All Soul’s day

Each time the first of November came around. Everyone would flock to the cemeteries to visit with their dead.

We used to get so tired since we used to go around to three different ones.

Mama used to go to visit her parents, and sisters, and her brothers, before she’d bring us to Malolos for Papa’s set. Promptly at 9AM she would get us up and we would all go with her to Bulacan.

She would have with her, her home made flowers she had made days before… made of different colored abaca sheets formed into petals, taped with green floral tape, taped onto long stems made of wire (she did these because she figured it would last longer than real ones)

She also always brought along her trusty abanico lots of candles, and of course, the grandchildren. (JoAnn was her one-must-tag-along-at-all-times-accessory he, he, he.)

(If I were mean…and we might as well admit sometimes I am, after all, odd things happen to those notoriously hermit-y and bedridden…I would say think of them along the lines of Paris Hilton and her favored chihuahua Tinkerbelle)

(Leslie’s a meany nyah nyah nya nya nyah!!)

Anyway, we’d go first to Bocaue, where we would stop and take a long look at Mama’s old home which was sold years and years before. We would park the car across it for a bit, and just look at the house.

She would just sit there, looking at an old house with a pharmacy at the ground floor. It sat just off to the side of the Bocaue River, where we used to watch decorated boats float bye at the Krus ng Wawa festival. ( Of course, this was years before the Pagoda tragedy)

We would wait till Mama wiped tears off of her eyes and was ready to move on. She was the last living among her siblings who have all died years ago. I guess it was a fitting thing to visit their ancestral home first where their memories were vivid, before she visited their graves.

One time though, she couldn’t resist, and approached the pharmacy to convince the new owners to let her enter the upstairs to take a look at what has happened to her old home.

We’d park across the street also so we can buy a couple of kilos of her favorite litson kawali, otherwise called liempo, off of the vendor. We’d eat a package of it in the car and the other she’d take home to serve for dinner.

We would then proceed to the cemetery and push through the crowd to get to where her parents were buried. We’d chat a while of our Panganiban relatives, then we’d go off to Malolos.

We’d pass by Paumbong first of course, and get a few bottles of vinegar from Didit’s parents.

Our yearly supply?

There was apparently no vinegar better than the ones made in Paumbong.

We’d then go to visit the Reyes’

We’d first eat lunch at the Reyes homestead. Tia Conching’s birthday was Nov 1 so there would usually be a day long party and Reyes’ everywhere would come all through the day hanging out between visits to the cemetery.

As usual, with the Reyes’, food is paramount he, he, he.

After lunch, we’d trek over to the cemetery. First we’d pick through all sorts of goodies on the way. Usually, we’d start with the roasted peanuts and cornick at the corner store. We’d pass by the old Reyes Mausoleum, and talk with people there. We’d then wait a bit then move on to visit the newer one. Picking up bits and pieces along the way, siopao, cotton candy, fishball, and of course popcorn and kropek.

At some point, we’d get thirsty and we’d buy drinks from the any of the numerous vendors lined up on both sides on the way to and from the cemetery. Usually, Coke or pineapple juice placed in a long plastic bag and drunk through a straw.

I remember that Papa once had a craving for Balut and called one of the Balut vendors to sit and stay the night with our group. I thought it was really strange that he could just have him sit there with us. I mean if you wanted to buy his entire stock, you could just buy them all, put them in a bowl, and let the man go on home. The idea that you could have him sit around with his basket there all night, (I guess to keep the eggs warm in the basket) didn’t occur to me at all. Just goes to show you how smart Papa was. Balut is definitely better when served warm.

There really is nothing to do at the cemetery except pray a little, eat a lot, and collect candle drippings to see who could make the biggest wax ball. At some point, the lack of bathrooms in the cemetery will make us go back to our home base, where usually, a new set of food has come out of Tia Conching’s kitchen.

Yum.

So we’d hang around some more. Wait till the Oldies get through talking, talking, and talking.(When we were young, watching the old people sitting around talking is really, really, REALLY BORING)

We’d wait till Mama, finally done with all her catching up, would finally stand, say she’s ready and we’d all jump up, she’d tell us to go and pee before the ride home, and then kiss everyone goodbye.

Strange thing about Filipinos and kissing. You have so many relatives, most you don’t remember since you only see them once a year, so instead of making anyone feel left out, you kiss everyone present. You’ll only find out you’ve just kissed a complete stranger after someone has massive fits of giggling AFTER you’ve accosted the person.

On the way home, I’d usually take a window seat near the back of the car. The view of the sky was so clear then, I’d watch the stars and sing to myself all the way home. Somewhere along the highway, since traffic usually was very bad at that time of night, I’d fall asleep and only wake when I hear the car beeping its horn at the gate.

We’d get to rest up just a bit, then after a change of clothes we’d go off to Mandaluyong to meet up with Mom.

We’d usually hang around in Tita Virgie’s room the rest of night with only a short stopover to visit with the Santos’ tomb, and listen to the not so oldies talk about stuff. (Which was much more interesting than the other kind I must say)

After gorging ourselves with Nanay’s food, pancit bihon na walang gulay (made for me just as I like it), Filipino chicken mami, sago gulaman, and Pop cola, we would be on our way home.

We’d sleep like the dead that night too. (No pun intended) Traveling really wears one out. Which is a good thing since as children, the thought that all soul’s day meant all the souls could come out and visit their relatives, usually as ghosts, creeped us out and if we weren’t super tired, we’d probably be lying awake in the dead of night peeking through the tops of the covers to check that there was nothing about.

Children have overactive imaginations.

Bwa ha ha.