The rooster and the scent of my youth

Sampaguita (Arabian Jasmine)

The excitement of having a tiny front space and a little backyard energized Brack to plant shrubs, vines, and semi-dwarf fruit trees. Amongst the firsts he planted were a couple of “Sampaguita,” (Arabian Jasmine) I got from Lowes. Sampaguita is the Philippines' national flower and one of the three plants/trees dearest to my heart, the other two were Rosal (Ever Blooming Gardenia) and Ylang-ylang. The first two existed at my grandparent's yard while two or three Ylang-ylang huge trees shaded my godmother's backyard which is adjacent to my grandparent's backyard.

These trees and its flowers hold innocent and happy memories of my youth. In grade school, I used to pick Sampaguita, make leis, and together with Rosal flowers sell them to neighbors for some change I used for school money the following day. There were times I'm lucky to pick Ylang-ylang by the fence and sell it too. Rosal was my grandfather's favorite. He worked wonders with its leaves, my grandfather played good music with it. I recalled he became a finalist at this contest but lost to someone who played music using a saw.

How I missed those days living with my grandparents. I would never forget it, in fact I want to relive them, if I can.

Now that I'm living in the Valley, somehow I am re-experiencing those moments. The lush vegetation, the mountains, the breeze of air in early evenings – reminiscent of the scent of air in my hometown. The rooster that crows at dawn, no one can imagine the happiness it brings me to hear them again after missing it for 11 years.

Rosal (Ever Blooming Gardenia)

In our backyard, I wondered why the builder would highlight this small unattractive plant with Malibu light. A few months later, tears fell from my eyes when Brack called me and showed me it has flowers. It is a Rosal. I sat and leaned forward to smell the flowers. Immediately, the memories went back, thoughts of my grandfather and everything else.

I told my teenagers the story of the flowers and my school money. A past I regret they didn't have the chance to experience. Treasures of real happiness no high-tech gadgets today could bring.

The Mini-Plum Tree

Peaches

Weeks back I picked mini plums from our backyard...today peaches.

Mortgage and Ladders

After withdrawing from two offers to purchase, we finally closed escrow on my birthday and shortly settled in this humble Mediterranean-inspired home in Sylmar, a district in Los Angeles they call the rough diamond of the Valley.

Though not really superstitious, I appreciated that the main entrance faces sunrise in the mornings and the rooms properly located as in feng shui. Aside from being new, Brack and I were enticed with the calming breeze of wind and the lively sound of chirping birds during our first two visits to this community – thus, on third visit which happened to be our 19^th wedding anniversary, we submitted the offer and immediately opened escrow.

Here in the US, people who buy homes for the first time are called “first time home owners.” Since this is not the first we own, because we also maintain one back home, I'd rather call us “first time mortgage holders,” for behind the pride of ownership, lies beneath, a long mortgage commitment. An agreement big and long-enough to strengthen our commitment to stay together until the debt is paid, so they say.

Along with the mortgage, we now have in our possession 4 ladders of different heights and uses. Something we never had before, not a necessity when we were renting. The ladders helps us handle the day to day activities inside and outside our high-ceiling abode. One “two-step”ladder for walk-in closet which doubles as a kitchen ladder. Another “two-step” ladder for cleaning our cars.

A “six-step” ladder for changing bulbs of the recessed lighting, in case they get busted, and to access the attic. And finally, a “twelve-step” ladder for cleaning the chandelier, the windows, and later for pruning the trees which may come many years from now because Brack just planted them.

Owning a home, or a mortgage, tremendously reduced our disposable income. It's a coincidence we own too many a-ladder because each step of those ladders represent the escalating expenses we must learn to manage, breaking even the joy of ownership.

The ladders then are our tools, a means of rising, a reminder that we should continue reaching out and upwards to meet our goals. I wonder how other first-time home owners are adjusting...they own ladders too, for sure.

The congestion, the homeless, the encounter

I resent traffic jams especially when I’m on my way to work in the mornings which is why I am not so fond of passing this 1.5 miles City driving route I take to enter the freeways. There is a newly opened school and a road construction that seemed to be taking forever to complete. Both contributes negatively to the time spent cruising this direction. But this blog is not just about the street congestion, it’s about an encounter while being stocked in the jam.

On this same obstructed street, you would often see homeless people begging drivers for money, which is common in Los Angeles, being the homeless capital of the United States. There’s this aged couple, the man dressed in Hawaiian shirt and the woman in Pink Sweater over a flowery printed dress and jeans. From their outfit and placard which says “Aloha!” you can assume they’re from Hawaii or at least that is what they are trying to convey, and I chose to believe. There’s also one or two middle-aged men dressed ruggedly carrying placards, one wrote “Hungry and Homeless…Please Help!”

So many helpless people depending to live by little cash each day but the one that makes my heart ache for pity whenever I see her on the street is a teen-aged looking woman with a backpack and carries a tote and a bunch of palm leaves on her hand. She makes flowers out of the palm leaves and offers it to drivers when the light turns red. Incidentally, the palm leaves and the flowers she makes remind me of Palm Sunday in the Philippines, a tradition I missed so much.

Usually, I see this girl in the afternoons, on my way home from work standing at the gas station. Last Monday, I saw her in the morning by the intersection. What hurts me most seeing her in the street is she is young, and she is a girl. I have two teen-aged sons, and it breaks my heart to see young people roam the streets because of homelessness. They are our future, they will pay the debts of the country, and they deserve to be in school, to be sheltered, to be cared of. And even if sometimes their teen logic is unacceptable and they rebel, we as older people should have stretched patience in dealing with our young.

I wonder if this girl ran away from home, is she an orphan? Did she eloped with a man and broke up with him later ashamed to go back home to her parents accepting she was wrong? Where is she spending the night? Where did she learn to make flowers of palm leaves? Did her parents taught her? her siblings maybe? Where are they? Why is she in the street? So many questions flash my mind as she walks towards my direction. This time, she doesn’t have palm leaves flowers , she just smiled so sweetly as I handed her the small bill, she said “God Bless You,” I responded “take care” but in my heart and mind, I whispered, “May God have you in His keeping.”

I continued to drive. I didn’t mind the traffic jam that much anymore.

I haven’t seen her since Monday and even if I want to see her again I hope not in the streets again.

attack of the mental block

SIGN OF TIMES

As a kid, my friends and I would walk to the beach, ride our neighbors’ small fishing boats and dive into the waters realizing drowning is possible if you can’t swim. That’s how I learned how to swim, to survive drowning. My youngest son didn’t risk drowning, he learned to swim from You Tube.

My husband learned to do his tie from his father. My eldest son watched from You Tube.

I wanted to learn to make authentic Curry. My husband said, “I’ll get you a Cook Book!” To which the children reacted and said, the two of them at the same time, “Mommy, just check You Tube!”

Before, if you looked good in pictures, people will say you’re photogenic. Now, if you looked good in photos, people would say, “OMG, you looked Photoshopped!”

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I WRITE BECAUSE...

J.K. Rowling’s career is impressive. I secretly dreamed of becoming a writer too. But even if J.K. and I share the same birthday there is no way I could own a piece of her fortune from writing. She got fertile imagination that creates a magical world; she introduced flying brooms as public transport and dragons as pets.

J.K. is to fascination as I am to real world - the real challenging world where my written words are not really spectacular. J.K.’s words are translated in different languages and read all over the world, mine is on WWW with only 5 loyal readers. People pay to get hold of J.K.’s books; I bet not one person would pay a penny to read my musings. J.K. earned honors and awards for writing, the only recognition I receive are comments from affinities.

Why I write?

I write to connect my voice in this noisy world. It expresses me as a person and stimulates my being. Writing preserves my present and relives my past, a bridge to my still yet to be defined future...

a certain longing

Two days ago I dreamt of her. This morning as I woke up, I prayed to God to let her know how much I miss her and that I love her very much, my grandmother whom I loved to call Mang. It’s her birthday today. Mang was the biggest influence in my life. I might have inherited her sweetness, her compassion, her love for cooking, and how she valued education, but I could never copy even an ounce of her patience. She was the epitome of a great mother, someone who sacrificed a lot for the sake of her children, and grandchildren, as in my case.

When I was younger, I lay my head on her lap and would easily fall asleep as she stroke my hair with her tender hands. I grew up with her stories which were my entertainment as a child, something I would love my children to experience but never experienced. Mang prayed day and night and lived with so much hope and perseverance. Something very difficult for me to emulate, even if I do pray a lot.

Time heals loneliness but it didn’t fill the emptiness. Something in me remained a child and I don’t know when it will stop longing for that certain comfort only Mang could fill. Two decades and a half since she was gone and I still want to sleep on her lap and feel her fingers run through my hair.

true nourishment (Part 2)

Last week I told Abraham that they might not be able to attend Ash Wednesday services because I can’t take them to church, being so new at my job, I can’t miss work. But since he said he wanted to go, Brack shortened his hours and attended the mass with the boys while I went to St. Monica’s Church during my lunch break. As a mother, I felt good that, Abraham, being 17 at that, is not only enthusiastic about going to church, he is also interested in learning more about the Catholic practices. The other night, he asked about the relevance of Ash Wednesday, and at today’s service, the three of them, father and sons, served ushers.

I’m blessed I don’t need to force my children to go church, or have faith in God. Some parents are having a hard time doing it. Some children, as they grow and acquire more knowledge, tend to drift away from their faith. As soon as they start achieving, they develop the mind frame that they can do anything, or everything, by themselves and no intercession is needed. It’s good to be independent, but keep the faith.

I wonder how life is for people who do not have faith. When they are troubled what do they do? When they are down, or someone they love is sick, or when they need to accomplish something big, whom do they call?

Ash Wednesday reminds us, from dust we came, to dust we will return, but in between there is life. Imagine what peace it will bring us if we live life right.

true nourishment (Part I)

When missionaries knock to evangelize their faith, I open my doors to them. This is because I respect other people’s beliefs, but more so, because I admire them for making the effort to reach out to as many people and persuade them to convert to their religion, notwithstanding, not being paid for doing so. My usual greeting would include a statement that mine is a Catholic household but they are welcome and if they leave me reading materials, they can be assured I would read it. Yes, I do read publications from different religions, I find those informative and enlightening, some writings even inspired me.

Keeping an open mind about worship and other religions though, makes me more attached and inspired to stick to mine. I love being Catholic, despite the intrigues, some true, most were not, other people throw on the church, I would still be faithful to the practice of the faith.

I was baptized and confirmed a Catholic, got my bachelor’s degree from a Catholic College, and moved on further to a Catholic University for graduate studies. When I was younger, I joined the Block Rosary group in my community and for a short time had served in the mass as lector. I did well in my theology classes, made sure I attended mass every Sunday and days of obligations, tried to be good the best I can, but that was it. I never really understood my faith deeply, nor had the desire to nourish or defend it until recent challenges had me searching for more than just complying with the routines.

When I gave up Facebook I had more time to build up knowledge of my faith and what matters most in life. The fruitful readings, the quiet moments, and the EWTN broadcast aided the realization.

back to work

In between my on and off allergies which I don’t know where I got from, I survived my first week back to work. I must say the adjustment is not easy after being away from the corporate world for a long time. I am no longer used to waking up, taking a shower, and fixing myself early for work. I even felt a slight separation anxiety leaving home and not being able to pick up my boys from school. I think the brothers adjusted faster to taking a bus ride home than me driving and hustling with the traffic in 10 freeways, which is my daily route from Los Angeles to Santa Monica.

These difficulties though are not the highlight of my back to work experience because deep in my heart and mind, what I wanted to write is my appreciation for having a job. I twitted last week, “who needs recruiters when you have friends?” It is so hard to find a job this time, in fact competition is so stiff, getting an interview is even harder than auditioning for American Idol. As for me, thanks to my friend, Linda, she hooked me up.

In the midst of learning new skills, I have access to the awesome view of Santa Monica from our 20th floor office. At lunch, I even get the chance to enjoy the soothing cold breeze of air coming from the ocean. I am back walking the famous 3rd Street Promenade and if I’m luckier, I could even get a glance of movie stars, those dropping-off their kids at this posh daycare opposite our parking structure.

Once I acquired complete knowledge of the job, I’ll be relocated to Los Angeles’ Financial District which means my drive to work will only be 3 miles as compared to the current’s 18 miles plus traffic each way. How cool is that? I always loved working in Downtown LA; this is where I had most of my corporate experience. How fortunate am I given the chance to work in a place I wanted to be? Or rather, how blessed am I that the good Lord had always been arranging where I should be?

To the lady standing at the corner of our office building holding a carton sign that said “I’d rather work,” I pray that you will find something for you soon.

To everybody else, refrain from FaceBooking while at work and start loving your job more.

I love LA!

According to LA Times, visitors ranked Los Angeles the rudest city in the US. The question is do you agree? Do I agree?

I browsed the comments from readers and I could say that most negative reactions posted bear truthness to it, specifically the car culture and the lack of common courtesy among drivers. I had a couple of first hand experiences of this lack of civility and even wrote about it in this old blog. What makes matters worst is, LA also has many uninsured drivers in the streets. My car was hit by one of them.

I have resided in Los Angeles for nine years now and despite the not-so-good things people said about this place and its indwellers, my fondness for this place grows more and more as the years go by. Infact, I could no longer imagine living anyplace else. The true beauty of LA lies in its fullness of life. It’s a buffet of everything you are looking for, starting with the weather, the beaches, the mountains, the forests, the entertainment, the food, and the shops. Dull moments? no such thing here. The place boasts of history, of melted cultures, and just enough noise that tranquility is still possible to find. Not to mention, my favorite basketball team is headquartered here, the Lakers.

I could go on enumerating the best of Los Angeles which I have seen and experienced as a resident which unfortunately the visitors who responded to the survey was not able to experience during their visit or short stay here. I cannot blame them. During my first visit here in 2000, I am not impressed as well. All I remember is the coldness of the tired employees at the shops, in restaurants, and the long lines of irritated people at theme parks.

LA's transport system is inferior compared to the commuter-friendly New York, the streets are definitely not as clean as Japan's, my favorite place of all, but because you are in the heart of everything, work and fun combined, I find Los Angeles a nice place to live.

There was a time I favored Orlando after my first visit there in 2006. I was impressed by the friendliness of the people, the clean environs, and the simplicity of living, I asked my children if they would want to move there. To which they responded, "Mommy, LA is where things happen, we are here, there is no reason to leave." There you go!

Come; live with us…in the city that is a world in itself. Here, I am sharing you the view from my bedroom window in the afternoon. In the mornings, it's even better :-)

Better yet, here’s another picture from a billboard in Nokia Plaza.

Jobs' reliever is a Job's reliever

When Steve Jobs announced yesterday he is taking a medical leave to focus on his health, the stock market went ballistic and shaky. It’s so strong an impact; it stole attention from the massive flood that hit Australia. To holders of Apple stocks and those technology driven individuals, the earth somehow misaligned with its axis and won’t revolve properly until Jobs has a definite announcement of when he is returning to Apple. Why because, Jobs is not only a CEO but a doer, someone who makes things happen, right in this modern world we live in.

A lot of people, me included, are so amazed by the gadgets introduced by Apple, although, I do not own any of their product because of the cost to buy and cost to own factors, I still follow their launchings and new developments.

This morning, as I do my regular browsing of what’s going on with the world, I came across this video of Pranav Mistry, a student from MIT who developed a wearable computing system that turns any surface into an interactive display screen. As I watch the video, I said to myself, Steve Jobs should just hire this guy and concentrate on his health.

Shhhh...

The sun shone brightly on the first day of 2011. It was inviting to drive to Pasadena and view the floats of roses which Brack and I initially planned to do. However, we decided, finishing Brack’s online course would be better than struggling to find a clean portable restroom in Pasadena, like what happened last year. I snuggled in bed and tuned-in to EWTN. The low volume of the TV lulled me to sleep and woke me up again about an hour later when the silent documentary movie called "Into Great Silence" was being played. Even without commentaries or sound effects, the solitude of the Carthusian Monks enriched me spiritually.

I know I could not live in great solitude like the Carthusian monks and nuns but recently, even before seeing this movie, I attempted to be quiet. In my silence, I read, listened, observed, and prayed more which made me more aware of those that matters most in life. I know this quietness is nothing compared to those of the monks, but somehow I felt serenity.

I told a friend I am enjoying the remoteness, when she asked why I’m no longer on Facebook. It is a breeze sometimes to take a break from the noise and chaos of this "chase the wind world" we live in, just don’t forget to go back to reality soon.

So for 2011, why not start it quiet?

TIME and LAUGHTER

In tonight’s mass, our Pastor, in his homily, asked the congregation what they think is the best Christmas gift people can give one another. A girl said shelter. Indeed, is a really very good gift this season, considering a lot of people lost their homes to foreclosure, not counting those who are already homeless in the first place. Another said love is the best gift, to which our Pastor agreed and expounded on.

They are right, I think so too. Love is the best gift people can give one another. It is the beginning of everything good, but best as it is, I’d rather give it as a gift for Christmas, and I, receive the gift of time as a present. I’d be very grateful if the good Lord, on His birthday would bestow me the gift of time, a healthy long time to spend with family and friends.

The gift of laughter is another best gift for me. I want it for myself, for my loved ones, and for all the people in this world. When was the last time you laughed so hard it made you cry? It feels so good. I want more of those.

Okay, it’s your turn…

‘love my hair! (hope u love yours too!!!)

I should be blogging about “Christmas” my most favorite occasion of all and how amazingly excited and calm I am, just listening to Christmas songs on the radio, but I can’t pretend to write happy when deep inside I am sad.

Last weekend, I attended a memorial service for my friend’s husband who lost his battle with leukemia. Today, Elizabeth Edwards succumbed to cancer. Although I have very limited emotional attachment to my friend’s husband and none at all to Elizabeth, I am saddened by their passing and at the same time, scared for myself. Being cancer-free for two years doesn’t give me any guarantee that the dreadful disease won’t come back. In effect, I am more paranoid than sad, when I hear people dying of cancer. But like every other person in this world, with or without cancer, our lives must go on, and we must not stop existing until called to rest.

Mrs. Edwards spoke of her struggles fighting the disease, including the depressing feelings she had when she lost her hair. Two years ago, I was a lonely bald woman receiving treatments too. It was December when I pretended to be well and went shopping like other people do. It was windy and the cold moist air messed up my wig, strands stacked in chunks, and impossible to fix. Without a brush, which I forgot at home, I told my husband to follow me to the door of the women’s restroom, and with onlookers, we separated the strands slowly, very careful not to pull-off the wig from my head. It was embarrassing. In the store, I can’t try-on the clothes I selected; scared of scrambling my wig again, I ended up leaving the clothes behind. It was doubly depressing to watch the other women shoppers who can fit as many clothes they want and enjoy the wind outside. I don’t regret they are well and I’m not, I envy they have hair and I don’t.

Hair? It’s just cosmetics. But when you are already sick and don’t look good at the same time, it’s major. This is just one of the many challenges of cancer patients. Something well people wouldn’t understand.

My hair is back, it is long, thick and wavy as it was before and I appreciate it more than ever. It’s bizarre; I am so thankful to God and so happy just having hair.

Cooking for the heart

After dinner last night, my younger son saw me in front of the PC and teased me that I’m blogging about my latest kitchen gadget, the Pizza Oven. Actually I was about to, but lost the desire since he forestalled my idea so I just went downstairs and reran one of my favorite movies on the DVD player. I said I’ll just blog tomorrow when the kids are in school.

Tomorrow is today. I watched the morning news as usual then switched channels to EWTN for the Daily Mass. As soon as the mass started, I got a call from my friend Kristine. Kris was in tears as she told me Jeff, her husband passed away. She is the second friend who lost a husband this year. My other friend, Lori, lost Tommy in July. Kristine found a best friend in Jeff. Lori found a great companion in Tommy. They hurt deeply. I feel their pain.

I cried with Kristine on the phone but soon after we hanged-up, I said my rosaries for Jeff and head to the kitchen. I am not really planning to cook anything as I have stocked-up pizzas in the fridge because of my excitement with the Pizza Oven, but felt I have to. I must do something I love doing to brighten up my mood. I need to stay positive. So I went through the vegetable bin, the overhead cabinet, and started to create a meal.

I ended up making ham fried rice and vermicelli tomato chicken and clam soup. A soup that is not on any cook book, it is a recipe I created, today. I realized cooking not only brings-out creativeness but also lightens up a heavy heart.

'been there

A foreign body in my eye took me to the Ophthalmologist at Kaiser. The eye doctor is in the same building, only one level below the Oncology Department which is in the 8th floor. There is only one hallway that served passage to four elevators so you’ll get to stand in this hallway or ride the elevators with patients going to oncology or to the other floors in the building.

Oncology patients are easy to spot, they usually wear hats, nice earrings, as in the case of female patients, looked pale, and had this sadness in their eyes. Sadness, that only those in the same situation or had experience the same, could decipher. The people who were getting chemotherapy in the 8th floor, I rode the elevator with them last Thursday. A ride that took me back in time. I’ve been there…

That 8th floor had been an important part of my life. I am in mixed emotions whenever I recall the years I spent there as an out-patient. I’m happy recalling the friendships I made with the nurses, the staff, and my doctor, who then reached time for retirement and transferred my care to a younger colleague, but there was also a pinch of pain I feel in my arms and hands whenever the needle pokes of the treatment and the blood works, comes to my mind.

Visiting this floor for two years allowed me to experience how holidays were observed (I used observed because it is more appropriate than “celebrate,” at least when you are in this floor) in a fragile environment filled with people in pain or suffering. I saw them change decors from Halloween, to Thanksgiving, then to Christmas, occasions which healthy people look forward to, but is just an ordinary day, perhaps another lonely day, for people hooked to chemo machines and tied in bed. I was once one of them and this experience is stacked in my head, but it was temporary.

I wanted to reach-out to the people I rode the elevator with last Thursday and tell them that better days are coming their way soon. I wanted to erase and clear the sadness in their eyes, just like how the eye drops cleared the foreign body in my eye.

The Children's Books (guilt of a working mother)

The problem with cleaning our “dead stock” cabinet (this is the open rack of paper materials from our past) is that it sparks guilty feelings in me. Why because, the stock were mostly children’s books I bought when we just migrated to Los Angeles and had no time to read to the kids because I spent more time on overtime works, or studying courses in line with my job.

Those fine books could have enriched my children’s knowledge or attached them more to reading than being hooked with the computer. Had I known then what I knew now, I wouldn’t be overly concerned of providing for my children’s material needs. I could have spent longer time reading books to them and they’ll have more stories from me to remember.

Now I have the time and know what is more important, I long to read to my children, but they won’t let me, they think it's lame. They are now teens starting to evolve in their own worlds. And because I couldn’t turn back the hands of time, I’ll just hold on to the books, until the time my children have their own children and I’ll volunteer to read to them.

Cooking and my Grandparents

I started to cook at fourteen. Back then, my mother, my two siblings and I, live at my grandfather’s house together with my mother’s younger siblings. My grandmother was a very good cook. She doesn’t follow any recipes, she just knew it. In the afternoons, coming home from school, I would catch her make dinner. Instead of doing my homework, I would seat by the kitchen table and watch her sauté, mix, pour, and every other thing which makes a good meal. I come close near the stove so fascinated at how the raw ingredients turn into delicious dishes.

My grandma doesn’t taste what she cooks, so she would ask me to taste it for her and tell her what I think so even if I don’t know a thing about mixtures, I just give her my feedback based on my taste buds, and excellent buds I have, I could tell her if it lacks salt, pepper, etc. Later I realized, my grandmother brought out the natural cook in me through this very good exercise, tasting the meals as it is being prepared. So, not long enough, I told my grandma, I’d like to cook and our roles were reversed she is now tasting the food I make. But like what I said, she was a very good cook, so it is harder to please her, than please me when I was the critic. Thanks to my grandfather who encouraged me to continue and would argue with my grandma on my behalf to be just thankful that someone is taking over her chore. True enough, if not for my taking over, my grandma would keep on cooking for up to forever because no one in the family did, not my mother, or her other siblings who can’t even fry a fish.

So then, beginning at my sophomore year in high school, and up to the time I turned 21, the year my grandmother passed away, also the year we moved out of my grandfather’s house, I was designated the official cook of the family.

I am passionate about cooking; it brings out my creativity, weird that I find it entertaining. I am so grateful for having such wonderful grandparents who awakened the love for cooking in me. One taught me, one encouraged me.

Carly and Meg

Both are business leaders, both have money, and both have lost in yesterday’s election. I am not really a politics watcher or a politics expert. I am just a common person who thinks that Carly and Meg could have won using common sense.

The country is plagued with debt; the economy is in life support. People don’t have jobs; have lost their homes, and having a hard time to survive the day to day living. How in the world could they relate to the two billionaires? People knew Carly and Meg have money, tremendous amount of money. Something that people don’t have or couldn’t have in this dimmed reality called recession. Why would they vote for them?

Carly’s predetermined success during the early race for the Senate seat against Barbara went to trash when the democrat’s advertisement hit the tubes in the last three weeks. The one which showed Carly laid-off 30,000 HP employees and shipped California jobs to Asia. This killed her senate dream. This made a very strong impact to people considering the current 14% unemployment rate in California.

As a common people applying common sense, I think Carly could have responded to the same negative advertisement and use it to her own advantage. She should have emphasized that she was a very loyal and dedicated CEO who at that time was only thinking of the welfare of HP, the company she served. That had she not done so, HP would not thrive and continue to remain one of the money-earning companies in the US. But people don’t know this, kudos to the democrats who thought of this commercial, people only knew about the lay-off and the outsourcing of jobs.

Carly’s reply-to advertisement should contain that her tested loyalty and dedication are now geared for the benefit of California, the State she would serve, and that Californians would emerge successful and strong, like HP, in the end. She might have a senatorial seat by now.

As to Meg, the undocumented maid she fired cost her $142 million. Whew!!!

Ready, Set, Go!!!

This is not a picture from a bike store. These are our bikes, and we're ready for summer! I love LA!!!

Back to basics

Catching up with technology is like catching the wind, which is why I opted to go back to basics for my anniversary gift. I passed on the iPad for a little more pricey Dahon Mariner. This one doesn't need apps, works without electricity, and lets me enjoy the wind :-)