TRUE TO HER filial word and deep love for her nonagenarian Dad (she lost her mother recently, another soul who was as hardy), Sis Irene chose family first. She graciously begged off from her fellow BEC bible-sharers to focus her attention on him. He had a bad fall on the eve of her birthday (an unexpected fly in her excited ointment). As we complimented her enduring bloodline, we appreciated the fact that Candido has had a cranial surgery already so another is not feasible. He needs close caring for and, understandably, round-the-clock attention. The nurse in her rolled up her doting-daughter sleeves and thanked us for storming heavens on his behalf.
Her TTJ team missed her and Ate Bubbles (who is now shedding her jet lag in California) last night and Ate Veron brightly thought to adopt half of their foursome (Ate Ofel and UtoLiza) into ours. We were, therefore, a happy sextet grateful for the modification. My joy momentarily stood still when Ate Car informed me whose wake she went to earlier, a Marian friend and fellow chorister whom she deemed as her Mary on earth. I was done with my vespers so silently lifted Marie’s soul up and, the morning after, promised to enrol her in my vespers.
I felt I had to appreciate Ate Veron for her attributes I mistook for a Legionary’s. She not only humbly deflected my wrong perception but outright admitted that they might have been due to behavioral contagion. Most of her friends are either Legionaries or members of Marian communities. I pray for a child for her and husband Andy. She happily thwarts my seriousness with jokes that she has one in him and my insistence is owed to the miracles with Sarah and Elizabeth. If they can be favored by God, because of His Son, why not Ate Veron. Besides, mountains have been by prayer moved before. Which brings me to things that are farthest from one’s mind and then, by divine ordination, emerges opportunely. After noting what was on my mind, she casually asked if there was a Mass last Saturday at Madriñan’s Montfort Center of Spirituality. I responded as casually that I had no idea (it was a first Saturday!) when what would pop out of my fb account but the advisory of the First Saturday Devotion to Mary. With a bonus of waiting time before the start of the Little Crown. Hastily, I went back to Ate Veron and told her about it. She said she was also in touch with Ates Ofel and Vicky about the same! My untechie patience could only wait a little, so stayed for the Little Crown and, when the 9 am Mass was taking time to start, left the site, resolved to pray instead the first Mass of Sunday at 6 pm later. Alex passed by with a book saying he’ll let me read it after he finishes, an emotional story of Laika, the first Russian dogmonaut. He was certain he and his news got my attention. He did finish it before Angelus and I was able to browse a few pages. So that, when he passed me by again to go out in front for his workouts, I already had a quote from it (I’m a man of destiny) which he appreciated.
My fb was focused on Our Lady of Fatima Parish Urduja, whose Mass Presider, Rev Fr. Omar Zaragosa, gave a fitting homily on the Gospel. He hammered home “Respons-ability,” which was the ability to respond to the call of being always ready for the Son of Man’s Second Coming, for no one knows the day or the hour. Towards the end of his sermon, the live streaming stopped and would not budge the many times that I tried to bring it back. There was no time to fret or fuss so what I did was look for another live-streamed Mass and was I glad I caught Divine Word Media in time for the priest’s lifting up the lone name of Marie Fernandez. I stayed on until the final blessing. Then I prayed my Chaplet and the rosary next, where I delivered my promise to God, Ate Car and Marie. When I told Ate Car about the priest lifting up the soul of Marie, she was not surprised because, like our own Ate Vi to the Montfortians, her friend was a devoted servant to the Jesuits. Once more, God sustained my disbelief in accidents. Who’d have known I’d be affirmed in my praying for the eternal repose of her soul for the first time!
Earlier, I decided to walk from Ever Gotesco to BF Road to run my errands. Having bought Polident and candles at TGP, I proceeded to Ate Irene’s Plena Wellness Clinic to pay for the food supplements I purchased on credit. No one was home. I went to Manay Marlyn’s house instead to leave the money with Keisha, their youngest daughter, because Kuya Gemer wasn’t home either. Keisha said they were at a party. Ate Irene told me later they were together at the said party. Proceeding to the market to buy the flowers (should Mary be collected, which was as far-fetched as the return of Rolly, thank God!), I passed by the Tarape’s place. Kuya Rey was his usual busy self but quickly unlocked the gate to let me in, while shouting for Ate Jackie to “Come down, Ma, Kuya Ham is here.” Such ever-ready welcome when all I needed was a brief respite and a glass of natural (Kuya Rey gave me cold and I was fast to correct it) water. As busy as they both were, Ate Jackie did come down and was already making plans of her husband bonding with me when I said that I could not stay because of TOP and WOC. They understood, although I saw Ate Jackie visibly rued the shortness of my visit. Before I left, I was able to tell them that I bumped into Ate Weng and we exchanged short pleasantries.
The bus trip to Don Antonio and the tricycle ride to BF Gate were uneventful (except that 3 o’clock struck on the bus I prayed the habit there) I proceeded directly to the church for the Stations.
Back home, I found out that Cita was still sick so Aes and I minded the cooking and dishes, respectively. Myrna checked on her every once in a while to see how she is doing. She was better the next morning, a little groggy due to oversleep and a residual headache but otherwise fit to go back to her routine. She always attributes her well-being to Mary, especially when I showed her, with an explanation, the three colors of the Blessed Virgin (a gift from Portugal), which change according to the climate.
Now the book, “Laika.” Authored by Nick Abadzis, a British comic book writer and artist, the 206-page comic is, by the back-cover blurbs, a standout, conjures the complex, scary Cold War period, filled with pathos and poignancy, and warns the reader to have some tissues ready. I’m only on page 56 so will get back to this after I’ve perused it thoroughly. My respite, as well, from a spiritual heavy.
Alex has an uncanny feel for books that will appeal to me. I just finished “Laika” when my three o’clock alarm went off. And halted the flow of liquid. Yes, the story of a Cosmodog made me shed. Like Alex cried when lost his first Spitz, Snow. Like we will both cry surely when we lose Bronson, who is now 6 years old. Given that a Dachscund has a lifespan of 13-16 years and a mongrel longer than that, I have the certainty that my grief is a long time to come yet. I’m 72 and will spend as long as I have giving him a bath and every morsel he fancies. Back to the book, I have very little knowledge about Russian sentiments but the author’s account is backed up by thorough research my immediate compassion goes out to the lab animal trainer, Yelena Dubrovsky, who was the only human touched by the female mutt. The other Soviets were understandably driven by the race to space at that time they were cold to realize that, officially, Laika survived four days in orbit but stress and overheat in her capsule killed her in less that 5 hours (the author expertly conjured emotional moments between man and animal it is difficult not to be moved). There was no plan for her return, everyone in the Sputnik I project knew, but neither did they employ compassionate measures for the poor, unsuspecting canine. Amen.