Then we did the math on whether we should have a jet tub installed in our house. The numbers said we should just book nights at hotels with Jacuzzi rooms and indulge when we felt like it. This way we don’t have to plunk a huge investment for ownership and installation. The best thing is we don’t have to rock-paper-scissors on who will disinfect the equipment on routine maintenance.

A few months ago, Mike said he noticed that the newly renovated Radisson Hotel next to the entrance of Disneyworld is advertising introductory rates and Jacuzzi rooms. We made a mental note.

Last week, Liquid Bar and Grill, the restaurant of the Radisson Hotel offered a 50% Groupon Discount. Anticipating Mike’s vacation week, we bought the Groupon and booked a night at the hotel’s Jacuzzi room, which was on a Spring Special for the month of April. Serendipitous, we said.

To cut the story short, here are our observations and lessons learned:

1. The Jacuzzi tub is deep and roomy. The jets are strong and strategically located. We like it.
2. It was our first time to sleep on a number bed. Mike chose 40 and I chose 30. The tag said the most common setting is 35. The bed makes a loud motor sound when it inflates into a higher/firmer setting. You won’t want to change your settings when your partner is already asleep. Conclusion: it’s great that you can choose your mattress setting at the hotel, but we won’t even consider getting one for ourselves.  
3. The 6-showerhead shower is nice, but it wastes so much water. The hot water is not able to catch up when all the heads are in play. Also not a feature we’d consider installing at home.
4. The new amenities are great: flat screen TV, work table with drawers, ergonomic computer chair, huge night tables, large sink, programmable thermostat, radio alarm clock with iPod dock.
5. Liquid Bar & Grill was cozy. We had New York Strip Steak and Grilled Mahi-Mahi. Generous portions, 5-star delicious.
6. Room service was unexpectedly fast. They said 20 minutes but took less than 10.
7. We appreciate the oriental-inspired theme – rich, and contemporary but classic. The bathroom’s black granite floor and countertop worked. The orange-striped textured tiles in the shower, not so much.
8. Pillows are the same as other hotels – they collapse. We need to bring our own pillows.
9. The faucet in the bathroom is too tall – causes too much splatter.
10. We’re already thinking of the next hotel escapade.

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When I moved to the US, I made sure I kept him posted on my endeavors into freelance writing, handmade journals, and bead jewelry. Our latest conversations were about my stock photography sales and polymer clay techniques.

Yesterday, I showed him these photos of my new creations — stuff I never thought I could make with “My Mother’s Hands“:

[Click on image for hi-res version.]

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A Rock N Roll Virgin

As I’ve often mentioned, I was never a rocker. I was schooled in a girls college run by German nuns (our Mother Directress was a Sister Luitgard). We wore uniforms that couldn’t expose our knees. Boys were only allowed inside our campus to discuss logistics for a junior-senior prom. In other words, my high school life in the late 60s safely sheltered me from the vagaries of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

At the university, I may have been more worldly and aware of the British Invasion and the parking lot concerts hosted by the DZRJ rockjocks, but I stayed within my comfort zone: pop music and easy listening. I dwelled on Bread, The Carpenters, Carole King, Simon and Garfunkel, James Taylor, and the occasional Beatles. Oh, and Motown too. Of course, I’d sometimes catch The Rolling Stones, The Who, and The Doors, but I always felt they were too loud and incomprehensible; I’d instinctively sneak back to America, Eagles or Crosby Stills and Nash.

I never dared to explore the obscure bands and performers the RJ rockjocks took pride in introducing to Manila listeners. Brewer and Shipley, Mountain, Quarterflash, If, and Blues Image? Who the heck were they? In fact, when I first heard Mike mention Moody Blues, I thought he was referring to a blues genre that caters to music fans afflicted with bipolar disorder.

At The Crossroads

My education into the world of classic rock started in 2001 when Mike signed up with Live365.com and broadcasted an online reincarnation of his signature program over DZRJ entitled Crossroads. He ripped his old CDs and uploaded tunes he received from his friend and fellow rockjock in California, Double A.

Crossroads by Stoney Burke on Live365.com

Because the Live365 broadcast looped every two to three hours (the site’s space allotment per broadcaster), I heard Mike’s chosen songs over and over again for about a week or until Mike decided to change his playlist. That limitation force-fed me with the rock tunes I had stayed away from all my life. Resigned to the fact that Mike’s love for rock is by inference now also a part of my existence, I thought I might as well get with the program, literally.

Whenever I heard a song I wasn’t familiar with, I asked Mike to give me the name of the performer and the title of the song. Fortunately, the Crossroads show was not all heavy hard rock, so there were cuts that I already knew and appreciated, like Sentimental Lady, which, Mike quickly injected, was written by Bob Welsh before he left Fleetwood Mac. Bob who?

Slowly, over the years (Mike’s Live365 stint went on for seven years), my ears grew accustomed to the hard-hitting riffs of groups like ZZ Top, Thin Lizzy, and Lynyrd Skynyrd. My taste in music ripened into a genuine enjoyment of the talents of Stevie Ray Vaughan, Van Morrison, Chrissie Hynde, and Warren Zevon. After a while, I could proudly differentiate Jackson Browne from Joe Jackson and Savoy Brown.

Mike has immersed in rock and roll since he took to radio in 1970, which means he has had the knowledge for thirty years when I started my “classic rock” education. He has long known artists, albums, and songs like the back of his hand. And there I was asking him for Derek’s last name in Derek and the Dominoes. (Derek has no last name because it’s actually Eric Clapton and… long story… which everyone else has probably known all along.)

Retention Issues

A major part of my classic rock music education took place in the car. While listening to the radio or a CD, I made an effort to identify the artist and, if I felt lucky, name the tune. More often than not, though, I drew a blank. Sometimes Mike gave me hints. There was a point when I could finally tell it was Blood Sweat and Tears because of the distinct voice of the lead vocals; but I could not, for the life of me, retain his name, despite the hundredth time Mike spelled it out to me. But yes, I remember it now. David Clayton Thomas.

There was also a period when I couldn’t tell some of the bands apart because they all sounded similar. Journey, Styx, Boston, Yes, and Guess Who ran over each other in my head, so when I needed to identify one of their sound-alike songs, I just blurted, “Journey-Styx-Boston-Yes-GuessWho” and hoped the song is by one of them. Mostly, that would be the time a Kansas song was on.

Retaining the massive classic rock information of bands, artists, albums, and songs is a challenge for me. But because all artists have distinct sounds and styles, it made sense that I imprint their elements and use that familiarity to associate names and histories. It’s like recognizing a Van Gogh or a Gaugain through the distinct and unique brush strokes.

I have a context-driven memory, so my brain systematically hoards visual, olfactory, gustatory, auditory, and tactile information. I can retain music styles because they leave a contextual feeling. My problem is my short memory in saving pieces of data. I will be able to recognize the raspy voice or orchestral harmony but I won’t be able to recall all the related information.

“Ah, this is a Johnny Winter style. What’s the name of the group again?” And Mike patiently answers, “Johnny Winter Group.” Then a familiar Journey-Styx-Boston-Yes-GuessWho style comes on and I’m back to square one. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m forced to store incoherent data like Lindsey is a guy, Stevie is a girl, Mark Almond is a couple of last names, and Steely Dan is a dildo. And, oh yeah, the Doobie Brothers don’t belong to the Doobie family.

How does Mike retain the wealth of information in his head? Lucky for him, he’s wired differently; he is blessed with a good and long memory. Add to that the 14 years spinning repeat requests from his radio listeners — even a goldfish in his situation will instantly identify “Fresh Air” by Quicksilver Messenger Service, “Brandy” by Looking Glass, and, speaking of memory, “This Wheel’s On Fire” by Driscoll, Auger, and Trinity. Remember “Concrete and Clay” by Unit Four Plus Two? I don’t.

It might also help me retain information better if I could understand the lyrics. Half the time I’m guessing what the singer is ranting about. A lot of award-winning songwriters have heartfelt and insightful words I’m sure –Dylan, Hendrix, Jagger, and Springsteen, for example. We’re taught in school to enunciate our vowels and consonants; these guys obviously didn’t get the memo. Or at the very least, it never occurred to them that their music would somehow cross the oceans and land on the ears of foreigners like me who comprehend the English language by interpreting proper syllabication rather that grunts and screams.

Some songwriters also exhibit their compulsion to wax their lyrics poetic, soul-wrenching and encrypted. To this day, everyone’s speculating on what Toto were talking about in their song “Africa” (no, it’s not just about the Dark Continent). Then there’s Van Morrison who seems to occasionally run out of lyrics and fills in with indiscriminate and capricious words like “jelly roll” and “radio.” And don’t get me started on Donald Fagen’s work. Pretzel Logic? Seriously.

R U Listening to Stoney Burke?

New royalty policies resulting in jacked-up fees over at Live365 forced Mike to retire his Crossroads program in 2007. That year, we also moved to a new home where Mike could finally organize his growing collection of classic rock CDs, if only to listen to them at his convenience. Little did he know that barely two years later, he would fervently tap into his collection for a couple of two-hour shows that would air over RJUR 109.5FM in Manila.

Stoney Burke Studio, 2010

“Center Stage” and “Rockin’ Classics” (later renamed “The Stoney Burke Show“) are weekly shows that Mike records at home. Before he agreed to do the shows, he asked me if we could pull them off together. He would need my help setting up the equipment, now all digital, a huge leap from the analog environment he retired from back in the 80s. He would also need me to research on the artists for the feature show, Center Stage. Plus, I might need to do some post-production editing on the shows he records. I took a deep breath and opened my heart and mind to this tremendous opportunity to immerse deeper into classic rock music.

Each week I research on the origin, history, and discography of the band or artist that Mike features on his Center Stage show. It’s like getting a new writing assignment every 7 days — it forces me to read up on the artists’ lives and achievements. I only wish I could remember everything I write.

I’m not complaining about this weekly task. In fact, I appreciate it because I get to know all these performers who used to be just names attached to some catchy tunes. The research compels me to put faces to the voices, performances to the band names, and sometimes meanings to the lyrics. In fact, with the help of Youtube, I happily discovered that Jim Morrison was HOT!

Because of my required research, I now watch bands that never appealed to me. Yes, I never liked The Doors. Now I can even forgive them for messing with the lyrics of “Touch Me” (they wrote “I’m gonna love you till the stars fall from the sky… for you and I” when they could’ve written a grammatically correct “I’m gonna love you till the stars fall to the sea… for you and me“, which would’ve still rhymed).

I also have aha moments when exploring performances on YouTube. Before we drove to Jackson Browne’s live concert here in Orlando, I surfed YouTube to see what he looked like when he was younger. I gained a better appreciation of him and his music after seeing him then and now. One time I was checking out Pink Floyd’s performances and I admit, if I had the chance to see them perform during their heydays, I might have become a Pink Floyd fan. I’d be in good company because I came across a clip of “Wish You Were Here,” posted back in April 2006, and it already had 37,322,655 views before I watched it for the first time.

My involvement in Mike’s Center Stage led me into the artists’ lives and the songs’ back stories, but running across trivia was most entertaining. For instance, I found out that Ann Wilson of Heart wrote “Barracuda” to relieve her frustration over a reporter who insinuated that the sisters were lesbian sex partners. I also discovered that Ian Anderson wrote “Aqualung” after his wife, an amateur photographer, showed him a series of photos of homeless men. Then I read that Billy Joel wrote “Just The Way You Are” as a gift to his mistress-turned-first wife, Elizabeth, and wrote “Uptown Girl” for his soon-to-be-ex-second wife, supermodel Christie Brinkley. How else would I have dug up these tidbits if not for Mike’s Center Stage?

Not All Timothy Leary

As willing as I am to embrace my partner’s passion for classic rock music, there are times when “turn on, tune in, drop out” just doesn’t work. On the whole, I can say I have a broad appreciation of rock music — I even like Metallica and Guns N Roses. I’ll sit through Hendrix and SRV, even the heavy hitters of Bachman Turner Overdrive, Grand Funk, and Ten Years After. But there are just some songs that grate down the back of my neck like a comb of sharp nails.

Sometime ago, Mike chose to feature the band IF on Center Stage. Apparently, back in the day, he used to play IF songs regularly over RJ-FM. Unfortunately, IF albums are not all available on CD, so we had to drive to the downtown music store, Rock and Roll Heaven, for the vinyls. And because Mike had an easier time working with CDs on his UR shows, we decided to convert the vinyls to CD format. In order to do that, I had to play all the vinyls while the conversion was going on. Right then and there, I knew that IF would be one of the few bands I would never learn to like.

Cream’s “I’m So Glad” is a tune that Mike knows I’d rather spare myself from. I call it “the 3-word insistent song” because at some point you’ll feel compelled to say, “Okay, okay, I know. You’re so glad! Get over it!”

Then there’s the Allman Brothers Band. Their songs are pretty good, I have to admit. But I’d prefer to spend 16 precious minutes of my life doing something more productive than listening to “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed”. That song goes into a mind-numbing endless loop.

I Was There

To round out my rock music education, Mike threw in some field trips – we went to rock concerts! I was super thrilled because the only rock concert I had attended in my entire life was the one my college org sponsored back in the early 70s — the local Circus Band at the UP Theater.

After more than three decades, there I was, in Florida no less, catching live performances of the Turtles, the Doobie Brothers, Little River Band, Fleetwood Mac, Stephen Stills, and Steely Dan. We also caught Eric Clapton with Roger Daltry, Santana with Steve Winwood, Yes and Peter Frampton, Bad Company, and Eagles. Plus Chicago in Manila. And we bought t-shirts!

Tees from the Eric Clapton and Jonny Lang Concerts June 2010

The artists are obviously much older now, but their classic rock hits remain strong in the hearts and minds of their fans. I research a bit before we go to see the live performances, just so I could attach faces (then and now) to names and music. Considering how I started with very little knowledge about these rock stars, I am always awe-inspired by their beginnings and back stories, and their successes over the years. Sitting beside die-hard fans who had followed them through their careers, I feel humbled, and deeply proud to now belong to the family of classic rock enthusiasts, thanks to Mike.

Rock On

Stoney Burke continues to spin his two-hour classic rock shows on RJUR and will continue to do so for as long as he can, I’m sure — classic rock is his life. I, Ruby Toosday, will be there to do the research, edit his shows, and update his website; it’s my continuing education, my acquired passion, and my chosen path with a rock jock. And, quoting Loverboy, I’m “lovin’ every minute of it.”

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With a heavy heart, I plucked the gold ribbons and glittery pinecones from our artificial pine tree. Dragging my feet, I gathered the Santa Claus figurines from the various tables and bookshelves in the house. I didn’t forget to pick up the two I put on the kitchen window.

As I removed the felt “Welcome” that hung on our front door, I heaved a sigh of sadness. The house will be itself again. No glitter, no colorful blinking lights, no jingle bells. The festive holidays are over.

It’s silly, really — that I feel sad while taking down Christmas decor. Because in just twelve short months, I’ll be excited once again to open up the holiday bins and choose what pieces to display to celebrate the season.

Maybe what makes me sad is how short these holiday seasons are, how little time we have to share the joys, appreciate the food and festivities, and let the Santa Clauses liven up every corner of the house.

I couldn’t wallow in melancholia, though. After the reusable tree was tucked back into its carton and the garden lights wound and stored, after the star parol was carefully boxed and the miniature village delicately bubble-wrapped, I walked around the house and said to myself that tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow, and tomorrow. And then it will be Christmas again.

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Our frontage configuration lends little to creativity that does not require acrobatics or scissor-lift-assisted installation of outdoor lights, so, my annual photos are strikingly similar. This year, a DSLR joined my stash of hobby toys, so I thought I’d take a clue from my brother — camera tricks.

So, yes, the 2010 Christmas lights photos are different.

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!

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As kids, my brother and I had full autonomy with the tree decor. There were no rules and no themes — just hang whatever you want to hang as long as the branches can carry the weight. I remember putting up the same little items year in and year out: colorful plastic horses, Disney characters, dent and broken toys. And pinecones from Farmer’s Garden. We always hung those mile-long Mardi Gras-type colored beads that would go round and round and up and down the branches. And cotton! We’d tuck pieces of cotton to look like snow.

Too bad we weren’t into taking photos back then. This year, courtesy of Facebook (and some sleek cameras in the hands of would-be pro photographers), we can conveniently share photos of our Christmas tree decorations, despite our vast distances from each other.

By some coincidence, my brother, sisters-in-law, and I, decided to put up our trees before December 1st. We’ve posted our tree photos on Facebook, teasing each other that we have some kind of contest going on. Or a “my tree is better than your tree” showdown. My son called it “Tree Wars”!

Here are our family’s beautiful 2010 Christmas trees in Manila, the Middle East, and North America. (Let’s call it a 4-way tie.)

Ronald's Tree

Gem's Tree

Yonie's Tree

Ruby's Tree

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE! A very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year to all our family and friends.

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One of the countless lessons I learned from her is what she says at the darkest hour: “Look at the bright side!”

Today, I dedicate this short video to my mother. I gathered some of my photos and mixed in one of the 2-minute Life Coach segments that I contribute to DZRJ-AM.

I thank my mother by sharing her lessons with you.

Watch Youtube Video: Count Your Blessings

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While watering my potted plants, I noticed that our calamansi’s leaves have been eaten by something. I suspected caterpillars. Sure enough, there were a couple of them crawling up and down the branches.

Giant Swallowtail Caterpillar

I wasn’t familiar with the crawlers. They look like slithering bird droppings. Later, I discovered in the Interwebs that they’re the larva of the Giant Swallowtail Butterfly (Papilio cresphontes). They look like bird doo-doo to escape predators.

Photo opp! I set up my portable studio in the patio and shot away. The caterpillar was cooperative (he obviously had no choice), but he made my photo session a living hell with the stink he whipped up every time he felt threatened and extended those red horn-like extensions (the osmeterium). These red extensions scare predators; the stink makes threats go “ewww!” I wanted to capture the alert posture, so I had to be neither scared nor repulsed. The stench stayed in my nose for hours afterwards; I had to smear cologne on my nostrils.

Giant Swallowtail Caterpillar ignoring me.

Giant Swallowtail Caterpillar giving me the ewww!

When I went back to the calamansi to see if I should be worried about the plant, our neighbor came by. Her dog Brussels (a Brussels Griffon, no brainer) licked my leg. I took a few photos of Brussels’ Ewok face and exchanged some small talk (with the owner, and the dog).

Brussels Griffon

Brussels Griffon and Human

After they left, I walked to the side of the house where I had my pineapple plant. It started to flower sometime last month. Two weeks ago, I was surprised to see the tiny fruit start to ripen. This afternoon, it was gone.

Tiny Pineapple (it was this size when it ripened)

I saw the spiny head leaves at the back of the house. Apparently, the squirrel had feasted on the ripe pineapple! Now I’ll never know if it was sweet. So, I planted the head leaves again; and will wait another year or two for it to bear another fruit. Ah well.

My mental notes for that afternoon:
- Check the calamansi tree for cocoons. The Giant Swallowtail Butterfly should be an awesome model to photo-shoot.
- Say hi to Brussels when she and her human walk by again.
- Get fresh pineapples from the supermarket.

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What was supposed to be an incubation of 9-11 days dragged on to 9 weeks. The Black Swallowtail cocoon I talked about in my “Waiting For A Butterfly” entry finally emerged today.

Black Swallowtail Butterfly (Papilio polyxenes)

Every morning since the last week of August, when I open the blinds to the patio, I’d look at the jar and whisper to the creature inside the cocoon, “Are you there?” Every night before I close the blinds, I’d look at the jar and whisper to the creature inside the cocoon, “When will you come out?”

A couple of weeks ago, I started getting nervous because the twig that the cocoon was attached to had become moldy. What if the mold attacks the cocoon? I was almost resigned to one day having to admit that I killed it because I took it away from its habitat.

I was so relieved when I opened the blinds this morning and there she was — the Papilio polyxenes in all its glory. The wait is over.

Black Swallowtail Butterfly (Papilio polyxenes)

Black Swallowtail Butterfly (Papilio polyxenes)

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“Can you hear that?” I asked, excited to share a natural phenomenon.

Nonchalantly, he replied, “Yes. It’s a wav file.”

Kokak.

Two Frogs on Papaya Leaf

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