Netnet Camomot
AS if Carrie Fisher’s passing wasn’t enough, her mom, Debbie Reynolds, died a day later.
Their mother-and-daughter relationship was supposed to be the inspiration behind Fisher’s first novel, “Postcards from the Edge.”
A family losing a loved one within a year is already too much. To lose one more a day after, I don’t know if anyone would have the right words for that.
While reading about all these sad news last week, gift items were still waiting to be wrapped, and hoping to be sent before New Year’s Eve.
It was work work work for the holiday season. Rihanna’s “Work” may not mean the same thing, though: “Work, work, work, work, work, work/He say me have to/Work, work, work, work, work, work!/He see me do me/Dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt!”
Hmmm. Nah, not the same thing.
Choosing between work and wrapping gifts, work won, especially with the many deadlines looming overhead.
With one newsletter done, and two others still waiting for contributions from, uh, contributors, I couldn’t finalize the details since these two were the newsletters’ main features. I had been following up their inputs since November. With the Christmas season and its parties and reunions occupying precious lines in the planner’s yearend activities, how to insert writing for a newsletter? That’s the question.
And then, there’s the supplement for a national newsletter which was waiting for my inputs which I couldn’t finalize due to the two inputs I was waiting for. Input pa more?
It was the season to write, edit, and review layouts. The quiet here in the neighborhood and all the nuts that were enjoying the coolness of the teeny weeny fridge in the room helped the minute brain concentrate on work. Nuts as in peanuts and peanut bars. Downed with the softness of strawberry yogurt. Yum!
Continued to attend parties, though, thanks to my younger sis’ encouragement: Pag-enjoy pud oi, sige ka lang trabaho.
For our high school batch’s Christmas party, the theme was stripes and headdress. Since I don’t wear stripes, the exchange gift’s wrapper and the hat had stripes.
There was the impromptu presentation by section, and you could see from what section the program-preparer came from. They were prepared—they had props.
There were times when I was busy laughing and forgot to take photos, which I guess is most appropriate—simply savor the moment and store that as a cherished memory to look back to in the future.
These were the high school batch mates I grew up with since Grade 4 when I transferred to Cagayan de Oro. I made a major decision lately because of that connection.
We met when we were still reading Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, then later, Barbara Cartland and Mills and Boon.
I was among the quiet ones in class, preferring to stay at the back, especially when I was still the new transferee. I had this Bisaya accent and a classmate taught me how to pronounce English words properly. I was good in Math, though—well, at least the multiplication table, which helped our row win some mini-competitions.
I didn’t write then. I was never elected as class president. My being Rotary club president last year was like a computer glitch. I didn’t aspire for it, didn’t want it, I was happy being the club’s bulletin chair and public relations committee chair. But it was probably meant to be? I learned a lot in that year. Realization 101.
Reunions with high school friends are more treasured once you’ve all reached a certain age, complete with recovering knees and other recovering body parts. Four of our high school classmates had a four-hour reunion in New York, with one driving for 18 hours from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Our high school class usually has minieunions here in Cagayan de Oro, hoping the rest of our classmates would join us, too.
After the high school party, we had coffee at Figaro, Limketkai Center, where we saw other people in stripes passing by. Another party with the same theme? And all along I thought a stripes party was rare.
If 2016 has a lesson to teach us, it is this: Christmas parties need themes. Wear red, wear stripes, wear a headdress. There’s this Shakey’s hat I wore to a party years ago but I can’t remember now where it’s stored.
Another lesson from 2016: Follow your heart when making major decisions. That’s a friend’s advice for me and I’ve been following that heart for, hmmm, a week now.
It’s a non-working holiday today. I gotta feeling that won’t stop people from working on their yearend reports. Not bad for the first weekday of 2017? Can’t we simply sit back, relax, and savor that moment?
So, there you are, relaxing, and then you read your New Year’s resolutions, and find out you’re already breaking at least one. Whew. Welcome to the Year of the Rooster. Cock-a-doodle-doo.
