Maligayang Pasko

Merry Christmas from the Philippines! Whaddaya mean it's only September? I'm nearly a month behind on my celebrating, judging by when I heard my first Christmas carol at the grocery store.

The Philippines has the longest Christmas season on the planet. Fake pine trees start appearing in the stores Sept. 1 (though as stated above, the music started even earlier this year).

I kind of like it.

This is a shopaholic country to begin with, but when the Christmas season hits, look out! The malls go all out with decorations and snarled traffic to match. Tiangges, or bazaars, spring up everywhere. Makeshift booths line the side of the road, selling a crazy, blinking menagerie of capiz lanterns and rope-light creations shaped like Santa and other Christmas characters.

My favorite Filipino decoration is the parol (pictured). Made from bamboo sticks and colored plastic sheeting, these 3D versions of the Bethlehem star come in all sizes and are a common sight at Christmastime. They look stunning hanging from tall trees, backlit with clear, twinkling lights.

So call me crazy if I lug out the decorations well before Thanksgiving. If I can't have snow, at least I can have my four-month long Filipino Christmas.

Stomping Grounds, Part 3

And now to the Utah segment of our trip to the States, where I:

• Met a new nephew
• Burst into tears at a small-town parade (homesickness and/or hormones, I suppose)
• Nearly flung my mother-in-law off the back of a four wheeler
• Careened down a mountain on a luge at Olympic Park
  

We had a blast. Exhibits A through F:

Whose Line Is it Anyway?

I used to hate waiting in line. You shift your feet. You wish for a place to sit, or something to lean against. You wonder why the goofball at the front of the line is taking so long. You avoid eye contact with the other people in line. You make small talk with the other people in line when the goofball at the front takes another ten minutes. You rage at the cashier/teller/ticket taker and every other person in the vicinity for wasting your time, for being so slow, for not opening a brand-new line just for you.

But after living in the Philippines, I've decided that lines are my friend. I miss them. I want them back. I crave orderly conduct and respect for personal space.

I went to the bank today. For an hour and a half.

They don't have lines here so much as blobs. Blobs of people who swarm around a counter until they catch someone's eye. But if there is a line, you never make the mistake of leaving a few inches between you and the next person. That's like standing on a chair and screaming into a megaphone: "Wow! Unoccupied space, here for the taking! Act now! I'm not really in line; I'm just here to raise my blood pressure!"

You get used to it eventually. After you move past the disbelief, the shock of violation to your sense of fair play, you swap your good manners for pure survival instinct. No more polite, "After you." No more hanging back until you can distinguish a clear pattern among the blob. Charge right into the fray. Snuggle up to the person in front of you and get cozy for the duration. Demand the attention of the customer service individual.

Walk right into that bank, shoulder your way past the milling crowd, and plop yourself down at the service desk to process your twice monthly transfers.

And bring a book. Because getting to the front of the line is only Lesson One.

Lesson Two: Waiting patiently while something that should take five minutes actually takes an hour and a half.

Sittin', Waitin', Wishin'

Some days I wonder if I will spend my entire life waiting. Waiting in traffic, waiting in line, waiting for the adoption to come through, waiting to know which US city we'll be moving to (and when), waiting for agent news, waiting for Son #2 to outgrow his whiny phase, waiting for the motivation to exercise and the inspiration to write more and the courage to live without doubt.

Oh, and while I'm wishing for impossible things, how about a little world peace?

Do we ever stop looking forward to the Next Big Thing? Even as kids we count down the hours to birthdays, holidays, school ending, school beginning, first date, first car, first kiss. I have to keep reminding myself (to borrow words from the Red Hot Chili Peppers) that "this life is more than just a read through." That I should value the moment, embrace the here and now.

So, some things to be grateful for:

Honest lawyers. We found an excellent attorney to help us through the next stage of the adoption. She's a Harvard Law grad and teaches at University of the Philippines. She helped draft the domestic adoption laws currently on the books. She has a kind face and is charging us an extremely reasonable flat fee for the entire process, including the four court hearings in our immediate future. No hourly billing. No conference table the size of a football field. And she says we could be done in 7 or 8 months. Hallelujah!

Amazingly supportive friends. The kind that pick your kids up from school when you're stuck in nightmare traffic with patchy cell phone reception.

Pepsi. With ice.


Edited to add that one look at the date of my post gave me a whole lot of perspective in a hurry. Of course we all remember where we were, what we were doing six years ago when we heard the horrific news. In memory of those who died, and those whose suffering endures.

Stomping Grounds part II

We spent the middle leg of our trip in Spokane, where I lived until fifth grade.

It still felt familiar.

I like Spokane because it seems calm, almost lazy. Laid back. It's pretty in an understated kind of way, and people are friendly. They still have the White Elephant store and the same McDonald's where I won second place in the coloring contest at age 3. Riverfront Park looks unchanged, except for the cool new fountain beside the 100-year-old carousel. I wasn't tall enough to try for the gold ring on the carousel until right before we moved away. Sadly, during our trip Mr. First Born endured the same frustration. But he had fun feeding trash to the metal garbage goat.

There was a children's festival the day we visited the park, so the kids got to climb around inside a fire truck, bounce around inside the inflatables, and pal around with Grandpa and Grandma as they collected free loot from all the sponsor booths.

Favorite Spokane moments:

-The First-Born's baptism

-Quality time with grandmas and grandpas and cousins

-P.F. Chang's

The Old Stomping Grounds

Seattle was the last stop on our trip--which makes it the easiest to write about since it's fresh in my memory. We attended the wedding of my darling friend Kendra, whom I've known since we were 11 years old. But we also got to play tourist and see a few of our favorite places (and a few new ones as well).

First off, I was shocked to see the sorry condition of the area where I grew up. Granted, it's been 15 years, but so many businesses were closed or rundown, so many houses uncared for. It made me sad. Most tragic of all was the realization that my beloved Bookworld (a huge used bookstore and mainstay of my growing up years) had become a dollar store. Aaaggghhhh!

But on to the good stuff: Pike Place Market--during its 100-year anniversary, no less--the observation deck of the Columbia building, a Mariners game (woo-hoo! kettle corn!), a ferry ride, and a blissful bachelorette party involving spa treatments and The Melting Pot restaurant. Best of all: the cool, clear air and amazing greenness of the northwest. Heaven.

Whistler's Mother

We're just back from a three-week trip home to the US. It was nice to go, but nice to come home to Manila too.

The First Born learned to whistle about halfway through the trip, and spent the remaining days practicing his technique. Pretty much nonstop. Fun stuff! Cute, though.

Lots of pictures to post in the coming days.