Merry and panic at Christmas

Why the big fuss over Isabelle Duterte’s holding her pre-debut photo shoot in Malacañang? I don’t blame the debutante for choosing the venue for her pictorial. Her lolo is president, and he reigns over the palace where only a few persons can step in. And surely, the palace is the best place to have her pictures taken. Her peers for sure are green with envy.

In past administrations, I was invited to attend special functions there, and I and my colleagues in media had a heyday having our pictures taken below the giant portraits of our state leaders painted by Lulu Coching. There have been celebrations held at the Malacañang grounds, and in one, one of the guests is my neighbor, who felt being up in Cloud 9 for being invited to her friend’s party in the mansion beside Pasig River.

Not one of the past president’s daughters has been married in the palace. But social parties have been held there. A pictorial spread shows Linda Garcia, daughter of President Carlos Garcia, demonstrating new dance steps with a partner as her parents look on. I could not find references to where her wedding to Fernando Campos took place, but only found pictures of the president and first lady and their daughter and son-in-law and first grandchild, and of the greatest man Bohol ever produced kissing his wife Leonila lovingly.

* * * There was panic in my kitchen Sunday, the day before Christmas. My two helpers and I were readying my traditional family (Torrevillas side) Christmas Day lunch. I would have the usual lasagna and roast turkey. The frozen fowl had been brought to my place from the farm of my friends Prime and Gil Quizon. I showered it with salt and pepper and stuffed it with the recipe of my good friend Jeanne Sy, consisting of parsley and celery, onions and toasted bread. My big oven at the back of my kitchen was heated, and we put the fowl in. After 30 minutes, my help Gemma Dulom from Ligao, Albay, said the oven light had gone pfft. My other help, Jerry Barsebal of Antipolo, said something was wrong with the gas tank. What to do? I had my neighbors’ cook and baker called, but they had already gone home. I thought of doing the baking in my neighbors’ kitchens, or at my niece’s, eight kilometers away. But their cooks had gone.

The gas supplier’s phone kept ringing, for sure the staff had gone home to prepare their own noche buena. My gosh, I was in panic, and so were the girls. How would the turkey and lasagna be baked? Finally, Jerry switched the gas tank from the big oven outside with that of the small oven inside the kitchen where we were baking cookies and gravies. Thank God, the switch worked. The big oven worked.

I’m so glad the girls had some electrical training in high school. When the cord of my blender was gnawed by a rat or something, Gemma immediately cut off the soiled cord and attached a new one. I wish I had her skill. In my early years, we girls would be doing gardening, which I loved to do, but my fingers did not like embroidering handkerchiefs. Gemma and Jerry had electronics and carpentry courses. Now they change light bulbs in the house. They also do some minor carpentry work in the kitchen.

So my traditional simple family Christian lunch yesterday had lasagna and turkey, kare-kare, sans rival (yes, my own), buko salad, Russian potato salad, a tray of sashimi and sushi and stewed beef brought by my niece Zonito, roast chicken by my daughter-in-law Joabi, and fruits by son Andoy, and wine and cheese sent by friends.

What a good time for reunions, over lunch that was nearly aborted.

* * * From my beloved hometown, Gingoog (Misamis Oriental), my brother Warto and his wife Vee sent by Facebook pictures of the fantastically lit up Christmas tree and décor in the town of Carmen, in Agusan del Norte. The spectacular sight draws tourists from near and far, and buses traveling at night stop near the municipal hall to have amazed passengers take pictures.

They sent pictures too of the breathtakingly beautiful entries in the Grand Christmas Festival 2017 in Gingoog City. The plaza and streets are aglitter with thousands of lights, and Belen presentations draw ohs and ahs from onlookers. The materials used in the nativity scenes and parols are made from recycled and indigenous materials. Another contest gives prizes to motorelas with the best shining décor. At the time Warto sent the pictures, the winners were not yet known, but all the motorized pedicabs were creatively decorated. The town was agog over the entries in the Christmas lantern contest.

Congratulations, Mayor Guingona for making the city look and feel good not only at Christmastime, but, I understand, all year long.

One should go to the city to really enjoy the sight of multi-colored, beautiful lanterns only Gingoognons can create. And make paseo at the promenade along the bay – a noteworthy project of former Mayor, now Vice-Mayor, of Ruth de Lara Guingona.

* * * Paz M. Kendall, a Filipina, sent me an email from Michigan, USA, commenting on an article written by Max Sucquit Jr. which I put out in my Dec. 12, 2017 column about Christmas Day celebrations being paganistic in nature. Ms. Kendall’s story is of Mary, the mother of Jesus, telling her husband, Joseph, about people celebrating Christmas, and not even thinking of the reason how Christmas came about. Ms Kendall does not mention the author of the story, but let’s read it.

Joseph, I had a dream. I don’t understand it, not really. But I think it was about our son. I think it was about a birthday celebration for our son. I think that was what it was all about.

The people had been preparing for it for about six weeks. They had decorated the house and bought new clothes. They had gone shopping many times and bought elaborate gifts. It was a peculiar thought, because the presents weren’t for our son. They wrapped them in beautiful paper and tied them with lovely bows and stacked them under a tree. Yes, a tree, Joseph, right in their house. They had decorated the tree also. The branches were full of glowing balls and sparkling ornaments. There was a figure on the top of the tree. It looked like an angel might look. Oh, it was beautiful.

Everyone was laughing and happy. They were all excited about the gifts. They gave the gifts to each other, Joseph, not to our son. I don’t think they even knew him. They never mentioned his name. Doesn’t it seem odd for people to go to all that trouble to celebrate someone’s birthday if they don’t know him? I had the strangest feeling that if our son had gone to the celebration, he would have been intruding.

Everything was so beautiful, Joseph, and everyone so happy, but it made me want to cry.

How sad for our son, Jesus – not to be wanted at his own birthday party. I’m glad it was only a dream. How terrible, Joseph, if it had been real.

* * * Email: dominitorrevillas@gmail.com