Me and John Denver.

I just came home from Waseca. I drove Cedric there because he will work tonight. He will stay there till Friday, then Ken and I will pick him up again on Saturday. He spends his days off at home here in Wells.

I was alone on the road, on my way back. Everything looks quite and peaceful.

Then...

country road, take me home, to the place I belong...

That's John Denver on the radio. Suddenly I am reminded of home and I get a little misty eyed. My thoughts went wild. I envisioned my dad the last time I saw him. I remember the house I grew up with, and the folks who shaped me into who I am today. I remember the old movie house across the street, the plaza where I played with my cousins as a kid, my elementary school, the market place.

life is old there, older than the trees...

I keep remembering my hometown, and it make me feel sad, and painful and happy and warm all at the same time. I swell bursting with pride and love for the place I was born. And I wonder if everyone feels this way when they hear this song no matter where they're from, or if it's just me and John Denver.

the radio reminds me of my home far away...

Even when I have come to love living here in Wells because of Ken, I know that part of my being is always tied to my old home town. A piece of it lingers in the vast sugar cane field that stretches out under the sun. Another piece lay hidden in the old ancestral house and the trees I have climbed. But most of it lingers where all the elements of childhood, of magic, of tradition, of love, of comfort, and of belonging resides.

take me home, country roads...

Soon, very soon.

Five O

I have turned 50.

You might think that would be cause for distress? On the contrary, I love this phase of my life. The hectic hustle and bustle of youth had passed, and I have settled into a familiar lifestyle which is as comfortable as an old shoe.

Maybe some of you are fighting old age with a vengeance. Not me. I intend to sit back and enjoy every minute of it.

Truthfully I thought I would not feel any different than I did when I was in my 30's and 40's. After all, they say age is just a number. But as the months went by I began to realize that being 50 means that things do change, some for the better and some for the worse.

For a start, I found that gradually, I could no longer do simple, physical things with ease. Rising from a low chair for example, required a lot more effort than it did before. It's the act of propelling yourself upwards that is so difficult. I also start to get age spots on my cheeks. They just seem to appear overnight. And thank goodness for hair dye because I begin to realize that if I didn't dye my hair, it would be grey all over.

A little nap in the afternoon suddenly becomes an attractive idea, and if I sit down in one place for too long, I suddenly feel my eyes beginning to close that I tend to miss the end of films or chunks of programs on TV that I was anxious to watch all the way through. Now, don't make me bore you with the details of the menopause - but then everyone knows what they are! Of course the eyesight tends to get worse, that I have to have reading glasses within my grasp in case I need to read labels, or cooking directions from a box.

On the good side, now that I am fifty, I have earned respect from people. The fact that I am not expected to run marathons, or carry anything really heavy is an advantage. And if people expect me do these things, then I can protest and say that I cannot do that at my age!' I also like the fact that it's OK to dress for comfort and no-one will judge me.

On the whole being 50 means slowing down a little, taking the pressure off myself and learning to be me. I enjoy it. I embrace it.

Here I am at 50, enjoying the United States from the front seat of a Ford Platinum.

A lovely day.

Alas, after the cold weather, and long dark nights of winter, it felt like I have a new lease in life again.

It's Spring!

There definitely is a noticeable change in my mood and behavior as the cold gloomy days of winter recede and the warm sunny days of spring arrive. I can quickly feel that charge to my blood when I open my eyes today and see the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the flowers are blooming.

The best things about spring are warmth, fresh blooms, and the birds.

Oh the birds.

One of the most anticipated events of spring time for me are when the birds arrive home from their winter vacations, bringing with them their pleasant chirps and familiar songs and I get a load of it just outside my window where there are a flurry of activities. Our neighbor has a bird feeder hanging in her backyard and I could just stay in my bed and watch a variety of birds in feeding frenzy, while the squirrels eats whatever fell to the ground.

Today I saw several trees already full with blooming flowers. It's amazing how the scenery changes so abruptly as their blossom with wonderful brilliant colors creates a picture perfect scene for all to enjoy. It seems like the old and dreary days is nothing but a distant memory.

Also, the countryside wakes up from its long, lonely sleep. I can see tractors in the fields again. The cows are back in the fields, released from their long captivity in their winter sheds. Ducks and geese waddle along the lake, the grass is a rich dark green when they were just brown a week ago.

Each of the seasons has a beauty of its very own, but spring is special - it is the renewal of life and the promise of what's to come.

Welcome, Spring!

Freak injury.

Of course, I know that finger injuries are very common and can occur in a variety of ways.

The most common of which could involve getting a finger caught in a car door or hitting it with a hammer.

Or get caught in a drill, like what happened to me!

Oh, I also believe that the occurrence of an injury at work is an unlikely event. I am one of those people who think that workplaces are generally safe places to spend 7 or 8 hours of your day.

But when I injured my finger last week, I become more conscious of my surrounding and how I go about my work. I would check where the machines are plugged and how I can turn it off in case I need to.

When my finger got caught in the drill, I cannot turn the machine off because I can't locate the off switch, and the machine was plugged way out in the back where I cannot reach because I can't move with my hand stuck to the drill press. When help come they have to loosen the drill bit and not pull it out of my finger for fear of damaging it further.

When I finally removed the drill bit myself, my first line of defense is accessing just how much damage I have done to it. The pain was just over whelming. It was throbbing all the way to the emergency.

Upon my arrival at the hospital, they evaluated the wound, my vital signs was taken and an X-ray of my finger was ordered by the physician.

Result? Broken finger and a cut artery.

They also injected my hand a large dose of anesthesia just so they can clean my finger, squeeze out blood and apply medication to it. I was in too much pain that a light touch would send me squirming and twitching.

Since the doctor finds a fracture on the X-ray I was referred to an Orthopedic doctor to treat my fracture. But those guys in the emergency had my finger splinted and the doctor prescribed me pain medicine.

I was back to work after a day's rest. The company assign me a lighter job which allows me to work one-handed.

Reminiscing.

Ken brought home a box last week which her mom had set aside for him. He told me each kid had one.

Ken call it a Pandora's box. I call it a treasure box.

As I sort through the contents of the box, I was struck at how much information it gave me about my husband's past and what influenced or formed him who he is today.

Inside the box is his baby book, his "first" achievement records( first word, first solid food, first ride, first toy, etc.), his school notes and drawings, old pictures, and a lot more... its like a window into his past. A window into the spirit of his childhood. There are so much memories inside that box that are captured forever in pictures and scribbled notes.

But they don’t end there. Her mom had wonderfully chronicled Ken's achievements from toddler to young adulthood that we can both looked fondly back. There was an honorable and dignified shot of Ken receiving his first communion, the time he was an altar boy, when he was drafted to the army, and many more that elicit smile even from him as he looked through them.

There’s indeed something about memories that stirs and inspires the soul. I am sure glad that my mother-in-law took special effort to keep all these memorabilia of her seven kids as they are the most accessible and detailed physical forms of memories. It makes for easy reminiscing if one is in the mood. It may be bittersweet to gaze back at the past, as they have the power to conjure up memories. Sometimes painful, but it can be a joyful activity too. The box was filled with faces and places of times long gone.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then that box is worth a dictionary.

Ken just lost his mom. She may not be beside us again, but what she left us can help us at least momentarily feel close to her again. Not to mention that as mortals ourselves, we hope that our loved ones will look back at pictures of us with the same fondness after we pass on from this life.

Thank you Joan for this wonderful gift. You will always be remembered.

Another funeral.

Today we buried Joan Roger Mikolai.

It was also her birthday.

She was 83 years old.

My mother-in-law died last Saturday. It was unfortunate that I did not get to know her well but from what I heard from people at the church, I knew that her life was rich, strong, and full of spirit and love.

The service was simple with her family and friends gathered round.

Help!

Our lovely Ford truck, perfect in every way, had a flat tire in Interstate 35 yesterday on our way to the hospital in Minneapolis.

Ken had to very slowly maneuver his truck to the emergency lane, away from the ongoing traffic and park there to wait for help to come.

At first I wasn't worried because Ken is mechanically minded - till I realized that he wears a pacemaker. Oh uh.

I am sure you too are aware that car manufacturers of today uses air tools to tighten the lugs on a wheel, which make them near impossible to remove with a simple lug wretch provided with the car jack. The tight lug bolts provide a safety factor, but has made it almost impossible for someone to change his or her own tire. Especially someone with a pacemaker.

Interestingly, in a matter of seconds a highway patrol eases behind us to check on us and offer help. He said he can call a back-up that would replace the tire. By this time though, Ken is already on the phone talking to a Ford representative asking for roadside assistance. We gave them our location and within 20 minutes a truck turns up with a friendly mechanic driving it. He inspects the tire, open the back seat of our car to get the jack, remove the spare tire from the back of the truck, replaced the busted one and had Ken sign the service form and off we go.

The whole process only took about 15 minutes. We did not even leave our seats the whole time and we did not pay a thing!

This really amazes me because we don't have such road side services in the Philippines. If your car breaks down, or have a flat tire, or anything goes wrong, you can't expect that help will be on its way in a matter of minutes. Unless you call a relative or a friend. What will appear is the towing service who will ripped you off with exorbitant fee so you can get your car from their impounding area and then you can bring it to the mechanic.

So while we are speeding toward Faribault City, I was thinking, I would add this to the list of things I love about living in the US. In this day and age when I may encounter danger on this country's highways and biways, having the assurance that help is on the way in a matter of minutes is indeed very comforting.

Let's admit it. A car is a machine. This means, no matter how new and sophisticated it is, or how well maintained it is, there is always a chance of something going wrong with it.

Thank you America/Ford for the roadside assistance.