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'Tis seems to be the season for it...
Dec. 30th, 2006 08:34 pmLet's see: my uncle had a medicine cabinet door crash onto him, requiring him to got to the hospital to get a C-scan and MRI, my big brother got a freak fever last night that spiked to 39 celsius (though he seems better now), and my grandmother, my lovely, doting, frail grandmother who hasn't been in the best of health all year, is going to have on operation on Thursday to have her kidney stones removed.
*warily eyes omnipresent deity* These are all lovely, devout people and you are not particularly vengeful these days, yes?
So sans brother, thanks to his fever, family and I took a trip to Tagaytay where we haven't gone to since---well, since we were all little kidlets. We had lunch in Anthony's (sp) colored lamps dropping from the ceiling, paintings where gems dripped from deities' clothing and sat at a table where we looked out to fog and grass. Then we drove up to the highlands where the fog was so thick you could hardly see in front of you, and my brother and I took turns taking photos of each other, and everything with our cameras (me particularly, who's just discovered the joy of having her own digital camera).
Yes, I'm about to wax nostalgic.
I miss that. I miss being eight, when it was enough that it was just the five of us, when my mother's family ate together every friday evening: cousins, aunts, and uncles all, instead of seeing them every once in a while, the way we do with my Dad's family because much as we love them, half of them are on the other side of the world. And older now, at the point where we either go to college or uni, we've scattered everywhere. I'd like to be eight again, when most of us were a drive away, when we congregated at either of our grandparents' homes to play touch taya and run like mad in the courtyard outside.
*warily eyes omnipresent deity* These are all lovely, devout people and you are not particularly vengeful these days, yes?
So sans brother, thanks to his fever, family and I took a trip to Tagaytay where we haven't gone to since---well, since we were all little kidlets. We had lunch in Anthony's (sp) colored lamps dropping from the ceiling, paintings where gems dripped from deities' clothing and sat at a table where we looked out to fog and grass. Then we drove up to the highlands where the fog was so thick you could hardly see in front of you, and my brother and I took turns taking photos of each other, and everything with our cameras (me particularly, who's just discovered the joy of having her own digital camera).
Yes, I'm about to wax nostalgic.
I miss that. I miss being eight, when it was enough that it was just the five of us, when my mother's family ate together every friday evening: cousins, aunts, and uncles all, instead of seeing them every once in a while, the way we do with my Dad's family because much as we love them, half of them are on the other side of the world. And older now, at the point where we either go to college or uni, we've scattered everywhere. I'd like to be eight again, when most of us were a drive away, when we congregated at either of our grandparents' homes to play touch taya and run like mad in the courtyard outside.
