My grandfather, the root of who I am.

Born on October 20, 1920.

Married my grandmother.

A joke as a kid was he picked her out, took her with him, away from the poor province from where she was from.

She spoke a different dialect but learned to speak his ilocano dialect.

He was a karpintero, a creator, turning ordinary items into useful things.

A karpintero in the military. They took him everywhere.

He had six children.

And like the typical Filipino dream of wanting better for his family he brought them here, Where America’s Day Begins.

His youngest child was a girl.

And at age 66, 13 grandkids deep, on June 26, 1987, his little girl had me.

His greatest creation.  ;)

 

May 11, 2003 was the last time I heard your voice grandpa.

The last time I saw you, I don’t remember.

I don’t have stories with you. Not like grandma.

I have stories with her that could last five life times. Not with you.

But we have poker.

The game we’d play in the garage to pass the time. Sitting on upside down paint buckets.

We have poker.

Poker is more than a card game.

It’s life.

You play the cards you are dealt. You either love it or hate it. Either way you create the best hand you can possible make.

You make sure to keep a straight face as to not give away your faults.    

We turned it into a gamble by evenly distributing a couple pennies from the 5 gallon jar we put all the pennies we found in.

Poker, life, gamble, can’t possible gain something without eventually loosing something in return.

[A lot of my writings go undone, mainly because I can’t find the right words to say. My stories stay unfinished in a notebook and after some time has passed I revisit it to see if I can find a finish line. This is one of those stories. In my head I know what I want to tell you but finding the words to get it across is difficult. I share this because I wanted to dedicate a piece for my grandpa’s 10 year death anniversary. And playing poker with him is a pastime I remember vividly.]

We celebrate the life we have that you made possible.

 

"Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because they lead you nowhere" -Paulo Coelho

coffee shop

the one thing i hate about working at a coffee shop (there are more but are irrelevant at the moment) is when a customer comes in and asks for a specialty drink made by another coffee shop.
hate it.

i don't know if many of you are familiar with coffee beanery's 'black and white' drink but it's a drink that people come in and ask for all the time.
they come up to us and say "hey, do you guys know how to make the black and white from coffee beanery?"
we always want to say something sarcastic like "no, because this is not coffee beanery" but are forced to say(with a smile) "no, but can i offer you something else to drink"

anyways gem,mya(co-workers)and i go to coffee beanery wed. night to try and figure it out ourselves.
how?
by close examination into what they put in and one of our many senses taste.
and after hours of taste testing and close watching we've come up with a java hut version of it!
at least gem did.
a customer came in today and asked for something like it.
and on gem's first try she mastered it.
finally.

we have this guy who has been coming in for the past couple of days now(we call him mya's stalker), and he's just a real nut job. i'll save his story for another day. but today he came in with his son who's about 1yo. anyways as im ringing him up for his order i look at his son he's holding and i freak out cause he looked like a pit bull puppy.
so i lure him into the kids corner by showing him our toys and turning on the t.v.(with my camera in hand) and i snap a picture of him
this is the best out of the 3 i took

i don't know if you guys see it but i know what i saw and he looked like a pit!



update on life:
you can catch me with these kids on any given day.