Tracy, CA and Cagayan de Oro, Mis. Or.

We now divide our time of the year between Tracy and Cagayan de Oro. In terms of living conditions, no two places could be as diverse, in my personal opinion. One is in the tropics and the other in a temperate zone. Thus, while Tracy may be heating up at this moment in the low 50’s, registering 80’s in Cagayan de Oro would be quite normal even during this time of the year.

The wife just flew back to Tracy, via San Francisco, and should be arriving any hour soon, while I had just bathed here in Cagayan de Oro after a sweaty jog around our park at past 7 this morning.

We have just recovered in the morning after from the noisy and raucous fireworks that brought the New Year in last night, but the wife will have arrived on the same day she left, New Year’s Eve, after logging in a total flight time of over 15 hours throwing in some waiting periods between flights. Credit that to the still-confusing (to some) datelines one crosses amid-flight.

To highlight a stark contrast, once the wife gets home to Tracy and prepares for bed early if the planned celebration is for the following day, a quick and complete change in attire and sleeping habits will immediately ensue. She will have to bundle up even inside the well-insulated house if the heater has not been turned on. And batten up under blanket and thick covers when getting to bed. Quite a drastic change from what she has gotten used to doing in the over 6 months she spent in Cagayan de Oro, where we are down to our shorts, or even naked from the waist up for me, when we prepare for bed even if the electric fan and air-con both do double duty to make the room comfortable. Only a very flimsy poplin blanket will provide cover should the air-con misfire from its med-cool setting.

But we have done this several times already.

Now to the geography of both places.

Tracy sits as part of the wide and fertile San Joaquin valley that stretches from northern California all the way to the central valleys in the south. It is one of several cities under the San Joaquin County. It was essentially a farming town before creeping housing developments started carving up the huge flatlands to perimeter-fenced housing tracts accommodating new residents spilling out from the crowded parts of the Bay Area.

Only the housing bust and global recession have frozen the almost unstoppable urbanization of Tracy. It now boasts of a population of about 80,000.

Our development sits closest to the western boundary of Tracy and from the ramps of Highway 205, which connects with Stockton and the Sacramento areas. The lot cuts are sizeable enough to allow for some miniature gardening in a number of streets. Thus, we have been able to plant some fruit trees and some flowering shrubs.

And one of our choicest advantages is that we can access the fabled Baghdad By The Bay, San Francisco, easily and within an hour going west.

On the other hand, Cagayan de Oro sits at the northern coast of the big island of Mindanao, land of promise and questionable security issues, in some parts of it anyway. No doubt from its vantage view, it is the premier city and is the unquestioned gateway to the rest of the island.

But it has own many redoubtable shortcomings – such as too many people, too many poor people, governments are ineffectual and lazy in serving constituents properly and adequately, its southernmost portions continue to be wracked with violent encounters with rebels and militias, between them and government forces, etc.

The city itself has a population maybe topping a million or a little less. Nobody really knows for sure. Many residents belong to the squatting class, people/families living on shanties built on either government lands or unused private lots, or even on shoulders or sidewalks of streets. It has a teeming population cramped within a relatively small city. Though it still has far-flung barrios, they call them barangays now, considered remote and rustic.

Our old house is inside a subdivision situated less then two kilometers from the heart of the city. One can literally walk from the house to the city’s premier plaza. Built in the 70’s, this squat one-storey and timber-frame building still reveals after some cosmetic work the cruel ravages of nature’s harsh tropical elements – like humidity, termites, and the blistering sun, etc. Now it has more concrete components than when it was first built – used to replace wooden panels, joists, and posts obliterated by fast-working and hardly detectable termites.

But we call it home, the first home that sheltered our emerging family then. And we also call our Tracy house home because it is in the place where we spent decades watching the kids grow and the grandkids added to the growing extended family.

This is called living bi-coastally. I think.

Pigs Weren’t Flying!

Neither were these pigs issues of super-sized sows.

They materialized from a measured mixture of flour, sugar, water, yeast, eggs, etc. crafted to look like their real versions.

Pretty soon they will all look the same, the whitened ones following after the seared-brown ones after their little trip to the white-heat ovens.

For these, the taste will be like any bread one picks from one’s breakfast table. But they could be customized to the taste preferences of prospective consumers. With cheese fillings or ground meaty chicarones mixed with the rest of the ingredients. Or whatever one fancies.

Update: (01/01/10)

Over the few days leading to New Year’s Eve, we baked over 200 of these and they are all gone. One got as far as Manila, but could have ended in San Francisco.

Hello, PETA disciples, wouldn’t this be great for your cause? A way to curb the “slaughter” of these dear animals. Much like the Internet curbing the dead-tree media’s unnecessary use of a natural resource.

Loaves To Feed A Thousand

A local church aspires to feed loaves to a thousand children.

Miracles not necessarily required. Simply order and overnight, a thousand loaves are ready for delivery.



Note: The video traces visually the route that we take each day to get from the house to our little business in the old poblacion.

All -Time Favorite Song(s)

For a change of mood, something quite light and fluffy.

Without question it would have to be for me an Elvis Presley creation, any which song recorded prior to the 60’s. For a man whose professional life spanned mere 20-some years, he was quite prolific recording about 700 songs. He also performed many songs live during his many concerts, which were subsequently recorded posthumously. Even his many out-takes and informal recordings found their way to commerce and sale success.

But what is being asked is the all-time favorite ONE song (of a male vocalist).

Okay, but I would qualify. For me, it would have to be an all-time favorite song for each of my all-time favorite singers. And I would have several, all coming from the 50’s and 60’s. Among them would be Marty Robbins, John Tillotson, Johnny Horton, Sonny James, Roy Hamilton, Ricky Nelson, Tommy Sands, Jimmy Clanton, and Gene Vincent. And a host of others.

Anyway for Elvis, it would be grudgingly the relatively unknown country song, Poor Boy, performed by Elvis in his first movie, Love Me Tender. I chose it not for its quality, lyrics, or any such musical measurement. I chose it only because as a kid I could not wrench myself away from listening to it every time it was played regardless of the place, time, or occasion. I listened to it maybe until ennui set it. Except it never came. And to this day, I continue to listen to it every time I get the chance. But to be fair, I listen to it with most of the old songs of Elvis, especially those recorded under the classic Sun Sessions.



For Marty Robbins I chose the very soulful song, Streets of Laredo. Marty’s poignant and plaintive voice fitted the song perfectly.



And for Johnny Tillotson, I chose Send Me The Pillow That You Dream On, for the same reason above. His very distinctive voice was just right for this song. And I would add, so would the Everly Bros’ haunting and perfectly blended duet combination.



For Sonny James, easily I chose A World of our Own.



And For Tommy Sands, hands down it is That’s All I Want From You. I searched far and wide for this song, for many years, until I found it at YouTube. In the meantime, in frustration consoled myself listening to the version of Jaye P. Morgan, who sang this song originally.



Same case with Ricky Nelson’s Half Breed. Found it after many tries. No wonder it was difficult to find, it had originally been included as one of a couple of selections in Ricky’s first movie with John Wayne, named Rio Bravo. But was cut from the final version, thus the song never got the promotion it needed. But when I heard it once, I was hooked.



Jimmy Clanton’s seeming hoarse voice was ideal for his rendition of Don’t You Know. He always sang sounding like he had a perpetual cold.



Roy Hamilton’s powerful voice delivered so effortlessly gave me lots of joy and inspiration listening to his You'll Never Walk Alone.



And of course, Gene Vincent with his BeBopALula, a classic on the slap-back echo method used in recording. Sam Phillips of Sun Records used it extensively during his sessions with early Elvis.

Man In The Middle

You see him in this busy intersection, and his similarly dressed partners in most other besieged cross streets in the city.

During most hours of the day, and especially as the traffic thickens during commute periods, he looms fearlessly in the middle of the road literally trying to bring a semblance of order to the otherwise otherworldly traffic mess that characterizes this city’s infrastructures. His arm motions are crisp and snappy as harried vehicles respond and whiz by barely missing him by inches.

He is a member of the unheralded group of traffic enforcers under the umbrella of the local RTA.

His faded green shirt labels his station in life and his weather-beaten features are written history of how difficult and hardy life is in the streets, especially in a torrid cauldron like equatorial Philippines where the hot sun beats mercilessly all day as swirling road dust garnishes one’s exposed features and clothes.

The RTA acronym stands for the city’s Roads and Traffic Administration. And it is to be differentiated from the police force which in tandem provides a visible presence in the chaotic streets. The former as one can readily deduce has a bare-minimum uniform and carries no side-arm, no hat, and so quite laidback and casual in dress and demeanor.

Somehow he gets certain things done. And as nighttime descends, some order is brought back to the streets. And just as quickly he disappears into the night, only to return another day.