Growing old in Frogglerocks

Never too late to start a hobby or a quest.  In a big sense, whether 16 or 60, our interest started somewhere in childhood.  It is always something that we have begun unknowingly or knowingly in our subconscious or consciousness.

The pursuit may come later but it does come if we listen to our heart's desires or longing.  I was raised in a garden and everything that fleeted or crawled or swooped was part of my growth and part of many daydreams and nightmares.

I bought with my retirement money a digiscope to watch the birds and butterflies and most things my poor eyesight does not allow me.  I take pictures of leaves and tendrils from trees with bees and even webs from atop trees.  I catch memories of creatures in flight or rest and sometimes at play or  work.  I am stacking pictures and images that I would want to paint in watercolor and so that when I lose my wits someday, my grandchildren will see something that was sane, before I talk nonsense in my hallucinations.

Watching birds is a pursuit I am embarking on now.  I know... too many things I want to do including a hundred watercolor paintings before my next birthday.  Not too good in this department but the inspiration I see everyday could snowball a hundred paintings!

I am proud that I did not buy a new car. My humble sum would only have allowed for a measly downpayment anyway.  I am glad that I allowed kindred friends or "teachers" to show me the wonderful moments of staying frozen in one's stance to enter the space of quiet flapping of wings and melodious perch on the magical boughs laden with fruits.

Surely, this requires time, time I may not always have.  But isn't deprivation the greatest source of creativity and resourcefulness?  I will find time.  

For now, this is my great source of joy and good health...

white-collared kingfisher on a rusty fence

indigo-banded kingfisher

a watercolor study

macopas for birds and humans

frogmouth

white-bellied munia at rest after a frenzy building its nest

tattered web

a dragonfly after a rain

Waiting for Lucy

These last few weeks of pregnancy are so murderously torturous.  Not mine but the ladies-in-waiting.  Ana would be as pregnant as a polywog but walked everyday meeting her quota of 6 hours every God-made day.  That was some determination pumped up by hormones that is otherwise not there when she is not heavy with a child.   And each time, each baby came out, it was all worth it.

I have mastered the art of waiting.  Waiting for each baby to come out.  From Ana to Marie and just two weeks ago, from Anne.

Waiting for Lucy was very zen.  Anne took her steps in the most pregnant way as her date was nearing.  She wobbled from leg to leg. I would watch her and shook my head.  I told myself: "That won't do!"  So I would shout from the bridge and call out to my son Juaqui urging him to bring Anne out of the house and go window-shopping where walking would be more entertaining.

Yet Anne was as zen as the pechays growing in my garden- slowly and quietly.  I managed to trick her to walk with me one day and brought her uphill and down, around the streets of Beverly and back.  Thank God I did not kill her!  I was worried after for she is not a spartan like Ana or the swimmer like Marie.  She is a doctor and she knew what she was doing.  Yet, there I was, the snooping and meddling MIL.

My son just shook his head when he found out that his wife walked with me.  I may be 60 but that is just a number.  I can pound the streets of the subdivision with steps that meant war and victory!

Walking with the MIL did not move the baby out of her mother's womb.  So I just waited patiently.  In fact, so as to keep my mind away from the birth, when, and how, I left for a few days and celebrated my friend Therese's birthday in Cagayan de Oro.

I painted while I thought of the baby and wondered... when do I see her? What do we call her?

I came home and went to the afternoon's graduation of The Little Farm House, where my eldest grandson, Jacob was graduating from preschool.  Jose and Sophia were going to perform a dance and so I prayed and willed for the rains in Landingan airport to stop.  In the afternoon, I was welcoming and speaking before parents and friends.  My phone rang in the middle of my speech.  That was my 6th granddaughter's birth unto this world.

Evanna Lucille was born on March 22, 2014.  The parents of my grandchildren knew what they want to call their children.  I supplied names everytime but none was considered.  I am very happy though with all their names!

So Lucy was born on March 22, 2014.  Oh the blessings of a newborn! She is pink with bright almond eyes.  She is my third granddaughter and the other 3 are boys.  I have no idea what the 7th will be but Lucy is firmly and undeniably beautiful just like all these gnomes growing in Frogglerocks.

She is a good reason to go up and down the stairs and to take a bath for.  Yes, Justo demands to be given a bath before a Lucy visit. And the dirty two other boys would whisper and hum a lullabye.  The 2 girls would come in their floral summer hats and would sit gently beside her.  Ziva did manage to pinch Lucy's toe a little bit.

Frogglerocks is happy for the wait!  Even the kingfishers are chatting joyfully by the river.

And oh, the arugulas are boastful in the garden, outside where Lucy lives.

Evanna Lucille

Lucy and me

Jose, Lucy and Jacob

Sophia, Ziva and Justo

cuddle time