Gouache and poster paint on sandpaper, 2004

I saw Toy Story 3 two days ago.

I thought it was a good movie… and as a dear friend would say, may puso (it has heart).

My childhood wasn’t abundant with toys, or toys that I got attached to though. I think after a poltergeist attack by a stuffed koala at age 4 or 6, my brothers and I stayed well away from toys. My favorite times as a child were sleeping in blanket houses (bahay-bahayan), complete with bulbs from broken down toys as night lamps, and biking around the village, looking for old houses to make into our clubhouse. Come to think of it, we kids stayed outdoors a lot, played kickball, swam, got filthy and sweaty, as kids are supposed to get.

The movie that I connected with more than Toy Story 3 was Bridge to Terabithia. For me that captured the imagination of a child at play and it touched me deeply; I cried lots watching it, and probably because the play that it featured didn’t involve toys. Having a five-year-old niece in my life, I’m now wary of toys and giving kids toys, that there’s something unnatural and limiting about playing with toys (modern toys especially).

When I was in late grade school, I always used Peter Pan to describe myself–the boy who didn’t grow up– and I was nene that way. Always with lit up eyes when it came to fantasy and role-play. I honestly believed I was never going to be a grown up, maybe because I also believed the world would end by 2000. I don’t think I ever bothered with adult things until college itself…

In that way I’m grateful for my childhood. I wasn’t a precocious child who was in a hurry to grow up… and even boys were a hovering but still distant concern.

I hope all the kids in our generation’s care–our children, nieces, nephews, godchildren–still grow up with the familiarity and accessibility of imagination. Watching Toy Story 3 with my niece was promising. I especially loved it when she would sit up and down in her seat, then clap, or raise her arm while rooting for Woody—reminded me of myself and how I reacted to Falcor and Bastian flying together in Neverending Story (and this was when I saw it again last year! hahaha…)

Hugs lots, friends.  Let us remember our childhood (with or without toys) not just with fondness, but with deep thanks, for the wonders and vividness we took from it, and now pass on to the new kids in our lives .

Gouache on paper, May 2010

Gouache on paper, May 2010

Inspired by Rumi.

Today I woke up with an envelope slipped under my door–it was a card for me!! Not an invitation, not a sales flyer, not a bill to be paid, but a personal card, just for me. Was enough to make me jump up and down with glee… how lovely it is to get something in the mail, especially in this world of emails and texts and easy “connectedness”!  What made it more special was that it was from my best friend, who I see almost three times a week! She’s really so cute, thank you Pachichi!

This week I also sent out my share of happy cards– mini-paintings for an Artist Postcard Exchange Project. The idea is to swap original art, much like a penpal exchange, but for artists: “We send original art postcards to each other! Just post your address so you can receive and send postcards from around the world.”

Oh lovely.

To quote from Olga of the Artist Postcard Exchange, “Snail mail is now poetry.”

Sweet is the memory of Jesus, giving true joys to the heart; but sweeter beyond honey and all else is his presence.

- quoted by Aldous Huxley in The Perennial Philosophy

Memory and presence.  Two sweet joys, but they don’t go hand in hand, they are not two of the same thing.

When all we have is memory–of a loved one, a cherished friendship, a triumph at work–there is a tendency to pedestal it, or maybe romanticize it until it suits us and what we need from it at that moment.  We remember the sweetness, and good for us if we find joy in what once was, but let’s not forget that before all our emotional ramblings over this memory, it had a life of its own–which was objective and a preview of the actual event, person, or feeling it captured.

Whatever comfort we find in memory, let us caution against getting swept up in it, and lingering in it.

This applies, too, to our faith.  Our rituals and sacraments do well to uphold the memory of something divine–Christ said to break bread and drink wine in memory of him–but let’s always be mindful that the formalities of our religion, no matter how pure and well-intentioned, are just stopovers.  We are there to renew ourselves and to make ourselves stronger, along with others who are on the same journey to a consistent and lively presencing of Christ everyday : sweeter beyond honey and all is his presence!