My Published Articles for ViewsHound: April 2021

Thursday, April 15, 2021

It is Spring Time-It is All About Flowers

Rafflesia Arnoldii: One of the two largest flowers in the world:Photo Credit-You Tube

Do you know what is the largest flower in the world? How about a list of the most expensive flowers? How about a list of top twelve most beautiful flowers in the world. According to the recent article here are the twelve most beautiful flowers in the world. Passion Flower, Gazanias, Plumerias, Dahlias, orchids, tulips, calla lilies, water lilies, clematis, magnolias, Bird of Paradise and Roses.

All the above twelve most beautiful flowers with the exception of the water lily , I have grown and cultivated in my gardens in the Philippines ( Chateau Du Mer, Marindque) and also here in US ( Bay Area, Sacramento Area, Central Valley of California, Kansas City, Missouri and Silver Spring, MD).

Not in the top twelve list, the flowers that I have cultivated are Camelias, Peonies, Hibiscus, Bougainvillas, Hydrangeas, Geraniums, Azelias, Rhodondendrons and Begonias.

Here's a video of the largest flower in the world- Rafflesia arnoldii.

Here are 3 videos for the most expensive flowers in the world

Meanwhile enjoy this photo of my Clematis, Azeleas and Peonies in the Front Yard of our Residence in Silver Spring, MD, 1994

and some of my orchids in the Philippines in the Gardens of Chateau Du Mer

Wednesday, April 7, 2021

My Youngest Sister Collection of Ornamental and Foliage Plants in the Philippines

A part of My Sister's Collection on the Front and Side Yard of her Residence

One of the best and healthful hobbies is container gardening. My youngest sister in the Philippines started her container plants collection(foliage plants) last year.

In her collections are several varieties of philodendrons, coleus, ferns, orchids, caladiums, euphorbias, begonias and other rare and popular foliage plants of the Philippines.

Here are some photographs of her collection of plants. In the Philippines, they are grown outside but here in the US they are grown as house plants ( inside) or in the Greenhouse except in Southern Florida and maybe San Diego, CA which has tropical climate similar to the Philippines. Enjoy these photos.

Meanwhile here are two photos of my geranium growing outside in my front yard and my orchids in the living room of my residence here in Northern California

For more information on foliage plants and varieties of philodendrons visit:

https://www.gardendesign.com/plants/foliage.html

https://smartgardenguide.com/philodendron-varieties/

Sunday, April 4, 2021

Dungeness Crab and Manila Clams for Our Easter Dinner This Year

Ditas and I are both excited at the above purchase!

Ditas went to her nearby Sea Food Market( Sunh) today to buy some Manila Clams. Luckily, live dungeness crabs for only $12.99/lb were also available. This is not bad a price since I had been comparing prices for steamed Dungeness Crabs in our local grocery stores. The price ranges from $12.99 to $16.99 per pound depending on the grocery store. I had also been pricing whole cooked Dungeness crab with spices at our local seafood restaurants. The price ranges from $35 to $50 for one crab. For more details about Dungeness Crabs visit the following site:

https://myfavoritepinoydishes.blogspot.com/2014/03/what-did-i-do-to-deserve-this.html

Meanwhile here are the photos of the cooked Dungeness crab, the Manila Clams and our Easter Eggs.

Again, Have a Blessed Easter to All!!!

My Two Favorite Recipes for Easter and Other Special Occasions

Happy Easter to ALL!!!!!

Photo Credit: Panlasang Pinoy.com

Two of my favorite Pinoy Dishes during Easter, Christmas and other special occasions are Relleno na Bangus (milk fish) and Chicken Relleno. In our younger years Macrine( RIP) would cook either Relleno Bangus or Chicken Relleno for our Easter Dinner. In the Philippines she had the assistance of our regular cook, but here in the US she had me as the errand or chopping boy. I enjoyed watching her cooked the Rellenos. The recipes are not that hard but the Deboning Process required skills, practice and special tools. Here are the videos for your viewing pleasure.

And for the Chicken Relleno

Meanwhile enjoy some spring blooms from my garden here in Northern California. Again, Happy Easter to All!!

Friday, April 2, 2021

I Tasted Blue Rice for the First Time the Other Day

Spicy Pompano (Whole Fish)-Sautéed deep fried Pompano with onions, green beans, red bell pepper, jalapeño, zucchini, basil, garlic, chili sauce, and topped with crispy kaffir lime leaf.

I ordered Blue Rice from a Thai Restaurant the other day along with fried and Spicy Pompano. It was my first time to taste blue rice. The taste is similar to the regular Steam Jasmine white rice. Below is a description of what blue rice is

https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/food-news/blue-rice-is-the-latest-craze-that-is-insta-worthy-too/articleshow/80313239.cms

While Blue Rice is not new to Asian cuisine, it is the striking colour that has made people sit up and take notice of the dish lately. Recently, even actress Jacqueline Fernandez was seen indulging in this dish along with her friends. Blue Rice, also known as Nasi Kerabu, is prepared using butterfly pea flower and is commonly consumed in Malaysia and Thailand. Though mixologists across the country have previously used butterfly pea flowers to impart blue or purple colour to drinks, it is only recently that blue rice has been introduced in restaurants in the city. Chef Tarun Sibal, who serves Blue Rice with Yellow Tofu curry at his eatery, shares:

How to prepare it
Take a cup of Jasmine rice and cook it like you prepare regular white rice. To the water add a handful of butterfly pea flower. “You will need a lot of blue pea flower so that the rice gets the blue colour,” he says.
Pair it best with
This rice can go with all kinds of curries. “Since it is fragrant rice, personally, I prefer to pair it with Asian flavours. So, an Asian curry with mild flavour is definitely a good choice,” he adds.

Nutrition aspect
Butterfly pea flower is packed with anti-oxidants and is said to detoxify your body and enriches skin texture as well.

Personal Note: Rice Farming and its income made me of what I am today. My Parents and Grand Parents from Iloilo were Rice Growers and Landowners during their time. My Parents had more than 30 tenants planting rice annually in Barotac Viejo. It was our primary income.

On the other hand, Macrine's (RIP) Dad in the island of Marinduque was a coconut grower and copra dealer( coconut plantation). Macrine's Mom was an Educator! My own Mother was a full time homemaker. My Dad on the other hand was a Dentist in his younger years. Later on he retired from Dentistry and helped my Mom managed our farm land and other properties, including a commercial building in Iloilo City.

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.