My Published Articles for ViewsHound: Autobiography Update: Chapter 15- Golden Wedding Entourage and Party ( Dinah E)

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Autobiography Update: Chapter 15- Golden Wedding Entourage and Party ( Dinah E)

I first wrote my autobiography in 2008 and updated it in 2011. There are several things that changed since 2011 in my family personal lives and a few significant events that is needed to be updated. I will include more photos so the articles will be not too boring for those who have already read this post. Again, I will appreciate any comments. I will highlights all the updates.

Absent Grand Children-Philip, Alix and Marina Katague

Dave and Macrine Katague Wedding, May, 8, 1957

Golden Wedding Entourage,December,2007

Part of Wedding Entourage, May, 1957

This is the wedding entourage during our Golden Wedding Anniversary celebration at the Boac Cathedral, December, 2007. If you are reading this blog and you are over 75, you are indeed a rare human being. Let me explain why. Based on the current survey, the majority of blog users ranged in ages from 12 to 40. Only a minority of blog users (filipino or filipino-Americans,and others) are over 75 years old. Anyway, thank you for visiting my blog site. I hope to see you soon in Marinduque-My Island Seaside Paradise if not in person, but perhaps on line.

The David King Family at our Golden Wedding Anniversary
The following is from my oldest daughter, Dinah's Christmas Newsletter, describing the family's trip to the Philippines during our golden wedding anniversary celebrations as well as the current status of her children, Ian and Elaine as well as former husband, David King.

"I'm here again at my favorite time of the year. Besides good food, we all make an extra effort to remember those people who have touch our lives in a positive memorable ways this past year. This time of the year always give me a special glow inside that makes me grateful for all the blessings in my life. Now, allow me talk about my favorite subject. My family of course!
Our 2008 year, actually started in December, 2007. On the 20th of December, Lolo Katague's birthday, the King family boarded an airplane at the SFO International Airport headed to the Philippines, to spend 16 days experiencing the country of my parent's birth and to celebrate their Golden Wedding Anniversary. I could spend pages describing what a wonderful experience this was for everyone, but then I would just bore you all. Meeting all the cousins, eating, drinking, dancing, joking, betting, taking risks, attending cock fights, picnic excursion, riding tricycles and jeepneys and even destroying the natural coral reefs by shooting firecrackers into the ocean, as well as swimming and snorkeling and experiencing a wonderful culture and family that has lived half a world away, makes me feel so blessed to have been able to share this experience with my children and husband.
A big "THANK YOU" to all the Nieva's and Jambalos side of the family for making us feel a part of your lives. We have all agreed to make the trip again in four years. Then, maybe this time, we can spend a month and get to know the Katague's side of the family.
Upon returning to the Unites States, I was greeted with the fact that my contract work was not going to be renewed, because my employer had been laying off people since September. This was not unexpected and it gives me time to look for another job.

By the time you get this letter, I will have entered my second art show and sale. I have actually sold pieces of my pottery, so to be able to make this hobby a saleable endeavor is exciting.
Ian is now a senior in high school. He spent his summer life guarding and enjoying swim team activities and water polo. Unfortunately, during the second week of water polo practice, he messed up his ACL and meniscus in his left knee. His surgery went well but was on crutches for 12 weeks. Now he has an after school job, as a day care counselor at a local elementary school. The kids and staff all love him. Last May, Ian also got his driver's license and now a big help, driving her sister and me around.

Ian and Elaine with Badger and Phantom
Elaine is also doing well. She finished off her freshman year as being the best back stroker in the Junior Varsity Swim Team. She has also joined the 15-18 age group water polo team. Their water polo team made it to the quarter finals in NCS. This was the highest level in the Las Lomas High School girls history. She ended up with the third highest shooting percentage in the team. The most amazing thing is, she is only 15 years old.
For Dave, he has been diligent in his yoga and exercise program. He has lost a total of 20 lbs. Unfortunately for him and family, his last day of work was on November 26.
His company, a home Equity company has also been affected by the mortgage crisis. He is looking at being laid off as an opportunity to start a new adventure in life and not a depressing and anxiety filled and stressful situation. With this positive attitude, it is only a matter of time before that new adventure will appear.
Note: On April 1, 2009, both Dinah and Dave started working for a local bank on a contract basis. Hopefully as the economy improves, they will be converted into permanent employees with all benefits restored. Please include them in your prayers.
So, as I conclude this annual newsletter, I want to bring to all of you the blessing of our gratitude for being a part of our lives this year. May all the joys of the season be with you this Christmas and New Year. Namaste, Dinah Katague"

Note: Dinah is my oldest daughter. She was born in Chicago, Illinois. She obtained her BA degree from Sacramento State University and her Certificate in Paralegal Studies at St. Mary College in Moraga, California. She was formerly married to David King, a former classmate. They have two children, Ian, 23 and Elaine, 21, both college students.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++EPILOGUE
Here's an article on Dinah's Pottery Projects published in the Walnut Creek newspaper.

The following is an article about my oldest daughter hobby of "neriage" printed in the Contra Costa Times. Have you heard of the word "neriage"?

Walnut Creek artist says more to clay art than meets the eye By Janice De Jesus contracostatimes.com

Clay artist Dinah Katague, of Walnut Creek, displays some of bowls she has made at the Civic Arts. Eight years ago, Dinah Katague came to know her new Walnut Creek home at the same time she rediscovered a passion with clay art. The Civic Arts Education Clay Arts Guild she joined was her home away from home. "I didn't know anyone in the neighborhood so I thought, this is my time for myself," said Katague. "I thought it was a good way to meet new people."

While she dabbled in sculptures by hand in high school and using the pottery wheel in college, Katague took a long break from clay. But when she embraced the art again eight years ago, she took the art on full force, adopting a technique of staining clay with different colors, layering it and then throwing it all together. Called "neriage," the technique -- first used in ancient Egypt and perfected in early modern Japan -- has given Katague's bowls and vases new life. She and her fellow artists will be displaying work at a garden-themed Clay Arts Guild Spring Sale Friday through Sunday. The garden-art-themed show will feature several artists' work, including planters and wall pots with live plants as well as wall art, wind chimes, bird feeders and houses, fountains, garden sculpture and garden lights.

Pottery, sculpture and dinnerware will also be available, both hand built and wheel-thrown pieces. "I call it my hurricane effect," Katague said of the neriage technique. "I guess I'm in my 'chaos period.' " Still, it is a period where the artist said she feels the calmest. "I notice when I'm throwing clay on the wheel, it's much easier to get into that zone," she said. "I look forward to doing this Wednesdays and Sundays."

Earlier on in her pottery life, the second year she learned how to throw that perfect pot, she remembers sitting at the wheel during open studio feeling so new and inexperienced, she said. "I overworked my pot and one side collapsed," she said. "I was just really mentally and emotionally defeated. At that moment, I was wondering if this pottery thing was a good idea for a hobby. Then a really nice woman came over to me and said, 'Oh, we can fix that.' She proceeded to bend in the other sides to match, added a few little knobs of clay and the once 'destroyed' pot became a beautiful artistic bowl. She looked at me and said, 'Dinah, in art there are no mistakes, just artistic opportunities.' " Since then, Katague has tried to live life with that philosophy learned in pottery class.

The artist credits teacher Lynne Meade for introducing neriage to her work. "A while back I did a one-day demonstration of inlaid colored clay for Dinah's class," Meade said. "Since then she has taken the technique and made amazing progress with it. She's taken it to new places despite technical difficulties and challenges. "She has persevered with her vision even when it seemed too difficult, Meade added. "That, to me, is the mark of a good artist and a great student -- when you give them a tiny seed and they nurture it into a blossoming tree. As a teacher, it is what you hope for and wait for. When you see it, it's always gratifying."

I am proud of your accomplishments, my beloved daughter!

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Guest Article from Susan Creamer Joy

In The Silence, by Susan Creamer Joy.

Today's guest article is from Susan Creamer Joy. Susan is one of my favorite authors in the ViewsHound community. Susan writes, draws, paints and cobbles together art from found objects making a variety of creations from jewelry to religious shrines. She frequently sports burns on her fingers from her soldering iron, paint on her palms and ink under her fingernails, but her hair is usually combed. When she is not losing time in the creative vortex of her studio, she is likely to be putting her knowledge of metaphysics and esoteric principles including Tarot, numerology, astrology and graphology to good use in consultations. Her children are grown, her husband still works and her four dogs believe she needs serious help. The title of her article is "A Matter Of Love And Death". Thank you Susan.

By the time they reached my bedroom door, I was already sitting up – my stomach ratcheted in the tense grip of an unnamed anxiety; my pillow, unburdened of my drowsy head.

To this day I cannot explain how I heard them coming up those stairs in their bare feet or how I knew that my father struggled to hold his composure as my mother unnaturally clutched at the folds of her dressing gown and followed him through the dark just a little too closely.

As the wooden groan of those old stairs tore into my bones that morning like a hacksaw, all I could see between the predawn shadows was the letter I’d written just hours earlier to my boyfriend, Chris, propped against the lamp on my desk across the room awaiting an envelope.

I had not slept well. It was late November and there had been so many changes since the middle of August when he left for the Air Force in Texas to begin basic training and I began my third new school in as many years.

The conspiracy between fate and the last surge of the Vietnam draft had broken apart the every-waking-minutes of our two-year union with unceremonious indifference. All that night my sleep had been infested by difficult dreams and by the illogical fear that truth and reality were merging into a darkness only a martyr could grasp; and at sixteen, martyrdom seemed reasonable only for the nuns among the poor in Bangladesh

I tried to remind myself that he would be home on leave for Thanksgiving in another few days. It was the only tether to calm I could find, but reviewing the facts offered little relief from my baseless fears.

Chris had been girding his pacifist sensibilities preparing to fight in an unpopular war that had not yet slaughtered its last innocent. I was hovering just over the line of inclusion at an exclusive girl’s school – missing him – and finding myself at odds with these young women and their attachment to propriety and with the prep-school veneer that blinded them to the fact that they were no better than anyone else.

Neither one of us was coping well with the worlds into which we were respectively summoned, and although we both knew that the best hope for any future together depended upon our individual successes apart, it was far from comforting most days.

But in spite of our discomfort, we each did our best; and, of course, there were the letters: Thin, plain-paper sheets with row after row after row of inky blue words penned with the intensity and awkward locutions of a love learned too soon. It had come down to just that little, but without them, I would have had nothing.

Chris was learning to fly. I was learning to drive, and both of us were aching to transport our souls to an earlier time through the hallowed intercourse of memories and dreams. Of course, as with all progress, there was the positive element: We were both clean and drug-free for the first time in years.

Now, without pretense, both healthy cognition and sincere motivation surfaced regularly in my psychology and prompted me to care about myself and to arbitrate against all temptation for a better standing in the world, in school and in my own eyes. I even did my homework.

No longer was I escaping today but, instead, living for my day of escape. Lying still in the dark of my room, I listened to the slow, padded footfall of my parents approaching and looked to the floor and to my history book half hidden beneath the nightstand where I’d tossed it the night before. Even in this early morning dark I could make out the swirls and stars in colored marker and the bubble-formed letters that spelled C H R I S in soft, juvenile curves on the torn book cover I’d fashioned out of a brown paper grocery bag.

I vaguely remembered throwing it there somewhat hastily. I had been doing my homework when a sense of urgency struck and I realized I had not written him as I promised I would and glancing at the clock, I noted it was nine-twenty-three. Why that mattered I had no way of knowing in that strange moment, but within hours, it would be one I would never forget; and although I was becoming drowsy and still needed to finish my work, I felt beyond reason that my letter to him could not wait.

So, I wrote. I would always write. I would always be there. He would always be there.“Suzi."It was my name spoken in the smooth and familiar voice of my mother, although weighted and slow, her head bowed to her chest almost as though she were speaking only to herself.

"Suzi.” She said it again, this time with sharp gravity, like a chisel against stone.

As if on cue, I leaned forward, flanked now by my parents who were sitting on either side of my bed.

I had been waiting for them. I don’t know how. I didn’t know why. The lights in my room remained off, but it seemed that the darkness clung more to them than to me, as though they were holding it there – away from me to give me enough light to see through the next moment. They were crying. My father was crying. My father. “Suzi. We have something very, very bad to tell you." Chris has been in a car accident." And he was killed."

If the world moved forward from that moment, I could not know it. f there were air around me worth breathing, I could not take it in. And if there were another sound beyond the leaden bellow of my own raw grief, I could not hear it.

"Who am I going to talk to? Who am I going to love?” I wailed. Who will love me? In that sodden moment violated by the intrusion of a predawn light that had no business rising, everything I ever believed about happiness, hoped for in life, trusted in or held as my own was annihilated.

After that – there was no after that. After that came months of hollow redundancies that would inform my way of being in the world for years to come. A serial commitment to waking up each morning, remembering he was gone and dedicating the remaining hours to forgetting. To that end I would try anything, drink anything, ingest anything, inject anything. It was a slow and arbitrary suicide by indifference.

Many years later, at 25 years-old and in the midst of a pharmaceutical free-fall leaning dangerously close to terminal, I discovered that I was expecting a child, and after a decade of forgetting, I remembered. I named him Griffin after the legendary winged lion, a symbol of the divine because what he inspired and the miracle that he was, were nothing less. I remembered and I loved again, and I went on to marry and to the gift of two beautiful daughters.

Today my son is struggling not to drown in the same well of drug abuse and apathy that almost swallowed me – his great, divine wings clipped by his own hand; and while it is up to him to restore his place in the sky, I will do my best to help provide an open runway.

In the meantime, I will continue soaring for both of us; bequeathed as I have been, with a determination to fly from a boy whose ragged fate precluded that dream.

Death took one young man from me once upon a dark time. If it has any intention of coming for this one, it will have to go through me. And trust me, it will be in for one hell of a fight.

Note: If you enjoy this article, please let me know.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Autobiography Update: Chapter 15- Golden Wedding Entourage and Party ( Dinah E)

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