SUMMER'S HERE! NGYAR......=S

I just know summer's here (in February, really?!) when the breezy, cool noontime walks I didn't mind taking from Boni High all the way to Market! Market! for lunchtime errands is no longer possible. I get out of our office and barely make it to Starbucks (no more than 50 steps away) without melting.

I just know summer's here (in February, really?!) when I have to turn the aircon on much, much earlier at night as opposed to turning it on only right before we sleep. I just know summer's here when the barely there aircon cooling (more for air circulation really, whether real or imagined on my part) gives way to lower and lower temps. It's a vicious cycle I know.....Guilty as charged! Ngyar. ='(

I just know summer's here (in February, really?!) when I couldn't resist having a tall glass of ice-cold Coke Light poured over a tall glass filled with ice. Get that ice-cold Coke just isn't enough? In the office where the aircon blasts on the entire day, I drink coffee. I drink green tea (to aid in my quest to lose 15 lbs. by the time I'm 40!). In House Better, during weekends, nothing else does it for me. Forget the "happiness bit" that they blare out on all their TVC's. It's all about fizz and bubbles going down to soothe a dry, parched throat. *SFX: glug-glug-glug...Aaaaaaaaaaaaah! =D*

I just know summer's here (in February, really?!) when droughts, low water levels and cloud seeding take precedent over presidential campaign buzz and political mud-slinging in the early evening news.

Still, this being Banzo's first summer, I have had a few more reminders. These days, I just know summer's here (in February, really?!) because Banzo has started to shed, his loose furballs rolling all over the place like desert tumbleweeds against the air being blown by the industrial fan. We have started to put bottles and bottles of 1.5L Coke PETs filled with water in the freezer so that Fe-licious can repeatedly replace his water dispenser with ice-cold water throughout the day. (And just like that, he drinks practically half the bottle now everytime he goes, haha.) I have also taken to texting Fe-licious in the middle of the day to check if she kept the industrial fan on as I told her or to direct her to put on the aircon if it's particularly hot (mag-jacket na lang siya, haha).

Finally, I just know summer's here when the resident Siberian Husky who used to curl up blissfully as he sleeps now spreads eagle like an accidental porn star in all those video scandals every time he takes a nap.



Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Welcome to the start of a potentially 40-degree summer.

Heaven help all of us. =S

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If there's anything that'll help cool things down, it's trees.

I know because there is a world of difference between driving down old acacia-lined McKinley Road on the Forbes side and driving down the same road on the Fort Bonifacio side where the trees are still young (in time, in time...).

I know because there is a world of difference between walking the pups on the street outside and playing with them instead in Mother's House Better garden with the Santol tree covering practically the entire backyard and a gazillion other plants and mini-trees cooling things down.

Sometime last year, I goaded the entire family into a tree-planting activity at the La Mesa watershed. 20 seedlings prepared in honor of the kiddies in the family (including Buster J and, back then, Barrioca, haha). 'Would have to find time (and cash, haha) to do that one again.

In the meantime, I do hope this will inspire you to find some way of planting a tree in your own neighborhoods or your own backyards. Come rainy season, they will help keep the floods away. Come summer, they will help cool us down. Could there be any better deal than that? None. So go! =)

WHEN I GET RICH, AS IN SUPER, SUPER RICH!!! =D

When I get rich--as in super, super, rich!--I will build a house with a non-descript facade, an ordinary wooden door and a small pocket garden in front.


To balance the simplicity, I would line the floor with pretty, pretty tiles. The kind that practically turns into a kaleidoscope the longer you stare at them. I will have them brought in from some foreign country--never mind the cost--for no other reason than the fact that they fascinate me.


Unless I invite them in, no one would know that beyond the small pocket garden, behind the non-descript facade, through the ordinary wooden door, my pretty, pretty tiles will lead them to a room so huge, so elegant and stately, that my unsuspecting guests couldn't help but let out a gasp. Of delight? Of envy? Probably a good dose of both.


Then involuntarily, they would tug at their jackets just a wee bit closer as the cool morning breeze blows gently through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Is it too cold, Madams? Sirs?" my butler will ask them, as my uniformed househelps, decked in their standard French maid black-&-whites, take their places near their assigned windows, ready to act at the slightest, most subtle signal.

"No, it's OK," my guests will say. "Leave them open. We don't usually get air this fresh from where we came from."

Then, rushing ahead of my butler, my guests would gleefully run to where they want to be seated as opposed to where they ought to be led. (The butler is there for a reason, you know.) Still, my butler would just smile a knowing smile and leave them be.

My guests will take their seats beside an open window and gaze at the garden outside...until they realize that there is also a garden above...and a garden below.

Then, to squeals of delight, they will realize for the first time that this huge, elegant, stately room that my pretty, pretty tiles had led them to--beyond the pocket garden, behind the non-descript facade, through the ordinary wooden door--is actually sitting on the side of a mountain, albeit hidden from public view. (After all, the truly rich don't find the need to flaunt their wealth; they think it is an utter waste of time.)

My guests would wonder if they will be allowed to step outside and wander, but before they could ask, one of my French maids would be back, bringing with her a press full of mountain-grown coffee, roasted and brewed to perfection. Then, they would temporarily forget their desire to hie off as they lose themselves in cups filled with this dark, mystical brew.

They will be served breakfast to their liking--all carefully prepared by our in-house chef.

Huevos Rancheros if they want a Mexican meal. (I, personally,never did fancy eating one.)

Satisfaction can only be found in a Filipino breakfast for me. I'll let them try the garlicky, lean longganisa that they serve in, this, my stately home. It'll be cooked, toasted just right. I'll suggest that they dip it in our special vinegar. Sure, maybe they'd probably miss the cloying sweetness and fat that seems to be a prerequisite for the store-bought variety (I confess, I sometimes do too), but, I suppose, they can eat that next weekend. After they go home.

Or maybe, just maybe, I can persuade the Hubby to let them try the homemade corned beef that he taught our in-house chef to prepare just for him. Canned corned beef is not really available here on a regular basis (although, I must admit, that Palm Corned Beef is one of my guilty pleasures). Here, corned beef is prepared from scratch. Beef brisket cured in a special brine, flavored with secret spices. Not too salty. Not too fatty. But really flavorful. My guests would be surprised.

They will sit at my table and while the day away, conversing, laughing--until it is finally time.

At dusk, they would wish they can stay longer, but they would always--sadly--have somewhere else to go home to, something else to do.

"Next time," they would say, as we walk out on my pretty, pretty tiles, through my ordinary wooden door.

"Until next time," I would call out to them, as I stand outside my non-descript facade, as they walk through my small pocket garden to get to their cars, still laughing, waving.

These things, I dream of doing.

When I get rich.

When I get really, really rich.

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I dream only of doing these things, but those who know me well know that even if I manage to amass that much wealth, I'm too kuripot to actually build a huge, elegant, stately house on the side of some mountain. I, personally, think I'm just too darn practical. Imagine how many rental units I could buy instead! Haha. Which is why I'm glad there's Antonio's for us to go to. For all those times I want to pretend and dream.

"Tiburcio, ang kabayo." Sabay palakpak. Haha. =D