Of floods and men

The rains poured and as I was driving to work that Saturday, I thought I was back home driving through tire high waters after missing out on a right turn through the mall's first entrance. It was a non stop rain which flooded many main streets and of course, Des Plaines where son JB kept watch as flood waters rose with the river.

He sent pictures of his street and back yard. Flooding in the basement was nil from floor upwards but the insidious water came through the basement windows causing a waterfall down his walls. Lynn and JB had fun sand bagging the windows . A few years back, when faced with the first flood threat where all his in-laws were calling him asking if they were OK or if they needed help, he asked me why he wasn't panicking like everyone else, just like this time. That's because back home at 527 mariano marcos in San Juan (once 159 Ortega St,) floods came and went at least 3 times a year in our one story house. As far back as I can remember, floods were common place. We were lucky if it was a Yoling type typhoon where strong winds gusted ( I remember the eerie yellow light during a calm moment when we were in the eye of the typhoon and the following blast as it moved away) rather than the Sening typhoon where mom woke up to go bathroom and stepped into knee deep waters. Sometimes, we were able to put our beds on wooden horses, but most of the time, we had to dry out moldy mildewed beds the next sunny day. Patty and I would swim to the gate and watch bancas and motor boats ply the streets. When the kids were born, the riverside became a bit murkier and darker so we had to palm them off to friends up the street. In our unassuming quiet neighborhood street,big name people lived like the Robert Ocas, Ibazetas, and finally up the street, the official residence of Ferdinand Marcos before he moved to malacanang palace where the joke was that when the Marcos pool overflowed, we'd get flooded.
A few weeks before JB, Bambi and Migay flew over to join us, the house flooded and a picture was taken of that particular time. Which is why JB, used to all the flooding, never panicked or felt any fear or concern. Was proud of Lynn enjoying wading through the cleaner flood waters of their street. People were invited into their little house to wait for tow trucks as they floundered in the unsuspecting depths of the street rivers.
I told JB that I couldn't understand why people were so upset that first big Des Plaines flood in the late 80s, when I had just come from a land of floods oh oops, heaters, washers, dryers, fully loaded basements, duh... So a bit more sympathy there, maridel.
Anyway, until the next Chicago monsoon, here's to floods and men.

Grace under Fire, with apologies to Liz.

In the haze of grief, where surreality overlaps reality, losing mom, Gloria Y.Nichols, to a short bout of pneumonia, and figuring out where to come up with an up front fee of 8 grand for one night of wake, daughter in law Dawn came up with a few names for crematory services.
So we sat down with Liz, a smartly dressed, soft spoken woman who runs a cremation service. As she explained what the $650 fee entailed, (as in pick up the body, bring to crematorium, return the ashes with 2 death certificates), my sister Patricia and I asked a few more questions and then decided to look no further.

With her patience and ability to be emphatetic, Liz gave us a bright spot in an otherwise really depressing duty. At the back of our minds, mom had a first class, top of the line funeral plan with all the trimmings from a premier funeral home in the Philippines. And here, we end up with a bare bones package, pardon the pun.

But here are snippets of why we were comfortable with Liz.

Can we dress her up in her favorite color (lavender/purple) dress? Sure, and she agreed to pick the dress up from us. No make up, no embalming. After all, it's cremation, right?

A day later, oh, by the way, my cousin cannot make it to the cremation service, can we come over so he can see mom? And Liz patiently waited for us (3 hours late) as we comfortably lost our way and drove further west than east. Typical of GYN, in her heyday. We used to go to wakes and funerals, as far away as Ilocos Sur at night where a giant bat like figure followed us during our midnight drive to a place I am sure only had a few homes with electricity, and others around towns where we had no names of either deceased, family or place but still found it. So here's to mom again, even in death are we following the principles of her adventures in attending wakes and funerals. It actually made us laugh.

And, Liz did a great job with mom's remains. She looked even better than when we last saw her at the hospital. Like she was sleeping, no artifice, and beautiful in her lavender outfit, made for her by a society dressmaker Inang Paras, one of the women she played mah-jong with and who'd gone ahead of her. See mom? You outlived them all.

Oh by the way, can we have her cremated next week instead? After Labor Day? So our kids can come and say their good byes and we can get a priest to do the final blessings? Again, she said sure. Are we staying the entire time? It may cost a bit. Nope, just us traipsing to a place 2 hours away from our regular route and seeing GYN one last time.

It was almost a party being in a huge warehouse where two ovens (one fired up for GYN) and they brought mom out, a bit sunken in the eyes but otherwise, still as beautiful that not one of the kids, or Mercy or her kids blanched. I think the visiting Pinoy priest was a bit weirded out. We listened to the prayers, talked around mom as if she were only sleeping, I put sugar flowers on her hands instead of getting fresh, after all, she started the hand made sugar flower industry years ago where it is now a common place home industry. Again, a pioneer.

So Liz patiently waited for us. Being there was the formal acknowledgement of the body and the go signal for cremation.

Oh, and can you wait till Saturday? Patty wasn't ready to bring mom home. As usual. And so GYN , like in life, also in death, went around town and travelled to places here and there on the back of Liz' van, so typical of her itchy wandering feet, which is what we all have, thanks to her. Poor Liz, even if she were the msot professional of professionals, I am sure we really took the cake in some of the things she did for us, as we thanked her profusely for taking mom for a ride.

This piece, as garbled as it is, is to thank Liz and acknowledge her patience and service for GYNichols and her dysfunctional family. Thanks Liz for being the way you are. (How did you get into this business? My mom was a funeral director. Bingo!)

On a quieter note, thank goodness for dedicated people Like Liz and her Cremations by Grace Company. A life saver for those who cannot afford the wakes and funeral services. And a bonus to have someone like her, patient, understanding, and thorough.
Patient above all. Thanks again Liz for taking care of mom.

Birthday Blues

It's raining. Store's really slow, scares me.
I should be hyped turning the big 55, but, two weeks ago, I lost my mom.
Mornings are the hardest, when I realize I don't need to rush to work because I don't have to run to the nursing home and say I love you to mom. Sigh.

I'll wait for Thursday night dinner to get the kids and grandkids over, have a paella and hopefully, either crispy pata and lechon kawali cholesterol high dinner.
Throw in some binagoongan pork or veggies to the mix and maybe a pancit or noodles the grandkids will eat.

Still there's a lot to be thankful for, being alive at 55 because a woman, ahead of her time, chose to have me, braving scandalous stares, outrage and keeping the courage to have what she wanted, children! Even if it meant being the scarlet woman of a dashing handsome young and ambitious teacher turned politician.