Pista ni Santa Filomena

I debated where to post this entry. It's about the Panggangan Fiest of Santa Filomena. Many of the guests are not my relatives, nor were all of them crazy (yes, I have friends and acquaintances who make me scratch my head just the same). In the end, since this fiesta was held at home, I decided to put it here, on Home & Fashion. After all, there was some fashion involved.

By the way, "pista" is "fiesta" with a serious bisdak kaajong [extreme Visayan] accent.

Without further ado, here is.

Desperas ni Santa Filomena

This was the day after the ill-fated baile when Richel came home sick. Chefs from Mama K's village came to cook up a meal fit for royalty. Well, royal carnivores anyway. It was ALL meat! No wonder everyone from the remotest parts of the village come to eat; meat is expensive, and for some, the only time they get to indulge is at a fiesta.

The whole island was buzzing with activity. Squealing of pigs, laughter, women scolding husbands for getting drunk already... Then I heard drums. Synchronized beats accompanied by tinkling xylophones.

I rushed out to the street, but was too late. I'd caught the tail, boring end of the parade. 

Hey, you! Would you give me ride to the front of the parade? I asked these guys.

Sorry, no room. 

Whatever! I've seen five people scrunched onto one of those things.

Psssst! Dong, pasakya ko! 

[Pssst! Young boy, give me a ride!]

And just like that, I got a ride! Hah!

He wove me through moped traffic...

Through tricycle traffic...

Past spectators with their own cameras...

Till we caught up to the band whose drums caught my attention in the first place...

And there was the front of the parade...

The homecoming King and Queen of Pangangan National High School.

The Royal Couple's escort...

You, on the yellow motorcycle! Do you have a license and registration to take pictures while sitting unstably on a moving vehicle, wearing no helmet?!

I didn't stick around to answer his question. 

Let's get atta here, Dong!

And so we veered off the paved road, onto the rough roads that dissected the island, a nice detour home.

Pista ni Santa Filomena


The fiesta is all about eating.

Some visiting.

But really, your mouth is just too full with food that you can't manage a clear conversation.

"Hn, hn hwat dn hoo dn hesedy?"

"Weh, hah wen ho shush nh sunh fsar toh..."

Could you understand that all?

Translation:

"So, what did you do yesterday?"

"I went to church and saw Father Lito..."

Ergo, no conversations.

Until the tuba, Kulafo, San Miguel, and Fundador take over...


Guests come from as far away as foreign countries, and and as close as your next door neighbor. At any rate, what was once a sleepy island suddenly came alive with excitement brought on by motorcycles, tricycles, multi-cabs, buses, cars, and pick-up trucks full of passengers.

Imagine their disgruntle when they were impeded by road construction. Put an obstacle between a Filipino and his food, and you'll see mad chaos ensue.



Back at the house, the food and drinks were prepared.

Psyche! No, Crazy Filipinos don't drink rice...

We drink tuba, Kulafo, San Miguel, Fundador, and so on and so forth, along with Coca Cola of course. And we keep them cool with ice, in the shade of the eggplant bush.

The food. Pork adobo. Pork menudo. Pork homba. Pork jamon. Pork dinugo-an. Lechon. Pork pinotok. Pork imbotedo. Pork bola-bola.

Did I mention that we served up pork?

Oy, ajaw ko i-bola-bola hah!

Really, lagi, there were a lot of pork dishes, including bola-bola (meatballs)!

(Hahahah, I crack myself up sometimes!)

(Sorry... I forget, some of you don't get my sense of humor.)

(And for those of you who don't get my sense of humor, you're such a ham. Hah! Get it? Ham?

Harharharharharhar!!!)

This is my darling girl Lynn-Lynn. She and I swim and play with the boys - which is a whole other story to post.

This is the neighbor, Reyvin. He is Lynn-Lynn's brother.

No room in the mouth for talking.

Then you drown the food with a drink...

And suddenly, you can't stop talking, and hugging, and giving lectures about the meaning of life in the province amongst the goats and cows and mosquitos... and on, and on, and on...

I haven't forgotten about the fashion part of all this...

Boy, that is some mohawk!

I have known this Yopi since I was twelve - perhaps even before that. He's always been a "bad boy". And here I am, French braiding the bugoy's shoulder length hair that smelled like Rejoice shampoo.

"He has lice!" said someone. Eeeew!

Actually, he didn't. I checked before I braided.

And when all the talking is done...

When everyone is fed and happy...

When all there is left to do is sleep because the tuba has run dry...

When the "take home" is packed...

You say salamat to all...

and to all a MAAJONG PISTA!

Watching Grass Grow

I have two dogs.

Large dogs.

Large, hungry dogs.

Large, hungry, shameless dogs who go to the bathroom anywhere they fancy in the yard. Many dog owners will tell you that you can train your dog to go only in certain areas of the yard. That is, if you commit to the time to train said dog. I don't want to commit the time. Not because I'm lazy, but because I tend to go about doing things the roundabout, complicated, fingernail dirtying way.

Those of you who have two large, hungry, shameless dogs will know that said dogs' bathroom etiquette will leave you with yellow patches of grass which eventually die, and leave bald earthy spots in your lawn. And if you're like me, you'd dig up the balding areas - in my case, the areas are equivalent to 1/3 of my entire lawn because of that aforementioned non-commitment - lay down Cedar Grove potting mix, and plant it with grass seeds.

Then you wait, and wait, and wait. And one day you come out with your morning cup of coffee to enjoy the sunshine with your two large, hungry, shameless dogs. And you discover this:

Oh, I just can't wait to start mowing the brand new grass!

Come To Mama, Baby Blue

Estate sales are the best, especially when it's a home whose owner was a pack rat. The sales that have oober tons of stuff is called a "digger" sale, because the buyers literally have to dig through the stuff to look through them.

And, it's a bonus when the home is packed with vintage items.

Last time I saw a suitcase like this was in Madonna's Desperately Seeking Susan. Susan's suitcase, however was black with white skulls.

This suitcase belonged to Patricia Louise Bouvier. This is a name I totally made up.

And I'm guessing her flight was on October 28, 1954.

The sale went for 2 days, Saturday and Sunday. These horses were gone when I returned on Sunday.

So was this boat.

This a wind-up travel alarm clock. I wound it up too tight, and broke it.

Sorry.

Can you guess what this is?

I'll give you a hint: it was inside a cupboard door in the kitchen.

It's a mixer! (I thought it was an iron, which didn't make sense, until I took it off it's cradle.)

This radio still worked!

One of the beds was covered with a pile of clothes, shoes, and sheets higher than me!

Digging through the pile, I uncovered this clown.

I don't like clowns, especially after reading Steven King's It.

I'm sorry Clown. Someone else is going to have to take you home, not me.

I overheard that the husband, long deceased already, was a pilot for Pan Am, and Patricia was a stewardess. That's how they met! I found an old diary journaling their residence in Kowloon, Hong Kong in the 1950's.

A lot of the items in the home were from Asia.

Like this candle holder lamp.

And this beautiful silk wrapped box.

Now we're talkin'! SHOES!

Of course I HAD TO try them on!

Fur. Real fur!

In prestine condition!

And then, the treasure find of the weekend:

This gorgeous, baby blue wool coat.

Come to Mama, Baby Blue!

Again, too big for me. I figure I can try to resize it myself. And if I ruin it, oh well, I paid only $5.00 for it.

"Patricia" was a stewardess with Pan Am. Maybe this was the airline's uniform coat?

Sonya liked it.

Look Mama, I think it fits me!

Could you make a coat out of it for ME?

But when I saw this tag...

This tag...

I thought I'd better have it PROFESSIONALLY resized. Then it will be worth oobers! And I can look like a dainty stewardess.

Then when we meet while wearing it, I can ask you "Coke or 7-Up?"

Remember when those were the only choices for sodas in coach class?

Then if you get in the car with me, I'll sayL

"Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Netty, I will be your pilot for this drive. I have a Garmin GPS unit, so there are no co-pilots or first mates necessary, especially not from the back seats. You are riding in a 1997 Ford Expedition, equipped with anti-lock brakes and automatic 4-wheel drive, and driver and passenger airbags on the front

[Extend both arms with index and middle fingers of both hands toward the corresponding sections of the dashboard]

and side impact bags on either back doors.

[bend elbows toward left, then right side, with fingers still pointing.]

To buckle your seatbelts, insert the metal clip into the cartridge on your seat. The fit will automatically adjust to you. To release, simply press the red button on the cartridge.

This is a non-smoking drive, and regulations prohibits smoking cigarettes, pipes, or cigars inside the vehicle.

We will arrive at our destination depending on the speed limit, weather and traffic conditions, and requested rest stops.

In the meantime, please sit back, relax, and enjoy the drive."

Ding dong.

Secure doors, and cross check.

Christina, China Blue

Estate sales are like treasure hunts. Sometimes you get false gold, and sometimes you hit the mother lode. Last weekend, I struck gold by the name of Seltmann Weiden.

Hello Christina, my dahhhling.

It has the most darling designs in China blue.

Such detail...

The set came with tea cups and saucers fit for royal tea.

The same attention to detail is on the dainty cups and saucers.

She beckoned me to have noon tea right away.

So I did.

Pardon the dirty fingernails. I was just outside, planting grass. I get to have noon tea with proper china without having to wear a skirt and white gloves. That's the other thing I love about this set, aside from the China blue color.

There's No Place Like the Theater

Me: It's Friday, and I don't have plans.

Miss H: just click your heels together three times, and say "there's no place like the theater."

Me: oh my, Sonya. We're not at home anymore...

Tres Leches Cake

The ingredients.

Really, it should be called Cuatro Leches because there were 4 kinds of milk. Isn't whipping cream considered milk?

Here's the recipe:

Ingredients

1 cup All-purpose Flour

• 1-½ teaspoon Baking Powder
• ¼ teaspoons Salt
• 5 whole Eggs
• 1 cup Sugar, Divided
• 1 teaspoon Vanilla
• ⅓ cups Milk
• 1 can Evaporated Milk
• 1 can Sweetened, Condensed Milk
• ¼ cups Heavy Cream
• _____
• FOR THE ICING:
• 1 pint Heavy Cream, For Whipping
• 3 Tablespoons Sugar

Preparation Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray a 9 x 13 inch pan liberally until coated.

Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl. Separate eggs.

Beat egg yolks with 3/4 cup sugar on high speed until yolks are pale yellow. Stir in milk and vanilla. Pour egg yolk mixture over the flour mixture and stir very gently until combined.

Beat egg whites on high speed until soft peaks form. With the mixer on, pour in remaining 1/4 cup sugar and beat until egg whites are stiff but not dry.

Fold egg white mixture into the batter very gently until just combined. Pour into prepared pan and spread to even out the surface.

Bake for 35 to 45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Turn cake out onto a rimmed platter and allow to cool.

Combine condensed milk, evaporated milk, and heavy cream in a small pitcher. When cake is cool, pierce the surface with a fork several times. Slowly drizzle all but about 1 cup of the milk mixture—try to get as much around the edges of the cake as you can.

Allow the cake to absorb the milk mixture for 30 minutes. To ice the cake, whip 1 pint heavy cream with 3 tablespoons of sugar until thick and spreadable.

Spread over the surface of the cake. Decorate cake with whole or chopped maraschino cherries. Cut into squares and serve.

You'll swear you died and went to heaven! And because you're in heaven, eat all you can, because no one ever gets flabby up there.