....another day in paradise...

....I hope you had a fine time in the Bahamas! . . . I did not have my
computer with me in the Philippines...

I can imagine the time you had...the fine hotels and fresh ironed
linens on the bed. Breakfast on the beach! . . .May I tell you about a
day in the Philippines?

The sun rises and sets at the same time....you adjust your life to
it. The sounds of cooking, the pots and pans, the mothers singing to
their children wake you with the rising sun.

I open my eyes to a woven bamboo ceiling, woven bamboo walls, I am
sleeping on a woven reed mat upon a wooden floor.

But don't think I am living poorly, oh no! I have a metal roof,
brightly painted red.

I sit on the porch and drink my coffee watching the people come done
from the mountains and their children go to school; There are but
three houses between me and the farms, the mountains, the coconut
plantations.

Normally I would sweep the yard of the fallen leaves and go to market
to buy my evening meal and oh, I love going to market. I can shop and
flirt for hours! The older ladies ask me of my wife, the young ones
cast glances and engage in conversation. It is a game we play every
day. And don't you know these same ones who flirt so boldly turn their
head and shyly look away if I meet them on the street.

I sit and drink my coffee and wait for the boys, you see, today is
Saturday..

The boys come down the street, each with their own plastic jug. We go
to the coco farm, us older ones standing guard while the younger ones
shinny up the trees. Carefully we choose our prey.

The coconut milk we put onto our jugs, the jelly we eat for breakfast.
When we are done, we each take our plastic and go our separate ways.

At home I take the bark of the Santol tree in my yard and put it into
my jug.....

The day passes and I wait for sundown. And when the sun goes down I
begin to walk to the pier...along the way I meet the boys...us and our
stolen jugs of coco milk. Actually, we are pretending they are stolen.
If the uncle of one of the boys can spot the missing coconuts, he will
soundly admonish us and demand the market price (we having to pay for
the harvesting) and if he does not, come Sunday we will see him and
confess our sins and we will pay a better than market price, he being
impressed with our belated but honest confession.

The coco milk, with the bark of the Santol tree has taken but a day to
make a fine strong wine.

And we sit on the rocks by the pier and drink our wine. And we chat
and smile and flirt with the girls...they are no longer shy; it is
Saturday night at the pier!...and I go home.

And I unroll my woven reed mat...and it's just another day in
paradise...


john