sea urchin or exploding fireworks?

Oops, this isn't a plant but there's a lot of these creatures nowadays, I just can't ignore them(esp. since my daughter screams everytime she sees them).I didn't know that these things hibernate like a bear. They don't go inside a cave to keep warm, but huddle together by the thousands on tree trunks. Incredible how they don't freeze to death.Is it because they're cold-blooded? And when predators try to stir them up, they leak yellow fluid that emit a stench so terrible. Who else would want to eat them? They're the skunks of the insect world.

Toilet brush or bottle brush?

Snacking bee.I feel happy everytime I see one because I read from the back of an ice cream carton that bees are disappearing by the millions all over the world. No one knows why. Experts fear that it may wreck havoc on our food production. No bees. Less plant pollination. Would it help if we plant more gardens?