Camilla and Patrick

Leaving behind the rumble of construction trucks, the whirring and buzzing of drills and chain saws, for sure a less tense atmosphere here in Maryland would be a welcoming change. Surprise, surprise.

Everyone was on edge at rehearsal including those of us who were not part of the wedding entourage. In his bold, strict voice, the officiating priest laid down the rules. No flowers except for two arrangements on the altar. Not on the aisle. No flash photography. Be quiet. I have a funeral to attend to after this and in between I have to eat supper so everyone pay close attention. It will be up to me to tell you when to kneel or stand, and a litany of others. Holy matrimony!

For the most part we obeyed as if following military orders. Unable to stay at ease, our friend Mila who was one of the sponsors broke the rules. While fidgeting with the strap of her halter top she accidentally (?) raised her hand to which the Gestapo called out loudly,

"Yes? Do you have any questions?"
All of 5 feet and change but packed with energy Mila nervously replied,
"I'm sorry Father, I was just scratching my arm."
You have to know our petite pal here in order to appreciate this story, the script of which will be rehashed way even after the rehearsal dinner.

Now Reverend Monsignor here may have had good reasons to be cranky. Some Filipino weddings such as this one, involve many participants. 8 pairs of sponsors, 8 bridesmaids partnered with same number of groomsmen, a maid of honor, a matron of honor, best man, parents and grandparents of both bride and groom. You name it. Anybody whose surname even comes close to that of the couple and to whom they are afraid to say No to, gets their name on the list of the grand-marchers.

At rehearsal dinner the restaurant was also packed. A ton of friends and relatives were present sort of keeping with Filipino tradition. You don't leave out the aunts and uncles from out-of-town. It's a banquet. As I started to get full yet couldn't stop making a pig of myself, I slyly took off my shapewear (aka girdle) under the table. Aaaahhh! Pain comes with fashion but I won't put up with it.

Camilla the young and beautiful bride wore a simple but gorgeous ivory silk gown. Patrick was a dashing groom. The ceremony went on as rehearsed without a hitch except for the part where Father Francis dropped one of the rings. His excuse, "I was distracted by too many flashes."

The reception was a couple of hours away at least and another hour's drive from our hotel so we decided to get that much needed feet rest before going. Boy I can't remember the last time I wore these heels now they are killing me.

Without a printed map it was hard to tell where we were headed. Should Chong just follow her piloting instincts rather than Lady Jane? The signs point to Prince Frederick in South Maryland, we may be on to something here. We finally got there after traveling some rugged terrain. It is so remote after a while we were cut off from the world, kaput no signals.

If you ever dreamed of a rustic wedding in a beautiful setting like Tuscany or Napa Valley, this is it. The Running Hare Vineyard sits on a picturesque farm with rolling hills and sweeping views of meticulously kept vines. It is magnificent but this made me nervous. The reception building sits atop a small hill!

You may be in for a stale disappointment, no pun intended. First, I know how to appreciate fine wine but can't talk to you about body or tannins; second, I might need an oxygen tank for this hike. I also got accessibility issues here and was getting extremely sweaty just staring at the long stairway leading from the vineyard to the hilltop.

The walk on the gravel wasn't something I had expected. A change of shoes wasn't part of my plan either. Never mind the dirt as my pristine heels started sinking into the grass by the side. My concern here was balance or my complete lack of it!

Alas, difficult but not impossible, I made it. The view from the hill was stunning. The backdrop of the vines on the hills made for a most magnificent setting for Camilla and Patrick's wedding reception. It was awesome.

I love weddings except for the dancing part. My part. I have two left feet, definitely got no rhythm. It's not like I'll be singled out by the cameras and watching guests, but I'll still be making a fool of myself twitching like the Tasered Granny. The band played great music so I didn't mind the blasting speakers right behind me.

Perhaps another memorable part of this event is the joy and excitement of reuniting with old friends we have not seen in ages. It was a happy occasion.

The sun has gone down and it was time to go. Camilla and Patrick caught up with us as we left for the parking lot. It would not have been a pretty sight had I gone tumbling down to the bottom of the hill. I held on to Patrick's arm tightly and slowly climbed down the dimly-lit stairway, poor Camilla had to wait.

There was a big crowd behind them waving goodbye as the newlyweds rode off to their honeymoon. They were a lovely couple on to a new life together. It was a pleasure to be a part of their celebration.

It would have been perfect if Patrick's brother Chris was there.

He is in Afghanistan. His wife Linh's charming presence made up for his absence.

Tornado in New York

There's a whole host of reasons why I have the unnecessary angst when I hear of the slightest weather advisory. I was only ten years of age but old enough to run errands only adults were entrusted to do.

My grandmother was ill and I was tasked to buy the prescribed medicines from a pharmacy out of town, a half hour ride from home. My mother escorted me to the bus stop and left me to the care of the driver who was instructed to drop me off at the drugstore closest to the bus depot at the capital. I didn't have any problem with that.

I took the same bus returning home but it was pouring rain when I got back. Halfway thru the few blocks walk to our house, it thundered then a bolt of lightning struck a few feet in front of me. Lightning snapped and lit the sky like fourth of July. Extremely terrified, I ran for my life in the nearest shelter which is the ice house where they store giant blocks of ice in mounds of rice hulls. The owners took me in. As soon as the storm subsided, they sent for my mother to fetch me.

It was a narrow escape, a terrifying experience which changed my life forever. From then on I would hide inside a rolled up banig - a woven straw sleeping mat, during the thunderstorms in the country. I'd come out of my hiding sweating bullets when the storm was over.

To this day I still pull down the shades to protect me from the lightning when it strikes. With no cellar to escape into, I take refuge in the darkness of my room and pitifully under the covers. I don't know how to break free of this fear. It would make for a challenging case for a head shrink, wouldn't it? Nah, I can handle this myself. After all, this is New York, no nasty storms such as the violent ones that hit the Philippines occur here. I was wrong.

September 16, 2010

I caught a glimpse of the weather report earlier today but none of it really hit me as treacherous. Around 5:00 pm, the skies turned gray and rain started to fall. Halfway thru her drive to Brooklyn, Chong phoned me that lightning just flashed thru the pitch black sky above her. Almost instantly here in Queens we were wrapped in the same dark clouds, strong winds and lightning while hailstones pelted the roof.

I ran upstairs to bring Tita Lumen down and as we walked down the steps strong winds shook the place and blew off the roof hatch cover directly above us. Then I heard a loud roaring sound. Everything unfolded in no time. I looked out into the courtyard. The trees were decimated. My senses told me it was a twister. It's hard to believe, not in New York.

Scary. It's that lightning experience from my childhood all over again but a lot worse! A devastating three or four minutes of the tornado and then it was a sudden calm. The neighbors came out to check on one another and to survey the damage. It was like a war zone. 50-year old trees were uprooted, roof covers and shingles were blown blocks away. Mature trees have landed on cars and buildings.

It was a scene straight out of a disaster movie. Quiet after the storm and desolate as a ghost town. The roads were blocked by fallen trees and debris. In a matter of minutes, sirens were going as private citizens helped to direct the rush hour traffic as drivers inched their way home, weaving in and out of road blocks. It was a miracle that only one person died and no one else injured.

We will soon learn that two tornadoes and a macroburst tore a 14-mile long path of destruction in Staten Island, Brooklyn and Queens. At 125 mph the wind gust we experienced was mild compared to what the folks in the Midwest had to endure during these violent tornadoes.

For days after I drafted this post sounds of chain saws and wood chippers filled the air. All over the neighborhood homeowners spent countless hours hammering and nailing stripped sidings, replacing roof covers, grinding stumps and rebuilding.

Even the birds were confused. They've lost their trees. I found many of them perched in bushes and on fallen tree limbs some maybe hoping to find their nests and their birdlings.

It was disheartening. And the fear is still there.
But we're all safe. The damages will be fixed and the trees will be replaced.

Bird songs at dawn, I'll soon hear them.

There's only one Big Apple

Not that I'm a huge fan of the Mets, but I'd be a fool to pass up a chance to watch a game when the stadium is just a stone's throw away and the $80 tickets are free! How did I get so lucky? I got friends with connections.

Let's cut to the chase - it's the Mets vs. the Phillies. I 've no idea who the Phillies are, I can only tell them apart from the Mets by the color of their jerseys. Thanks to our friend Ces who used to be a die-hard Mets fan, I learned a few things today. First, that when a player on the Mets team hits a home run at Citi Field, the giant fiberglass apple rises from a 16-foot black top hat over the centerfield wall. And I thought the shiny red apple is just a New York fixture. Apparently this is a big deal to the fans. A petition was even signed in the fight to have the sweet home-run fruit moved to its new home at Citi Field after Shea was torn down.

Second, Ces said that the orange poles in the ball field are what they call foul poles. I knew that, but what I didn't know is that the term foul pole is a misnomer since they are in fair territory. Any batted ball that strikes the pole or its attached netting is a fair ball and is ruled a home run, and so forth and so on. I was totally confused I tuned her out after the first rule. So much for Foul 101 all I care about is for the home team to win.


The choices of eats are endless, the longest lines being at the Shake Shack concessions. We decided to join the crowd of carnivorous youngsters and some elders too who I suspect like us are doing this out of curiosity.

But what a shock, the beverage list includes Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon. Holy cannoli, am I at the stadium? It turns out their burgers are overrated and don't measure up to the new kid on the block - Five Guys which has great burgers and perfect fries - Obama's pick.

So we took our seats section 139 near the left field and sat thru the third inning at which point the Mets hit a homer. The ceremonial red apple to my left rose out of hiding and the fans went nuts. And then there was the sounds of cow bells, more cow bells. Well, it's not the home run that gets the fans out of their seats - it's the apple! How weird New Yorkers are.

Bored and not quite pleased with our view (believe me we'd rather watch from the bleachers), we ventured and walked around the concourse and up to the Club level. Yup, I said Club, as in exclusive-to-fans-with-premium-seats lounge. We checked out the Promenade but stayed the rest of the game at the Caesar's Club lounging and watching from the big screens. The view from up there was stunning. The giant screen showing the ongoing match at the nearby Arthur Ashe Stadium was clearly visible. It's the men's finals too at the US Open.

After the home run there was little to cheer about but we stayed till finish. As usual the Mets scored lots of runs early, held the lead for some time then lost. What else is new, it ultimately ends in bitter disappointment.

But we can't turn our backs on them, we love New York, the Mets and its apple. We love it to its core.

One home run - it's the most work the poor red apple did today. And it was worth watching.

Two hands better than one

It's a one man show and a mix of choreography and visual art installation performed live.

Tony Orrico is an accomplished dancer and visual artist who performed the exceptional feat of drawing symmetrical mesh of fine lines on canvas for four hours, three days in a row while standing against the lobby wall of the Dance Workshop Theatre. His back to the audience, with a black pen in each hand he traced an evolving circumference. His arms outstretched on each side in the likeness of Leonardo's classic Vitruvian Man, he drew lines in shades of gray and black symmetrically from the center to form what might be two halves of a brain on a giant canvas.

It is a work of art and a feat of endurance. Part of a series of his drawings called Penwald Drawings this one is entitled Penwald 4: Unison Symmetry Standing.

It's not the same as being there live and watching, but here it is for us to experience.

Watch the livestream of Penwald 4 Unison Symmetry Standing.

Sails and artillery

I'm no sailor by any stretch of the imagination but I felt I had to be there. The TASCAns invited me to their annual picnic by the Lake once again which is a sad reminder that we are nearing the conclusion of the outdoor life here in the East as the Labor Day weekend arrives.

A chain link fence encloses the makeshift boathouse on the other side of the Meadow Lake as the old one is being renovated and won't be open for two years. All of the Club activities and classes still proceed as if nothing is happening and of course that includes the yearly Labor Day blast.


Talk about a dull life, the pot luck lunch is the highlight of my day at the Lake. I safely secured or so I thought, save for those mosquitoes and whatever crawlies there were, a place under the shade for my chair and a book to read. I was hoping that after my fill of barbecued chicken, salad and an assortment of desserts, I could just kick back, relax and enjoy the tranquility of the park. Not so. Two pages into the book and I was so totally distracted by the passers-by.


From cotton candy and kite peddling to quadri-cycling, or simply wandering shirtless in the park, everyone seems to be expending some energy except me. If aging is in your mind, you're so on target. Sometimes I just like to sit around and take it all in.

After dock mastering for a good half hour Marsha and Maria decided to sail. These two have become masters at abandoning their nautical duties with the Club and why not? They too are entitled to have some fun at the high seas (they wish). Yeah sail fast, downwind at twenty knots while I stood behind just people watching.

I'm a glaring contrast to my friends. The extent of my athleticism is pointing at a subject and pressing the shutter button to take some blurry shots and my idea of hiking is grabbing some food as I circle the picnic table. So what do I know about knots? Nothing, except maybe to untangle them? I happen to know a thing or two about weeding or pruning if that counts as a competitive, skillful and entertaining physical activity to you.

The Labor Day festival was capped off with a 7-gun salute that was fired from a yachting cannon. So real, it casted a haze of gun smokes on the dock. Although the picture might suggest otherwise. Sorry Walter, from my vantage point all I could take was your behind.

Walter's toy, a 16-inch reproduction of the Herreshoff Saluting Cannon, boomed out the 7-gun salute. It's made of bronze, rides on a teak carriage, loads and fires 10 gauge blanks. Loud it was that I was told to wear earmuffs as I get closer to the dock. The Russian picnickers were spooked out while Walter's baby twins just slept thru the ritual. It was fun.

Now let's examine this picture more deeply.

Piracy on the high seas! It looks like there's some serious and stern reprimanding going on here. Hey Petra Pan, it's not like there's some crocodiles that got a taste of Hook here that will resurface from this murky lake.

Back off Barbara. No one dies of excessive joie de vivre which Walter possesses. It's a toy for heaven's sake. Who cares if the Russians complained to you about the noise? They were pissed, so what. The cops knew about the gun-firing and if these people can't take a little bit of noise let them go ahead and rally their troops.

Hey Walter, you should've taken Maria's challenge to fire a 21-gun salute instead! That would've been a blast.

Newton's bronze

While Fashion Week is in full swing at its new venue at the Lincoln Center, there is an even greater show going on at the Shelter Rock Art Gallery. The following are sculptures by one of Chong's students in sailing class, Mark Newton. Twenty of these pieces are on display at the gallery.

These works define a prolific artist such as Mark.

Awesome. How else can I describe them?

Convocation IV

Convocation III

Sail

Lovers

Fluid Plurality

(welded steel)

Devotion

What a perfect backdrop - the grounds of the church

Devotion
Mark's Bronze Statement

The Social Hall of the Unitarian Universalist Church where the gallery is housed at Shelter Rock

A view from the outside

Picture windows

Hues of bright orange peeking through the glass blend with the dark green frames and the ivy climbing on the stone walls

Models twirling and looking phenomenal are definitely no match for Mark's sculpture.

Convocation IV retails at $15,000. Wow!

I first encountered his work , another bronze piece entitled Torso, at the Water Mill Museum near the Hamptons last year.

It must be love

The blazing summer day with heat peaking above 90 was enough reason that I almost backed out of my date at the US Open with my nieces. It was not an option. Melissa and Nina would be disappointed. It's not so much that Issa paid a fortune for our tickets which she didn't because she got an unbelievably cheap deal from Fandango, but that Auntie won't be there to take lots of their photos and then blog about their experience.

Nina is in town for a few days en route back home to the Philippines from Ohio. An admitted city girl shopaholic, she badly needed an antidote to her boring two-week business trip to sleepy Cincinnati where a strip mall and the company cafeteria are the best that P&G could offer. In New York, she and Issa paired up shopping all over town and outside too, barely making it to our meeting time at the gate to the Open.

Waiting didn't bother me. I was chatting away with some folks who are in the same predicament as I am. Only difference is that their tickets are in the hands of a friend who's already engrossed watching an ongoing match inside at the Louis Armstrong Stadium. Some friend, I thought, leaving these people out in the cold. I was also busy watching the mass of what could be part of New York's racket-toting preppy population as they march down the flyover from the #7 train all looking very eager to watch top-seeded Nadal and the skillful and glamorous Sharapova in today's first round draw, separately of course.


Camera on one hand bubble tea on the other, here they come. I got my ticket and we all started walking thru the gate. But hey, where's Issa? Right behind us. But what's that she's squirting all over her arms? Oh, the girl was busted. Her aerosol sunscreen can was tossed at the entrance. Better get used to this. Sweet Melissa is known for her nonconformist behavior always trying to sneak in prohibited items thru any security checkpoint and often successfully. How does she do that? Cleverly.

And I stay out of it. Words of wisdom culled out of memories of my youth I try not to offer. If they want advice they can get it from YouTube or their Facebook friends. How do I get along with my young ones? I catch myself before throwing that piece of outdated advice and try to resist saying "when I was young" or "during my time." That seems to work in bridging that pesky generation gap.

After some photo shots, they both charged into the USTA shops. I forgot my hat so I myself was forced to buy one against my will. It was pricey. You could walk in those shops with $1000 in your pocket and come out with but a few coins. Bottled water is $5.50 a pop and don't ask how much we paid for lunch. It was highway robbery.



Under the punishing midday sun we watched in Ashe Stadium the number 3 seed Novak Djokovic's victory over friend and fellow Serbian Viktor Troicki. The grueling match took 3 hours and 40 minutes. Asked how he felt to see the sun disappear, Djokovic's hot analogy was, "It was great. It was like sleeping with my girlfriend." How did I survive that heat you ask? It Must Be Love - love for my sweet nieces. They're half my age, nothing bothers them, not this heat.

The next match was Maria Sharapova against Jamila Groth. At this point I left the kids. They moved further down the stands stealing some other folks' seats and stood there for a long while transfixed at the tall, break- your- neck-when-you-talk-to-her-tall, and gorgeous Sharapova. I love that she stuck with the more sedate tennis outfit that's rarely seen on the courts these days. Hers is something like Coco Chanel could've designed, colors never clashing with the color of the court.

I would learn later that she won the match.

Well, it's time for me to let you loose, kids. It's getting late, I gotta go. I wouldn't be there to thwart your plans of going wild, so can I trust you to behave yourselves? I love you guys but I can't stay.

Bye, bye, enjoy but don't steal the sparkle from Sharapova.