I recognize a theme for the week just passed– childhood memories.

This week started with the discovery of several old photos inserted in a brown-stained envelop among a heap of old files.  I was cleaning out my cabinet of old work files, extra copies of  newsletters, annual reports, and other corporate materials I helped create as part of my work as a public relations counselor. These stuff have been occupying  too much space, which I believe are now meant for newer stuff. The photos were among greeting cards from my children, family, some memorabilia for good performance in school, a huge folding box that  had contained 7 hankies that my aunt gifted me on my First Communion. I even found my Grade School report cards, with colored cards that recognized some excellent work in Penmanship, Arithmetic, Conduct, Language, Science, and P.E. I wasn’t surprised that I never got a card for Religion.

On Tuesday, my childhood friend who is now based in New York, found me on Facebook, and chatted for two hours about lost and recovered memories as school bus mates, our outings together with our parents’ group of architects and engineers, playing patintero on P. Florentino, and slipping in the canal in my school uniform. It’s funny how we are able to store memories in small boxes in drawers in cabinets of our minds, and can easily  remember where to pull each one out a the right moment.

On Wednesday, I discovered yet another bunch of almost-sepia photos in another box of  old stuff. I couldn’t understand why I had those photos together with others materials from political campaigns I helped handle.  They stuck out like a sore  thumb, until I remembered that I had used them as reference for the model house of our home in New Manila, that we had eventually sold to the Columban Fathers.  These two photos did not actually depict anything in the house, but I guess I had them there because they evoke so much emotion that couldn’t be put into words. They were inspirational for me during several dreary months of my life.

Thursday did not exactly give me memories of my children, but more of my expriences as a mom to young children. I had found a innocent-enough post on Manila Bulletin’s FunPage online, calling for children writers. My protective mom-instinct rose up to question the idea of a newspaper assuming that children should deal with them without letting their parents know. I continue to have mixed feelings about the issue, and I guess I will have to write about this again sometime.  Before the days was over, I had made arrangements to meet my third year prom date for lunch the next day.

I was quite excited to meet up with Jun, who I had not seen since high school, though we have been lurking-friends on Facebook for a while. Our moms had paired us together for his school prom, which in a way was quite exciting. Twas my first date alone with a guy, though my mom had driven us to the prom site. I’m positively sure the moms were just too eager for Jun and I to get together. But I guess nothing came out of that date because we just treated each other as friends, and continue to do so.  Our get-together eventually turned out to be a mid-afternoon drinking session of bottomless iced tea. It was just too searing hot, so we decided to settle on an outdoor table at Trinona’s garden floor, excitedly updating each other. Next time, we have to bring Mari and Carol along, no excuses.

Saturday morning was a date with the jubilarian reps for 2011. When one talks about preparing for participation as the Ruby celebrants, one can’t help but go back to high school, and reminisce how our 12 years in our alma mater had molded us into women with share experiences and attitudes as those who graduated from high school in 1956 and those in 2006.  As Joy and I tried to gather the most information as we could to share with our own batch later, we couldn’t help but notice and share the determined assertion of individuality (some teachers and nuns had referred to this as notoriety) that our batch had been known for.  Our batch somehow ended up the first to use the new uniform. In fact, from Kindergarten to 4th year high school, we had a total of 5 uniforms., excluding the unofficial one that we used for our grad picture — skirts that were 3 or more inches above the knee. Proof were our class pictures where one could see that even when seated, hemlines barely covered the knees.

Tonight, Saturday evening, my 3-year-old granddaughter innocently highjacked me from my Saturday practice with the TAC. Twas such a dificult decision to make, but my apo won hadns down.