Hello, folks. My name is Brad, and I'm a retired English teacher who specialized in seniors and juniors at a Massachusetts high school. I love a good novel, a fine poem. My home for the past seven years has been in Cabanatuan City, which is centrally located on the island of Luzon in the Philippines. My girlfriend/caretaker Glenda and I, along with Glenda's daughter Krizza, live in a cozy outbuilding on the estate of Teresita Tecson, whose family asked me to come live with them four years ago. I've met many fine people here, made good friendships, helped out where I could, accepted help when it was offered. Started this blog a few months after coming to the Philippines, and have kept a double focus throughout these pages: one, to let you enter my personal life and the lives of Filipinos close to me; two, to offer overviews of current issues important to Filipinos, as well as the customs and heritage of a remarkable people. Cheers!

Kelzy and his two brothers are the most-watched Cab City influencers on Youtube. Krizza a little gobsmacked to run into him in our neighborhood!

11.18.24

Near Miss for Cab City

Pepito (int'l name: Man-yi) came in at a more northerly slant than had been predicted, and the eye passed 30 or 40 kilometers to the north instead of right above Cabanatuan City. Which is fine by me. We experienced gusty winds and plenty of hard rain, but the damaging, dangerous weather was up around San Jose City.

                                            About 2pm the day of the storm, from our doorstep.

The Torres children and Glenda's mama Bienbe were our overnight guests, because Rizal, to our northeast, was to receive a stronger punch from this storm than Cab City. Also, the Torres farmhouse stands in the open, next to a long sweep of rice fields, whereas our solid little outbuilding is surrounded on three sides by more massive buildings. We lost electricity once, but only briefly, and spent the afternoon and evening painting and drawing, watching Tagalog movies, and eating Glenda's fine fried chicken.

The young adults stayed at the Torres place in the storm, looking after the pets and the livestock, and

they had a scary time of it. Ventusky real-time was registering typhoon-strength wind in the Rizal

area over a three-hour period; and the little farmhouse received some minor, fixable roof damage.

Glenda set off in the Avanza the next morning with Bienbe and the children, and spent most of the day 

helping the others clean the house and clear the property of fallen branches, giant banana tree fronds

and other detritus of the previous day's fierce wind. The official death toll of Pepito currently stands

at eight. Aurora was perhaps the hardest hit province; roofs were torn off several buildings in the

coastal city of Baler, which Glenda and I visited not very long ago (see 4.29.24). The Sierra Madre,

the ragged line of peaks looming over the central plain, did shred the cyclone somewhat before it

reached Rizal, kept Pepito from wreaking a like amount of fury on the Torres farmhouse.                                               Joy-Joy!

11.15.24

And Now Pepito

All's well, for now. Went to the clinic with Glenda yesterday to have the second toe on my left foot, afflicted with an infection of unknown origin, treated; while at the clinic had blood drawn for the PSA test. Oy, those PSA's are expensive: P3,500! The number telling me whether I should be worried about my prostate will be sent in 5-7 business days. In other news, Krizza danced as Ms Australia at her school's United Nations Day pageant, and, a few days before that festive gathering, received an excellent first report card! Glenda is the driver these days for our errands about town; I haven't gotten behind the wheel since the accident.

The north coast of the huge island that is my home -- as well as the group of small islands, the Babayans, just above Luzon -- has had a terrible time these last three weeks: three cyclones have hit this area in that short stretch, starting with Kristine Oct. 24. The mightiest river of Luzon, the Cagayan, has been at flood stage for the duration of that time, and agriculture has been hit particularly hard. Now another whirligig is heading for Luzon, attaining typhoon status as I type this, and if the forecasters are right this one will become a "super typhoon" before it makes landfall. If northern Luzon is the strike zone for Mother Nature this fall season, the incoming pitch is much too low, definitely a ball.

Above is the Ventusky map for tomorrow in southern and central Luzon; and, yes, Cabanatuan sits squarely in the path of this thing. It will be shredded somewhat by the Sierra Madre, the range of 4-to-5,000-foot mountains between the central plain and the east coast, but Pepito will pack a punch when it arrives -- typhoon force winds and at least a foot of rain are forecast for Cab City and surrounding towns.

We live in a solid little three-room building, reader, surrounded by large buildings. The neighborhood stands at least 15 feet higher than Cab City's main drag, the Maharlika, and drainage is very good here. We'll be fine. I do worry about Jheng and her family on the Aurora road, about other people I know in the city. . . . Will write again soon after electricity is restored with news of how we weathered this storm.

11.6.24

Well, That Wasn't Supposed to Happen

I'm in bed at nine, and not used to staying up late in order to view, say, election results. But

watching from the Philippines, I was well-rested when, from 11am to 2pm, the live feeds

from across the Pacific gradually lowered me into a stew of wretchedness. I've lost faith in

the American people, reader. Perhaps you have as well. In 2016 I didn't lose faith in them.

The electorate then was fed up with a neoliberal administration's methods when it came to

pulling a workforce already hobbled by NAFTA up out of the morass caused by the Great

Recession. Now here was a GOP candidate, a famous billionaire, who would get things done --

save jobs, bring manufacturing back, dispel these feelings of helplessness. Hillary certainly

couldn't do this: she had "same old-same old" written all over her. Trump's party had both

houses in the first two years of his term, and all he could manage to do was get a tax measure

that benefited mainly corporations and the very rich passed. The second half of his term was full of missteps, scandals, impeachments.

And MAGA, even while it continued to hold the Republican Party in its thrall (mainly through fear and intimidation), started losing at the polls. American voters hired a new president from the same old-same old crew and rejected MAGA candidates for the legislature hand-picked by Trump. It seemed to me that this angry old stooge bogged down in criminal and civil court cases could not possibly ascend to the presidency again. And now he has.

Global warming is the first thing I think of when I think of another Trump presidency. Then the judges he will choose. The consequences of the mass firing of civil servants, the imposition of high tariffs. The bombast, the buffoonery, the potty mouth, the infantilism.  I mean, this is a sick-in-the-head man, reader. After thinking about those things, then I think about the invocation of the Insurrection Act, the suspension of habeus corpus . . . .  I could go on. How could American voters hand to him once again the reins of our country?

Am I going to eat crow? We hired two boys with slingshots to bag us some crows. After consulting with Glenda, who is a master in the kitchen, I opted for a fricassee with a cream sauce made from the stock. Okay, I kid you reader. I know Glenda would make a good crow fricassee, but there are no crows on Luzon's central plain. There is a species of jungle crow, which we might come upon after hours of driving and trekking -- but the jungle crow is a protected species, as are all wild birds in the Philippines.

11.4.24

America at the Fork in the Road

Well the car is back, and it's time to sort out the less-than-urgent errands that have accumulated and act on them. Let's see, Glenda needs to see the ENT guy for a checkup. I should get a PSA blood test because one of my younger brothers has been diagnosed with stage 1 prostate cancer.  We need to buy a desk for the pc, which currently sits on a large wooden crate. We need a new frying pan and we want to get a dutch oven. There is more: I should make a list. Weatherwise two more cyclones have approached central Luzon before drifting north and scraping along the island's northern coast. Kristine, by the way, is now said to be responsible for more than 150 deaths.

The U.S. is girding its loins for a national election in which democracy itself seems to be on the line. Frankly, I can't stand the bombastic, ignorant, and deranged man on one side of the presidential match-up, so I'm very glad that he's the anti-democratic candidate. American democracy must become more democratic than it is now, not less so. Get rid of the electoral system and get rid of private money: legislators spend more time building their "war chests" than they do studying the issues upon which they are supposed to act, and major donors are able to exert influence in the way so many of these lawmakers vote! Anyway, those changes are for another day. On Tuesday one chooses autocracy, with fascistic trimmings, or the kind of democracy we've experienced up until this day.

You wanna know what I think? I think democracy is gonna win out, bigly. Screw what the polls say about a "neck-and-neck" race. Harris and Walz by 50+ electoral votes. Democrats take firm control of the House. Can they squeak out another majority in the Senate? I'll go out on a limb and say yes.

When the dust settles post-election, I'll come right back and take my bows . . . or eat me some crow.

(MEDIA.GIPHY.COM)

"Has been," I type, rather than "was," because at this moment a heavy rain is pounding on our roof tiles. Kristine is not only a very large cyclone, but it's also a very slow mover! The eye is now over the South China Sea, and it is moving away from us, but bands of tropical downpours in the tail of this beast are still moving over the central plain of Luzon. Flooding is everywhere. In Cabanatuan, Mayor Vergara has joined first responders and is directing rescue operations and food distribution in the worst hit areas of the city. (My part of Barangay Bitas is ten or fifteen feet above the level of the Maharlika Highway; the neighborhood seems to have weathered the storm well.) The malls of the city have opened their doors to people flooded out of their homes. Provisions and bedding are being donated to the malls' efforts, and Operation Tulong, which receives cash donations and designates their use, is up and running.

In the southernmost part of Luzon, known as Bicol, 20 have died from drowning. At least 11 are confirmed dead in Batangas Province.

So far in all, more than 40 deaths are confirmed. Many areas have not yet called in fatalities, so this number will certainly rise. More in the next posting.

10.22.24

Incoming . . .

And, thankfully, following a northwesterly rather than westerly track. We'll have plenty of wind and rain over a two-day period here in Cab City; in the Cagayan Valley of northern Luzon, and throughout the Central Cordillera, though, there will be typhoon winds and in some areas feet of rain. Its name is Kristine (int'l name: Trami) and it's a slow mover. Cities along the Cagayan River will have some serious flooding, and the mountain folk of Baguio, La Trinidad, Bontoc, and Banaue need to be on the lookout for destructive landslides.

Today is Tuesday, and most schools, Krizza's school included, let the children go early.  Krizza will likely not have another school day until Friday. Thursday or Friday, I'll come back to this page and write about Luzon's encounter with Kristine.

10.13.24

Glenda's Birthday

Ha, our friend Melvin roasted a big fish in foil out on the sidewalk for us, but unsurprisingly Glenda did most of the cooking for the impromptu party: we had fixings for spring rolls in the fridge, and she rolled up a large pile of these and fried them; also, she made a huge pancit canton (Philippine noodles) with shredded pork, cabbage, carrots, and onions.

Glenda's friend Clara Mae came with her son Frinz and nieces Donaiza and Adelle, and Adelle's classmate friend. Melvin appeared with the fish and his wife and baby. Don-Don and Clara Mae's husband Robin sat at a table in the compound outside, drinking, eating pulutan, and catching up with each other. It was a school night, and after they'd eaten their fill the young'uns sat down to homework while the old'uns raided the fridge for Red Horse beer, of which there was plenty. Happy 32nd, dear.

The car is still in the body shop and may be there for another week or so while they wait for parts. After the body shop it goes to a glass shop for a new windshield. The kid who walks away from that accident with only scrapes and bruises is a tough kid; when I take also into account the courtesy he showed the man who ruined his day, I feel he'll make a fine police officer once he completes his course of study. Thank God he's a helmet wearer. There's no requirement for motorcycle riders to wear one here, and many ride helmetless.  In fact, I have two friends who lost friends who were not wearing a helmet when they had accidents on their motorcycles.

Glenda, Krizza, and I are hiring tricycle drivers to get around; as you know if you've been reading this blog for some time, there is a tricycle station just outside our door. We are buddies with at least half the drivers at our neighborhood stand, and they welcome the extra business.

10.4.24

Pulis

He is a criminology student at a nearby university, and he must have been riding close to the oncoming line of cars as I turned out of that line, blinker on, heading for the entrance to Celcor, where I was to pay the monthly electricity bill. (We can pay the water bill online -- why won't the power company allow its customers to do the same?) The line of cars I was in partially obstructed my view of the lane I needed to cross; should have had patience and allowed the traffic to move ahead so that I could see better into that lane, but I didn't. Then there was the crash, the helmeted figure flying over my hood. Without a doubt one of the three or four worst moments of my life.

Put the car in park and bolted out the door. He was sitting in the street. Relieved to see he was conscious, I put my hand on his shoulder and held it there. Bystanders were on cellphones calling for help. Some stood in the street and directed traffic around us. Within ten minutes, a barangay security officer and an ambulance were there; EMTs removed the young man's helmet, laid him down on the pavement, tended to his scraped hand, the abrasion on his forehead. They looked at his bruised knee, and after making sure there were no broken bones they helped him to his feet. Glenda was visiting Clara Mae (Aiza's sister) at the time, and Don-Don was checking in with Clara Mae's husband; the call to Glenda came directly after the accident -- from an acquaintance who had driven by the scene. They soon arrived, and Don-Don moved bike and car into Celcor's entrance as the young man was helped into the ambulance.

Two city policemen had shown up at some point in a marked Nissan SUV, and after the young man was taken away Glenda and I were asked by them to climb into their back seat. We would be taken to the central pulis station, across from City Hall, and there we would wait for the young man's parents in order to see whether a settlement could be reached. The traffic was very bad. The men were talkative and seemed to try to put us at ease with their talk, which was mainly in English. They found out where I was from, and we talked about the Celtics, world champs, for a while. "Who do you think is the goat in basketball, Jordan or James?" I said Jordan, and the questioner didn't seem pleased with the answer. We moved on to other topics.

The young man had walked well to the ambulance. No limp. I prayed the head was not concussed or worse. The pulis station was a large warren of rooms surrounding a reception area with benches against the wall and a long front desk. Every space clean and brightly lit. Policemen and women walking back and forth chatting, often laughing. One man took down my narration of what had happened, then asked Glenda and me to wait for a while; the parents were coming from an outlying town, and they would first, of course, go to see their boy at the hospital. There was a vendor at a wagon across the street; I went over and watched her fry some fish balls for Glenda and me to eat. The station was not hopping, but there were cases to deal with. A restaurant manager came in with a heavy hand on the upper arm of a young woman -- she had walked off, then run off, with a bag of takeout worth more than P1,000. The woman was well-dressed and had a smartphone, but she had no ID. She did not seem well aware of her surroundings. We overheard the words "mentally impaired" pass from one policeman to another. Ah, drugs. Players in another traffic accident came through the front door and sat down together, were interviewed by one officer, and then awaited their turn at the settlement table.

The mother and the young man himself arrived about four hours into our stay at the

station. I held out my hand and he took it. The mother took my hand. I apologized,

admitted I was at fault, got that all up front. The young man (I will avoid his name, in the

interest of the family's privacy) seemed in good shape, the head abrasion hardly noticeable,

a small bandage on his hand. Beneath his long pants, I knew there was heavy bruising.

The motorcyclist walked into a room with an officer and came back after a few minutes.

"________ would like you to cover the cost of motorcycle repairs, also the cost of a new 

helmet," the officer said. I readily agreed. After a while, a document in triplicate was 

produced, which we read. The young man, the officer, and I signed all three; then the officer

handed one to me, one to him, and kept the third for pulis files. As we moved toward the 

door after more handshakes, a cop with whom we had not interacted raised his hand to me

with a kindly smile. "As they say in the U.S., 'Shit happens,'" he remarked.

I would meet with the young man again at my barangay's office, where I would pay                                       At the pulis office.

damages to him in front of witnesses -- the bill came to P22,000, about $450 American. My

car is in the shop, and I'll be paying P45,000 for its repair. Insurance? Comprehensive insurance is bought here by people who own expensive, and relatively new, cars. The insurance required by law covers personal injury only, which is why I did not have to pay the college student's medical bills. The comprehensive runs to P25-30,000 a year -- is wicked expensive, in other words. After six years of driving with only a small payout for a side mirror I lost, and now this, financially I still come out ahead.

Feeling shaken, even now, by the damage I did to that young man's body, though.  , , , In my fifty years of driving before this, I had never hurt anyone on the road. There's a tightness in my stomach, I'm not sleeping well, etc. Glenda has agreed to do the driving that needs to be done in the city, from now on. And I'll be a stint driver on countryside treks -- but my Cab City driving days are over.