An old Friendster Blog/ Revisiting my past

I chanced upon a blog that I have posted years ago in Friendster, a site that I used to be crazy about but has since forgotten.

It felt strange when I visited the site that I used to visit day after day,mornings, evenings and nights. While much has changed in both Friendster and the circumstances that surround my life, it felt good to revisit. It sort of like looking at a storybook of my life.

I saw faces, names and messages of old, dear friends and I wonder if they still remember me. My images in the photos that I posted do not look like me anymore, the kids have all grown taller and bigger.

When I re-read the blog that I have written in 2007, It felt like I was reading the thoughts of someone else. The 'writer' sounded like she needed to be heard, like she was trying to break free. She wanted to convey that she is tough yet one can sense that she needed comfort.

I close my eyes and utter a prayer of thanks. I am no longer that person, but I remember her and once in a while I catch glimpses of that life that she has lived, the one that has made her the woman that she is today.

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On social stigma, life as a solo parent and Kris Aquino

I am actually new at this thing, have no clue on what would be interesting to write about. I was just drawn by the thought of sharing with everyone what goes on in my simple life and my complex mind; whether it would be interesting to the reader becomes secondary, i must apologetically say. Besides, this seem like a better and economical way money-wise and time-wise, than to sit on a psychiatrists’ couch (not that I need to, but you get the drift).

To be a solo-parent is both a blessing and a curse; I get the opportunity to raise the children on my own, without having to succumb to the complexities of a super-extended family that is common to the Philippine setting. While my family was generous enough to offer assistance by inviting us to move back in, I took the not-so-easy route of living independently so that I could develop my own backbone. The idea drove some people crazy and others wondering; I just need the space and the room, no matter how shabby it is, for my kids and I to learn and grow and love one another.

I say it is a curse as it isn't easy to wake up and realize that the marriage was dead, much more to realize that it was never alive to begin with, like a bad joke has been played. Society have a mean way of categorizing it’s people, and people- particularly women under this frowned-upon category is seen as anything but decent, honorable and respectable. Somehow, we (the unfortunate ones who survived the death of a previous relationship or has been a victim of a wise-crack slapstick joke) need to not only re-establish ourselves but prove ourselves worthy of honor, love and respect. We need to work doubly hard to show that a) we can survive, heck, accomplish big and great things, and b) we can choose to be happy. If you don’t believe me, ask around. Or read the gossip columns of past.

Did we not all frown and laugh at Kris Aquino after Joey, Philip and her list of past relationships? Did we not see ourselves better than she or feel that she was making a mistake and purposely ruining her family name by taking a chance and marrying a much younger, less experienced James? Did we not regard her life as a form of a melo-dramatic entertainment where the silly, childlike heroine’s worst enemy was herself and her weak heart & shallow mind? Sadly, the social stigma given celebrities are kinder than those given to non-celebrities- if we gather all the tears shed on the matter, we wouldnt be experiencing the water shortage to fill up the dams and we will all be assured that all hydro-electric power sources will function well for the months to come- rain or no rain.

In a highly religious country such as ours, one would expect that people would be taught to be compassionate and forgiving. On the contrary, people were downright condescending and judgmental to others who has experienced real-life drama (and sometimes action!). Its difficult to comprehend something that is not experienced by many and run against some established norms, I guess; I just sometimes wish that we can look past the mistakes of others so that we can all be afforded the chance to forgive ourselves and move on.

Surprisingly and pleasantly so, i have moved on and had a hellova ride. I am surrounded by family and friends who energize and feed my soul with much joy. My babies (They hate it when I call them babies still, but im a Mom, they will always be babies in my eyes) are such a delight to be with and are all growing-up fast! My 13-year old is a computer animation enthusiast, my 12 year old dog-lover is the editor-in-chief of their school paper, my 10 year old is jokester has the making of a world-class entertainer and is, well, kulit. My 6 year-old can read faster than anyone else in their pre-sechool. I have a fabulous and most incredible job - what more can I ask for?

I ask for people to be kinder to people who are less fortunate in life, love and the whole marriage experience. I ask for openness, that people will not judge others based on what they think. I ask for people not to see the children of failed marriages as victims- what they are are fortunate to have parents who had the courage to correct their mistakes early in life. And oh, yeah, a million dollars each in mutual fund for my children and a house in Pacific Village or AAV would be quite a treat too, hehe.

Sure, my life is unlike others’- but boy, it’s been such a fun and eventful ride.

Im sure Kris would say the same.

N

30 July 07

Our townhouse

I have been running around like a mad woman lately. Been busy repainting the townhouse that we are having rented, coordinating with brokers and finally finding a family who want to occupy our beloved space. The selection process is not at all easy, as anyone who has ever leased out or lent anything of value will tell you. It requires a lot of thought and more,actually so much more gut feel.

Women are supposed to have a keen sense of things, we are supposed to be intuitive. I can safely say that mine has been reliable so far, I cannot ever base my decision on what I see, what I hear and what people say. It has to feel right. It has fall into place, it has to be the perfect fit.

I have experienced how it is to look for a place to rent. After you get past deciding on whether or not its the ideal location, if the over-all look suits your taste and if the condition of the house is acceptable and if they can afford it, they have to be able to imagine themselves being there. They have to want to spend time there, look forward to being there, feel comfortable, safe and secure because they are there. That's why homes are special..it gives a sense of 'belonging'.

I maybe biased but this particular house is truly special. It was renovated with a family in mind- my own. This townhouse was carefully laid out bearing in mind the needs and comfort of Gabe, Chy, Yap and Moggy. You see, as a solo parent then, I pictured this house as the place where I will be in for the rest of my life. So careful attention was given to it (gotta be child-friendly!), making the impossible, possible (subdivide a room so Chy will have her privacy) and it had to make sense (more bathrooms make a happy home). It may sound corny but each tile, each nail, each coat of paint was an expression of a mother's love for her kids (and hard work!).

Little did I know that life had a wonderful surprise for me. I fell in love and married the man of my dreams in a quick, whirlwind romance. Ahhh, what a pleasant surprise! So one day we found ourselves moving to a bigger house that can better fit our new family, entrusting our beloved townhouse to our son who stayed there for a brief period.

And now that Luke got himself a new place, we fixed it and cleaned it and even before my ad was printed in the classified (i kid you not, its still about to come out this weekend!) a broker talked about a family who may be perfect for the place. They liked and reserved it immediately.

So all of last night and all of today was spent on planning, and I see myself for the next few days working on the minor-touch ups and the items that needed to be done before the turn-over. I would like the place to not only be clean and presentable, I want for the place to be homey and pleasant for family who promised to take care of it for us. I would like for them to spend many happy hours there and build beautiful memories and have many unforgettable celebrations there.

May it be filled with much joy and laughter as it did when my children and I called it home.

Nostalgic MrsA

Durian shake anyone?

I drove over to the cash machine tonight, rushing as I realized that its much later than I thought. With Emily in tow, we headed over to the atm that refused to do as it was commanded. Frustrated, I headed back home but not after driving around to RedSticks Barbecue along Alabang Zapote Road for a durian shake.

Yes, you read it right, durian shake.

I chanced upon it last Saturday, when I had to spend grueling hours under the scorching heat of the sun to get the headlights of my car fixed. With H on a business trip, it was just me, the car and the heat of the sun.

To cool off my tired and aching body and to re-energize, I went over next to the nearest kiosk that happened to be barbecue place. Not fancying anything on the menu, I just ordered diet Pepsi, the most glorious drink in the planet- as the order-taker did her job and enumerated almost everything on the menu, thinking perhaps that I could not read.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked when she said they serve durian shake. Its a regular item on the menu, their best seller and she swears that it's good. I had to try it.

It was refreshingly and surprisingly yummy, not overwhelmingly sweet and with the undeniable aroma and flavor that is distinctively durian. For those who have not tried the world's stinkiest fruit, the meat that surrounds the seed is soft, sweet and delicate with faint hint of garlicky flavor. If you have heard about the savory and sweet pastries and dessert that is now a rage in NY, this will definitely fall in that category, only natural and with a strong smell that is enough to keep your friends and enemies away. But if you can get past the smell, there is much to be desired about the taste.

For some reason, they have drizzled the drink with what tasted like chocolate syrup, though judging by the taste, I doubt it if was a recognizable brand like Hersheys. The chocolate syrup provided a strange contrast to the creamy slush. Honestly I am not sure whether I like the drink more with or without it.

For just PhP 60, I would definitely buy again. In fact tonight I attempted to but sadly Emily and I drove back without the desired drink as the store was closed for the day. No matter. I shall go tomorrow. Perhaps if I carry that drink with me to the bank, the officer will attend to me first.

Much like the mechanic did last Saturday.

MrsA

Mayonnaise if you please

I started cooking at the age of nine. My mother bought me terra cotta clay pots just because she and I found them adorable. The cookware looks like the ones that are being used at the provinces and the pot was big enough to hold maybe two cups of anything. I asked Mom if it truly can be used for cooking. Instead of just saying yes, she happily decided to test the item with me that night.

The first dish I cooked was steamed shrimp. It was quite brilliant idea, really. I mean, how much more simple can it be? Of course, shrimps were pre-washed and all I had to do is to wait for the skin to turn from gray to pink and voila! But in my pre-adolescent mind, it was an earth-shaking, proud moment. That started my love affair with cooking.

When I was about twelve, I already mastered a few dishes and have started baking cookies. My brothers Kit and Kevin were very willing taste-testers so consuming food was never a problem. My Dad did not really enjoy pastries but was very encouraging. My mother is like me, we both enjoy dessert better than the main course most of the time.

Around that period I tried making homemade mayonnaise. To my surprise, i came up with a good product whenever I made it. I experimented adding mustard at one time and garlic at another and each and every time I had zero problem. I felt I was the young Betty Crocker of the Philippines! Until that fateful day.

I left a metal spoon in the blender (we had a food processor but I wasn't allowed to touch it cuz it required some assembly and I was just 12) and the spoon spun and broke the blender and flew up in the air, scattering the emulsified eggs and oil and bruising my ego. I since have stopped making mayonnaise and stopped eating it too...until now.

Today I mustered enough courage to make a batch. I needed some for the macaroni salad I am making for our son Yap and have a lot of olive oil in the pantry so, why not?
The result was a flavorful, smooth and creamy concoction that reminded me why I started cooking. Homemade is without a doubt, far better than the store-brought kind.
And yes, I used a blender like I did when I was twelve.

So I guess in the kitchen as well as in life, we may succeed or we may fail.. we may go on or we can give-up...but no matter how long it takes for you to clean up and pick yourself up to try once again, the outcome may be unpredictable but the ride is always incredibly yummy.


MrsA's Mayonnaise

Yolks of 2 large eggs
2 Tbs lemon juice
1/2 cup Olive oil
1/2 cup Corn oil
1/2 tsp dijon mustard, optional
1/4 tsp iodized salt


Start by mixing the egg yolks with the salt and lemon juice. Add mustard if desired.Transfer onto the blender and beat on low for about 30 seconds.

When the yolk mixture is light colored, very slowly add the oil (and I mean very slowly) in a steady stream. Continue adding until the mixture is thick.

Be careful not to over-beat as it may 'separate'. If it does, simply remove the mixture from the blender and beat an egg yolk or two to repeat the process but this time adding the 'separated' mixture. (You would be happy to know that it will once again emulsify like nothing happened :)

Bread, oh glorious bread!

I have always been addicted to bread. There is something very mystical about yeast and its reaction to sugar and warm water and the reaction of flour to the froth that it creates. The time and patience required to making bread commands utmost respect to the baker. The aroma that fills the kitchen when bread is baked is sheer joy.

My earliest recollection of bread making is when I was a child. My mother, then a government employee seem to have all the energy required of mothers and more. Mom used to cook our food, sew our uniforms, bake pies and cookies, make jams and preserves and other domestic stuff. She did it mostly to save money but I know she enjoyed the process too. A highly intelligent woman, she would apply technical and scientific knowledge to everyday things, making the kitchen and the rest of the world a venue for her interests and experimentation.

One day, she announced that she enrolled at the local parish for Saturday baking classes. From then on, Mom would bring home some of the stuff that they have baked in class: lemon squares, pineapple bars, brownies and other bar cookies. Then they moved on to breads such as pandesal, cinnamon rolls and ensaymadas.

Every Sunday, Mom would try and recreate the recipes and my brother and I would be the official tasters. Every now and then, she would let us play with some left-over dough, although quite often Mom would declare it unsafe for human consumption and shove that dough straight to the garbage.

Present time. For the past weeks, I have been experimenting with a recipe that I have found in the net with very little success. The first time, it didn't rise, the second time, it was as hard as a rock. The one after that was good, but it had a Gucci-leather color (due to the red wine) that made me think twice about serving it. This morning's foccacia was bland and kinda tough, but with a little tweaking, I think I found the right recipe (with lot of herbs and olive oil), i think I know what I should have done better (stop being lazy and knead more!), and I think this would be 'the one'.

This would be the one to end my search, this would be the one recipe that will be passed on for many generations, this would be my toast to all present and past makers of bread. Most of all, this is the one that Gabe- my sweet,good son- would be pleased to taste and not have to lie about what he thinks of it- just to avoid breaking his Mom's heart. Sweet child.

Focaccia:

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon white sugar
1 tsp active dry yeast
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1 cup warm water
2 tablespoons olive oil
Shredded mozzarella cheese (optional)
Directions
Mix the yeast and water in a small bowl. Let proof for 10 minutes (until bubbles begin to form).
In large bowl, stir together flour, salt, sugar, garlic powder, oregano, thyme, basil, and black pepper.
Add the yeast mix and vegetable oil to the dry ingredients and combine.
When dough has pulled together, turn out onto lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic.
Lightly oil a large bowl, place dough in bowl, and turn to coat with oil.
Cover with damp cloth and let rise in warm place 25 minutes.
reheat oven to 425 degrees.
Place on greased baking sheet.
Pat dough into 1/2-inch thick rectangle or any shape you like
Make indentations in the dough, then prick dough with fork.
Brush top with olive oil, sprinkle lightly with salt.
Bake for 10-15 minutes until golden brown and there is a hallow sound when you 'knock' on the bread.
At the last 5 mins, top bread with the cheeze.