To live 90+ years of life, it's indeed an occasion to celebrate!
My lola--that's "grandmother" in Pilipino--celebrates her birthday on July 31. I lost count a few years ago, but I think she's turned 95 this year.
Can you imagine what it would be like to live beyond 90 years?
When my lola was born, the Philippines was at the height of American colonial rule. I never knew much of her life before the War, except that she only finished grade school.
What fascinates me, though, are the stories of the "war." I've always been interested in World War II history, so I reveled in the family stories my lola and the aunties would share. Lola gave birth to my dad on eve of World War II (he was born in August, and the Japanese invaded in December, 1941). With an infant son in her arms and young children in tow, she fled to the mountains when the Japanese invaded Panay island. The family buried its important treasures, a few family heirlooms and a sewing machine up in a mountain for safe keeping. My lolo (my grandfather and namesake, Alfredo) was aiding the resistence, so she was left to care for the family on her own.
After the liberation and eventual Filipino independence from the US, she had several more children, but would lose my lolo, who died young. She struggled as a single mother, yet she emerged a very strong willed and clever businesswoman who bought property and invested wisely. She also was blessed with a gift to heal, having the knowledge of herbs and various plants that could cure or alieve most any ailment.
When I was a kid, my parents would ship me overseas to spend summers in the Philippines. The highlight of my vacation was my lola's birthday party. For weeks ahead, the aunties would grocery shop and prepare the house for the flood of visitors. On the special day, I would wait in anxiety until the delivery men came with the lechon (the roasted pig). Lola would order the biggest pig, weeks in advance, and made sure it was well fattened. It would take teams of men to guide the pig-on-a-pole into the house, and though I felt it was large enough to feed the entire province, she'd complain that it was just too small. One of the uncles would take charge in chopping it all up, saving the head for paksiw (a vinegar stew) for later.
The aunties would prepare soups, stews, noodles, and a special rice dish called Arroz Valenciana (which is the Filipino-Spanish version of paella). Lola would prepare her signature dish, dinuguan. If you really have to know, it's a pork blood stew, which would come out as black as night.
It was at one of Lola's birthday parties that I first got drunk. I was 11 and I kept drinking this awesome punch that my auntie made. It was supposed to be a pineapple punch, but if memory serves me right, it was a gin and rum punch with a some pineapple. It didn't matter I was drunk; we all were, including my much younger cousins. The women and kids stuck to the punch, and the men gathered together for shots of rum, whiskey, and of course, San Miguel beer. (I may have had my first shot then, but I have no obvious recollection.)
For years, that's how Lola celebrated her special day, and even after she sold the house in Bulacan, it continued in the home province, Antique. In 1994, the last party I attended, the party went on as scheduled even after a typhoon forced us to evacuate to safer ground. The party went on with high energy and excitement!
Today, I'm not sure how they celebrate. After my Lolo Domingo and Auntie Myr died in 2004, she never really wanted to celebrate again. She's slowly getting back into it, though, and this year is cause for special celebration.
My dad left for the Philippines last week to spend a month-long vacation. Lola didn't know about the plans, so I'm sure it was great surprise. The coolest thing is that Dad is staying long enough to celebrate his birthday there too, on Aug. 14.
I'm sure they're partyin' up right now in the barrio by the river!
