Saturday, April 15, 2017

Time Travel

   I loved traveling when I was young.  Each trip was an adventure, each left unique memories.  

   My daughter and I took the Star Cruise to Cebu Island.  The mess hall converted to a bar/disco after dinner.  They had a good band playing.  The lead guitarist kept looking at us.  Then my daughter said, the guy was looking at me.  He couldn’t be over thirty. Cute! But my daughter was in college and I was in my 40’s.  I let that one get away. 

   Around those days, I told my daughter I was visiting a friend in Calasiao, Pangasinan over the weekend.  I failed to come home on Monday so I called the office for an emergency day off.  My daughter came to the office expecting me to be there.  The Admin Manager told her “Your mom isn’t back.  She’s with her boyfriend from Pangasinan.”  Imagine my daughter’s reaction!

   Here in the US, I traveled with my friend Margarita.  We did road trips from Louisville, Kentucky to Indiana.  We drove from San Francisco to Big Sur and Monterey.  Then we took the boat ride to Alcatraz.  
With Margarita and her husband in Indiana
   Now the airport has turned into a stressful place.  If a terrorist attack doesn’t catch you, the ICE could.  Since the last US election, airport hospitality has flown out and crashed.  Good thing I don’t have the budget to travel.  

   So, what do I do now?  I journey through time.  My writing has prodded me to go back to 1969, when I was innocent and loved to dance.  With my imagination, I met up with some friends and lovers, some of whom have slept in death.  

   My third book is set from 1898 to only God knows in what year it would end.  It’s amazing to visualize, with memories of my grandmother’s stories, what I never saw with my own eyes.  Below are three paragraphs from the book titled The Matriarchs of Cavite.

An employee of the Cedar Lake Ice & Fuel Co.
slipped a cold one into the ice box of a Minneapolis home
 in about 1930. (Photo courtesy
   The food was excellent but the two could hardly chew.  Swallowing was difficult as if their throats have closed.  A little wine might have helped but the wine, imported from America, was served to matured guests only.  The young got iced water which was a luxury in the absence of refrigerators.

   Homes had something in the kitchen called non-electrical ice box, a heavily insulated box to keep ice from melting.  The Americans brought over the business of ice manufacturing plant.  Blocks of ice were delivered to homes and stores in the morning.” 

   On another page:

   “The homes built before the electric fan arrived in the Philippines had wide windows and high ceilings.  The Spanish descent elites had fabric fans hanging from the ceiling with strings pulled by housemaids to swing.”  

   Some ice plants still exist in the Philippines to supply the fishing industry.  A sample of the fabric fan hangs in the home of the National Hero Jose Rizal in Calamba, Laguna.  

   This third book is promising to be my masterpiece, if I could live long enough to finish it.

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