I Butchered a PIG!

OK, it may be metaphorical - but then again, it may be literal. So, yes, today, I butchered a roasted pig - a WHOLE pig! I have carved a pig before - but carving does not seem appropriate when you are talking about a bigger animal so I really prefer butcher - and interpret it however you would prefer. I am not at all squeamish so it was not that big of a deal. Besides, it was one of those things - when no one else will do something that had to be done, I had to do it.

We hold a weekly devotion to Our Mother of Perpetual Help every Wednesday night. We have our devotees - these are folks who have a special and personal relationships with Our Mother and her Son - these are people who are thankful for all their blessings, and those who ask for specific favors and guidance. Since the feast day of Our Lady (Mother) of Perpetual Help is June 27th, we have organized a novena to celebrate her feast day. Most of the devotees came every night during the first eight nights. They came in droves today for Our Lady's feast (albeit, 1 day earlier than the actual day).

Today is the climax of the celebration. We had a special liturgy during the 12:30 Mass and it was followed by a procession and then praying of the last novena in Madonna Hall, after which was the fellowship - with a lot of food.

Madonna Hall was almost full and as we prayed the novena, my heart swelled with happiness as I listened to the full participation of everyone. They all sang, they all prayed and my little ukulele and my little karaoke machine were able to somehow fill the hall with accompaniment loud enough to guide the people. After Eva concluded the novena, we asked Fr. Alden to lead us in prayer before partaking of our feast. As I announced that food was ready and wished everyone "Bon Appetit", people started to get in the food line. Our spread was plentiful amd special. We collected enough money (in exchange for the booklets that Eva produced and donated) to have them catered and still other people brought their own dishes for the celebration. We also had a 70-pound roasted pig - LECHON as we Filipinos call it - a marquee at any special event.

As I was putting back my ukulele in its case, I saw a couple of people standing by the pig and they seemed to be starting to cut it for the crowd. The next time I looked after zipping up the case, I noticed that no one was doing any cutting or serving. There were just a couple of people with their plastic forks trying eke out some pieces of meat and skin from the roasted pig.

So.. I went to the poor pig, picked up the two knives sitting there and started butchering the pig and distributing the sumptuous meat to people who had already crowded around me. The knives were not heavy and not sharp enough (where is a cleaver when you need one!) and so it took a lot of energy to rip off the fllesh from the roasted animal. In the meatime, a good number of people started gnawing on the pig's golden brown skin - the best part of the dish. I eventually had to tell some to stay away as I was armed with two knives and I was dangerous - actually, since I was cutting up the pig, I could hurt anyone who got close. Before I knew it, someone had put an apron on me as I was wearing a white top with nothing to protect it from the grease coming from the lechon.

And so there I was, weilding knives, turning the pig when the one side ran out of flesh and cutting the ribs apart with my bare hands so I could reach more flesh to feed the crowd with. After about half an hour, some people actually remembered that I have not had anything yet so they asked me to stop and get some food. I didn't really feel hungry until I was reminded and it was about 2:45pm (and my stomach is programmed for a 12noon lunch). You know how time flies when you are having fun? I was having a work out with that pig that I hardly noticed I was hungry. So I got me a plate, took some food and started to eat a little bit. Old ladies from one table kept on motioning me to come over. They wanted to give me some fresly-picked beans that they said I could use for some Filipino dishes. I tried to refuse but one look at the disappointment in their eyes made me take the plastic bag they had prepared for me. They all said it was a wonderful event and everyone was looking forward to next year's celebration. They kissed me before they left. I felt a tinge of melancholy as these women reminded me of my own mother and I sometimes think that through them, she lets me know she misses me too.

It was all good. We must have had between 150-200 people and everyone had their fill. A number of folks even had "take home" plates. We all felt very fulfilled, especially Eva who spearheaded this event. A good number of people pitched in their time and treasure as well - a gesture to thank Our Mother of Perpetual Help for all favors they have received through her intercession.

We cleaned up the hall then headed home. Only after I got changed and sat down in front of my computer did I start to feel the pain in my arms. I needed a good rub so we went to get a relaxing massage where I promptly fell asleep as soon as my feet touched and soaked in the warm water. I just woke up when I the masseause asked me to turn. When we got home, my sister's kids were playing "Dance Central" in the Kinect. (They have keys to our house) As soon as they left (after begging their mother for "one more song" 5 times,) I was surprised that I had enough energy to play for more than half an hour and worked out a good sweat..

I will probably be sore tomorrow. Not just from butchering the pig, but also from the masssage and from playing "Dance Central." It will be a good sore - a sore that is worth the service I had the priviledge of rendering and the relaxation and fun I had after.

And how was your Sunday?

Mary

I have dealt with Mary for a number of times. She is a teller in my bank and she had always been gracious and helpful. She's a young woman of Armenian descent, probably in her mid-20s. I was there at lunch today for a transaction that was a bit involved and she was again helping me.

As she was typing in the information, I noticed her hands were shaking and I made a concerned comment about it. She told me her hands always shook as she is suffering from Parkinson's Disease. I looked at her and all I could say is "God bless you." I told her she is too young to have that ailment and she said she was diagnosed when she was 17. She said the doctors are not giving her any medication for two reasons - she is too young and she had liver disease, besides.

I told her my father also had Parkinson's and that I have noticed lately that my right hand sometimes shook, too. She asked me if I was afraid and I told her I was concerned, yes. She said her hands shook continuously and never stops and she just lives with it. Mary looked at me, with those big beautiful brown eyes, and in a hopeful tone told me that she thinks later, when she gets older, they will start giving her medications for it.

As we finished the transaction, I asked her if I could hold her hand and she extended her right hand to me. I clasped it with both hands and again told her "God bless you."

At this point, her eyes were getting moist and so were mine. I wanted to tell her I will pray for her, but I think she already knew that. I squeezed her hand one more time then headed for the door before I break down.

I left the bank thinking of how fretful I had been with the little pains I suffer from as compared to this young woman who lives with a debilitating ailment, but would not allow it to make her life unproductive. I sat in my car, thanking God for the very light yoke I carry, and praying for strength for Mary and for all people who suffer and live with chronic diseases like hers.

I will pray for Mary. I thank God for Mary. She makes me understand how blessed I am.

Promise Kept

We have just arrived from a 17-day trip to the Holy Land as I listened to the messages left in our voice mail at home. The urgency in Auntie Nita's voice was hard to ignore. She informed us that Auntie Pelina passed away and that we needed to come and sing at the services. It's one of those things we have done over the years. We sang during her (Auntie Pelina's) youngest daughter's funeral services - an untimely death which broke her heart. We sang during her husband's funeral services just a couple of years ago. We have to sing at her funeral services. It would not be right if we didn't. Besides, she had always told me how she enjoyed listening to me play the guitar and sing. I promised her I would sing to her whenever she needs me to, and I always keep my promise.

We arrived at the mortuary towards the end of the services. The priest was giving wonderful reflections on Auntie Pelina's life as a woman of unrelenting faith. After the reflections, members of her family spoke about her - as a mother and as a grandmother and one granddaughter even sang a couple of songs. When asked who else wanted to say something, Girlie spoke on behalf of the rosary group. Eloy, the deceased's middle daughter, asked if anyone else would like to share some thoughts about her mother. Realizing there would be no other chance for our group to sing as the services were about to conclude, I raised my hand, walked to the podium with my guitar and said goodbye to Auntie Pelina with a song.

I sang a song about remembering a loved one who had passed away; on how much we love them; on how we have no power to stop them from leaving, but their memory would always be in our hearts and on our minds as we continue with our own journeys through life.

This is a song I first heard during my mother's funeral in 1988. I was not there in person and I watched her funeral services on video. I did not know the song's title, but I learned the words and the melody from the tape I asked my sisters to record for me. Somehow, I found the right chords in my guitar later. I have sung that song a number of times, and I had been approached and requested by people to sing it for them when their time comes. It sounds like a morbid request but people know what touches them - and this song does that.

As the song was in Tagalog, a number of the Filipinos had their eyes closed, absorbing the lyrics in their hearts. Those who did not understand the words felt the melancholy in the melody. They understood the message without knowing the actual words - at least that's what the non-Filipino mourners told me afterwards.

Auntie Pelina's children thanked me after the services. They said it was a very nice surprise and that they were sure their mother loved it. I thanked them for giving me the chance to say goodbye.

I have kept this promise.

Now I can start gathering my thoughts about my recent trip.

Filipinos are very "familial". Everyone older than you is an Auntie or Uncle or Tita or Tito (also Auntie or Uncle), or if they are not much older, Ate or Kuya or Manang or Manong - whether or not they are blood related. This is a way to show respect and regard. In the Filipino culture, calling an older person by their first name is generally considered disrespectful.