Remembering Lola

Lola worked well with her hands. She was a great cook--everything from her sumptuous chicken pastel to her devilled eggs and fruit cake, down to her yummy pastries and cookies. She was a green thumb as well, tilling the soil in her garden to make macopa trees and aratiles trees grow and bear fruit. Her orchids were abloom all year round and I remember how she loved to tinker with the charcoal and spray the blossoms. Her hands would be filthy and her clothes and face smuged, but she was happiest at those times.

But what I remember most about Lola was that she loved crafts. I remember going up to her and lolo’s room in Marikina and poking around in her stuff: felt cloth, sequins, googly eye-buttons, pretty contact paper, swatches of plain and printed cloth different sizes of scissors and bobby pins, bobbins of colored thread and bottles and bottles of elmer’s glue. I loved the way her work area looked. It was busy. Lots of retaso strewn on the wooden floor; segments wayward string and thread floating in every direction as the wind from her window blew. I remember how Lola would sit straight in her chair, working on a new project. Then she’d look up at me and smile as I walked in the door and ask what she was doing.

She was skilled with pattern and color and texture. I remember the beautiful doll houses she decorated one season. I was enamored with all the miniature furniture she so deftly put in place in the different rooms of the house. It was almost magical: rocking chairs, tv sets, china cabinets, beds, dining sets. She would even paint the house herself and give these away as Christmas gifts to her grandchildren.

Lola made candles too. The kitchen of her house in Marikina would be cluttered with tin molds and crayons. She used these to make different color variations. She would buy the Crayola brands and pick out the ones she needed for her current project. The leftovers she gave to me and my brother to draw with. I loved watching her create magic with her scented candles too. She introduced me to the lemon, lavender and vanilla scents she would mix and leave to set at the back of the house. She loved talking about the bleeding candle the most. Apparently, once lighted, the candle would leak out red wax even though the outside was a different color. I don’t know if she ever got around to doing that.

I remember the grand Christmas tree she put up, complete with snow. Yes, snow made from Perla soap. She’d be elbow deep in basins of these, mixing forming salts and whatnot to keep the suds’ shapes then she’d slop them onto the boughs of the plastic tree, decorate it with more silver icicles and acorns she “frosted” herself. And it was fabulous! It was something straight out of Narnia’s winter wonderland. I believe she made it so not only because she was talented, but because she knew this was where all her kids and grandkids would gather on Christmas Day.

In between those suds and icicles were stuffed angels. They would be decked out in cheerful Christmas patterns in green and red and gold. They had felt wings and wore aprons. Some bore choir books and were posed to belt out Christmas hymns. Trills of felt cloth accented their aprons and suits. As I ran my fingers over them as a child, I thought, I wish I could make dolls like these. I wish I could create angels like these. I wish Lola would teach me these when I was old enough to hold a big pair of pinking shears.

Sadly, Lola never got around to teaching me. I don’t recall now if it was because she left to live with one of my aunt or uncles, or because she traveled and lived in New York for several years, or if she simply lost interest. Lola never got to teach me because I grew up as well, and was preoccupied with puberty and all the issues that came with it. During that time, Andrei and I would go up to her deserted workroom and play treasure hunt, going through the wooden drawers of her old sewing machine.

I regret now not pushing myself to make Lola kulit to teach me, especially when she came back from the States and lived with us again in Marikina. (This time, it was not only my brother and I, but myself, andrei, denise, thea, and later on, Monique.) I regret not asking after her stuff and committing only to memory the disjointed images of the candle-making processes she so meticulously performed. How ironic that I have those memories but can make nothing of them while she has all the knowledge and wisdom but no memory of it, not even of who I am. When we found out Lola had Alzheimer’s it was as if something in me tried desperately to reach out to hold on to her, but didn’t know how to get to her. I don’t know if it was guilt that held me back, because I hadn’t spoken to her in a long time; or if it was because I was busy trying to cope with particular crises in my life then.

In short I regret not spending more time with her when I know I should have. I hate these thoughts because they only always come at the end of memory and the beginning of guilt. So many should-haves should’ve been heeded. But then what good will it do to dwell on these? I comfort myself with the thought that though there hasn’t been a Lola-made tree for so long, she still managed to bring us all together if only for a final farewell. And it is at this time, I wish to say all the things I should have told her then.

Things like, how I thought it was wonderful Lola, that we both loved the mysticism of astrology and that we were both Taureans. We were both Paulinians too and I took pride in the fact that I was a third-generation Paulinian like my Lola and my aunts. I want to tell you that I love gardens and flowers like you do, but I like tulips better than orchids and daisies brighten my day the way roses do for you. I like sitting in the sunlight the way you used to when you walked in the garden in Marikina or watered the plants in your bikini top and a batik tapis. I love color too, the way you did, though my favorite color is red---what was yours? I never really got to ask.

And most of all Lola, I am proud to tell you that I believe I did inherit your love for crafts. I discovered my aptitude and interest for it when I was in high school, and knowing that my mom wasn’t into it as much, I had to conclude that I got this skill and talent from you. And I’m proud to say that. It has given me comfort and a medium of expression. It has given me a way to remember you and all the beautiful things you made for us. And it’s such a wonderful gift. I may never have gotten the pretty doll houses you made for Christmas, but I think I got something infinitely more---and it is something I will always have: a piece of you, your spirit, your beauty, your talent. And with every project finished, every fancy gift wrapping done, every scrapbook and stuffed doll created will be a tribute to you. An expression of my love to you for all the moments spent together and all the memories I keep with me.

Thank you for your gift Lola. I love you and I will miss you.