Chapter 9 (31-May-09)

Back in January I wrote about the cobra that lives behind the outhouse next door. I did receive several comments about that, especially about the outhouse itself.

Over the months since then, other missives regarding outhouses (or similar subjects) have come to my attention, in one way or another. Now, while this blog is about the Philippines, most of you who are familiar with me know that I cannot resist stepping sideways now and then. If you are reading this because of the Philippine issues, be aware that other than the first paragraph, there are no other Philippine mentionings in this chapter (so, if you want to ignore this, be my guest).

For example, my friend Nora responded with this:
'I don’t think I’d like a snake living under my outhouse (or my neighbor’s), even if it only eats once a month! (We actually had a working outhouse, too, growing up on the farm—my dad was the only one who used it regularly—but ours was special as it had a tiny hole in the door behind the toilet paper roll and when the sun came up in the morning and shown through the hole, the house appeared upside down in living color on the toilet paper! A simple “camera obscura”, but pretty cool.) '

My sister, who lives in Sheboygan, forwarded me this url, obviously proud of Sheboygan's accomplishment:
http://www.digitalcity.com/2009/05/07/best-public-restrooms-in-america/

I frequently receive a report from a site called The Straight Dope and today, May 31, I received the June 2, 2009 entry, which, amazingly enough, follows the subject. I am copying it in its entirety, probably an illegal move on my part, but I am hoping Cecil has a good heart (I am placing a line _______ above and below the quote):
__________________________________________________________
A Staff Report from the Straight Dope Science Advisory Board

Why is it called a restroom, anyway?

June 2, 2009

Dear Cecil,
Why would anyone want to rest in a room with a toilet? Or why would anyone move a toilet into a room of rest? And toilets used to be smellier than they are now, I'm sure. Who was the idiot who thought of this?
—Willie MacDougal, Whittier, California

Dex replies:
Of course no one wants to rest in the room containing the toilet; restroom is an obvious euphemism. Interestingly, English (like some other languages) can express the "toilet-room" concept only via indirect terms like this. The French are more straightforward – pissoir means “place to piss” – but English has no similarly unadorned word aside from shithouse, which is not exactly usable in most conversation. Cecil addressed this phenomenon back in 1985, but now seems like a fine opportunity to work our way through the long list of toilet euphemisms and their origins, so far as is known. We’ll take them alphabetically:

John. One of the the most common American euphemisms; Cecil's also discussed this one in some depth. In 1735 a Harvard regulation referred to a toilet enclosure using the term cuzjohn, an abbreviation of “cousin John.” Even earlier terms included jakes (from the late 1530s, meaning a chamber pot) and Jack’s house or Jack's place. By the 1800s there were several different proper names in use: the Joe, the Jane, the Fred, Miss White’s, or the Widow Jones. Of interest: john also, of course, means a prostitute’s client (since at least 1906) but in the 1800s meant policeman – an abbreviation for "John Darm," a pun on the French gendarme.

Ladies' room and gentlemen’s room. Probably the most polite of the several designations for public toilets; also seen as just ladies and gents, boys’ room and girls’ room, and other sex-differentiated variations. (Crime-caper author Donald Westlake in one novel describes a NYC bar that uses “Pointers” and “Setters.") The terms nowadays tend to be the less formal (and less class-conscious) women’s room and men’s room.

Latrine. Usually used to mean a military toilet. Via French, ultimately from the Latin lavare meaning "to wash." The OED cites 1642 as the earliest use found in English.

Lavatory. Also from the Latin lavare, also via French. Middle Latin has lavatorium meaning washbasin, or a washing room in a monastery or convent. Thus since the 1300s a lavatory was a place to wash one’s hands. It therefore became a natural euphemism for the place where one does things that require hand washing afterwards; this development seemingly dates from the mid- to late 1800s. The Brits sometimes abbreviate it, calling it the lav or the lavvy. Like toilet, lavatory can mean the room or the device.

Loo. This is a British euphemism that’s been taken up by other English speakers. Cecil addressed this earlier, in his column on the john, but we include it here for completeness's sake. Its origin isn't known for sure, although it's probably just from the French l’eau, meaning “water.” Another possible origin is bordalou, a portable ladies’ privy looking something like a gravy boat and carried in a muff. There was also a medieval expression gardyloo, probably derived from the French guardez l’eau, meaning “watch out for the water!” – which is what one might yell to alert passers-by when one was tossing slops out the window. Another possible origin for loo, although less likely, is from the French lieu meaning “place,” as in lieu d’aisance, a French term for toilet. There are also highly improbable stories of loo's arising from the name of a hated countess Louise or from the battle of Waterloo. However, the OED does cite some wordplay from Ulysses (1922) in which Joyce juxtaposes “Waterloo" and "watercloset.”

Restroom. Originally meaning a public toilet, this seems to be of American origin, with the earliest usages found around 1900. It’s an extremely common usage, and also one of the vaguest. Rest of course has a number of meanings, but this is probably in the sense of "repose" or "refreshing oneself." A slight variation is retiring room, a lovely upper-class Briticism from the 1930s.

Toilet. This too is ultimately a euphemism, from the French toilette meaning “dressing room,” from toile meaning “cloth.” In the 17th century, the toilet was the process of getting dressed – powdering one's wig and so forth. In the 18th century, a toilet call was a social interaction in which a lady received visitors while she was in the last stages of performing her toilet. By the 19th century, we have toilet articles, toilet pail (a bucket to hold slops), and toilet paper (used for shaving, hair curling, etc). The term toilet room seems to have been American in origin, from the late 1800s, and thence abbreviated to simply toilet. Again, the word can mean both the room and the device.

Wash room. An Americanism from around 1850. “I was washing my hands” was a polite way to avoid describing what one was doing in there for so long. The term arose around the same time that lavatory was being used for the same place.

Water closet or WC. British. The water closet was the room with the toilet, whereas the bathroom was the room with the bathtub. (Don’t get me started on how disgusting it is that we now typically combine these.) Water closets date from the mid-1700s but didn’t become common until somewhat later. In 1814 John Phair wrote a book called Observations on the Principle and Construction of Water-Closets, Chimneys, and Bell-Hanging (not such a weird combination if you consider that bell wires were usually hung along water-closet pipes). By the late 1850s it was very modern and fashionable and convenient in England to have an indoor water closet, and indoor plumbing became the rage. The WC was often located off the landing halfway up the stairs from the first to the second story (hence the alternate term “halfway house").

Some others, not all of them commonly used today:
• Can or cabinet. Possibly originally referring to the toilet with a replaceable container or can beneath the seat. Dates to roughly 1914.
• Comfort station or comfort room. These arose around 1900. In 1978 New York City implemented “canine comfort stations” in response to the dog poop problem.
• The Facilities. A nice, formal, polite way around the problem.
• Necessary Room or necessaries. Used in the early 1700s, obviously long before indoor plumbing. There were also “necessary houses," "necessary stools," etc.
• Outhouse. A smaller building near the dwelling house and “used for some subsidiary purpose,” according to the OED of 1904, “e.g., a stable, barn, washhouse, toolhouse, or the like.” I guess “or the like” is itself a euphemism.
• Privy. Usually refers to a separate structure, an outdoor toilet; in use as of the 1300s. The term generally meant "something private, intimate, or concealed."
• Throne. Originally used to refer to a chamber pot, and thence to a toilet. As of 1922 people were referring to the room containing the throne as the “throne room." However, the antecedents are ancient: I came across a reference in the Talmud, certainly written before 600 AD, describing someone going to the "house of the chair."

Finally, the powder room was originally the place on a ship where the ammunition and gunpowder were stored. However, in the era of makeup, it was the place a woman went to “powder her nose.” This became a way to describe what Hugh Rawson calls “a private errand involving neither powder nor nose” The OED locates the earliest published usage of this phrase in 1941. Rawson also quotes from Edward Albee's Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1962):
HONEY: I want to… put some powder on my nose.
GEORGE: Martha, won’t you show her where we keep the euphemism?

My own personal anecdote: At age seven or so, our daughter told us, very seriously, that the dog had “powdered his nose on the living room carpet.” It took us a moment or two to figure out what the hell she meant.
—DexStraight Dope Science Advisory Board
Staff Reports are written by the Straight Dope Science Advisory Board, Cecil's online auxiliary. Though the SDSAB does its best, these columns are edited by Ed Zotti, not Cecil, so accuracywise you'd better keep your fingers crossed.
______________________________________________________________
And, my personal anecdote regarding the term 'loo':
While living and working in Europe, I was told (not by the Brits, and certainly not by the French) that the word 'loo' meaning restroom was coined at the time that the Brits attacked the French at Waterloo. The story goes that the French were so afraid that they pissed in their pants, therefore 'loo'. Many of the Brits I told this story to were a) thrilled; b) stunned; c) uncertain.

Now, to get to the bottom of this report, it has now come to my attention, given the various stories above, plus more, that the common knowledge of the outhouse is becoming rather unknown. There are many stories out there, only some of which I am aware of, and they are being threatened with extinction. I am proposing that we, as responsible citizens of the world, endeavor to capture these stories for the benefit of our future descendents.

I have a couple first-hand stories.

My parents purchased a place in Wisconsin Dells in the late 1960's. On the premises was a single seat outhouse, but a very unusual one. This particular outhouse did not require a pit to be dug, as it had a drawer underneath the single seat. Presumably one removed the drawer and emptied it out over the neighbor's fence.

At the age of 18, my parents and I traveled to northern Minnesota for the single purpose of me purchasing a wood-strip runabout. We arrived at the location, a small but isolated lake, and found that there were only 4 homes around the entire lake, although it was large enough to place a minimum of 200 homes, had the land been subdivided. A beautiful lake, unspoiled, a natural lake with the surrounding land on a fairly large upgrade from the surface of the lake. At the cabin where we stayed (belonging to family friends) we found the outhouse to be situated some 40 yards up the hill. Amazingly, the outhouse was a 4 seater. I had never before or since heard of a 4 seater. One's mind conjures the various reasons why this was built to accomodate 4 people at once.

However, when it came time to put this facility to use, alone, I found out why this structure was built the way it was. While pondering the future, I noticed a rope and started to pull on it.

The entire front of the outhouse lifted up to provide the most beautiful sight of the lake. While I sat there, I could see the footsteps of a deer running across the opposite shore. I couldn't see the deer, but, each splash of the feet and the speed made it obvious it was a deer. Of all the times one wished to have a camera, that was one, although I am sure comments would have been made had one carried a camera to the outhouse.

I also remember during high school, surpisingly, around Halloween, that one of our teachers, David Cox, had his yard papered, and someone tipped his outhouse over (ok, not very original, nor was the moving of the Volkswagon in front of the school, but, nothing vicious was done back then). Now, that was only a story that I heard, and I categorically deny any involvement whatsoever. Perhaps one of my classmates was responsible?

Now, the following story is not an outhouse story, but, I came to favor this particular loo during my stays in Dublin, hense my reporting of this occurance. Almost every time I came to Dublin, which probably counts in the 300's believe it or not, I stayed at a hotel called Bloom's. Now, Bloom's is not your ordinary hotel, not like hotels you may be used to in America, for example. Bloom's was probably in its heyday in the 30's, 40's. While there are many hotels in Dublin, Bloom's was my choice because of location, and more importantly, the people that worked there. I spent many an hour in the pub, and have quite a few stories about my experiences. I will share two of them here, only one of which directly involves a restroom.

The first story goes as follows, and I swear it is true, and if there are any employees who are still around from that time can attest to it. Very late one night, having been held prisoner in the pub, I finally escaped and went to my room. I entered the elevator and got out on the 4th floor. Fortunately my room was quite close to the elevator, so negotiating the expanse was not in question. I plunged my key into the lock, twisted it and entered the room. I got into the room the required 4 feet, and looked to my bed. To my amazement, a naked young lady was reclining nicely, fully awake with a curious look on her face.

While I was saying my prayers, the rest room behind me suddenly resounded with rushing water. As I turned to investigate, a naked young man walked out. We looked at each other, and finally I asked him 'What are you doing in my room?' He asked me 'What are you doing in my room?" I showed him my room key, which said 410. He said 'This room is 310.'

I had not embarked on the fourth floor as intended.

I turned to the naked young lady, who had a huge grin on her face, and apologized. I then apologized to the naked young man, and left.

The next morning, when descending to the front desk, 3 different employees inquired as to my evening's activities, the lady and man in question having told the story.

Apparently years ago it was customary to key the rooms alike from one floor to another (obviously not mentioning this fact to the occupants).

Now, the pub at Bloom's had a restroom for the gents. In this restroom one did not find the typical urinal, but a trough. Above this trough, right at eye level, the day's papers were posted, and in order to read the paper from start to finish, one started at the far left at the early hours of the evening, gradually progressing to the right in order not to miss any important news of the day.

Ok folks, if you have any outhouse stories (nice ones now, ones we can share with the family), or other rest room stories (adhering to the above rule) here is your opportunity to etch these stories in perpetuity for future generations. Just place a comment on this blog!

Chapter 8 (27-May-09)

Spring has sprung, but in an unusual way. While we are accustomed to spring showers in most of America, here they are accustomed to dryness, even droughts. This spring however, was opened up with rain, as much as an inch each day, for several weeks.

One might think that would result in lots of flowers blooming, colors all round. But not so, it appears that flowers are not plentiful here. Vegetation is, but not flowers. I am not sure why.

When my baggage finally appeared from America, 4 months late, we planted some of the seeds within a week or so. I had built a trellis at the front of the property, so we planted sweet peas there. Whether it was because it was already the beginning of April, or maybe the heavy rain, or perhaps the warmer weather than sweet peas like, or perhaps even bugs or chickens enjoying the shoots, the sweet peas are history.

So we have a bare trellis.

I am trying to convince Didith to plant some Blue Hubbard squash there. I first planted Blue Hubbard in Tucson, along the chain link fence at the back of my property. The vines traveled up the 8 foot fence, then 15 feet down one side and 22 feet down the other. While the vines completely blocked the next neighbor's property, I had no squash. One day I decided I should look at the other side to see if the vines needed thinning. Once there I found numerous squash, blue, the size of watermelons, as much as 25 pounds. Seems they preferred the southern side of the fence.

Blue Hubbard is a Dutch squash, and is a winter squash. It is available in the states, but not readily. I found it on the internet by chance. Not bothering to read the back of the seed package, I planted it in late winter. Not familiar with the squash, I picked one far too early and cut it open. Again, not being familiar with the squash, I cut a slice off and tasted it. As close to being a watermelon as a vegetable can be. Cooked? Super!

The following year I decided to plant Blue Hubbard next to my porch. It vined up the porch and on to the roof.

Ah, can't fool you, all the squash ended up on the roof.

At any rate, we have some growing in the back garden, but I truly want to put some at the front trellis. Didith seems to be just as hard-headed as I am, which makes for an interesting combination.

While I am on the subject of vegetables, squash in particular, maybe it is a good time to show you how those Filipinos in the know check for ripeness of squash. This procedure was handed down to us by a veteran vendor at the vegetable market. Maybe this is a well-known procedure to you, but it is a new one to me.

At a point fairly near to the stem, which typically would be the last to ripen, press your thumbnail into the skin. A small amount of juice should appear.
Rub your forefinger across the juice.

Rub the juice at the base of the thumb on the other hand.

If the juice turns white, it is ripe. If not, don't bother to cut into the squash.

Stay tuned for the banana crop in our back yard.

When I arrived in December, people were busy preparing their rice fields. The seeds had already been purchased, and planted in those familiar small black plastic cups we use in America. The seeds are started 20 to 30 days in advance of the intended planting.

While there is evidence of some ancient rototillers on the island, there is few as the cost of purchasing and then maintaining them is beyond most means. Tractors? In your dreams. The usual alternative is as below:

Water is channeled into the fields by a makeshift dam, which is placed in a dike made of mud.

Sea water is the easiest material, although some fields use fresh water from a well close by.

During the season, depending on the rainfall, the farmer will be busy raising or lowering the water to ensure the proper levels for maximum growing.

Shortly after completing the first preparation, and after draining some of the water, the farmer returns to score lines in the mud to be used as a guideline for planting the rice.

That is a rake the masked man (the mask is not required equipment, it is common practice here for many motorbike riders to wear these masks, as well as jackets – even in 85° weather) is using. You may notice the blocks of wood at the bottom of the rake, those are actually the 'tines' that extend into the mud. This is not an easy job, as these 'lines' must be symmetrical to maximize the field, as you can see in the following picture when the seedlings are planted:

In this picture you only see the one direction of lines, there are two. The intersection of these lines create a box roughly 12 inches square. Notice the man in yellow. His feet are firmly planted in boxes with one box in between. His arm spread allows him a further 3 feet on each side, allowing him to plant 9 feet of seedlings in that position. The seedlings are placed at the exact crossing of the 2 lines. Once he has finished the 9 seedlings, he steps backward to the next boxes.

A truly accomplished planter can do two rows of boxes before stepping back.

In the above picture you may notice clumps of seedlings behind the fellows. This is done at the beginning of the morning, across the field, allowing the planters to move continuously backwards, and when running out of seedlings in hand, miraculously finding a new clump of seedlings below his stance.

To watch these folks, you begin to understand that Filipinos, while seemingly unaware of forward planning, actually are accomplished forward planners. Forward planners with those things that count, like food.

Another example. Lanie has been after Ken to plant some trees. These native trees that she wants take about 20 years to mature, and Ken, being 73, does not place the same importance on the need, as he feels he may not be around to see them. Lanie, on the other hand, is based in rural upbringing, and recognizes that it is imperative that trees are planted now. In 20 years the wood holding up the native houses will need to be replaced, hence the pressure to plant trees.

However, while Lanie's upbringing was correct, she actually has no need for trees.

She lives in a concrete block home.

Ah, another aside.

Lanie is 33, her mother is 59 and lives with Ken and Lanie.

Ken, 73, calls Lanie's mother 'Mama'. Mama does not speak English, but after a year she does know how to say 'Good Morning' and when asked about her health, she knows how to say 'Fine'. On the other hand, Ken, after a year, does not speak even one word of Visaya, and does not intend on attempting that task. Ever.

One day Mama was out in the back yard, and on her walk she was taking a small bag of garbage to throw out. It is customary here to just toss the bag onto the ground, preferably 5 feet or more from the house even though that does not always happen. Ken happened to see Mama toss the garbage bag, to which he took immediate action.

He approached Mama and lectured her severely, complete with frowns and grimaces. He said 'Mama, that is not acceptable. By throwing that garbage out you are inviting pests like rats and insects, and breeding bacteria which can sicken us and or our animals. By you throwing that garbage on the ground, I will have to pick it up and deal with it properly.'

Mama, understandably confused as this torrent of English was far beyond her knowledge of good morning and how are you, looked perplexed, then glanced sideways to the left presumably looking for a translator, and then glanced to the right. Not finding any help, Mama then frowned heavily, shrugged her shoulders, and said 'Fine' and walked away.

Ok, back to the rice.

This is the field in month 3, March. Some rices can be harvested at 3 months, others are harvested at 4 months. This particular field was harvested in month 4, April.

At this point after the rice has been cut and bundled, the farmer (the lady above supervising the work) decided to bring in a mechanical thresher, an uncommon approach, again because of cost. However, she has determined that with the fields the size she has, the thresher will capture more rice than the manual machines, therefore will pay for itself. While this lady is the farmer, she does not own the land. She rents the land from Didith's auntie, who lives in Cebu, the capitol city of Central Visaya, and on another island. She is single, and supports her brother and his family with her various businesses. While she will smile freely when she sees you, she is very shy and will not speak.

There is a lot of fellows around this threshing machine, more than what seems necessary, however, there are a couple things for you to know. The thresher is downhill and the bags of rice need to be carried uphill to the wagon, the rice needs to be carried from the fields to the thresher, it is 85°, and, each worker will earn $2.08 TOTAL for the 10 hour day.

The picture below is of one of Didith's brother's field. You will see a line across the picture, this is one means of frightening the birds away from the tender rice. It is a magnetic tape, from an old VHS tape. Effective, but not everyone has a VHS player. Other means are a rope extended across the field, back and forth, and strips of rags attached. On occasion, a scarecrow, but they do not seem to be as effective as the tape or rags. Most of the fields will have a hut, very similar to a deer stand, as you can see in the picture, somewhere on the field. During bird outrages, a person will sit in the hut, and occasionally shake the tape or rope to assist in frightening the birds away.

The final step is the drying of the rice, normally done alongside the road, or even in the road. Most of the land is shaded, which is why the road is used. In this picture, the air movement caused by traffic has wrapped the bottom liner around the rice.

Rice is served at every meal. If you compare this to the American potato usage, it is typical that the amount of rice (volume) per plate per meal is roughly equivalent to 5 large Idahos. A 50 kilo sack of rice at the market costs 1400 pisos ($30) and may last a month for a family of 4 or 5, depending.

Just a final note. These are typical family homes, lodging for anywhere from 4 to 10 people, regardless of the size of the home.

I am sometimes appalled at the poor conditions that these people live under.

While in America, especially during past times, farmers tended to keep their children from school to help with the chores, it is very different here. A farmer in this area is a person that rents a rice field or two, a rice field being roughly an acre. The property a farmer lives on may be as small as 40 by 40 feet. There is not a lot of family farming going on in comparison to the states back in the 30's and 40's.

But children are held back from school here because there is no money to pay for tuition in private schools, or transportation to public schools (no buses here), or for supplies in either private or public schools.

The past few months we have hired Plong Plong to help with the gardening so he could earn some money for his family. Didith gave her share of the copra to his family to help as well. Plong Plong and his sister, as a result, will be able to attend one of the schools because of the money. The family can just barely provide the monthly costs, so Plung Plung will work on the weekends to help out his family. Four months ago they expected neither child would be able to attend school.

As a result, I have made a decision, and have initiated a scholarship fund yesterday for a needy child to attend high school in a private school in town. This child is presently not enrolled in school, and without this scholarship would not be able to continue.

Am I a super hero?

No, absolutely not.

Tuition and registration fees for the 10 month school year is $113 but one can provide a scholarship by paying the registration fee ($8.40) and the tuition on a month by month basis ($11.70). This is a private school, and is actually on the stock market, and therefore my monies might not be deductible.

Jobs are scarce here, and if one decides on the military, one must have a minimum of 6 months college education.

High school graduates are not common, these people are extremely poor.

School starts next week, and I am told there are hundreds of needy students in Ubay, a city of 67,901 (the 1 being me). Elementary, High School and College.

I reckon I can easily find twelve bucks every month. And if there are special projects, I told them go ahead, hit me up.

Deductions be damned.

Chapter 7 (15-Apr-09)

I cannot believe 2 months have gone speeding past me. When I look back, I see so many things that have happened but yet each day that has passed has seemed like I was back in 5th grade, interminably slow with absolutely no interruption by anything interesting at all.

I think I am becoming Filipino.

Things happen, and I seem to accept without the blink of an eye, and life goes on. In the past I would have marveled, studied, questioned, or otherwise pushed for answers. Now I do not. Things just happen. Just as the sun rises each day, there are things that happen now that I do not even spend a minute pondering.

Acceptance - very difficult to obtain. But once acceptance occurs, an unimaginable sigh of relief turns quickly into apathy. I don't even notice the open gutters down the middle of the market now (in past years it was the sewer system), nor do I see the physical disabilities found so often in poorer countries, the poor living conditions, the almost total lack of the conveniences I am accustomed to having. Corruption is so rampant that it becomes commonplace, something that hardly deserves mention (but of course, I will mention it from time to time).

But yet, when I sit down to write this, all of these things come quickly back to me. This is a country of startlingly broad differences, a dichotomy.

The people here are the most sociable and happy people I have ever met. Anywhere. At any moment, whether it is 5am or 9pm, suddenly a karaoke will burst forth as loud as possible and there is a serenade of vast proportions. Quite often I will hear singing from the town, a good 2 kilometers from here. Everyone sings, irrespective of their ability to carry a tune. Sometimes when I am in the internet cafe someone will break out in song, at the top of their lungs. They are not necessarily online, or with headphones on, they just are happy. It is not unusual to go to market and hear several people singing while they shop, or the shopkeepers themselves busy singing. I have read somewhere that the Filipinos, and the Visayans in particular, are the singing-est people in Asia. Having visited the majority of the Asian countries, I believe the Visayans are the singing-est in the World.

A Westerner is met with either an outright stare (most likely an individual from the inner, rural areas) or a huge smile and a 'Hi Joe'. This is not a derogatory remark. While Joe might not be your name, the Filipino wants very much to be able to speak with you on a personal basis, so, every Westerner is known by the name Joe, and the name is given in respect. And, expect 'Hi Joe' to be shouted from the highways should you be walking, or, if you are driving, expect it to be shouted from the fields and corners. Learn how to respond, which is a smile, a wave of the hand, a nod of the head. In response you will get an even bigger smile and a wave of their hand. If you see a Filipino eating, most likely he or she will say to you 'Let's eat!', which is actually an invitation to join them. As they are not the richest people, it is polite to say 'Thank you, you are very kind, but I have just finished my meal'.

While we are not getting the frequency of early morning social visits any longer, we did have one on a recent Sunday at 6:30am from the ex-governor. She stopped by after mass because she had not seen Didith in about 4 months (corresponding to my arrival). During the conversation she happened to mention that she is one of the investors in the local elementary, high school and vocational school. She asked me to consider investing in these schools in the near future, as they want to improve their activities. It was only later that I found out she and her husband are heavily into education, and have made their fortunes in that avenue. Her husband owns a university here on the island. Seems it is very profitable. He also owns a university specializing in law. And, even later, I found out that she may be considering running for mayor here. That may have been the real reason for her visit. Very sociable people, the Filipinos. Politicians, well known around the world, expand in crowds. Filipino politicians do also, but, they recognize you and know your name.

I was at a wedding about a month ago, maybe longer now, between an American from New Orleans, Alex, and Didith's cousin's daughter, Cydney. Didith was a sponsor in the wedding, sort of like a maid of honor. Alex is in the US Army, stationed in Georgia. He left the day after the wedding, and will be returning sometime this month or next, when Cydney will have her papers and can go to the states with him.

They were married by the mayor in a civil ceremony. I quite enjoyed the ceremony itself, the mayor being (as expected) a consummate speaker. He joined the two in matrimony, in love and arguments for the rest of their lives. Although I was one of the spectators, the judge made a point of shaking my hand (as he did all of the others) and asking my name. A few weeks later we happened to see each other in the market, and he remembered my name. Easy? No, there are over 67,000 people here in this city, and, while Westerners are easily identified, they all look alike.

I almost forgot, the marriage was just completed when we were interrupted by the governor. Somehow I won't be surprised if he remembers my name. He might though, as Didith's father was a very good friend of his, and was his campaign manager (as he was the mayor's campaign manager).

And, in another aside, last week Didith and I went to Mindanao, a large island south of Bohol. Mindanao is where the Muslims, some of them being radicals, settled a few hundred years ago, and have recently been in the news by virtue of kidnapping some folks. Mindanao is 12 hours away by ship. I had shipped some of my belongings, which arrived in Cagayan de Oro, a large port on the north side of the island. My things came in a container that was sent by the mother of a friend of Didith's. The mother lives in Salinas, California, and has a home there where she and 3 other Filipino employees tend to 6 very elderly and disabled people. This container was scheduled to leave November 11. It left March 11. Filipino time. He (the friend) journeyed with us on the ship, and upon our return his wife met us with their small truck to pick up the baggage and furniture (their furniture, not mine). We left Tagbilaran at 7pm and arrived in Cagayan at 5am. Within a couple hours we had completed the paper processing and had nothing to do for the next 9 hours. Didith and I walked around the port, and enjoyed a cup of coffee or two.

At one point she decided to visit the comfort room, which was located in the next building while I was at the coffee shop. On the way, she was stopped by a couple who asked if she was the person that was in the bike accident in Ubay the previous Wednesday, which she was. They were from another island and had been traveling through Ubay on their way to Tagbilaran and happened to be behind us when the accident occurred (more on the accident later). Again, the sociability of the Filipino.

After lunch we decided to walk a bit, as sitting around gets pretty boring. As we walked along the street, a man walked up to us and said hello. It was the immigration officer from Cebu, the one we visited in January, the one we spent 30 minutes with. He had business in Mindanao and happened to see us from across the street.

If you see someone waving at you, waving as if he or she want you to go away, pay heed. They do not want you to go away. It is the Filipino way of requesting you to come to them. Exactly backwards of the rest of the world (as far as I know). And if you circle your forefinger and thumb with the rest of the fingers slightly curled above them, it does not mean Ok, it means you have zero money. The word 'Oh' does not mean 'I see' or 'Ah, no wonder', it means 'Yes'. Get used to it.

Back to the baggage. On our return trip to Tagbilaran, the friend called the mayor and told him he was with us, and we were returning to Bohol with our baggage and our intent was for his wife to pick us up with their truck, Ubay being 3 hours away from Tagbilaran. The mayor then arranged for 20 liters of gasoline for her trip to pick us up, to be charged to his city account as mayor.

About six weeks ago there was an election for the board members of the Water Council.

Normally I would not have been aware of that, but, our neighbor came over with 10 pesos for us, and the name of a candidate on a piece of paper. The 10 pesos was Didith's reward if she would vote for that person. Less than 21 American cents, illegal but ignored. I am told that next year, the presidential election year, will be a massive circus.

While Didith wanted to attend the Water council meeting and vote, we had many things to do that day, so she went to the municipal gymnasium to find out when the voting would occur, which would be at 1pm. While she was there she was given her 40 pesos which was her dividends for the year (83 cents). She was very unhappy as last year she got 100 pesos, which is $2.00. She returned at 1pm to vote, and was given the voting number of 96. Each voter has to vote in sequential order (I wonder if that is a means to check on the fruitfulness of the 10 pesos?), and as she was one of the first to vote, she feels lucky in that she was able to finally vote at 6:15pm.

Filipino time is like maňana, but maybe takes longer.

Incidentally, the last water bill I received (for 4-5 people depending on the day) I spent $1.77, although in past months it climbed as high as $6.00.

Back to marriages. We will be attending another marriage next week, between Ken (an American aged 73) and Lanie (a Filipino aged 33). A dichotomy in a land of dichotomies. (Is that a word? Dichotomies? There is a publication available in the States called Dare. It is published by some folks in Wisconsin, and is a report on a long term study of the various differences in the American English vocabulary – I wanted to get a copy, but the shipping costs would be prohibitive – darn – anyone wishing information should contact me.) I am honored regarding the wedding, as I will be a sponsor (equivalent to best man). I have to say that although there are 40 years difference between their ages, they seem to have the best relationship I have seen in a long time. Lanie has 2 children from a previous marriage (husband presumed dead), a daughter (gorgeous) Erica, aged 13, and a son John Paul (JP) aged 14.

We also are attending a wedding on the 25th between a Madison Wisconsin fellow, Jeremy, and a daughter of a friend of Didith's, a Filipino, named Larah. Both of them seem to be about 22.

Didith will be a sponsor at that wedding as well. I will have attended more weddings in less than 5 months than I attended in the last 25 years.

Back to Filipinos. If you visit, do not be surprised if you are invited to a meal by a total stranger. If you are, be expected to eat first, as that is the politeness that all Filipinos seem to exude. No matter how rough the home, no matter how little there is to eat, you will be invited, and you will be expected to eat first. The first day I was here, Didith and her family sat at the table and expected me to eat first. I stopped that immediately. There was 2 plates of rice, I was offered the plate with the very white rice, while the second plate was for the family (it was leftover rice, somewhat browned in places). It took a week, but that got stopped as well, although now and then they try to hide the leftover rice under the new, and they hold the plate so I can only choose the obviously new rice.

Speaking of meals, I am about to render a recipe for anyone that likes soy sauce. It can be used for chicken, beef or pork, and is basically the same recipe for any of them. While the Mexicans have an adobe sauce (made of salsa-type ingredients) the Filipinos have a different adobe sauce. It is prepared as follows:
1 Chop the meat into chunks larger than a couple bite-fulls.
2 Chop up ½ a red onion and throw into a pan
3 Chop up 5 garlic cloves and throw into a pan
4 Pour ½ cup of soy sauce into the pan
5 Pour ¼ cup of vinegar into the pan
6 Shake 3 or 4 good shakes of msg into the pan
7 Apply a liberal dose of black pepper
8 If you have a bay leaf, throw that in, just try to remember to take it out when finished
9 Throw in the meat, boil for 30 minutes and eat.

And while we are on the subject, understand that Filipinos eat differently than most Westerners. Actually, if there are Westerners that eat like Filipinos, I have not ever met them. The standard eating utensils at a Filipino table are a tablespoon and a fork. If there is a knife in the house, it is a butcher knife, although bolo knives are used more often to chop up the meat – rarely can a Filipino afford to purchase pre-cut meat. The fork is used to hold the table down. The tablespoon and both hands are used to eat, although the tablespoon is used as a shovel. Average full tablespoons shoved into the mouth seem to be 3, and then a quick 30 seconds of chewing occurs. Meat is not chopped into small pieces, for the most part. Large pieces are required, so the tearing of meat is necessary, sometimes with both hands holding the meat to get a better grip. Noise is an important part of eating at the Filipino table. Accepted noise is from the mouth. Burping counts. Whether eating or talking, there must be noise. Bear in mind that talking must be accomplished while eating, which means the spilling of food from time to time. Voice levels must be fairly high to compensate for the food getting in the way of pronunciation. And fat. Fat is absolutely necessary for a proper Filipino table. If there is not enough fat, it is a poor meal. Skin. There must be skin, chicken and pork are highly revered. I think I mentioned before about the bone picking. I feel sorry for the dogs, meat is not left on the bone, neither is anything else, including soft bones.

It is not unusual to watch a meal whereby the arms are like pistons. It is amazing to me how one can eat so fast and still manage to not lose a beat when more food is necessary to be added to the plate. Without losing a beat or stroke, one hand will snake out and grab the additional food, drop it into the plate and scoop up the next bite without losing rhythm. If one is especially in a hurry, it seems to be acceptable to use his or her spoon and eat directly from the serving plate. Lazy Susan's are especially appreciated here.

An interesting comparison: in Malaysia, especially the Muslims (for the uninitiated, Malaysia is a Muslim country), there are no utensils. Food is eaten with one hand, and only one hand. The other hand is used for private things. Food is not cut into pieces, it is made like it is here in the Philippines, large chunks. One must learn how to break apart the food into small pieces with one hand, unlike here where one just picks up the piece and gnaws at it.

An interesting side note: some years ago, while performing my job, I moved our Hong Kong office to Kuala Lumpur Malaysia. While flying back and forth between the 2 cities, one day I happened to sit across the aisle from my friend Andy, a Malaysian/Indonesian fellow I had worked with in Buffalo New York 10 years prior. We traded stories, and he asked about the office I intended on opening. He then invited me to lunch the following day, to meet a friend of his. We had lunch, and the friend had an office he was closing, as he was nearing retirement. He needed a one-room office, while I needed a much larger space, similar to the one he was intending on leaving. We ended up making an agreement, he would rent one of the rooms from me while I took over his tenancy. It turned out that he was the son of the first President of Malaysia, Malaysia being independent from the United Kingdom in 1956. His father's picture is on the 1 ringitt note. Don't know if I spelled ringitt right or not, it has been many years since I was there, and I don't remember if it is 2 g's or 2 t's. Anyway, there are 13 sultancies in Malaysia, lets call them 13 states. However, there are something like 11 sultans, and each sultancy takes a turn being president. I have forgotten how long the term is, but the chances of that particular son being president was pretty much nil, baring a major catastrophe that would eliminate 10 other fellows. At any rate, we became business friends, and as a result, personal friends. When his daughter was married, I was invited. I received a gilded invitation (the first and only gilded invitation I have received – real gild) and on it there were various time frames listed. My time for arriving was the next to last arrival time. Arriving after that time meant you would not be able to attend the wedding. The last arrival time was for then then-president. In Malaysia, many people call that person the king rather than the president, but I suspect president is the rightful name. Anyway, that president (forgotten his name) helped to teach me the proper use of my hand while eating.

Imagine, me rubbing elbows, etc.

I must tell you I found the Malaysians (Muslims, Chinese and Indians, in that order of total population) to be extremely nice people, very friendly and outgoing, and respectful to foreigners.

Back to the msg in the recipe. I was against msg when I found out it was used so frequently here. When explaining the health problems concerning msg I was met with disbelief. So, I checked the internet, only to find out that all my understandings of the dangers of msg were unfounded. Apparently studies have been inconclusive, which of course may mean msg is still bad, we just don't know. And now, I just don't care.

A few weeks back, we got a call from one of Didith's friends, Joy, an ex-neighbor. Her husband Ralph had called her and said he met some people that were looking for a mixed couple (Filipino woman, foreign man) to interview. So, Joy called us to see if we would care to be interviewed. Although we didn't quite understand the reason, we decided to give it a shot.

That afternoon, 2 vans full of people showed up at our door. 7 men, 4 women. All in their 20's and 30's. The spokeswoman, I have forgotten her name - I am not yet a Filipino - told us that their program is a cable television program that is the highest rated program of its kind, and is televised worldwide. She asked if we minded if they took videos of us, which we agreed to. They wanted to interview us, as many Filipino people have had devastating relationships, and as a result those people have been discouraged sometimes beyond relief. The show identifies those Filipinos who have found happiness after those relationships, a show that offers hope to those that think they will never be happy. Another reason for the interview was that as Didith and I met online, the modern pen-pal way, we were among the very few good results. Seems that many foreigners arrive, then leave within weeks. So, anyway, we were filmed. The show was on a couple weekends ago, 3 shows on the weekend. We didn't see it. We have a television, but Didith rarely watches it and I never watch it, and even so, we don't have cable. And, we were in Mindanao. However, we expect to get a dvd of the show, so, we are anxious to receive that. But, this being Filipino mail, it may take some time for it to arrive. A Christmas card was sent to me on December 1 from America, and it arrived January 26.

I have mentioned before that this is a poor country. Wages are on average $1,500.00 per year. Of course, there are some very rich people here, but they are the vast minority. In fact, probably half of them can be identified by their homes. Very western looking, very clean, freshly painted, and a wall around the property. The other half? You can suspect who those ones are as they most likely will have an automobile or a truck/van in relatively good shape. However, those ones will not be living in a fancy home, they will appear on the surface as being part of the majority of people in the Philippines.

Imagine trying to live, a family of 6 or 10, on less than $30 a week. Yes, you can build a nepa house (grass) without any permits needed, but you must own the land or have an agreement with the owner (who will most likely want some money), but the nepa could be free (depending on your stealth in removing them from their lair). Yes, you can purchase vegetables, meat and seafood at reasonable prices, but, 6 or 10 people eat a lot of food. Yes, the doctor visit will only cost $2, but, 6 or 10 people can get ill quite often and the medications can approach US prices. Yes, you do not need to have a vehicle, as the tricycles and tricykads are inexpensive, but it is still cheaper to walk everywhere. Clothes? 6 or 10 people need lots of clothes.

When I arrived here, Didith's daughter Jhoy was wearing a t-shirt from Tucson Arizona. I registered surprise, as I had understood none of her family had ever been away from the Philippines. Well, I was right. Jhoy had gotten the shirt from something called Ukai-Ukai (O-kei-O-kei). Remember the times you gave all your old clothes to the church, or to some charity that sends needed clothes to the poor? Well, here are those clothes. But, not as you expected. These clothes are not given to the poor. These clothes are sold to the poor. Ok, while a t-shirt or a pair of shorts only costs 100 to 200 pesos, ($2 to $4), remember you have 6-10 people in your family, and you only earn $30 a week.

And what about shampoo? No problem, there are small cachets you can purchase at the market, each has about 2 uses worth in it, and cost 14 pesos (30 cents). But there are no bottles to speak of, as those are far too costly for the average Filipino. Spend 100 pesos on a bottle of shampoo? They do not have that ready cash.

Friends of ours, Steven (an American) and Marybeth (a Filipino) live nearby. They have been married for about 4 years, and have 2 girls. However, Marybeth has another 4 children, as old as 17. Marybeth is 33, Steven is about 45. Steven works part time in America, and spends anywhere from 3 to 6 months here with his wife.

Before they were married, and of course, after her first marriage, she was left penniless. In order to survive, she went to Cebu to find a job. She worked in a streetside cafe, sleeping at night in the back room (probably a room about 4 by 8 feet if she was lucky, more likely 3 by 5). Streetside cafes are primarily shacks, thrown up haphazardly, typically with no running water, facilities of any nature, and never painted. Maybe 1 electric outlet, run by extension cord from the nearest home, or more likely tapped into some unknowing citizen's electric line. She started at 4am, to serve the workers on their way to work, and finished work at 10pm after cleaning and preparing the next morning's food. She worked 7 days a week. She earned 72 cents a day. Of course, she got all her meals free, and lodging. She could not see her children for months, but she could send virtually everything she earned to her children. Typically a new employee cannot have any free time the first year they work, and after that first year they get one day a week off. No vacations here.

How do the rich become rich? Various ways, from the education services to lending services, whether that be pawn shops or straight out lending.

A couple weeks ago, Jhoy (Didith's daughter, not the friend Joy) was contacted by a friend of hers. This friend works as a cashier for a governmental office in town and she was looking for investors. As incomes are not high, and as the Filipino normally does not look past today, many run into the 'short of cash' syndrome. In fact, many do that every payday. Paydays for governmental jobs are on the 1st and the 15th. Part of this friend's responsibility is to locate funds for the employees' needs prior to payday, typically one week before. Another responsibility is to go to the main office and collect the payday cash on payday, and dole out to the proper people. So, it is during this latter responsibility that the cashier removes the loaned amount plus 7% from each borrower. 5% goes to the investor, with the cashier retaining 2%. Is it legal? No one knows exactly, or no one is saying. But it is customary in every industry here, I am told. So, I have invested a small amount of pesos. I receive $20.83 every two weeks now, rolling over the principle for the next payday. And all is done under contract, so, legal or not, it is protected. Having said that, there is a scam going particularly against foreigners. It must be cautioned here: be careful. Ok, $20.83 is not a substantial amount, but it is a few days food. And, being naturally pessimistic, I am surprised I actually accepted this concept. An interesting footnote: 2 weeks after starting this venture, we were visited by that department's janitor and 2 other employees (both engineers), who wanted to borrow the money directly from me in order to save the 2%, typically less than $2 for the individual loan.

Again, it seems like I have meandered all over the place here, but it was not intentional. There are so many things that suddenly come to mind, it is difficult to maintain control.

Some of you may remember Mr Manok, the rooster. As I left you the last time, he had just started to open his mouth as if to crow, but nothing would come forth. That began to change about a month ago, but, his voice crackled like a 13 year old boy. Didith said he just wasn't fluent.

But, he was flexing his muscles, so to speak. While the hens did not like him (one hen actually continued to pick fights with him so often that he would scurry away if she approached with in 10 feet of him), he had the normal urges, so he began to pick on the ducks. Unfortunately for the ducks, well, one of the ducks, Natalie by name (did I mention before that the ducks have been named after The Dixie Chicks? Obviously I picked the wrong name for this duck, being Natalie Mains is so outspoken), she was not so persuasive. Mr Manok terrorizes her. About a week ago his voice finally stopped cracking, and, a distant neighbor has a couple hens that have caught his fancy. He visits there each morning, coming back only to beg food from us. The hens here still do not accept him, so if he is particularly tired from his morning adventures, he will terrorize Natalie again, nature notwithstanding.

I have made it through the harsh winter now, living without walls. I mean, one night it got so cold here, way down to about 72 degrees. The temperature during the day seems to hover anywhere from 82 to 89, and that seems to hold true for all year. So, I have not done anything regarding the building of the house. And, my plans to complete the house are quite different from what I had expected while I was still in America.

We have stopped work on the 'jungle', as we have cleared enough trees in the back yard. We got considerable help from Florian (Didith's 12 year old nephew) who is better known as Plong Plong. While only 12, last year he decided to quit school, as he was bored. During his time helping us, and with a little questioning from me, he revealed that maybe it wasn't a good idea to quit school, and that he would consider returning this next year, which starts in June. Stay tuned.

We still do not have a large area that gets sun for a garden, but, we will survive. One day Alphonso (Didith's brother, father of Plong Plong and next door neighbor) will build his own home, and the old family homestead will be torn down. That area belongs to Didith, and that will become our garden area, a space of about 50 feet by 60 feet. The lot itself is 100 by 200 feet, as is the one we are on now, so the final space will be 200 by 400 feet. However, that lot is also covered with trees, and we don't want to devastate the setting, so we will only utilize the empty space left by the old homestead.

The seeds I purchased last November have finally arrived with my baggage, so we are busy amending the soil. We will be late, but we will have vegetables, and we will have flowers.
I have been able to semi-train the family and neighbors to not throw such things as papers, tools, food and junk in the yard, as well as to stop using the front yard as a parking place. We now have a reasonable front yard of green, and shortly I hope, sweet peas, dahlias and carnations. Jumar (Didith's son) and I learned how to mix cement last weekend, and we poured a front step. So far it has not fallen apart, but time will tell. Next weekend we begin pouring for the bikes.

As I said, no walls. And, Kim, you were right when you said I would have a grass hut. Well, maybe not grass, but certainly it will resemble a hut. We have more than enough cement block here. The front wall to the house is cement block, and the sides are cement block up to about 4 feet. The back wall, and the extension I plan to build, will have cement block only 2 or 3 feet high. The remaining sections of the walls will be grills (metal - for security) and screens. Filipino life, at least here in Bohol except for the big city Tagbilaran, is outside, even when they are inside, as walls are normally made of grass, and holes are prevalent.

The Filipino way is not to make determinations of an individual based on their homes. Except for the obvious rich ones. Any home is accepted, whether fully enclosed or not, whether full of furniture or entirely devoid. There is no stigma attached. No 'better than the Joneses'.

Refreshing.

Speaking of screens, the mosquitoes seem to have disappeared for the most part. That may or not be a result of my starting to take a B1-B6-B12 capsule every day (originally taken as a cramp-preventative measure). However, it may be that the mosquitoes were not the original problem as I surmised. We have very small flies here, what we call No-See-Ums in the states. But, these ones are a cross between an alligator and a Tasmanian devil. Teeth the size of an alligator and an attitude of a Tasmanian devil. Silly me, not to expect differences.

And speaking of differences, even spiders are different here. I have a whole lifetime of learning to accomplish in a short time. Friendly and unfriendly spiders. About 6 weeks ago, a spider almost the size of my palm arrived in the master bath. I had Didith check it out, and she said that it was a friendly. However, every time I entered the CR (Comfort Room for you uninformed) it was in a different location, and, it was staring at me.

Round about that time, a tamso (tam'-so) arrived. About the size of a canary, and a brown back and wings, it had a bright yellow belly. I was laying in bed one day, contemplating the tree outside the window, when suddenly it appeared, hovering like a hummingbird outside the window. Tamso's love spiders, and will enter a home looking for them if there is any open windows, or in my case, missing walls. The large spider eventually disappeared, and whether the tamso is the culprit, I do not know. But, it has been over a month now, and I am still extremely observant when I enter the CR.

Ok, about the accident. I had intended on telling you this in a separate chapter, as transportation here deserves a dedicated chapter itself. Without telling tales too soon, I will tell you that all logical driving practices are not recognized here. Having said that, I will mention that motorbikes are the accepted mode of transportation, so I bought one, a Kawasaki ZX130. This is a one cylinder vehicle, but happens to be one of the more powerful available on the island. It is a new bike, having been introduced this past December. I had plans of purchasing a Honda, but, because of slow sales, the Kawasaki dealer put these on promotion, so purchasing this one, a larger and better bike than the largest Honda on the island, saved me almost $300. For those worried about emissions, well, any of these bikes are worse emitters than the average automobile when one considers emission per gallon. Part of the problem is inherent, as the bike engines are too small to effectively attach emission control devices. However, bear in mind that emission per gallon is the key. As the bike gets far more miles per gallon than the automobile, it thereby emits far less than the said automobile.

This bike comfortably seats 3 people, while other bikes on the island can only seat 2 people comfortably. However, I have seen (on the smaller bikes) as many as 5 adults and 2 children at one time. I have tried to capture pictures of this, but so far I keep missing the opportunities. Stay tuned though, one day I will finally manage to get a good pic.

So, about the accident. I was driving along, with Didith on behind, minding my own business, when suddenly another bike shot out from a side street. Rather than hitting him (and his 3 riders) and knocking him into oncoming traffic, I hit the brakes and swerved to the right.

And went down.

No real harm to the bike or Didith, but I did receive some nasty bruises and scrapes. All gone now, so nothing lost except for my dignity and a little skin. However, I did put out a reward for any information regarding that fellow, and the local radio station aired the information. Although we were surrounded by more than 50 people, no one saw the license plate. I want to thank the fellow, as he taught me an important lesson. In the future I will not stop, I will run into him or any other lawbreaker, rather than suffer from protecting him. Police? Not in sight. Actually, I have been here 4 months, and have only seen 2 policemen, both of them in civilian clothes, on their bikes, leaving town. It appears the police only concern themselves with evening duties, primarily at bars without signs, making sure there are no rowdies bothering the girls. There was a murder here the other day, forces from the big city 3 hours away had to come as the police were mostly not available, being tied up on other responsibilities, and, those who weren't hadn't a clue.

Some time ago I told you about some of the trees we have on the property. I am not sure I told you about the Marang tree. A marang is a fruit, but don't ask me what it tastes like. The season for marang is late spring, and into the summer. Again, stay tuned, I will let you know. The reason I am speaking about this is because of the tree itself. In the photo below, Didith is holding 2 leaves, both from marang trees. The larger leaf is typical of a young tree, before it begins to bear fruit. The smaller leaf is the result of that first year's bearing of fruit, and came from a tree about 12 years old.


Here it is, several pages long, and I have so much more to tell you. It seems we have been so busy getting ready to get ready, that I have neglected telling you of my experiences. I apologize, and I will try not to let it happen again, but I will not promise when the next chapter arrives.

One last thing.

Because we have been so busy, I decided 2 weeks ago to do something about it. We have hired a DH, a Domestic Helper. Her name is Teetet (Tea'tit) (where do they get these names?). Teetet is about 30, has 4 children and a missing husband. We ran into her a couple weeks ago in the market. Didith originally sent her to Manila as a DH (Didith worked for an employment agency based in Manila) a couple years ago. After her year there, she returned to her children and found a job here. She worked as a DH for a family here, working 7 days a week, all waking hours (like 5:30am to 8 or 9pm), and earning 1,500 pesos a month ($1.03 a day, but including all meals and sleeping privileges). She was unhappy, so I offered her a 4 day work week, 6am to 4pm, at 500 pesos a week ($0.24 per hour versus her old job at $0.073 per hour).

She is ecstatic, as are we. She is now able to take in laundry on the remaining 3 days each week and make even more money. She feels flush now.

Teetet arrives at 6, and immediately starts sweeping the lawn, front and back. She does the laundry (although not to Didith's satisfaction yet – we bought a washing machine about a month ago but Didith still pre-washes by hand – Teetet has yet to learn the finite care that Didith attends to the clothes), the cleaning of the house, the ironing (again, not to Didith's satisfaction yet), helps care for the garden, does some cooking and basically anything else we can think of. Eventually she will sand all the furniture (we have furniture made from bamboo) and re-varnish.

And she shares our lunch, including a coffee break.

Ah, no time left, subjects left untouched, but time to go. It is time to wind this up. It is April 15, I am thinking about starting my income tax preparation. Do you know there is such a thing as a Procrastinator's Club? It was established in the early 50's, but so far it has not held a meeting. I actually contacted one club 2 years ago, and requested information. They were kind enough to send me an email in return, 5 months later, apologizing for responding so early. I still have not joined.

I will be posting these (and previous chapters) on a blog site soon, as the chapters get rather lengthy at times. I am still looking for a perfect site, one that will notify you when there is a new chapter, as well as one that actually can handle the size of these chapters as well as being mind-numbingly simple enough for me to use. Stay tuned (again).

Should you decide to visit, and are worried about hotels in jungles, there are many pension houses that are the equivalent of a 3 or 4 star hotel, and generally you will be spending about $21 a day, or less, for a double room. No Howard Johnsons, no Hiltons. A full meal can be had for less than $3, although you must not expect steak for those prices.

And friends and relatives: in the typical Filipino way, you are invited to stay with us. Expect no walls, a hard bed with no mattress (typical here), mosquitoes, No-See-Ums, boas, warm weather, interesting food, rain, requests to help with the gardening, and an all-around unbelievable experience you will not forget.

Chapter 6 (09-Feb-09)

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/29030728#29030728

My sister was kind enough to send the above video about pythons in Florida. Based on my experience, should you have a confrontation, perform the following steps.
1) Run
2) If stupid, you did not run, so follow this:
a) Measure snake
b) Stand at least 1 snake-length away
c) Stand at tail end, not other end
d) If practicing stupidity, do not push snake, pushing snake is like pushing a chain.
e) Pull snake from tail end.
3) If you do not follow the above steps, I will not hear from you again

Chapter 5 (05-Feb-09)

Where does one start? So many things that have happened, so many things to share. Probably the best way is to go backwards, and hope everything gets covered, but, as all of you know, advanced age may intercept with damaging results.

Jhoy's young man, Wilfredo (best known as Bonso, which means small one – he is the smallest in his family, probably 5 foot 4 inches, everyone else has an inch over him) is visiting. He is a Master Sergeant in the Army, at 24 years of age. He is in his first hitch, which is a 5 year hitch, and has a little more than a year before he finishes. He earns 15,000 pesos a month, which is $319 at today's rate, a healthy income. The army does not provide married quarters, which is preventing them from getting married, and, normal length of time in any one place is a year. That also is preventing the marriage as Jhoy doesn't seem willing to move every year. After my 20 some years traveling every week, I can appreciate her feelings.

However, there are some advantages to being in the army, although few. Wilfredo works 2 months and has 15 days leave. Not bad considering he still gets a day or two off every week. Normal retirement for a lifer is 20 years, with a pension given either in a lump sum or a monthly payment.

Bonso is an extremely nice young man. When he stays he is normally awake at the same time as I am, typically 6am. The first thing he does is grab the broom and sweeps the entire house. I don't mean just sweeping the floor, but moving every piece of furniture to sweep underneath. Every day. Then he will either begin sweeping the lawn or perhaps doing his (or Jhoy's) laundry, or if that is already finished he will begin to continue the clearing of the jungle at the rear of the property. He is a very soft-spoken fellow, and never needs to be asked for help. He is always the first to pitch in, and does not stop the project until it is completed, an admirable trait that is rarely found in Filipino young folks. One may only look at our rear property to see the results of today's Filipino youth. Not one project that Didith's children have started has been completed unless Bonso is around.

As I said, he is a very nice, soft-spoken young man. I have yet to hear any boastfulness from him, another trait of the Filipino youth, especially the male species (seems Filipino youth are the same as American youth, yes?). An interesting story happened the last time he was here. Didith was talking about putting up a shield for our kitchen wall, a temporary measure designed to keep out the chickens until we put a permanent wall in place. Bonso quietly said he would do it. Didith replied by asking how it is possible. Bonso softly said “I am in the Army.” 'Nuff said.

Ya gotta love him.

Speaking of brooms, I think I mentioned that the coconut leaves are used for brooms here. The funny thing is that the brooms do not have a handle, and the bristles (as such) are only about 20 inches long, which requires all who use them to bend over. Remembering my experience with American and European brooms, I could only last about 10 minutes before I would succumb to terrific back pains. Using these 20 inch brooms you would expect a much quicker responding pain. Amazingly and interestingly, I do not get back pains from using these short brooms. (Ok, Bonso does the sweeping, but he is not here every day, and sometimes I am moved to participate in the daily activities.)

And, speaking of back pains, I have suffered back pains since football in High School. Periodically I would enlist the help of a chiropractor (doctors do no good, they only prescribe pain killers which does not remove the source of the problem) which entailed as much as a 2 year weekly program at the end of which the pain, while diminished, still existed. All this mind you at an exorbitant cost which to my mind was developed with the chiropractor's quarterly vacation in mind. Here there is a patch available called SalonPas, which is applied to the painful area in the evening before bed time, and is peeled off in the morning. This patch is very good at removing normal aches and pains, however, my pain is much more deep-rooted. There are products available similar to Ben-Gay, however they are not effective for these pains either. Didith asked our vegetable lady (more about her later) if she had any advice. Aha! A remedy was discussed, and Didith decided to enlist that remedy immediately. First she peels and chops and mashes ginger until about a healthy 3-fisted pile is accomplished (not really a quick job actually as the only method to do this is with a knife and the weapon part of a mortar and pestle, and does take about a half hour). She then sprinkles salt on the ginger, and goes out to the back yard to cut a banana leaf. Then, cutting the leaf into 2 pieces, each 12 inches by 12 inches, she then turns on the gas stove and heats the leaf on both sides. This allows the leaf to bend without breaking or cracking. Laying the first leaf on the table, she then puts the ginger on the leaf and wraps it. The second leaf is then wrapped around the first leaf.

She has a small toaster oven that she places the ginger mix into and heats for 15 minutes. Once that is finished she unwraps the leaves and places the ginger on a small piece of cloth. I then am told to lie down on my stomach on an old towel, as ginger stains and is very difficult to remove, and she squeezes the ginger to get some of the oil/liquid to drop on her hand. She then wipes her hand across my back to sort of tenderize me. Then she commences to stroke my back very quickly with the ginger/cloth mixture, from the neck down to the small of the back. The pores open up and it feels like the ginger oil seeps into the muscles, although I am not sure it actually does, it just feels like that. This is continued until the heat has dissipated, at which time she re-wraps the ginger into the banana leaves and replaces into the toaster oven for another 15 minutes. While waiting for the ginger to heat again, she massages my back vigorously with her hands. Once the ginger is heated again, she re-wraps into the cloth and rubs my back completely again.

The results: after less than 3 weeks, about 5 days per week, my back has hardly any pain, in fact, no pain except for my neck. We have tried and found that at the second heating, laying the ginger on the neck itself and not moving it allows the heat to sink in even deeper. And, all at the cost of about a kilo of ginger per week which costs 50 pesos, a hair over $1.00. I have no idea what function the banana leaf adds to the process, neither does Didith. We have determined that we will purchase some aluminum foil and see if that works as well. I will report those results. Today we are visiting the vegetable lady again (more about the market soon) as she is bringing a medicinal ginger from her home town. Didn't know there was 2 types of ginger, but apparently there is, and the cost is the same.

I am arguing with myself as to whether I tell Didith or not that my back is so much better. Once she is finished and I roll over to lay on my back, the heat seems to intensify and it is easy to imagine that ginger oil seeping further into the muscles. That heat lasts for over an hour, and tends to totally relax the body and mind. I have pretty much decided to not mention the virtual disappearance of pain.

I think I can live with it.

Here's another household hint: if you sit on a mango tree limb, do not bother with common stain removers to remove that stubborn stain. Everyone knows not to sit on a mango limb, including me, now. To remove that stain, equivalent to dried asphalt oil, merely rub kerosene into the cloth rigorously, and it will dissolve. Also much cheaper than commercial stain removers that do not remove.

A short discussion on diabetes: if you do not suffer from this or do not care, skip the following paragraph.

While I have been successful at reducing my medication for diabetes II, I remain firmly convinced that one's metabolism is a major factor, just as much as I am convinced that we Americans have ignored our bodies when it comes to proper nourishment. Back in the early to mid 80's I became involved in business in Europe and Asia, and for the most part I lived there for 16 years. Without changing the amounts of food that I ate, I lost weight and had less problems controlling my diabetes. I returned to the US in December of 2002, and immediately began to increase my weight as well as decrease control of my blood sugar. Ensuing problems then made matters worse: blood pressure, cholesterol, various things that are not very good for diabetics. What do I attribute to my recent reduction in medication? Very simply, I stopped eating processed foods. This was not done as a conscientious decision, this was borne out of necessity – we do not have access to processed foods in Ubay. Another factor, I follow my mother's footsteps now when it comes to eating. I eat 6 ounces of meat or less per meal, and often do not have meat at all. I consume red meat no more than once a week or even less. If I do have seconds it is of vegetables, but only those vegetables that are cooked in suitable liquids, and those that are not cooked into mush. Boring? No. I have only had one vegetable dish that included only one vegetable, and that was string beans. String beans in adobo sauce; not only was it delicious, but was even delicious when cold. Every other vegetable dish was a combination of a number of vegetables. Nothing near to being boring. What is adobo sauce here? Soy sauce, garlic, onions and black pepper. If a bay leaf is near by, add that. One more thing, I test my blood daily, and if I am trying a new food, I test again 2 hours after eating to see whether that food has harmful effects or not. That determines any future eating. I also do that testing should I try different combinations of food.

For those of you that skipped that paragraph, shame on you. Diabetes II is most likely the next major non-financial problem in the United States. Ignorance of diabetic factors is rampant, it is guessed that as many as 20 million Americans suffer from Diabetes II and do not know it, perhaps even more than that. That is the problem, it is a disease that is quiet, and transparent. You do not feel any different than before. A very simple routine blood test will allow you to be cognizant of your particular situation. Diabetes II caught early is far easier to control than when found too late. What used to be called the Midlife or Lifestyle disease is now affecting young children, largely, I feel, due to our ignorance.

Trust me, you do not want it.

Ok, no more soap box.

Some folks were interested in the pets here, as a result of the last accounting. By the way, after I sent that account out, I received some messages identifying the fact that some of you did not receive that email. However, as helpful as those messages were (sent by something called Mailer_Demon), there was a major problem in that the messages did not identify who were the missing people. If you did not receive an accounting of the front yard python, and are interested, just drop me an email and I will forward it to you.

This is Jhoy and Mr Manok:


Mr Manok is actually an interest payment on a loan that Jhoy and Wilfredo made to a friend of theirs, as the repayment did not take place as planned. Mr Manok is a rooster, although one would not normally recognize him as such, as he cannot crow. Manok is Visaya for chicken. Mr Manok will have a limited shelf life I am afraid, as he is bound for the dinner table once he puts on a little weight. But, as with any animal, he is beginning to bond, and feels quite comfortable joining us in the house at his discretion, mostly when he is hungry. We have got to do something about these missing walls. Every morning I feed him a handful or two of rice, but then I have to guard him so the other chickens (and chicks, believe it or not) do not scare him away from his mission. Today I finally broke down and allowed him into the house to eat, as the other chickens are afraid to enter (me being the bad guy).

My experience with chickens in America has mostly been of the white kind. Here, they seem to have taken on some very beautiful colors, although Mr Manok is sadly lacking in that respect:

He is mostly black and white, although there is some brown on the wings. However, he has the beginning of a beautiful luminous blue in his tail.

Question: why does a chicken walk so funny, heads bobbing continuously, while a duck can walk or even run quickly and the head remains steady? This is a burning question that begs an answer.

Chickens here are of the self-supporting kind, except for the fighting roosters – they are fed by hand and are coddled as they are the pride and joy of the owner. For as long as they live. Which might be only until the next fight.

Last night we had supper in the market with Ken, our American friend, and Laney, his Filipino wife. Laney's 12 year old daughter Erica joined us as well as Jhoy and Wilfredo. Erica is a tall, beautiful young lady. She is already a man-killer, but she doesn't know it yet. We ate at the open market, where there are numerous food stalls in the evening. During the day it is a bus stop. All the stalls serve the same food, pork, chicken and sausages on a skewer. The chicken is not like farm-raised chicken, it is lacking in meat but exceeding the normal fat and gristle content.

Having said that, it is still a treat, as the atmosphere of the market lends a fun-time to eating. Many friends are seen, and as they are a social lot, much time is taken discussing recent events.

Last night we met an Australian and his Filipino wife who are visiting family in Ubay. They are returning to the Gold Coast, an area in Australia, next week. We also ran across a most beautiful young woman that is engaged to an American stationed in Virginia. I was staggered to find out this apparently 19 year old woman is well into her 30's and has an 8 year old daughter. I don't know if it is the rice, or what, but whatever it is, it is kind to most women here until age finally creeps up on them, at which time the effects of being poor slams them from behind, teeth become missing, various diseases wreak havoc. It is sad to see women of 40 or 50 deteriorating so quickly and devastatingly. The men seem to far only slightly better. The average Filipino male lives to 68 while the average female lives to 72.

Total cost for the meal for 7 people, including 6 beers and a bottle of coca-cola: 507 pesos ($10.79). I suspect we were charged a little more due to our Western look. (All Filipinos know Westerners, especially Americans, are very very rich.)

Puppy visited the other day, she came for a day and stayed 6 days and nights until a major disaster occurred. Puppy has no name, and belongs to Naquito's married son who lives a kilometer or so away. Jhoy had mentioned that we wanted to take a couple more pictures, so Puppy arrived for the day which turned into an extended stay.
Puppy is a wonderful dog, she never stops wagging her tail, and you can even pick her up by the scruff of the neck and the tail continues to wag at a speed closely approaching 45mph. She will become a big dog one day, and with her demeanor she will be a superb family dog.
Unfortunately she ran into difficulties the last day. Seems Didith had a pair of sandals that were precious to her, and she forgot to pick them up after changing to her flip flops. Puppy enjoyed the most of the one sandal before being found.

Didith remains convinced Puppy will never visit again.

Milky. Milky is 11 years old, which is extremely old for a Visaya dog. Visaya dogs do not easily resemble the breeds we are familiar with, I suppose because of the island environment. Before I explain further, you must understand that it is important not to approach a Visaya dog, or you stand a good chance of being bitten, or at least viciously growled at. Visayans do not pet their dogs, they claim they do not have time. They do talk to them, but that is it. Milky is very set in his ways, but, after the first week he allowed me to pat his head, and within a few days he actually would come to me to get petted. He now smiles and has sparkles in his eyes when he sees me in the morning. He has this wonderfully deep voice that makes you want him to bark more, it is such an enjoyable sound. One day Didith and I visited the Lechon maker, lechon being the process of barbecuing pork, or any type of meat for that matter, over a pit fire for hours and hours, adding special and secret ingredients. This Lechon maker does only pork, and only cooks on Saturday for the Sunday market. When we arrived, who should we find patiently waiting, but Milky. Seems that is where he disappears to every Saturday and is never very hungry when he returns. We even found several of his collars there. The Lechon maker is more than a kilometer from where we live. Very friendly dog. Milky has begun to show a jealous streak lately when I pet the other dogs, but, given his advanced age, he is allowed to exercise that right. I hope others will allow me the same freedom as I approach Milky's age.

Blackie. Blackie is not our dog, she belongs to Alphonso, Didith's brother and next door neighbor. Blackie is little more than a puppy herself, and happened to be the only female around until Puppy. Blackie virtually lives at our house, spending most nights sleeping with Jumar, and she wouldn't miss a meal no matter how difficult it is for her to attend. As a matter of fact, when it is time to feed our dogs we have gotten into the habit of calling Blackie as well. Blackie's little owner, Dolly, is a special child and is 7 years old. Blackie has the sweetest disposition with Dolly, it is unbelievable what she accepts. Blackie may never be a big dog, she seems destined to remaining a stout little girl. Her opportunities for mothering however may not be too serious as all the dogs in the neighborhood have visited the veterinarian in the past. Blackie is another dog that is continually wagging her tail. Very nice to see.

Gremlins. Gremlins is a mama's boy, specifically Didith's boy. He is a particularly jealous boy, and might just as well growl and snap at someone he feels is getting far too much attention from Didith. He is about 4 years old and is extremely agile and graceful. Next to our front door we have a window space that has no window as of yet. During the hours of 6am to 9pm the door is open. However, Gremlins prefers to use the window. He will jump up to the window, remain balanced for awhile, sometimes as much as 10 minutes, and then finally jump to the floor. Blackie is mimicking, but lacks the stature to accomplish this feat, unless someone leaves a chair nearby. I don't have a picture of Gremlins in the window, as every time I run to get the camera he seems to sense I am up to no good, and disappears. But, one day......

A story about Gremlins: one of the friends of Jumar and Ace (Eugene. Remember Eugene from the snake story?) is a member of a family that happens to enjoy eating animals that the normal family does not. This includes snakes and dogs, not to mention other lesser known animals. Three years ago this boy stopped by their house with a dead dog in a burlap sack, destined for his dinner table. Gremlins took offense, and to this day, that boy cannot even come near to the neighbor's house without Gremlins going ballistic. The boy dasn't enter our property. Bully for Gremlins.

Gremlins is on the left, the brown dog with a black face. That other dog on the right is Jigger, who is 6 or 7 years old, and is just a little smaller than Gremlins. Jigger is a very quiet dog, doesn't complain, doesn't get in the way, doesn't beg at the table and refuses to jump through the window. Jigger has become my buddy, as has Milky. When I pet Jigger, it only takes about 5 minutes and he will collapse on the floor, and within a minute he will fall asleep. He is now beginning to learn how to smile.

Jigger is an exceptional mouser, and will climb most any structure to get at his prey. In the absence of mice or rats, Jigger hones his expertise by catching flies.

Jigger has a reputation, and is privately revered amongst the Visayan males. Like most dogs, Jigger will sense an individual's position towards a dog. Seems that Jigger has made many friends and admirers when the local priest, a man with a strict disposition, visited and Jigger bit him in the ass.

These dogs are by no means carrying any extra fat. They dine on rice and leftover meat and vegetables. Although they had been introduced to dog food, all of them have never eaten it, preferring more humanly acceptable foods.

Before I go, I must tell you about banana trees. It seems that a banana tree takes about 2-3 years to mature, and during that time it will produce a couple offspring, which stem from the roots of the original tree. The last year of it's life, the tree will finally produce bananas. It may produce as many as 100 bananas, but that is it. It dies. One batch of bananas only. Those off-springing stems will become the next banana trees.

And did you know that there are different kinds of mangoes and one particular kind cannot pollinate naturally? More to follow.................