Z is for Zither

When I was a little girl I had a special little musical instrument called a zither.  It was a little lap harp that was played by plucking the strings.  It was made for kids and had little music sheets you could slip under the string so you would be able to play different songs.  Ours was made mostly of metal, I think.

I don't really know where it came from or who it belonged to before me- but I'm pretty certain it was a toy from long before my era.

It would be a fun instrument to have now for my own children, but at $42 (so says one site I found) I think I'll just let them watch it on YouTube or give them a waxed-paper comb to play.  :)

Now, for your listening enjoyment- Fur Elise, on the zither.

And if you are REALLY bored, here is a video of a guy playing a comb covered in plastic (there's a YouTube video for everything under the sun!).

Thanks for stopping by for the April A-Z blog challenge!  It was a fun way for me to get back into blogging.  Magingat sa inyong lahat!

W is for Wreck

Our family in 2007

One day a several years ago when we still lived in Canada I was picking up our babysitter for the evening.  Dennis and I had a special banquet to go to so I left with enough time to pick up the sitter, get back home, dress up and make it to the banquet on time.  As I left the sitter's house I guess I was in a hurry and didn't notice a stop sign that was tucked up high on a corner, partly obscured by a pine tree.

I sailed through the intersection and in slow motion the scene unfolded in front of me. My van, a four door sedan coming from the right, the collision right on top of the manhole, the slow, scraping journey of momentum that took us to the curb on the other side.

I was stunned.  It was my first accident and to top it all off I had someone else's precious teenage daughter in my passenger seat!  As steam poured out from under my hood I looked behind us to see what had happened to other car.  It was full of people and they were starting to get out.  Four tiny little ladies.  Long black and white cloth.  I couldn't believe my eyes: I had hit a car full of nuns!

The neighbors started pouring out of their houses to see what had happened.  It isn't every day you see four nuns in a car wreck.  Someone let me use their cellphone to call Dennis.  It took me about 10 tries to get my shaking hands to dial the number properly.  The police came.  One of the nuns was taken to the hospital to get checked out; she had been very shaken by the crash.  It appeared that no one had been seriously hurt.

Right away I admitted to the policeman that I had been at fault but he still crossed himself when I told him that perhaps the nuns had been speeding.  Maybe if I had whipped out my habit I usually keep in the back seat he would have been scared to give me a ticket?

After it was all over and I rode away from the scene one impression lingered in my mind- the sight of the travelling saint bobble-head figurine on the dashboard of the nuns' car, nodding away vigorously.

T is for Toilets

Yes, you read that right.  I want to write about toilets.  In fact, I scratched a whole paragraph I had started on the subject of toothpaste (which is also interesting but not quite as interesting as toilets) in lieu of a blog post dedicated to the subject of toilets.

You may have preferences in this area of personal hygiene.  I know I do.  I prefer a toilet to be clean, have a seat and have toilet paper available nearby.  I want to be able to flush the tissue down.

I also know what I don't want.  I don't want to see any sort of liquid on the seat or around the base.  In fact, I don't want to have to worry about what is on the floor at all.

I have had to rethink all my preferences in the last two years.  The first thing I noticed here was that tissue isn't flushed down.  There is usually a small trash can located near the toilet for the tissue to be placed.  There are signs posted warning against flushing down toilet paper.

Public toilets often do not have a seat.  We've gotten used to that now and don't really care so much anymore.

Public toilets usually do not have toilet paper available.  To get around this we carry small packages of tissue in our bags.  Dennis had to get a "man bag" because there are some things a person just has to carry- like hand sanitizer and tissue.

Public toilets usually do not have soap.  If they do, it is out already or is watered down to the consistency of, well, water.  So we are really good at remembering to stick that hand sanitizer in our bags.

There is often liquid on the floor in public bathrooms.  It took me awhile to realize why.  It is still gross, but not as gross as I imagined.  Water is often used in conjunction with tissue here for more cleanliness, and sometimes splashing water around can get a little messy.  But at least it is just water.  In fact, lots of bathrooms have a little bidet installed, a mini sprayer like the ones we are used to seeing at the kitchen sink.  If there isn't a bidet installed then most people use a tambo, a medium sized dipper.

When Button was in the hospital last fall for dengue she had a really cool toilet in her hospital room.  It had several automatic sprayers for different needs, I guess.  If you have watched the movie Cars 2 you may remember Mater in the restroom pushing lots of buttons and being startled at what was happening to him as he got sprayed from different angles.  That is what this one was like.

And there you have it.  Things you never knew you didn't know.  You're welcome.

S is for Squeaky

In our house, S is for Squeaky.  Squeaky just turned eight last week.  I don't think I know yet how to parent an 8 year old- after all, I'm only three days into it so far.  But something about "eight" seems so much older than "seven".  I don't know why.

There are so many things I love about Squeaky.  She is so creative.  She loves to make up stories and plays, write and illustrate books, design activity sheets and magazines.  She dreams about opening a bookstore and a restaurant.

It is fun to see my little baby girl turn into someone I can talk to.  I enjoy talking to Squeaky and finding out what she's thinking.  She's a thinker!  One day recently Squeaky and I had a serious conversation about obedience.  I was talking to her about how sometimes it seems like she takes a really long time to do whatever I've asked her to do.  She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a little picture to help illustrate her point of view.  This actually was really helpful!  It made me understand her in a way I never had before.

She explained that in the first picture she is standing by her bed and laying her jammies out on it.  Then comes the command, "Put on jammies."  And the last box is what she really wanted me to know, "I want to have fun while obeying."  :)  I thought this was a great insight for a 7 year old to have about themselves.  It has been helpful since then.  I've been able to tell her when she just needs to obey for the sake of speed or safety or when she has time to have fun while obeying.

R is for Rat and Revelation

We have a rat.  Yes, and not a pet one.  We first saw our rat around Christmas bounding down our stairs in large leaps.  It looked like a cat from the corner of our eye.  We are having trouble catching it.  We've put poisonous cookies out for it- consisting of a delightful concoction of rat poison, grease and cornmeal wrapped like a fire cracker in newspaper.  I'm not sure what good that is doing but hopefully maybe we've killed off a few mice and cockroaches that way.

We also have sticky fly paper out that effectively catches mice.  One morning, we found long grayish fur stuck in it and it had moved a few feet.  It looked like a struggle had taken place.  Doom, doom, doom...

This blog is also a revelation, because until now we hadn't disclosed this information to the general public.  By that I mean, someone who used to live here may find this post to be quite disturbing.

Q is for Q-B-doo-B

Q-B-doo-B, also known as Winnie on my blog, is the perfect thing to talk about for the letter Q.  Our third born, this little person adds so much sparkle to our home.  She loves turtles, silliness, scraps of paper, cuddles, paper, small little things, and ... paper!

We just celebrated her 5th birthday last week.  Since she was our youngest for four years of her life she has many of the youngest characteristics- she loves to make people laugh and sometimes still acts a little like a baby.  And of course we treated her like our baby for four whole years so I'm not too surprised.  Sometimes I still have to scoop her up and cradle her in my arms when she's walking by...  She's so dinky that she still fits nicely in there.


Q-B-doo-B is very unique.  She will play quietly by herself for hours, making up little games with little toys or scraps of paper (have I mentioned the paper yet?).  She is left handed and often writes perfectly backwards and mirror-image from right to left although she is able to write forwards and properly as well.  I've wondered about that sometimes but she just tells me she likes to do it the other way more.  


We just love our little girl and are so thankful she is a part of our family.

Winnie playing a game she made up-  I'd try to explain, but it was complicated. :)

(For some reason the photo uploader on blogger has been doing this to my pics lately.)

P is for Polvoron

It took me awhile to discover this little treasure of the Philippines.  In fact, I remember biting into a polvoron for the first time at the birthday party of one of our teachers over a year after we had moved here.  As it crumbled all over my face (because as all good polvoron eaters know you cannot take a bite out of one and expect to remain tidy) I simultaneously felt like I had encountered something new and amazing and had come home.  It was like powdery, creamy loveliness all packed into a little cellophane wrapper- tasting much like a shortbread cookie but 100 times better.

Polvoron,
On the day we first met
I knew I would never be the same.
How could I have gone 31 years without knowing you?
Crumbling, delicate,
Melting richness
I didn't know how sweet life could be.
What does it matter that I have a hard time spelling your name?

If you have never experienced the life-changing goodness of this delicacy, you will just have to come to the Philippines.  Or maybe I'll bring some home the next time we come.  Or I might just eat it all on the plane.

O is for Ocean

As a little girl growing up in land-locked Nebraska (see yesterday's post) I never dreamed I would ever live anywhere near the ocean.  My experience with bodies of water were limited to the local swimming pool, the small man-made lakes near the city where I grew up and the Platte river (again, see yesterday's post).

In fact, when I saw the ocean for the first time I couldn't take my eyes off it.  I was eleven years old and my family and I were heading to the shores of the Atlantic at the same time as Hurricane Bob in 1991.  Driving east bound toward the ocean I watched with big eyes as a steady stream of cars passed us in the left lane.  I was scared but pretty sure my dad wouldn't take us somewhere too dangerous.

Happily, my own little girl didn't allow anything to dampen her spirits!

When we finally reached the beach the waves were majestic and thundered as they crashed.  I remember running away from the foam and giggling with delight as it lapped up toward my feet.  There was a stranger there who kept laughing too.  I was so embarrassed I decided I wouldn't act excited about the ocean anymore but later I discovered that he was a regular beach comber and was just thrilled to pieces to see someone seeing the ocean for the first time.  I feel bad now that I allowed my 11 year old sense of embarrassment overshadow the joy of seeing the ocean.

Up until I moved to the Philippines I could count on my two hands the times I'd seen the ocean.

I am so blessed now to live in a country of over 7,000 islands with some of the most beautiful beaches in the world.  We've been on two little trips now to specifically enjoy the beach and sometimes I almost feel like I need to pinch myself to know that it is real.

N is for Nebraska

It has been 14 years since I've lived in Nebraska and 3 years since I've visited.  It is funny how endearing a place can become when you move away.

At the Sunken Gardens

Back when we lived in Canada I would talk to my mom on the phone in March and she would tell me about spotting a robin, or about all the flowers that were coming up.  I would look out my window at the snow banks and dreamily wish myself back down "south" where flowers start coming out that early.

Thanks for the photo, David VE (I took it off your FB)... :D

Another thing that makes me pine for Nebraska is the space.  You can drive down a highway going toward the interstate and see the headlights of cars miles before you arrive there yourself.  Those big skies got into my blood.  There is something wild and beautiful about being able to see the whole horizon and when we go back I love to watch the topography change as we drive toward the mid-west.  The flatter it gets the more excited I get.

Dennis isn't from Nebraska.  One of his most poignant memories of Nebraska was the first time my family hosted his family in Nebraska back when we were dating.  The temps were up around 100 F the whole time  but we still dragged them all over the city to see the capitol building, the Sunken Gardens and to go on a picnic.   All I remember was being SO hot and freaking out about some bees that came along to the picnic.  I'm pretty sure the whole experience included some screeching (due to the bees, of course) and whining (due to the heat, of course)- neither of which made a very good impression on the future in-laws, I'm sure!  But it was so very hot.  And the bees were so very scary.

Enjoying Pioneer Park with three little girls on a hot summer day in 2009

Other things I miss about Nebraska: The Mill (coffee shop I used to go to a lot, especially with my dad), cicadas singing in the trees on summer evenings, the smell of freshly cut grass (I know you can smell that anywhere but for me it is sweetest there), driving an hour to go swimming in one of the very few lakes in the whole state (I'm serious!), crossing the Platte River and checking out the water level based on how many sand bars I could see, going out with my brother late at night to Village Inn for pie or just driving around aimlessly and talking, ahhhh... I shall sigh a happy sigh now.  :)

Anyway, memories are funny things.  Maybe someday I will daydream about Manila like this.

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

M is for Miss Muffet

M is for Miss Muffet.  She is the littlest member of our family and just turned one year old on March 25.  She is such a joy to us.  Let me tell you a few of the reasons why.

She has funny little finger-pointing habits.  She barks when the dogs outside bark.  She furrows her brow and scowls at us whenever she feels like it.  She wrinkles up her nose and sniffs loudly to make us laugh.  She loves to try to walk on our bed and dislikes trying to walk on the regular floor.  She dances to music or even to the sound of silverware clanking against a plate (her sisters are happy to oblige).

She says "Dada," "Mama," "lamat" (for salamat= thank you in Tagalog), "De-dah" for Aunt Bee,  and her oldest sister's name.  Her first word was, "Ready?"  She rarely cries or complains; only when she is really hurting or something is wrong.  She lays her head down on us and says, "Ahhhhhh" when she gives hugs.  She is kissable, huggable, squeezable and generally very, very lovable.  We are so thankful for this little blessing!

L is for Limits

Today was Winnie's fifth birthday.  Squeaky and Winnie have birthdays 5 days apart and they both wanted to go to Kiddie Land to celebrate.  Kiddie Land is a play place in a mall that we discovered not too far from our house.

First we went out for lunch at Jollibee (Winnie's choice) where we all had chicken and rice.  Jollibee is a local favorite and even more common than McDonalds here.

The Birthday Girl!

Squeaky is our oldest, on the left

After lunch we walked down to the mall where this particular play place is that they so badly wanted to visit.  When we got there the lady behind the counter told Squeaky that she exceeded the height limit for the play area.  That was the first time we've been turned away from anything due to exceeding a height limit and I'm sure my feelings were written all over my face as I encouraged Squeaky to take off her shoes and stand by the sign again.  Sure enough, the top of her head was a good 2 inches above the limit.

It broke my heart to tell her she couldn't go in and play in the place she had been wanting to go to for her birthday. I was shocked at how easily I started wishing that they would bend the rules for us.  I actually got a little huffy inside about it.  Dennis just said, "It's ok.  I'll take her to do some other fun things."  And he did, while I grumpily accompanied the other two into Kiddie Land.

We can still fit the three of them in a little car!

Eventually I came around.  I realized that I shouldn't expect any special treatment and that it was a good thing they honored their sign.  If they didn't and allowed all sorts of bigger kids in there it wouldn't be nearly as fun for the ones it really is intended for.  So, it just so happened that my little girl grew a couple of inches since we last visited there and now is above the limit.  That's ok.  I'll get over it.  She did.

K is for Killer Bunnies

Yes, you read that right.  Killer Bunnies.

Killer Bunnies is a game that Dennis and I discovered several years ago.  We've managed to introduce it to friends along the way so we always have other people to play with although you can play it with 2 players as well.  One friend of ours likes to call it Murderous Rabbits instead, but that doesn't quite have the right ring to it. :)

It is a colorful and clever game that teaches you to not take anything too seriously.  It is pretty hard to take things too seriously when someone plays a weapon on you called "The Kitchen Whisk" or "Green Gelatin (with Evil Pineapple Chunks)."  The whole point of the game is to have the one magic carrot at the end, but you have to have at least one bunny still alive to claim the victory even if you have the magic carrot.  So most of the game is spent trying to get lots of carrots, keep your bunnies alive and kill off everyone else's bunnies through various means.

Our kids love to play with the pieces of this game because it is so colorful, so when I was at a local bazaar sale here in Manila and found a game put out by the same company called "Kinder Bunnies" for children, you'd better believe I snatched it up and gave it to Dennis for Christmas. Yes, to Dennis.  :)  He is making sure that our children are introduced at a young age to great games and not only to the typical kid games like Candyland, Sorry, UNO and Connect 4.  We love those too, though.

Killer Bunnies and the Journey to Jupiter takes the game to a whole new level- we love playing that too!

J is for Juan dela Cruz and Jeeps

A little tidbit of 'J' info for today:

Juan dela Cruz is used in the Philippines like John Doe is used in the U.S.A.  dela Cruz is one of the most common Filipino last names, much like Smith or Jones in English.

Jeepneys, or jeeps (actually spelled 'dyip' in Tagalog) are the cheapest mode of public transportation here.  The original jeepney was made from old military vehicles that the Americans left behind.  Newer ones are now manufactured here.  For about 17 cents you can ride up to 3km and tell the driver to stop where ever you want him to as long as it is along his route.  I take these all the time because we don't have a vehicle and we live right along a main road where they pass by day and night.  My kids love riding jeeps- you can feel the wind in your hair provided you're not stuck in traffic!

I is for itchy

I used to know who my enemies in the bug world were.  Blackflies, bees, wasps, hornets, mosquitoes.

I've had to add a few in the past couple of years.  Cockroaches, red ants, termites, bok-bok, mosquitoes that actually carry diseases like dengue and malaria, and unknown bugs with big mouths.  

Sometimes when I wake Miss Muffet up in the morning her little legs look like this with big red bites all over them:

Sometimes it happens to us too, but we don't know what causes it.  The bites are different than a mosquito bite.  A thorough investigation of the bed doesn't lead us anywhere.  We can't find any sign of anything.

When Filipinos see the spots they say it is caused by "surot."  They say it is a little bug too small to see but that it leaves marks like that and is very itchy.  The remedy, apparently, is to sun the mattress outside, which is all fine and dandy if your mattress isn't too big.

Usually I just change the sheets and, if it is Miss Muffet who is getting chewed, I wipe down the walls of her crib.  Then we wait for another few weeks until we wake up with more bites.

These are some of our itch weapons, but sadly I don't really use any of these on our baby so she just has to deal with the itch from the terrible, invisible bug.

Maybe someone has some ideas on how to combat invisible bugs and how to ease the itchiness for a baby?

H is for Hair

I feel like this post launches me into the category of 'Girl who takes pictures of herself in the bathroom mirror and then posts the entire collection to a facebook album entitled "Just Me."'  I'm going to risk it.

I never used to have to worry too much about my hair.  It was down to my waist and straight as a stick.  I could curl it with hot rollers or leave it straight.  I could put it up or wear it down.  Yay for straight hair.  Of course I complained about how it was so straight, etc.  Doesn't everyone complain about their hair, just a little?  But at least I had the time to fiddle around with it if I wanted to and it usually cooperated.

Despite threats and warnings from my friends of my youth, I had it cut over the years.  Yes, slowly snipped away at the length until it was to my shoulder blades, then just below my shoulders.  I still could look at the "long hair styles" in the magazines at the salon.

First "short" cut

With each child something changed in the chemistry of my hair.  Subtle at first, a little more body and less straight.  Something also changed in the amount of time I had to even care about my hair. Pony tails were my friend.  On the occasional date with my husband I tried to make it look nice and it still seemed somewhat possible.

Finally in an effort to ditch "frumpy" I had it cut into an angled bob.  I really like this style.  This is what I do- I cut it, let it grow long, then cut it again.  I don't usually visit a salon more than once every 9 months (*gasp*).  It goes through the stages of nice, ok, straggly, frumpy, going crazy, then back to nice when I get it cut again.  Slowly the angled bob got shorter and shorter.  Now I have to look in "short hair style" magazines and somehow it hurts my feelings- in my head I'm still a long-haired girl.

Shorter and shorter, oops

Then I moved to a hot, humid climate.  Hot and humid year round.  At first everything seemed fine.  Then slowly my hair started rejecting all the shampoos and conditioners I tried and staged a protest by alternately looking greasy and spastic, or dry and spastic.

With the birth of my fourth baby my hair officially declared that it is wavy now.  I can't even convince myself it is straight anymore.  Not even close.  What to do?

Finally last week I decided maybe I'd better look into something for it.  I hate spending money on it (hence, a haircut once every 9 months).  Money and blog posts on hair are completely ridiculous and self-absorbed.

Yesterday I bought two curl cream product thingys.  One exorbitantly priced cream product and one cheap, cheap, cheap hair lotion (lotion for hair, really?!).  I was so embarrassed to show them to my husband.  I muttered the price and told him to take it out of my very own hobby money fund.  Because that is what this is, a hobby to figure out what to do with this mop on my head.

Result of exorbitant cream applied to hair this morning: ----------------->

I'm looking forward to trying the cheap stuff- hoping it works well so that I won't feel tempted to spend that much on a bottle of silliness ever again.

And so ends my diatribe- with all the women who are reading this nodding and thinking of their own hair saga and all the men who have made it this far shaking their heads and wondering why they read the whole thing.  Sorry, folks.  There is no redeeming moral at the end.

G is for grass

Grass has become a hot commodity for our family.  We live in a concrete world.  The nearest blade of grass is blocks away.  As we drive along the streets in a taxi I often hear breathless exclamations from the girls in the backseat, "Ooooh!  Look, it is so beautiful!" whenever they see the tiniest patch of green.

Yesterday we went outside of the city with friends for a picnic.  At the end of the rocky parking lot there was some mangy grass poking up through the rocks.  Winnie was leaping around outside the car.  "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!  This is a beautiful place, want to know why?  'Cause there are rocks here and there is grass down there!"

In the fall we visited the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial.  The grass there was flawless.  We weren't allowed to walk on it, but it was a beautiful sight.  I don't think I've ever appreciated grass as much as I do now.

Getting as close to the grass as possible

F is for Finished

Today is Good Friday.  A day where many remember the death of Jesus on the cross.  There is no exception here in the Philippines.  Largely a Catholic country, the entire week before Easter is full of remembrance and liturgies.

There is a Catholic church in Quiapo called the Church of the Black Nazarene. Every year for Easter week devotees go there to worship and be blessed.  On Good Friday the statue of the Black Nazarene (called so because of a fire which turned the wood of the image black) is taken through the streets in a processional along with other replicas.  Crowds flock there to watch and some try to get close enough to receive a blessing.

Dennis and I both watched the Black Nazarene procession and tried to get into the church two years ago.  Dennis went back again last year.  When we went I didn't have the sense enough to be scared as I shuffled along with everyone else, but I know if I had fallen getting back up may not have been a possibility. We were unable to get into the church because the flow of the crowd swept us away even as we struggled to make our way across the courtyard toward it.  My friend recently shared this video  which shows how crowded it gets.

Yesterday on Maundy Thursday thousands of devotees walked past our house going to a cathedral in Antipolo, a five to eight hour journey one way.  They do it as an act of penance and devotion to God, as well as a fun time to be with friends.

Today, on Good Friday, there are some who will have themselves crucified on a cross and some who will beat themselves with flesh-ripping whips also as an act of penance and devotion.

Streets are mostly clear of traffic on this day (a lovely day to go somewhere if you have somewhere to go), stores are all closed and next to Christmas, Good Friday is the most recognized holiday.


Thinking about these things reminded me of these verses.

Hebrews 7: 24-27

24 But Jesus lives forever. So he always holds the office of priest. 25 People now come to God through him. And he is able to save them completely and for all time. Jesus lives forever. He prays for them.

 26 A high priest like that meets our need. He is holy, pure and without blame. He isn't like other people. He does not sin. He is lifted high above the heavens.

 27 He isn't like the other high priests. They need to offer sacrifices day after day. First they bring offerings for their own sins. Then they do it for the sins of the people. But Jesus gave one sacrifice for the sins of the people. He gave it once and for all time. He did it by offering himself.

F is for finished.

E is for extrovert

Extrovert: someone who is energized by being with people.  The more, the merrier.

Sometimes I wish I were like this, but extroverted I am not.  I get energized by long periods of silence and time to think and mull over whatever I need to think about and mull over.

Do you think the world caters more to extroverts or introverts?

P.S. Short post due to stimuli overload.  A lovely, people-filled day (really, I loved my day!) resulted in one very zapped introvert.  I've definitely met my word quota today.  :)

D is for... two of my favorite people.

Dennis, of course!!! 

This guy is my best friend.  We were married 10 years ago on October 6, 2012 and the past 10 years have been amazing.  We've learned a lot together, he and I, and have gone through a lot together.  There is no possible way to easily sum up what I think of him... but that I love him and thank God for bringing us together.

D is also for Dad.

April is a bittersweet month for me.  Almost exactly 4 years ago I was flying down to say goodbye to my Dad.  On April 6, 2008 he went to be with Jesus after seven years of debilitating illness.  We were so happy for him to be free of his frail body but saying goodbye is indescribably difficult.

My dad was

- a lover of God,

- a lover of his wife and family,

- a lover of nature; never failing to point out the intricate beauties all around us.

So thankful for these two amazing men!

C is for Culture

"Culture and language acquisition."  This is where we find ourselves now.  It is much more than learning to speak someone's language and knowing how to live in a different country.  It has more of a down-to-earth, labor intensive aspect to it- a desire to learn and actually take on some of the culture and language of the people you are living among.

Philosophically, this is easy to do.  We had classes on this in our training.  When we moved to the Philippines two years ago I knew that things would be different but I thought eventually everything would iron out and we'd all just be the same again.  I had prepared myself for culture shock and fatigue through familiarizing myself with a few important differences between Western culture and Asian culture.  Yes, I felt prepared.

However, the biggest shock I had was not the culture itself but my own reaction to it.  I wasn't prepared!  I have discovered how fiercely private I am, how tightly I hold on to time and how careless I am about what I wear in public.  I've learned in what ways I am totally uncouth and what values I hold above the value of people.  I've seen the other side of the scale and I now know how unbalanced I truly am.  How hard it is to change and how seldom do I really want to!  

Things still catch me off guard.  I realize how many times I put people into the box that I know and understand when the reality is we are thinking on different planes all together.  We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto!

For example, my friend who sells fried banana treats often gives me freebies.  One day I decided to offer her payment.  In my culture, that is a way of acknowledging that her efforts and financial sacrifices for our friendship have not gone unnoticed.  By offering to pay one time I'm not really expecting her to take me up on the offer but to understand my unspoken, "Thank you for always thinking of me.  Thanks for all the tasty treats, I really value our friendship and know that by giving these to me free you are sacrificing some of your income."  Am I right?  I wouldn't always necessarily put those feelings into thought but that is basically the gist of the Western response.  As an outsider I obviously cannot jump into the mind of a Filipina but in retrospect I believe that this offer was offensive to my friend. Her demeanor changed toward me afterward and it took awhile to get back in her good books again.  Perhaps the mere offer of financial repayment in her eyes negated the depth of our friendship.  And that is just one example among many.

I could say so much on this subject but I'm trying to be brief, really, I am.  Here's a little list of things that I've experienced that may interest you.

1. Stepping out of the way of a motorcycle coming straight toward me on the sidewalk.  Even more surprising was that it didn't alarm me in the slightest.
2. Waiters and waitresses taking my baby back into the restaurant kitchen for a photo shoot.
3. Getting a pat down every time I enter a store.
4. Seeing guards with large guns at the entrances to, well, everything.
5. My children being called Barbie every time we go out.
6. Being told an item is out of stock at a store, then 10 minutes later the worker hunts me down to tell me he found the product I was looking for (that's service!). :)
7. Singing out loud in public places is totally acceptable (i.e., public transportation, grocery stores, restaurants, etc.)  This one of my favorite things here in the Philippines!