“I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks.”
“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” – Dr. Seuss, The Lorax
Learn or perish! That’s the mortal challenge of the communication age. And for us seniors the threat, if good indeed, would naturally be more imminent. But it would seem healthier for us to take up the challenge advisedly, limitedly.
I’m glad no one had asked me what I planned to do with my life before I knew any better, or I’d have felt forced to give the question serious thought; I might have even drawn a roadmap to success and happiness. How ridiculous that would have been—to think one could actually plan one’s life! Indeed, looking back on every turning point in my long life, I don’t know how I could have planned it as it has gone. All I can say is I’m happy beyond expectation.
The Boracay Horizon is ablaze in orange and blue at sunset. To borrow my 22-year-old American-grown grandson’s expression—stock for him maybe, but, in my own case, definitely special—Awesome!
Thank God for Jesuits. If not for some of them, many young wives of my generation would not have been able to receive Communion during most of our reproductive years, when, at one time or another, we were on artificial contraception of one form or another.
Do I follow my own advice and insure myself, or do I, like Dad, leave things to fate and fortune?
When the children were growing up, Holy Week nearly always took us to the beach. It was not exactly the kind of setting conducive to the spiritual contemplation the occasion called for, but it provided a most welcome family break from life’s stresses and drudgeries.
There are times when I wish my dad were here still. I do miss his wit, his insights, his perspective on life, but most of all, his sense of humor, which he kept to the end. He’d be thrilled I’m writing a column as he himself did, in fact, daily, for the family paper, The Manila Times, in his life before politics: He was elected congressman of Manila five straight times.
A story making the rounds of seniors has reached me through an uncle, Marquitos Roces, a regular conveyor of such things, and I am thankful for both the laughter and the warning it has brought, and wish now to share it more widely here.—Chit Roces
