Times of transition

When did this madness begin?  Sometime in December, I think.  Yes, it was before Christmas.  I went to the voice recital of my lovely eight-year-old granddaughter Maxine.  When we emerged from the auditorium I found out my car had been bumped. It was a minor bump but I knew I could not have it fixed yet.  My daughter who lived in England was coming home for the holidays and I promised her use of the car.  She was coming home soon.

She arrived.  I sent her the bumped car.  Her handsome young son, my 12-year-old grandson, cooked us a wonderful Christmas lunch — rock Cornish hens roasted with rosemary.  It was a wonderful lunch prepared by our little family chef, who during his stay here demanded that I paint for him a skull and crossbones.  He wanted the skull to have missing teeth and the cross bones to be made up of very modern guitars.  Incredibly, I did it and enjoyed every moment.  I even had a snake with its forked tongue sticking out climbing up one of the guitars.  It was a joy to paint.

The Sunday after Christmas they decided to go to the Rizal Shrine in Calamba then see the monkey-eating eagle reserve in Los Baños.  I picked them up.  We went to the Rizal Shrine and found it closed.  They had changed their hours.  We decided to go to the church where her brother was married up in Makiling where the arts high school is.  That’s quite a climb.  Every so often my driver would stop the car to give it a rest because some light that wasn’t supposed to be lit would light up.  Nothing spectacular happened to us that day but the next day my car died.  It gave up the ghost.

They towed it back to its makers.  Ford said the transmission broke down, would have to be changed.  They were ordering it from the USA.  It will take a month to fix, they said.  It has been a month, still no news.  So I am still without a car.

That’s all right, I said.  I can walk to wherever I want to go.  One Saturday morning I headed off for the Salcedo Market, which is just down the street from me or so I thought.  I took the Ayala underpass to cross Ayala Avenue, got lost, emerged on the Buendia side of the road so I had to go down and go up again.  I felt my heart constricting.  See, there are no escalators on Saturdays.  Two-thirds of the way over I heard myself muttering, I did not realize it was this far.  I thought I would die by the time I got to Salcedo Market.  That taught me a lesson.  You see, everyone has a choice.  If I want to go to the Salcedo Market, I can take a cab.  P50 going, another P50 coming back.  Or, I can skip that and buy food at the Legazpi market, but who will mind my stall?  So I summon my driver, who helps me set up my display at the market on Sundays though now he has no car to drive for me. I make him watch my things while I shop.  But he has not sold anything.  My stall demands my presence.  What am I supposed to do?

Once a week I rent a car so I can visit my mother.  It is simple enough.  Call the day before, they will send you the car.  The first day was a complete disaster.  I was waiting downstairs for half-an-hour.  The driver got his address wrong and was waiting for me somewhere else. Then when I came out after a half-hour with my mom — 45 minutes is the longest I can be with her without losing my mind ­— I could not find the driver.  Since then it has been better though occasionally hairy.  Last week they sent me a car that was off-the-road on that day.  It kind of confused me.  Fortunately I found out we were supposed to be off-the-road and in danger of getting caught on the way home.  Shorter stress time.  However, I got home safely.

So my life has been totally iffy.  I can walk to anywhere in Makati but I have to learn the underpasses and not on Saturdays.  I don’t climb stairs well.  My heart constricts.  But I go down the stairs well.  I keep going down the stairs at my flat, all nine stories, and I am still alive. 

Sometimes I think I should forget about the car and just rent.  It is expensive but your car is always new.  You always have a driver.  You don’t spend on salaries, gasoline and maintenance so in the end it’s cheaper.  But what if I need to go to a party at night?  What if I need to go to Merville or somewhere my driver knows and I can never find?  What will I do?

These days I don’t know.  I decide from one day to the next.  Okay, I’ll walk.  No, I’ll take a cab.  No, sorry, I can’t make it.  I don’t know what to do.  These times of transition sometimes feel like my hours of madness.

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