Of doing chores, then and now
I asked Erika to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She bristled with 'why me', 'i just did that the last time' and 'i even wash the dishes for real and not just put them in the dishwasher'. Of my two granddaughters with my eldest son, Lee, thirteen, is easier to get to perform her chores. And she does what is asked of her in the shortest possible time. Her fourteen-year-old sister on the other hand always complains or says 'yes' but takes forever to follow through even after a series of reminders. And most times, she stomps her feet hard and talk back before she does what is asked of her.
At their age, I already knew how to do a lot of things. I went to market, cooked, washed dishes, iron clothes, took care of my younger brother, ran a lot of errands for my mother. And we didn't have the comforts and convenience from a nice house and household appliances then. At a tender age, I already knew how to cook using firewood which meant I had to start a fire first before I could do any cooking. I had to puff air through a bamboo 'ihip', or use a fan, use iron fire tongs, after lighting crumpled pieces of komiks or newspapers under a tent of pieces of firewood. My eyes would be teary, my nose would start running and I would have a coughing fit with all the smoke before I could make a good fire. At times, I still had to make firewood from larger pieces of wood scraps with a bolo knife or an axe.
The scraps of wood we had to buy by 'tiklis' from the nearest lumberyard. My older sister and I would carry the tiklis full of wood by the ear handles and since she was taller than me, the bottom of the rattan 'tiklis' with its protruding ends would graze the side of my leg and since I had very sensitive skin even at that time, they would not heal but instead became ulcers that I had to cover with 'papel de traza' with a small banana leaf square inside then with adhesive tape. This would absorb the pus and I had to continue the treatment until the wound dried up which took a long time actually. I realized that the initial graze treated with mercurochrome or merthiolate was not such a wise first aid since the smallest scratch eventually became an ulcer anyway. It was good that the scars of which I had a lot on both sides of my legs disappeared as I grew older and bigger. When the sores of my chicken pox pustules became ulcers too, this was in Bicol, my father went to the mountain and gathered some herbs, boiled them and made me drink the concoction. It was supposed to taked care of my scars, for them not to become dark and visible. I guess this took care of the scars on both sides of my legs, too. (How I wish I had written down all this remedies that my late father knew, what plants he used for what. He had medicinal plants even for snake bites and dog bites, too.)
The mystery of why the banana leaf was necessary still beats me, for if the banana leaf gets lost, meaning it sometimes slipped out of the folded yellow paper pus absorber, the paper would stick like hell to the wound and it would hurt like hell also to take it out, so one has to take a long shower to soak it and carefully detach it. This was part or an offshoot of the gathering the firewood regimen before the cooking part, so it had to be mentioned. After cooking and having the meal, then there is still the part of cleaning the dishes and the pots and pans. I knew I didn't have to do it all the time as I and my sister took turns, but honestly, I did it many, many times. Erika and Lee's assignments are really minuscule compared to mine when I was young.
I feel lucky that despite the scouring of soot covered iron pots and frying pans with triangular sections of coconut husks that we of course imported from our plantation in Bicol (yes, we have a plantation in Bicol), my hands stayed smooth and soft until recently when the hot and cold water here in the US caused them to wrinkle.
Not to worry, though, for my male Caucasian neighbor who lives in our building still always gives me praises everytime we bump into each other. At first I thought it was his favorite pick up line. 'Your hands are very beautiful, and your fingers are long and nicely shaped.' But since he has been saying the same thing to me everytime he sees me for the past ten years or so, I have come to the conclusion that maybe he is a little cuckoo. But I know my hands are or were really beautiful, for other people notice and remark that they are so. Even up to these days. Seldom now that I am older, but still.... Ha-Ha..
At their age, I already knew how to do a lot of things. I went to market, cooked, washed dishes, iron clothes, took care of my younger brother, ran a lot of errands for my mother. And we didn't have the comforts and convenience from a nice house and household appliances then. At a tender age, I already knew how to cook using firewood which meant I had to start a fire first before I could do any cooking. I had to puff air through a bamboo 'ihip', or use a fan, use iron fire tongs, after lighting crumpled pieces of komiks or newspapers under a tent of pieces of firewood. My eyes would be teary, my nose would start running and I would have a coughing fit with all the smoke before I could make a good fire. At times, I still had to make firewood from larger pieces of wood scraps with a bolo knife or an axe.
The scraps of wood we had to buy by 'tiklis' from the nearest lumberyard. My older sister and I would carry the tiklis full of wood by the ear handles and since she was taller than me, the bottom of the rattan 'tiklis' with its protruding ends would graze the side of my leg and since I had very sensitive skin even at that time, they would not heal but instead became ulcers that I had to cover with 'papel de traza' with a small banana leaf square inside then with adhesive tape. This would absorb the pus and I had to continue the treatment until the wound dried up which took a long time actually. I realized that the initial graze treated with mercurochrome or merthiolate was not such a wise first aid since the smallest scratch eventually became an ulcer anyway. It was good that the scars of which I had a lot on both sides of my legs disappeared as I grew older and bigger. When the sores of my chicken pox pustules became ulcers too, this was in Bicol, my father went to the mountain and gathered some herbs, boiled them and made me drink the concoction. It was supposed to taked care of my scars, for them not to become dark and visible. I guess this took care of the scars on both sides of my legs, too. (How I wish I had written down all this remedies that my late father knew, what plants he used for what. He had medicinal plants even for snake bites and dog bites, too.)
The mystery of why the banana leaf was necessary still beats me, for if the banana leaf gets lost, meaning it sometimes slipped out of the folded yellow paper pus absorber, the paper would stick like hell to the wound and it would hurt like hell also to take it out, so one has to take a long shower to soak it and carefully detach it. This was part or an offshoot of the gathering the firewood regimen before the cooking part, so it had to be mentioned. After cooking and having the meal, then there is still the part of cleaning the dishes and the pots and pans. I knew I didn't have to do it all the time as I and my sister took turns, but honestly, I did it many, many times. Erika and Lee's assignments are really minuscule compared to mine when I was young.
I feel lucky that despite the scouring of soot covered iron pots and frying pans with triangular sections of coconut husks that we of course imported from our plantation in Bicol (yes, we have a plantation in Bicol), my hands stayed smooth and soft until recently when the hot and cold water here in the US caused them to wrinkle.
Not to worry, though, for my male Caucasian neighbor who lives in our building still always gives me praises everytime we bump into each other. At first I thought it was his favorite pick up line. 'Your hands are very beautiful, and your fingers are long and nicely shaped.' But since he has been saying the same thing to me everytime he sees me for the past ten years or so, I have come to the conclusion that maybe he is a little cuckoo. But I know my hands are or were really beautiful, for other people notice and remark that they are so. Even up to these days. Seldom now that I am older, but still.... Ha-Ha..
posted by E. Deveras | 1:23 AM
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