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About Me

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I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Virgil's

There are two ways to look at this.

Readers asked... you find this funny or tragic?

My take ... I guess, the answer will depend
on the state of your conscience.






"... than which no evil flies more swiftly. She flourishes as she flies, gains strength by mere motion. Small at first and in fear, she soon rises to heaven, Walks upon land and hides her head in the clouds."
Publius Vergilius Maro

A Bombeck Favorite

If I Had My Life To Live Over

(written by American humorist, Erma Bombeck
after she found out she had breast cancer and needed
a mastectomy and a kidney transplant. She died from
complications, a day after my 26th birthday ...
a month before I found out I was pregnant with Sophie :) )


If I had my life to live over, I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's".. More "I'm sorrys" ...

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it ... live it...and never give it back.





© Erma Bombeck

Monday, May 16, 2011

Epitaph

We all have our fair share. Of downturns. Bad hair days. Booboos. Boohoos.

I think this is mine.

For all that’s been said and done. For all that’s left unsaid and undone.

Sometimes you think about it. How this kind of bad has gone far, long and wide.

Some five, six years ago, I didn't know it will turn out this way. It was not
meant to be this way. Nobody can plan ahead, something so perfectly
bad. It was a beautiful picture that turned into an ugly memory. Why?

So let me, in the last last days of my life, to look back , I will find this part like a scythe hanging way above my head. It probably represents that pain tremendously bigger and more powerful than me. It’s like looking into a portrait so closed to perfection, pretty with all the colors except that there’s a small hole right smacked there ... that part which was intended to look good. If that was Michael Angelo's Monalisa, that hole was ruining that little smile, that was supposed to be make it famous.

Me, this is my bad. I take the blame for all the pain and the shame. I allowed this to happen. I did not do anything. I did not do the right thing. I prayed little. My faith was little. I made serious mistakes and offenses. I consented to each and everyone of them.

Human error of grave miscalculation, insensitivity, pride. God’s favorite angel’s downfall.

In all the pluses and minuses of my life, I have only two regrets. This is one of them.

So I leave this painful, important lesson to my child:

The problem with wrong judgment is because it is wrong. The problem with too late is, it is late. We all have to live with that and bring it to our lonely graves ... so i teach my daughter, Sophie, each time, she has the chance ... honey dear, "I hope you grab it, and dance."




(They have no use. So please omit flowers.)

Thursday, May 12, 2011

14:27

... take the pillow off bed, a knife from the drawer,
went up the fire escape to the roof and stabbed the pillow.
She get back to the priest as he instructed.
“Did you get the pillow with the knife?”, he asked.
“Yes, Father”, replied the woman.
“And what was the result?”, asked him.
“Feathers”she said
“Feathers?”, he repeated.
“Feathers everywhere”, she told.
“Now, I want you to go back and gather up every last feather flew by the wind.”,
the Father told.
“Well, it cant be done. I dunno where they went. The wind took them all over”.
said the woman.
and the Father replied
“That is gossip”.

For whoever was/were responsible for the all these damages, in heart, and in spirit, i will try my best to find forgiveness.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.

Life is so delicious to waste on hate. :)

Monday, May 9, 2011

A Mother's Day Special

oh this was so good and timely, I could not let this special day pass without posting it. May be because Mr. Coelho posted this in FB medyo a little late today. I saw this in my homepage, and clicked Like right away, and shared it ASAP with my network. Connie, my HS friend Jed's wifey, family now based in Perth, Western Australia, wrote in her message that this piece by Erma Bombeck, was also their Parish priest's sermon this Sunday's Mother day's celeb. i am posting in mypixietales, to see how God's work and invention has a happy ending like this. I quote, my quote, "Mothers are God's bestest and most special creation. Let's all stand up and give God a round of applause for that!"






Character of the week: The Mother
http://paulocoelhoblog.com/2011/05/08/character-of-the-week-the-mother/


When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into his sixth day of “overtime” when an angel appeared and said:
“You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”

And the Lord said, “Have you read the specs on this order?

* She has to be completely washable, but not plastic;
* Have 180 movable parts… all replaceable;
* Run on black coffee and leftovers;
* Have a lap that disappears when she stands up;
* A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair;
* And six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands… no way.”

“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the Lord. “It’s the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have.”

“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.

The Lord nodded.
“One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ’What are you kids doing in there?’
“Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know.
“And of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say, ’I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.”

“Lord,” said the angel, touching His sleeve gently, “Go to bed. Tomorrow…”

“I can’t,” said the Lord, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick
“…can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger
“… and can get a nine-year-old to stand under a shower.”

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed.

“But she’s tough!” said the Lord excitedly. “You cannot imagine what this mother can do or endure.”

“Can she think?”

“Not only can she think, but she can reason and compromise,” said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.
“There’s a leak,” she said. “I told You were trying to push too much into this model.”

“It’s not a leak,” said the Lord. “It’s a tear.”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.”

And the Mother was created – a work of genius.

Friday, May 6, 2011

hey ... it's me

one of the hardest thing to do ...
to make a collect call overseas
hoping not your voice mail to pick up
instead of you
but then
i was afraid that you're caught up with something
in the office, or with Joshen, or with something personal
... personal that got stalled somehow (for only a time, i hope)
because of me.

but my reliable best friend
there you are
finally, on the other line.

my throat dried up
my spine chilling
don't break up
don't break up ...

hey, Gers
it's me

are you tired of my stories?

Monday, May 2, 2011

... lazy hazy Monday.

... yeah yeah, bummed around my bedroom along with my intermittent internet connection. spent my time migrating Friendster photos to my Facebook, hopefully, I'd be able to beat their May 31st deadline. A week of absence in FB, I almost missed Bok's Tagaytay photos ... my dream venue ... Sonya's Garden hush hush. So there, I was able to reply to all my private messages. I have invitation from Denver argggggg of all places. May post-bday paramdam hayyyy, can't you see the answer flashing on my forehead ... I DON'T LIKE!

I have mastered the art, the science, the spell of curing green eyes. :) Pustahan. Parang yung dati and una, natulog lang ang CITEM, cge na nga, nag weekend hahahah, 2 days, 48 hours, dami na noon huh, tagal na non :) ... come Monday, I bet ...

This is "Hot Chocolate", author anonymous :) . It was under inspirational. Me, I find it sexy. :) ... and yes a little overdose on Astrid North.


Blush little cloud blush
A deep scarlet red
Salt press in to wounds
Honey sweet and just as bitter
Contradict my words
Place a fiddle in my mouth
Play a little tune
Throw us in to an ice age
Whisper in to the dark
Turn the sky purple
See in black and white
Glass breaks in to dust
Glitter about my feet
Look in to the archives
Find the betrayal
The Angel’s Demon unfound
Terror stricken
I dance on my toes
Feel the fingers in my hair
Pushing in to my brain
Smile goofy
And tap my fingers
Scream like a banshee
Squish a bug with my truck
Feel power fall between fingers
Making circle
In the shadow dust
Play the Pyramid song
On my stomach
One, two, three
Love the hate
Take it to you
Feel the red lights
Press brands in to my skin
Does it matter?
Am I crazy?



... all night long
but i don't mind
cause i have you on my mind



marshmallows and bubblegum

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