This morning eternity called

This morning eternity called.

She is waiting for an answer. 

I have her on hold.

“Cole, they’re here!” My wife called to me.

I stepped outside the house and saw Ramil pull up in his center car.  I knew the pig would be in the back where the passengers usually sit.  Ramil pulled up alongside of me and we gave each other our warm wordless greetings.

I walked over to the back of the center car and looked in.  There on the floor lying quietly on its side was an adult pig.  All four of its legs were firmly bound with twine.  I looked at the pig’s face.  It was calm.  Its eye stared up at nothing.  I could see it was breathing but nothing else.

Up front on either side of Ramil were two of his kids, Marisol and Ramil Jr.  They both looked back at me, eyes wide with excitement, and then down at the pig. 

About then Datu pulled up on his motorcycle and motioned for me to hop on. 

“Let’s go.”  He said with an easy grin.

I hopped on the back of the bike and we all sped off into the Filipino night.

Is “perfectly good” any more perfect than “perfectly bad?”

I suppose that is a legitimate philosophical question and I presume the answer is “no” but I still find it unsettling.  Of course, that’s just the human in me.  Always wishing for things to be good.  Or at least for things to make sense.

Calbayog City at night is exquisitely chaotic.  The dimly lit streets are alive and jammed.  Motorcycles, tricycles, hordes of people all crossing the street at once.  And noise.  Motorcycle engines, blaring horns, music blasting.  And smells.  The smell of cooking street food.  Smoke.  Exhaust fumes.  Datu’s motorcycle followed closely behind Ramil’s center car with me holding on for dear life.

Shortly Ramil’s center car pulled off the main stretch and turned down a narrow back street.  Datu and I followed behind.  Halfway down the narrow street the center car turned into an even narrower alley, and we followed.  Tall dark buildings loomed on either side us.  A few windows were lit in yellow light.  Presently the alley opened up into a driveway and we pulled in.

I got off the motorcycle and went over to see how the pig was holding up.  The kids got out as well and presently a few other people were there milling around speaking Tagalog.  I looked down at the pig.  It was breathing heavy now and its eye was wide open now.  The whites of the eye showed as it looked back at me.

Suddenly the pig tried to run. It thrashed around furiously trying to gallop with its legs bound, squealing loudly.  The pig’s outburst made the kids laugh.  After a moment the pig quieted down.  It lay motionless again with heavy breathing.  And wheezing.

Ramil and Datu came over to the car with a couple of men that I didn’t recognize.  We all gathered around and looked down at the pig.  I noticed that the pig’s underbelly was lined with two rows of large nipples.

“Girl?”  I asked, surprised.

“No, boy.” Someone answered.

“But look.”  I pointed at the nipples in confusion.

“Boy” They all assured me.

“Transgender.”  I joked and everyone laughed.

Except for the pig.

Is “perfectly good” any more perfect than “perfectly bad?”

Personally, I’m going to hold off on answering that question. 

I will say this though, if I have learned anything in this life it is that nature is completely indifferent.

I guess that’s also a type of perfect.

The kids moved around to the front of the center car.  I joined them to be out of the way as the men got to work.

Several men reached in and grabbed at the pig.  The pig screamed and twisted its head around violently as hands grabbed at its legs and tail all pulling hard.  The pig’s mouth opened wide showing teeth, and it tried to bite.

“Watch out for those teeth,” I thought but the men were all laughing in the excitement.

After much pulling and fighting the men had the pig up to the edge of the car and then with a final heave the pig fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Quickly the men unbound the pig’s legs and then they tied a single rope to one of the pig’s front ankles.

The pig stood up with the rope tied to its ankle.  It looked dazed.  The men gathered around the pig talking.

Then one of the men pulled on the rope tied to the pig's ankle and the pig stumbled forward.

I watched in awe.

The man pulled again, and the pig stumbled forward again.  This time though the pig recoiled and dug in its front legs and began bellowing loudly.

But the pig's resistance was futile.  The man gave another firm pull to the pig’s ankle and again the pig stumble forward.  A few more steps.  Bellowing and squealing as it was grimly led forward.

And I thought about those trucks, all in a line, filled with Polish prisoners.  Traveling slowly through the dark fog, into the Katyn forest.

When the trucks had pulled to a stop the men were led away.  One by one.  Into the forest.  Hands bound behind their backs.  Blind folded.  Some must have resisted.  Some must have yelled.

“Cole.” I looked up.

Datu was motioning for me to come.  The pig was being led down a narrow path between two buildings.

I followed behind and watched the pig as it stumbled forward, slowly making its way through the dark narrow, into a yard, where it met its final master.  A little girl.

The girl looked like she was about ten and she was standing there waiting for the pig.

The man handed the rope off to the little girl and she began leading the pig toward a little metal cage.

The pig saw the cage and would have nothing to do with it.  It turned as if to flee and the little girl hauled off and savagely kicked the pig on its side.

The pig was rightfully shocked and momentarily turned back to the cage but then it turned again and tried to flee and the little girl kicked it again.  And then again and again slowly kicking the pig into the little metal cage.

I still have eternity on hold.

I know she’s waiting for me, but I just don’t want to pick up the phone.

Not yet.

I still have some things and honestly, I don’t want to take anything with me.

The next day was my daughter’s birthday.

And the pig’s final appearance.

My daughter is three and it was a gala affair with a freshly roasted pig taking center stage.

And folks, it was delicious.  Not gonna lie.  A treat really.  If you ever have a chance to eat freshly roasted lechon do so.  It really is good.  And the skin is crispy.

Like super duper bacon.

…………………………….

Afterword.

Peter, the ancient Chinese told us.  They told us that the only reason why we have beauty is because we have ugly.  Even though it drives us mad, what is, simply is.  And try as we might the best we can do is raise a royal middle finger up to God and scream FUCK YOU!

But we all still love beauty.

Calbayog City  2022

The bad news was

.................................................

Phlebotomist (flu-bot´u-mist) – noun - A health care worker trained in the art of drawing venous blood for testing or donation. 

.................................................

The bad news was the Phlebotomist had called in sick. 

Sorry, no good news. 

For the last couple of weeks, I've been on night relief. At 8pm all the medical teams sign their patients out to me and I'm left covering two floors of patients until 8am the next morning. It's OK. A little hectic at times but in general not so bad. 

At about 2am one of the nurses said to me, "Oh, by the way, Mr. Smith has a fever." 

Fever means that blood cultures have to be drawn. No phlebotomist means that I have to draw the blood.

I looked up on the census and Mr. Smiths was in room D1024. 

I got the blood draw materials together and went to his room. When I got there I found him sleeping. It was 2am after all. 

"MR. SMITH, MR. SMITH." I called out, "I need to draw some blood." I gently shook him. "Is that alright?" 

Mr. Smith had been sound asleep but he said, "Yah, OK." and started to wake up. 

I got the equipment all set up and asked him to sit on the edge of his bed. I put the tourniquet on and assessed his arm.  He had pretty good veins which didn't mean all that much because I'm just not that good at drawing blood. I wiped a vein clean with an alcohol swab and went at it with a butterfly needle.

Mr. Smith was the type of patient who watched intently while the needle went in. 

I missed. 

The needle went in deep but no blood came. I pulled back a bit and still no blood. 

Mr. Smith said, "Oh man, I could hit that easy." 

Just what I needed at 2am.. a kibitzer. 

"Mmmm," I said, "Do you have experience putting needles in your veins?" 

"I was in the army for seven years, what the fuck do you think?" he said. 

I wasn't really certain what that meant so I went ahead and tried again and I missed again. 

"Shit man! I could hit that with my eyes closed!" 

Maybe I shouldn't have said what I said next but what I said was, "OK, you do it." 

We looked at each other for a moment. 

"OK." He said. 

I handed him the butterfly needle. He held it in his free hand and looked down at his vein. I got the sample bottle ready. Then he said, "Damn, I don't have my glasses on. I can't see." 

I took a moment to analyze the situation. 

"Here," I said, "try my glasses." I took off my glasses and put them on his head. "Is that better?" 

"Yeah," He said and looked back down. We huddled around his arm. Him, with my glasses on, holding the butterfly needle, and me, poised with the bottle waiting in anticipation. 

And he went for it! 

He stabbed himself with the needle and ZING! he got a flash of blood. 

I pushed the bottle onto the line and we got a flow. But the blood came slow. Just a trickle. 

"OK," I said, "You got it, but it's not coming good." 

"Let me move the needle around." He said. 

We barely filled the bottle and then the blood flow stopped. That was a problem because blood cultures need to be done in duplicate. I told him we needed more and he nodded and looked back down at his arm. 

Did I mention that he was bleeding? 

He had been bleeding since I first stuck him. I had hit the vein both times and when I had pulled the needle out the blood flowed down to his elbow and had been dripping. By now his bed was getting covered with blood. 

He stabbed himself again and missed. Then he stabbed himself again in a different vein. 

"Fuck, I gotta be in that damn thing!" He was becoming obsessed. 

Then for some reason I looked at him and suddenly I remembered him from a few nights before. 

"Wait a second." I said, "What's your name?" 

"Mr. Jones." he said.

I stood up and stuck my head out the door and looked at the room number. 

It was C1024 not D1024!

Now look, I'm fairly new in this hospital and at 2am all the corridors look the same. And I cover 50 patients. And… I fucked up. 

"Who'd you think I was?" He asked. 

He suddenly didn't look too happy. 

"Well..."  I started.

"Shit man, you'd better not send in that blood cuz who ever it's for is going to be awfully surprised when it comes back positive for Hepatitis C." 

You know, there are times in life when things just start to spin out of control. 

Suddenly Mr. Jones was up and pulling all the sheets and blankets off his bed. 

He said, "Help me get rid of this shit. We're going to get busted." 

"Huh?" I asked. 

"If the nurse comes in here and sees all this blood everywhere she's going to fucking freak out." 

By this time he had the blankets wadded up and he was stuffing them in the biohazard bag. 

"You're just going to throw everything away?" I asked. 

"Yah, you should have seen it last night. I was vomiting and the nurses chucked everything." 

I started helping him. 

We got all the linen in the biohazard bag and I went around picking up all the paper and plastic. He got a towel and moistened it and cleaned his arm up. Pretty soon the room was lookin' pretty nice. 

"I'm going to go out and have a smoke." He said. 

"Yah, OK." I replied. 

By then I wasn't arguing. 

About an hour later I was standing at the nurses' station trying to look like I knew what's going on. 

Presently I looked up and saw that Mr. Jones. had come back from his smoke.

He walked up to me and handed me a piece of paper. It had his name and phone number on it. 

"That's my number." He said. "I live in the Keys. If you're ever down there look me up. I'll give you the tour." 

I looked back down at the paper and then I looked up at him. 

"Thanks." I said.

I'm going to do it too. That's one tour I don't want to miss.

Miami 2006

Are you kidding me!

"Let's pretend we're on a magic cloud and the sky is an infinite ocean."  Sean, my son said.

I pondered this for a moment. That's kind of how I feel about living in the Philippines. 

"Did you know," I said, changing the subject, "that if you were naked in outer space that one side of your body would freeze while the other side boiled?"

"Well, I'll be on the frozen side." Sean replied.

"That's the spirit."  I said.

We were riding in the back of Sean's uncle's trike speeding up the coast.  It was a beautiful day.  I looked up at the clouds and thought of magical islands filled with beautiful women and lovely beaches.  The Philippine sky is a deep blue.  My mind journeyed deep into an infinite ocean.

"Daddy, what is Heaven like?" Sean asked looking up at the clouds.  We have him enrolled in a private Catholic school and they're teaching him about Jesus.  That's OK.  I prefer that to teaching him about anal sex.

"I don't really know," I said, "I've never been there."   I try to keep these religious conversations vague yet truthful.

"Daddy, are you older than grandma?"  Sean asked me.  

I'm not really sure where this is going but I answer, "Yah..."

Stick with the truth.  That's my motto.

"Are you the oldest person in our family?"

"Yep," I said.  Just the truth.  I'm older than my wife's mother.  Shame on me hahahaha.

"So you're going to Heaven first?"  He asked.

Hmmm,  so that's where he's going.

The tricycle hit a bump and Sean leaned up against me.  I looked down at him and said,

"That's the plan, if everything goes right.  I'll be heading on to Heaven first. But don't worry, when I get there, I'll put in a good word for you with God." 

"Thanks Dad." He said.

As we talked I brought my cell phone up and took a quick a picture of the two of us.

"Are you kidding me!" He yelled.

And we both laughed.

Calbayog 2023

Drawing a blank

 

“Odd plus odd equals even." Sean, my son, informed me.  

I thought about that for a moment and then Sean added, "And odd plus even equals odd.”  

He was building a Legos tower on my desk.  We've been learning numbers recently.  He continued to look at his Legos tower while he talked.  

Odd plus odd equals even...  I had never thought about that actually.  I gave it a run through in my mind and... he was right.  And odd plus even... 

“That’s actually true,” I said giving him a sideways look.   "Where did you learn that?” 

“From Number Blocks.” he said continuing to look at his Legos tower.  “This is going to be a masterpiece,” he said with pride.

Have you ever stepped on a Legos piece in the middle of the night?  Parents will understand.

“Daddy,” Sean stopped and looked up at me, “Why is Hell bad?”

Oh my, that's going to take some explaining.  Where to begin.  And what to leave out.  I imagined a painting by Hieronymus Bosch and began to formulate my answer. 

Then he continued, "You told me that it was OK for me to say, 'What the heck' but that it was bad for me to say, 'What the Hell'.  Why is 'Hell' bad?"  He looked at me and waited.

I looked back at him with some relief.  He meant the word "Hell" not the place "Hell."  That's easier.  Why is it bad to say the word 'Hell'?

"Well," I started, and drew a blank. I looked up at the ceiling waiting for help.

After a moment Sean said, "Daddy?"

"Yah." I said looking back down at him.

"Do 'Heaven' and 'Hell' sound similar?"

This was getting complicated.


Calbayog City 2023

Calbayog City 2023

 

Fireworks on the waterfront

I was down at the docks this morning. It's almost New Years and they're selling fireworks. I think they sell the fireworks by the waterfront just in case someone gets stupid and lights up a cigarette or something. Let me tell you, you have never in your life seen so many fireworks. An entire city block right there on the waterfront with nothing but fireworks for sale. I wanted to get a picture, but I was to shy to just walk up and take a picture. So, what I did was I walked along the booths and quietly recorded a video.

When I was finished filming I wanted to see if I had gotten a good take so I looked around for a place where I could sit and watch it.

Across the street there was a patio overlooking the river with some chairs. I walked over to look for a seat. Suddenly an older gentleman came up to me and said, in an altogether friendly way, "Can we get you anything?"

Why not. "Can you get me a cup of coffee?" I asked.

"Coffee?" he said, then, "Yes, yes," and he motioned to a young man who ran off to get me a cup of coffee.

"Have a seat." he said extending his hand towards a table where a young woman was sitting.

I surveryed the situation and pulled out a chair at the far end of the table and started looking at my cell phone.

In my peripheral vision I could see the older gentleman urging the young woman to come join me. At the man's urging the young woman moved over and sat across the table from me.

"He wants me to talk to you." she said shyly.

I looked over at the older man. He was looking back at us with a huge grin on his face. I looked back at the young woman. Dark hair and lovely almond eyes. She looked like she had stepped out of a fabulous Paul Gauguin painting. She looked back at me.

"May I ask you what is your name?" she asked me demurely.

"Cole." I said.

"Cole." she repeated. Quietly to herself.

I watched her for a second and then, why not.

"What is your name?" I asked her.

"Marilee." she said.

"Marilee." I repeated, "that's a lovely name."

This made her relax noticeably and she sat back and smiled directly at me.

Oh, My, God. What a beautiful smile.

Our eyes locked.

Right about then I literally raised up my hands and said to them both,

"Listen," I said, "I'm married."

To which Marilee said,

"I'm married too."

I put the palm of my hand over my forehead and muttered, "Dear God."

Luckily at that moment I was saved by the coffee.

The young man brought my cup of coffee and placed it in front of me.

I focused on the coffee. Marilee waited patiently.

The coffee was hot and I realized that I was going to be there until the cup was done. I took a sip and blew on it a bit. It was starting to look like I wasn't going to view my video.

Calbayog City 2022

.

License to kill

 

artist: Richie Havens

song: License to kill

composer: Bob Dylan

Let's talk.  

I like being in the Philippines.  In many ways I love it here.  However, to be honest I had planned on staying in America for another decade.  I was working and everything was cool but last year I decided to make the big move early and here we are.  And it's great except for Sean, my seven-year-old son.  He wants to be back in Ameica.

"Remember how things used to be nice in America." Sean says to me, "There was no trash. Everything was nice and the streets were safe."

"Yah," I say to him because I'm honest with him, "a lot of things were nicer in America."

And I'm dying inside.

"Then why are we here?" he asks me that question. 

A lot.

Folks, how do I tell my seven-year-old son that America has become a monster.  

How do I tell him that there is a war and I don't know how big the war is going to get.

"Sean," I say to him, "I brought you here so that you and your sister and your mother can be safe."

He looks at me and wants more.

Calbayog City 2023

.

Just the facts

 

"You're smart, but you're not as smart as God," my son Sean told me, for no particular reason other than to just make sure I knew.

I had pretty much come to that same conclusion a few years back but still, I couldn't let that go unchallenged.

"Why, exactly, do you think that?" I asked him.

"Because God has a 2000 IQ... Doh."  He said and looked at me from a cool distance.

Calbayog Cigy 2023

Rain and Sun

 

Hi John and everyone.

It's pouring rain outside my window again.  The tropics.  Last night in our bedroom there was a spider on the wall that was about 6 inches across.  No shit.  Honest.  It was huge.  I walked over to get a better look at it and the bugger started running across the wall fast.  What the fuck!!!  The tropics.

We went to fiesta in the little home village.  That was a trip.  The whole village ate and drank and sang karaoke for two day non stop.  Too much fun.  They have a basket ball court in the village and they set up speakers and played pounding dance music and everyone got on the dance floor and went crazy to the wee hours of the morning.  All Saturday and all Sunday.  Karaoke all night long.  Then on monday we all went to the beach to chill and recover.  I love the Philippines..

I felt a bit sorry for all the pigs being roasted but they tasted good hahaha.

While we were in the village I went to my first chicken fight.  I believe chicken fights are illegal but out in the middle of the jungle who's going to know.  The Filipino men LOVE chicken fights.  They drink and bet money and go nuts.  I love the Philippines.

I'm sendng the old picture of the hanging bridge you asked for. The bridge got washed out during a monsoon so now we have to take a back route to the village. They're going to rebuild the bridge soon come.

That fruit my wife is holding is cacao.  They prepare the cacao beans and brew a chocolate drink with coconut milk and it is out of this world delicious.  And mildly euphoric.  I now know why the Aztec kings drank cacao before they retired with their princess.  For real.  

The rain has stopped and I can see the sun.  Time for a walk.  I love the Philippines.

Cheers, 

Caybago 2023

.

Summertime Blues

artist: Blue Cheer 

songs Summertime Blues b/w Out of Focus

label: Philips

Do you all mind if I throw out a music story?

I was raised in Los Angeles, California and went to high school in the San Fernando Valley during the late 1960's. Basically I was your typical proto-hippie valley dude. The band Blue Cheer pretty much summed up the crew I hung out with.  Their recording of "Summertime Blues" was a monster hit in the San Fernando valley. How many joints got rolled on the back of their first album "Vincebus Eruptum" is anyone's guess. 

Blue Cheer

Somehow I graduated from high school and even more surprisingly somehow I went to college.

During my college years I pretended to learn how to play the bass guitar. Hey, turn the amp up loud enough and smoke a lot of weed and your good to go.

Throughout the 1970's I played a string of engagements in assorted garages.

I did manage to wind up in a couple of bands that actually played gigs in various dingy Hollywood dives. The beer was cheap and the flies were free and what the heck, I cherish the memories.

Sometime around 1979 I was playing in a band called "The Symptoms." (I've still got our old demo tape in one of the boxes. Maybe I'll burn a CD of it and really embarrass myself). 

By that time I was in my late twenties and certainly the old man of the group. I think the next oldest was the keyboard player who was maybe twenty-one and kind of my friend but at twenty-seven I was old enough to make our association tenuous at best and when we went to clubs he pretended he didn't know me.

Our lead singer was a cool raven haired Mexican girl named Jaime who actually could sing. She was nineteen, I remember Jaime quite clearly.

We, the Symptoms, went through about five drummers. One day Jaime told us she had met a new drummer through the Recycler. He was going to drop by that evening.

That evening the drummer showed up. We were all there in Jaime's parent's garage setting up and Jaime introduced the new drummer to us.

"This is Paul." Jaime said.

I looked over at the guy.  Paul was your basic long haired drummer type and he gave us the nod as he tightened the screws on his drum kit.

Jaime was eager to sell this new drummer to us.

"Hey," she said to Paul, the new drummer, "Didn't you say you were in a band in the sixties that had a hit?  What was the song called?"

We were all busy setting up and only half listening but Paul said off hand. "Summertime Blues."

None of my younger band mates paid much attention to that but for me... time stood still and everything became quiet. 

"What band were you in?" I asked.

"Blue Cheer" he said.

Paul Whaley, Blue Cheer's drummer.

I looked at him and, my friends, I about dropped a brick.

He looked back at me and grinned because he saw my expression.  No one else in that garage new but the two of us, we knew.  Paul Whaley, monster drummer grinned at me and for that one moment it was 1967 again.

An amazing moment that I will never forget.

Yes, Blogspot Massive, Paul Whaley played with my band "The Symptoms"... for a while. And for a brief period in Los Angeles musical history, Paul Whaley and Yours Truly were Drum and Bass. Maybe a month or so. Then he moved on.

I think playing garages and dive Hollywood joints was bit of a let down after Blue Cheer but still....

Los Angeles 2010

Summertime Blues bw Out of Focus

Blue Cheer:

Dickie Peterson- bass vocals

Paul Whaley - drums

Leigh Stephen - guitar

Hippie For Life

.

Earth, Rain and Pork Belly

 

Last night we had Filipino BBQ.  Marinated pork belly roasted on a stick.  They set up the BBQ right on the ground under a shelter while it rained.  I ate it with rice with my bare hands.  Filipino style.  So much fun.  Hahahaha

Calbayog City  2023

.

Letters and clouds

 

“How did letters get their names if they can’t be spelled?” Sean, my son, asked me.

“Well…” I though for a moment and came up empty.   I’ve actually wondered about that myself.  It’s odd.  How do you spell “W” anyway?  Dubayou?

Sean was looking up at me waiting.

“You got me kidboy. It’s just a weirdness we all live with.” I said, my mind racing through the alphabet. Did you know “W” is the only letter with multiple syllables? I had never noticed that.

“I’m going to get some fruit,” I said, “Do you want to come with me?”

“Yah!” He said and lit up.

“OK, but it’s night time so we need to be careful.”

“OK.” He said.

A couple blocks from our home is a fruit stand that sells inexpensive tropical fruits. I love the small yellow watermelons. They’re delicious. And the mangos of course. They keep trying to get me to buy a durian, but I keep telling them that my wife won’t let me which always gets a laugh.

Sean and I left the house and started down the street, me holding him by the wrist.

As we walked down the road I looked up into the sky. The sun had just set. During the day It had been raining but now the clouds were breaking up and through the breaks, over the horizon, the sky was a beautiful deep blue. A few stars were beginning to light up as well. I stopped for a moment to take it all in.

“Isn’t that beautiful.” I said to Sean, looking at the blue horizon.

“I thought you said it was nighttime.” He said by way of reply.

“Well,” I clarified, “it’s not quite night, it’s actually twilight. Do you know what twilight is?”

“Nope.”

“Twilight is that time just after the sun goes down when it’s starting to get dark but the sky is still lit up a bit. Not quite night and not quite day. It’s twilight.” I explained and looked down at him.

“The clouds follow us.” He said looking up at the sky.

OK, that threw me.

“What,” I ventured, “do you mean?”

“Well, wherever you go, there are the clouds,” he said pointing up to the clouds, “following you,” he added, “Just like the sun.”

“Wait a second.” I came to a full stop, “If the sun follows us then why can't we see it now?’ I said, pointing over to the blue horizon.

“Because it’s twilight,” he said, holding up both palms, “obviously.”

Right about then we were passing by his grandmother’s home.

“I’m going to visit Nanay,” he said and vanished.

Like a thief in the night.


Calbayog City 2023

.

The devil cuts the deck

 

I'm upstairs in my office playing cards with the devil.  We have the door locked.

The devil cuts the deck and holds up his hands like see it's all fair. 

Yah right, I'm thinking. Despite you I'm still standing.  

The devil knows my thoughts and he gives me a devilish grin.  His lips are red and his teeth pearly white.

“How do your teeth get so white?” I ask him in accusation.

“I don’t drink coffee.” He replies in all innocence. “Coffee is of God," he elaborates, "an altogether bad drink from a bad man."

I looked down at my coffee.  Black as night.  

My personal Saviour.

The devil cuts the deck again.  And then again.  His hands are moving fast now.  Shuffle cut shuffle cut.  I'm watching close trying to keep up.

He deals.

A card for me a card for him.  A card for him a card for me.

"We're in this together baby." He laughs.

Playing solitaire.

Calbayog City 2023

.

Sing while the music plays

 

"The time to sing is while the music is playing" - Alan Watts

We spent the weekend up in the mountains celebrating fiesta in the home village.  500 people or so living in the jungle, drinking, singing, dancing and eating for two days with no sleep.  I myself managed to knock off about 4 hours of shut eye on my sister-in-laws floor but the Karaoke was going full blast when I closed my eyes and it was still going when I opened them.

Before we went there my wife asked me if I was going to dance.  

"Of course." I said not knowing the full extent of that commitment.

When we got there it was already night and everywhere was music and singing and drinking with food being cooked right outdoors. 

My wife said, "Let's go for a walk."

We wandered through the village only feet from the jungle.  Darkness, people and music everywhere.  There are no roads in the village and there are no streetlamps.  Our way through the village was dimply lit by light coming from inside bamboo homes.  Over head the moon shone down through the large banana leaves.  We walked down a path between homes, my wife greeting friends and talking, laughing in Tagalog.  Then things started to get crowded.  People standing shoulder to shoulder all watching something.

I wanted to see what the crowd was about, so I wormed my way through and to my amazement I found a couple hundred people sitting in a large circle around a basketball court under a large roof.  My brother-in-law, the village chief, was addressing the crowd.  I listened, fascinated, not understanding a word.

My wife motioned me to go in.

I did.

I walked up to the ring of people and then someone grabbed my arm and told me to go sit at the head table.  As I sat down a woman to my right picked up a microphone and announce to the crowd, "We have a special guest" her hand gesturing to ... me.

I felt naked.  What am I doing here?

Then the music started.

The first person to dance was the village chief, my brother-in-law.

I watched him dance to the music.  HIs feet slowly matched the music as he circled his woman partner.  Then he begin to throw money in the air.  Peso bills flew over his head and he threw more and more.  As he did this other people from the crowd came forward and they too threw money in the air.

Sitting next to me was an older woman.  She leaned over and started talking to me.

"How do you like the Philippines?" she asked.  "How long have you been here?"  "How did you meet your wife?"  All smiling.  Her eyes digging deep into me.

"What is happening?" I asked her looking over at all the money flying in the air.

 "This is our dance." She laughed.

Gradually I got the gist of what was happening.

Each year at fiesta they have a dance.  The village leaders dance for all to see and they throw money in the air.  The money flys over their heads.  And they dance.  And as they dance their loved ones and cohorts come forward and throw more money.  The money flys in the air and then lands in the village coffers.  Having given back the village leaders are absolved and they get to stay in the good graces of the people.  For another year.

"Are you going to dance with your wife?"  The woman asked me.

Now I knew why my wife told me she wasn't going to dance.

"No," I laughed, "My wife is too shy."

"We'll find a woman for you." She replied, graciously, and leaned over and began talking to one of the men.

About then one of my nieces showed up at my side and passed me a wad of small bills that my wife had gathered for me.  My niece looked up at me, her eyes alive with excitement.

Then the next song began, and all eyes were on me.

I stood up with my knees shaking and stepped into the middle of the entire village and there I stood, face to face with a strange young Filipina.  And I started to dance.  And throw money.

I danced and threw money.  And then more money.  I circled the young woman and threw more money.

The Filipinos are jokers you know.  The guys playing the music put it on repeat.   

I danced and threw money until I only have a few bills left so I threw them all in the air thinking the song would end but it didn't.

The music just kept playing.  

And I kept dancing.

 And the crowd watched.  I suddenly felt a fool.  I felt the eyes of the whole village on me.  I danced with no more money and the crowd watched.

So I pulled out my wallet, my big American wallet, and held it in the air, and the crowd cheered.

I threw big bills in the air and people laughed and applauded.  Then I pulled out my camera and began filming the crowd while I danced.

After the all the village leader had danced and after all the money had been gathered the whole village got on the dance floor and the real dance began.  Loud visceral dance music began blasting and people danced and danced well past midnight, my old body in the crowd covered with sweat.

That night we slept on my sister in laws floor amid a pile of other relatives.  I crashed onto the floor at about 2 am and actually fell asleep despite the loud sounds of karaoke singing.  I slept until about 6 am and woke up to the sounds of roosters and continued karaoke.  I got up a bit blurry and made myself an instant coffee.  Three in one.  Filippino style.  I used four packages.  And it tasted delicious.

I felt great actually.  I felt like crowing with the roosters.  I felt cleansed and alive.  I put on fresh clothes and went for a walk through the village.  Everyone knew me. Everywhere I got smiles and people wanted me to drink their liquor.  

The party went on all day.  The whole village.  People singing and eating.  Everywhere laughter and jovial drunkenness.  Everywhere pigs were being roasted and food was being prepared.

 

That night we drove home in the trike.  Out from the jungle, down from the mountain and back on to the coastal highway.  Sean and I sat in the back facing backwards.  No back door.  No seat beat.  The ground moving along at 50 mph three inches below our feet as we sped home.  The streets were crowded.  Two or three motorcycles tailgating us at all times.  Each with two or three people on board.  Accelerating to pass us.  Just missing the oncoming trucks.  I had my knee wedged into a corner as a brace and my arm stretched out in front of Sean to catch him in case we hit a bump.  And it was all just a normal drive.

Calbayog City 2023

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