Wednesday, November 28, 2007
blacktown
The City of Blacktown gets a lot of flak for being... well, Blacktown. I remember the year I moved here and the charming introduction I got to the city from my friend Lucy who grew up in this area. It was my first week in Australia, she was driving me around in her Rav 4, and spouting out random facts like "Blacktown is known for it's high rate of crime and teen pregnancy", and also throwing in a fact or two about drugs, the influx of new migrants and cultural minorities over the years, the Pacific Islander gangsters that hung around the train station and gave you threatening looks, the old men with tattoos and mullets, the cheaply dressed women, etc.
But like all Blacktown natives, I know she loves the place deep inside. No Blacktown native is proud of Blacktown, and I've heard few people stand up for their being a "Westie" (Blacktown is in the West). I've heard it from the mouths of true-blue Westies: "Blacktown is a hole". But deep down inside, this hole is home; and people love their home, whether they want to or not.
Even I feel sort of feel that way, even if I didn't grow up here. It's a ghetto alright, but I live and work here, and my idea of weekend entertainment is watching the cops break up the gang fights that occur just outside The Cafe while I'm on shift. I remember first arriving here and seeing all the kitschy, family-owned business around the CBD, with equally kitschy signage. Beauty salons with glamorous-in-an-80s-way women adorning the windows. There's "Sweethearts Bridal Rental" which is a two story riot of tulle, taffeta, and chiffon, all in styles I would never wear. There are salons that specialize in acrylic nails, hole-in-the-wall Chinese and Indian restaurants, "turo-turo" Pinoy carinderias, boutiques that sell polyester, China goods for cheap, used book and vinyl stores, an "Adult Bookshop" (which is an Aussie code-name for shops that sell porn and sex-toys) and of course, "Esther's African Hair".
"Esther's African Hair" has always intrigued me. The display window shows a bunch of mannequin heads in wigs, and coils and coils of hair in all colors from ebony to platinum cascading down the glass shelves. Dark-skinned women in ethnic clothing emerge from the salon with heads of exquisite braids made with hair that is neither real nor their own. I think it's far-out. I've always wanted to walk in and see what goes on in there, but I'm afraid to because I'm not African.
Blacktown may be a hole, and that hole seems even deeper still whenever I happen to pass through Sydney's most uppity neighborhoods like Vaucleuse (am I even spelling that right?), or Palm Beach. Nicole Kidman would never buy a house here, and has probably never even been to this area. But hey, at least Blacktown is never boring. Sure I live in the Quiapo of Sydney, and not the Forbes Park (although by Philippine standards, Blacktown is still nowhere near as unsafe or chaotic as Quiapo). But Blacktown is full of life, and there's always an interesting incident happening somewhere. And you know me, I collect interesting incidents.
Today's interesting incident happened right before Esther's African Hair salon, and the Department of Housing. As I was walking to the bus stop from work, there was a busker on the street. We don't usually get buskers in the Blacktown CBD. I was about to pass her by but she was so delightful, that I stopped, gave her a dollar, and asked if I could take her photo to which she graciously obliged.
She had a head full of braids with huge, gold beads dangling from the end, a cowboy hat that she used as a money container, and a little portable sound system that blared out 'minus-1' versions of "No Woman, No Cry", and "Rock The Boat". What caught me was her voice. She sounded a bit like Amy Winehouse, and I just loved the character in the way she sang along to her little karaoke system all by herself. She was really pretty good. Here are some candid shots.Now this is something you would never get in a nice neighborhood in the North Shore. In the immortal words of 90's R n' B singer, TQ: "West side till I die!" :-p Haha, God no.other new incidents in my interesting incident collection
I've had this fascination with heterochromia, a condition where a person or animal is born with their pupils differing in eye color, ever since I served a heterchromatic customer at The Cafe.
She was a tiny, Pinay girl, only about 5 feet tall, kayumanggi, with long, long hair. She must've been only 15, and had that awkwardness around her. She was tiny and bespectacled, and unsure of of herself. I did the usual routine, and said, "Hi there, what can I get you?"
She walked up to the counter, whipped of her plastic spectacles, and ordered a mocha. As I marked her cup, a flash of blue coming from her face caught my attention and made me look up. It was her eyes.
The left eye was the color of black coffee stained with just a drop of milk. The right eye was periwinkle, a silvery blue with a lavender tinge. It had intense silver flecks that made it look like a cut diamond.
"Where did you get those amazing eyes?", I asked her. "I don't know, from my parents I guess, but I'm the only one that has them." She went on to say that her friends have described her eye-color as "like looking into a swimming pool".
Later on she thanked me for "being so nice about it", because other people apparently think it's freakish. To me, it was one of those rare "beautiful mistakes" of nature. In fact, I really think it's rather cool. Now I wish I had one blue eye.a change is gonna come
New Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd could ratify Kyoto from day 1. But what could this mean for the world's biggest exporter of coal? I heard something about some technology to come up with "clean coal". (On the side, of they can come up with such a thing as clean coal, why can't they do the same with cigarettes?).
I know nothing about politics, really. My level of political knowledge is really rather blond. And I'm not even allowed to vote here yet. But here are some Rudd facts that whet my palate for this new administration.1) He's going to sign Kyoto.See, I said nothing about economy or anything like that. Told you I didn't know anything about government or politics. But he seems real fresh, open-minded, and modern, someone who deals with very current issues and has a lot of new ideas. That excites me, especially since I know the Philippines will probably never have a leader like that in my lifetime (they're all still busy blabbering on about economy, and stealing from the people, and trying to bring each other down).
2) When Howard conceded during the election count, Rudd began his first speech with "Okay, guys..." How casual. I love it.
3) He is a true-blue, white Australian who, for some reason, majored in Asian Studies, majoring in Chinese history, and is proficient in Mandarin. He even adopted a Chinese name for himself and has a Chinese son-in-law. I mean... far out! Why Asian studies? How intriguing.
4) He used to clean a political commentator's house to support himself.
5) He wants every Australian to be educated (as if they have any excuse not to be educated in this country), and wants every student to have his own laptop.
Let's see how this goes. Australian politics is so different from the Philippine politics I've always known. I'm not used to politics and politicians that I have no contempt, or resentment, or suspicion for. This is all very exciting for me.
In any case, I haven't been in Australia long enough to get attached to the 11-year Howard administration, soo this is really just another change for me and I haven't got much of an opinion on anything just yet.
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Sunday, November 18, 2007
traveling without moving
Summer days are here, and so far I have followed my summer resolution well: to hit the beach as often as possible! And with the beach just a train ride away, and such good beach buddies, I've had no trouble keeping to it.
When I'm on the beach, spread out on a blanket alongside the thousands of other people there, hearing the crash of the waves, all the while knowing I only spent ten dollars to get there and that I can make it back home in time for dinner, I know that my move here was totally worth it. Worth it.
Back home (home as in Pinas), seeing the ocean and feeling the sand under my feet was a luxury that didn't come so easily. Here, I can enjoy stunningly beautiful coastlines every time I'm in the mood, and I don't have to plan a road trip, book a flight, or find a place to stay. All I have to pack with me is some money, a towel, and some sunscreen, and I can even tell my ma that I'll be home for dinner.
This place... it's good. Pinas was the place that raised me, but this is the place I conquered. Pinas was my gentle mother, while this place is like one of those "terror-teachers" you have in college; the one you feared and loathed and cursed, until several years after graduation when you realize that he was one of the most important things that ever happened to you and that he taught you some of the most valuable lessons.
I've pretty much stayed within the same vicinity the past year and a half, in Blacktown, Sydney, Australia. But inside, I feel as if I've crossed valleys, mountains, deserts, and forests. It makes me remember this old book of little-known fairy tales my grandfather once gave me, and one of the stories was about a princess who defied the requests of a powerful enchantress. As punishment, her prince and her child were taken away from her, and she was told that she would not find them until she had journeyed on foot long enough to wear out 4 pairs of iron sandals, and 6 walking staffs. Along the way, she meets a guide who tells her to save and keep all the chicken bones she can collect on her journey. Finally, after journeying through deserts, craggy mountains, and dark forests, after enduring endless cold, hunger, fear and loneliness, and of course, wearing out 4 pairs of iron sandals and 6 walking staffs, she reaches a tower without steps or a ladder that she must climb in order to reunite with her husband at the top. Intuitively, the princess remembers her stash of chicken bones and builds a ladder out of them (the bones magically sticking together is an unexpected bonus for her). Finally, when she is nearing the top, she finds that she is short of one chicken bone/ rung to reach her husband, so she cuts off her own finger and uses that as the last rung she needs to get her husband and child back. (I grew up with some pretty gruesome fairy tales apart from the usual ones.)
I don't know why that story story really stuck. I must've been only 7 when I read it. Perhaps it struck me because it had such a strong female protagonist. But somehow, throughout this journey, I have come to understand what that story really meant. The iron sandals represent certain paradigms or world-views that we "wear", ones that naturally "wear out" on our journey. Walking sticks are beliefs or principles that we lean on to aid us during certain portions of the journey, but which must also be discarded and renewed when it just doesn't fit the reality around us anymore. We throw away old walking sticks to find better ones to lean on. The chicken bones are experiences or lessons which seem meaningless or irrelevant as they happen, but turn out to be valuable later on. And the act of cutting her finger off represents the final sacrifice, the final test, the final temptation to turn back as we stand just one rung away from our goal.
And so, with all this talk of iron sandals, walking sticks, chicken bones, and severed appendages, I would like to say that... I think I'm almost there. And my little beach trips are my simple rewards.
Aaah, I love the beach. (And I officially like my hair.) :-pI love this beach city I live in
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Wednesday, November 14, 2007
sculpture by the sea
Today me and my parents went on my favorite Sydney coastal walk, which is about a 5 km stroll alongside the city's coast on hundred foot high cliffs. You pass 5 of Sydney's beaches along the way. We also passed through my favorite cliff-side cemetery (I like cemeteries ok, I'm weird like that), and it was beautiful as always. Never fails to impress first-timers I tell you.
Also, it is once again Sydney's most popular sculptural exhibition, "Sculpture by the Sea", where Sydney's beaches and coastal cliffs become an art gallery. I enjoyed it so much last year, and I was glad my parents came to see it this year.
See my beautiful city!!!
Giant pick-up sticks!
I was trying to criss-cross my arms and legs like the sticks.
From a distance, it's sheet metal emulating a gigantic wad of crumpled paper.Up close you'll see that it's copy of the United Nations Kyoto Protocol. Brilliant!
This one is simple, yet profound.It could mean the repression of something that should be free and natural, or the persistence of life and nature despite the repression. It's brilliant!
Speaking of natural, there's an unnatural beauty to plastic flowers!Made out of old beach toys, G.I. Joes, syringes, straws, and other knick knacks!
By my favorite artist, even from last year's exhibition: Frank Malerba.
I love his women. I love how he fuses sculpture and line-drawing. So modern, so contemporary, and so effing imaginative! I wish I made this. I'm a fan.
More photos here!
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Monday, November 12, 2007
karma?
One thing about working in customer service is that something fairly interesting happens everyday, what with all the interaction you do with different folks. I always come home with a story to share at the dinner table. But I think today's story deserves to be told.
The morning had been busy at The Cafe, and we finally had one of those nice, sleepy little hours approaching when the crowd becomes just a trickle and we actually have time to really connect and interact with customers. Both staff and customers are generally pleasant and unhurried during these lull moments. But on this given day, there was one customer who was not pleasant. Let us call her Miss Reklamo.
When we greeted Miss Reklamo with the standard "hi, how are you", she raised a disdainful eyebrow and replied, "You've passed over me twice and I am not impressed".
Now, this happens occasionally at The Cafe, but it is always an honest mistake. In the case of Ms. Reklamo, it was most certainly a case of other customers making their orders heard before she did. There was no real qeue by the counter during that time, no real order of who ordered first, just a cluster of about 3 people. In any case, we greeted her with the same enthusiasm as we did other customers, and she really was not waiting very long. There were only a couple of people before her, and the line went quickly.
Nevertheless, we completely understood if the incident made her a little miffed. We understand that some customers demand perfection, and we graciously accepted her corrections and offered our apologies ... which she did not accept. The way she made such a big deal out of it, it was as if she was the Queen Mother, and she had walked into The Cafe, and we had neglected to curtsy to her or something. The way she looked me in the eye and asked if I was the manager, the way she demanded for our manager's card and asked to have our names written down on it as well, she was like a spurned prophet condemning all of us, our service, and our entire damned business to hell... which I knew was B.S. We were NOT going to hell for something like this. Geez.
And I wasn't about to get sucked into her whole thing, either. I wasn't about to sweat over something like this. I smiled, nodded, agreed with everything she said, pleasantly agreed to get the manager's calling card for her as if she had just ordered a cappuccino. I was so unfazed, it was like I had found a state of Nirvana. Nothing was gonna change my world. So... woman got her coffee, her calling card, and all the attention she wanted and walked out of the store.
Fast forward thirty minutes later- I am by the merchandise shelf, located in a corner of the store, checking out the all the cool stuff we have on sale, when I see a 2-year old in the corner. Her hair is brown and unkempt, she's got grime on her face, she is dressed in head to toe pink making her look like one of those little marshmallows you put in hot chocolate. Her cheeks are tear-streaked, her nose runny, and she's got this terrified, abandoned-orphan look in her eyes.
"Aww, what's wrong, why the sad face?", I ask her. She responds by bursting into fresh sobs. Uh oh, I think, these aren't 2-year-old- tantrum tears, these are real tears. "What's wrong, babe?", I ask.
In a voice so tiny I can barely hear, she says, "I want my mummy".
Uh-oh. Lost kid. Her mother must be somewhere in the store.
"Ok, I'll find your mommy for you", I tell her.
And then, without warning, she takes off! For a two-year old she's pretty fast on her feet. And to my panic, she runs out of The Cafe, and begins heading towards the crowded food court. And so, I ran too! I chased that little marshmallow. If she got lost in the crowd, then it might be impossible to find her.
I catch up with a few steps away from the store and make her stop. I kneel down, looked her in her teary little eyes, and asked her what her name was. "Emily", she says in a voice so tiny and muffled.
"Okay, Emily", I said, "we will find your momma."
Next thing I know, there is a cop beside me. Beside the cop is a very familiar looking woman with tears streaming down her grief-stricken face. "There she is!!!", she yelled and scooped up the little girl who broke into another round of sobbing.
And Ms. Reklamo walked away with nary a "thank you" or even a nod for finding her daughter. She knew who I was. She had looked me in the eye earlier.
I stood there not knowing whether I had been deliberately brushed off or not. Then I began to laugh. I laughed so hard that I just had to run back to the store and tell the others what happened. The woman who had marred our day was now indebted to one of the big, bad baristas she had condemned to hell earlier. Whether she wanted to admit it or not.
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Sunday, November 11, 2007
woman!
I FINALLY did it! I lost my hair, I don't regret it, and I feel like it's always been short.
My friend Mel told me that a girls starts to know that she is a woman when she hits age 25. Take note of the difference between knowing you're a woman, as opposed to just feeling like one.
Maybe there is some truth to what she said because at 24, and with my hair at it's shortest in about 7 years, I've never been more assured that I'm a woman. Long hair will always be classically feminine, but I say that if you know you're a woman, you'll know it whether or not you have long hair.
When I cut my hair this short in high school, I did it because I didn't feel like a woman. At 15, I thought of myself as feminine only in an unreal, cartoon character sort of way. But this time, 7 years after, I cut my hair for just the opposite reason.
When does a girl become a woman, anyway, not just in the physical sense but in the emotional and intellectual sense? They say it's when she first gets her period, but for a lot of girls that's just a physical change at most. They say it's when you hit 18, but even then I was still grappling with my own body issues, and felt more like a girl waiting to become a woman. Many say that the culminating moment of becoming a woman is the day you conceive life in your womb, therefore fulfilling the most exclusive function of the female gender.
I guess it's different for every woman. With me, it's a state of mind. First of all, I've grown up a lot in the past 2 years. I just know it. Second, I like my body. I don't care if it fits society's definition of "perfect". Sexiness is more than just a woman dressed up and made up to be put on display like a Christmas tree. Sexiness is in sensuality, in being comfortable with the unique way you move. I know I'm a woman, not because I have Giselle Bundchen's proportions, but because I know this body can do all the amazing things a woman's body can do, give life, give love, nurture, and accommodate. I think we all forget to think of women in that light when we become too obsessed with how women should look.
Wow, all this, just because of a haircut. Obviously I take both the style and the symbolism of my haircuts very seriously. But I'm loving my hair, and feel very liberated, and even more confident in my 'womanity' knowing I don't need my hair to be one.
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Friday, November 09, 2007
deck the malls with bows of holly
I can't relate to Christmas in this country.
November is here and the malls are decked with bows of fake holly and made-in-China glittery balls. Christmas season is spending season, and everywhere, businesses are getting ready to reel in the big bounty luring in customers with promotions galore.
So this is a Western Christmas, my second one, and I still don't get all excited seeing all the red and green. To me, Christmas is the midnight blue of Simbang Gabi (midnight mass), the orange glow of the parols (star-shaped lanterns) they sell on the street, the red of candles, and queso de bola (a Christmas cheese covered in red wax), and the golden glow that just seems to tinge everything.
I can't relate to Christmas elves. I didn't grow up with them. Frosty the Snowman was a character I knew about but whom I never took on board my mental image cache of Christmas. Real snowflakes have never been seen in the Philippines. The Santa I grew up knowing was the Philippinized "Santa Klaus", who always managed to get into my house even if we didn't have a chimney. As a child, I would actually theorize that maybe he got in through our metal-bars-and-screen door which could be dismantled if you had a screw driver. Or maybe my parents would let him in.
But never mind that I can't relate to a Western Christmas. That part is not a big deal. I can get into the red and green, and the elves, and Frosty the Snowman if I wanted to. What leaves me a bit empty is how this season has been bled so dry of spirituality. I'm not the preachy religious type at all, but hey, even non-Catholics have a pretty good idea that Christmas is supposed to commemorate the birth of Jesus right? So... where is he among all the blinky-blinky lights and cheap tinsel? Did they decide to leave Him in the storage room this year?
I'm not here to tell people that they should go to church or become die-hard religious fanatics, because I don't even know what religion I am. but I've always thought of Christmas as a time to find that inner serenity that comes with being grateful for everything in your life. But alas, cheer has replaced serenity. Not that there's anything wrong with cheer. But cheer is just better when it stems from an authentic inner source. I think Christmas is about appreciating each other, for whatever it is we're worth. It's a time of gratitude, and of realizing what's important in our lives.
Some of my happiest Christmas memories are my parents surprising me with a new bike, my lola abu slipping me twenty pesos every Christmas eve (what's twenty pesos worth nowadays?), waiting for the clock to strike 12, Christmas day lunch with my relatives, and of course, the Christmas video me and my cousins use to write, film, and edit every few years. We were a bunch of kids with a video camera and a box of costumes, and we would film a "Christmas movie" to be shown during noche buena. During one year, my 70-year old lola abu gamely dressed as Michael Jackson, with a wig and a sequined body suit, and rapped in Spanish. Her apos (grandchildren) were her back-up dancers. And always we would reenact the story of the Nativity on camera, with the most current bunso of the clan always playing the new born baby Jesus, never mind if he/she was already a walking, talking 5-year old.
Maybe I am being a Scrooge and a killjoy. Or maybe I'm just homesick. Guess it's really all up to me to make Christmas meaningful.
So what are you grateful for this Christmas?
photos from my parents 30th anniv!
Look at my ma as a blushing bride once again haha.My parents during a "couples quiz bee" Mio and I organized. We were the game masters!A genuinely happy shot.
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Saturday, November 03, 2007
because i feel bad that i missed it
For the second year in a row, I missed out on my favorite holiday, Halloween. :-(
Everyone who knows me well knows I relish the opportunity to dress up in costume, because I am a ham like that. I love thinking of costumes, making my own costumes, and am quite good at whipping something up from odds and ends lying around the house the night before a costume party... and still manage to take the trophy for "Best Costume" home.
When I was about five years old, being the happy, day-dreaming loner I was known to be, I entertained myself everyday by digging through this box of old costumes that my parents had put together for me. It had everything: wigs, hats, tiaras, make-up and old gowns that looked like they belonged to contestants of "Little Miss Philippines". I would spend hours playing dress-up and living out my dream roles.
Maybe my parents worried about me some, but hey... I think I turned out normally (almost). But some things haven't changed. I was a drama queen then, and I'm a drama queen now.
In costume events past, I've come as a vampire (1st prize!), a headless man (1st prize!), Cleopatra (had the dress sewn but made everything else myself), Barbie (complete with a Mattel manufacturer's seal on my leg), Chun Li of Streetfighter (which turned out awfully cute), a glam rock star, and Marilyn Monroe.
This year, I was prepared for Halloween as early as September when I had my costume sewn in Manila, inspired by the night I watched Kill Bill beside Quentin Tarantino himself. All I needed was a blond wig and a convincing samurai sword. It was pretty damn awesome. Too bad I didn't get to wear it. I was discharged late from work and had nowhere to go.
Oh well, I'll save it for another day. In the meantime, I dug up some photos of my greatest Halloween costume ever.
Ok, so my Annie costume wouldn't have been spectacular if I didn't have Nino dressed as Shaider with me. All the same, I don't think Shaider would have been as cool if he didn't have Annie with him.
But what I love about our costumes is that we made both of them ourselves, completely from scratch. I went to the fabric store, bought the yellow cloth, the lace, and the cowboy fringe and sewed that baby by hand. Nino and I went scoured hardware stores, Greenhills, and martial arts equipment shops to look for all the parts for that Shaider costume. We even got a copy of the Shaider theme song, so we could blare it everywhere we went. And what did all our hard work earn us? Ten thousand pesos for winning second place at a costume contest at a street party in The Fort, and a special place in the memory of Shaider fans who saw us that night..
So you see, I take my costumes very seriously (and so does Nino, obviously). My costume philosophy is, you either go all the way, or you don't come in one at all. Being a half-assed something is worse than being nothing at all.i know people don't really want to hear about work
Since I've started work, I've dropped 3 pounds, consume too much dairy, and find my fingernails caked with what appears to be dirt, but are actually coffee grounds and mocha powder. Also, I always have far too much energy, even without having had a drop of caffeine all day.
It's just my momentum, I guess. I'm on a roll. At work, I'm busy on my feet for hours on end, doing 3-4 things at the same time. When I get home, I'm still wired, and it takes awhile for me to settle down.
I can complain that work is harassing, and sometimes even go as far to say to myself that I hate my job (I usually say that during peak customer hours haha), but really, at the end of the day, I come home with a smile on my face and a bunch of stories to tell. It may be stressful, but at least I feel alive, stimulated, and like I've learned new things and made my world bigger. Even though I had to get up at 5 am this morning and walk to the bus stop before the sun even rose. I like being a busy body. I think the happiest times in my life, where I had good self-esteem and a feeling of accomplishment, were stressful, busy times. Eu-stress is the word for "good stress".
Sometimes a bad day at work can be turned around by a wonderful customer. We had a customer once who paid for a handful of our chocolate and then gave one each to the baristas. We got a bag of Halloween candy from a customer yesterday! And every so often, we get a couple of rescue workers coming in who ask me to draw smileys on their cups. Then there's the old, Australian man who can speak Tagalog! He makes "pahingi" for "a baso of tubig", and says "Salamat, po", even if I'm probably 50 years younger than him.
I have my favorite customers, too, for no reasons I can pin-point. Sometimes they have a nice smile, or they're just really polite, or just have a positive aura around them. Today, I asked one of them what his name was.
I don't know where this is going or how far I'll take it, but hey... so far so good. I'm just going with my gut. I like the things this job has to teach me, and my philosophy with jobs is that I don't leave until I've felt like I've learned everything I can possibly learn, and made my experience there count.
So yeah, so far, so good.beach bumming
Today was a beautiful day! The weather report said rain but the sky was blue and cloudless the entire afternoon. My plans of hitting the beach pushed through, spur of the moment! And I'm happy because I feel like I am full-filling my resolve to hit the beach as often as I can.
Sometimes I like Bondi and sometimes I don't. Today, I liked it. The ocean was the warmest I've ever felt it been, and I went for an honest to goodness swim... not just wading by the shore. I gathered up the courage to face those big waves for the first time (almost lost my bikini bottom! haha), and Carl taught me how to body board... well, without the board. But it was the best swim I've had in years. I haven't gone for an honest to goodness swim in the sea since I moved here,
There was a small stunt plane practicing barrel loops in the sky, and the usual bustle of Bondi beach. It's days like this that make me love this city, and the whole laid-back, city-beach vibe. I love the outdoorsy-ness here.
Didn't tan topless this time hahaha.
Den and Len!
Halo effect! (My hair is too long, I want to chop it off)
With Carl who had the privilege of being the only guy in a group of hot girls :-phappy 30th anniversary to my pay-rents!
I call them pay-rents because I officially pay rent now. Hahaha!
We celebrated with an intimate party with good food, games (planned by me and my brother), and we 3 children chipped in for concert tickets to Burt Bacharach to give them as a present. :-) Sweet! It was great planning something special for my parents, and it was wonderful seeing everyone have a great time.
Will post pictures next time.
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