YOU'VE GOT A FRIEND IN MARIA PANLILIO

THESE ARE JUST SOME OF THE PEOPLE FOR WHOM I HARBOR SOME OF THE FONDEST MEMORIES IN MY MIND. I HAVE JUST STARTED THIS BLOG; THROUGH THIS GREAT WEB OF SOCIAL NETWORKS, I HOPE TO REESTABLISH CONTACT WITH THEM AND RELIVE SOME OF THESE MEMORIES.  THIS WILL BE A HUGE UNDERTAKING, I KNOW, FOR I HAVE BEEN BLESSED TO HAVE GARNERED SO MANY FRIENDS IN MY LIFE.

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The little Chinese girl was my "adopted" sister through the "BIG BROTHERS, BIG SISTERS PROGRAM". I was living in Cincinnati then. As a Big Sister, I entertained her with picnics at the park, exploring museums and the zoo, took her to some of my family gatherings, shopping, and just plain chats.  I taught her how to draw and we read a lot together.

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Above is a team picture of the indoor champion 5.0 Career Women Tennis Team (80's - 90's)

while I was still living in Cincinnati,, Ohio. For their privacy, I will not reveal their names here. I had so much fun playing tennis with these superb players.

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ABOVE is a picture of the former Senator Niki Coseteng of the Philippines. I haven't seen her since her visit in San Diego. This picture was taken in Colorado sometime in 2006, during the promotion of the book "Sinaunang Habi". We stayed in contact for a while, then it ended because she and I began to travel the world (separately).

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MORE TO COME.  TUNE IN NEXT TIME.

SKYDIVE! Look, Ma, I'm Flying

The author skydives in memory of her mother.

By Maria Concepcion Panlilio

Watching my mother die slowly is emotionally overpowering. I have to get out of the San Diego Hospice and release my misery elsewhere. I rush to my car, quickly jumping inside and hoisting myself in the driver’s seat. I drive away, letting destiny take me anywhere.

Unaware of my speed, I suddenly hear a siren, and behind me is the sheriff’s car with his red blue and yellow lights flashing. My heart starts pounding. Oh, no, not again, I scream internally.

I pull over onto the hard shoulder and shut the engine off. My hand shaking, I retrieve my car insurance and registration papers from the glove compartment and I wait. Cars zoom past my Celica GTS as it shakes in their wake. I take a deep breath and drop my head down, resting my forehead on the white knuckles that clutch the steering wheel.

What’s taking him so long? I glance up. My eyes are assailed by the glare of lights several yards in front of me. I see the cop approaching the driver of another car. "Oh, God, thank you," I murmur.

* * *

I feel the gravel sand crunch beneath my tires as I find myself pulling into the parking lot of the Otay Mesa Drop Zone. Whenever I come near this place, I am pulled in like a magnet. I stop longingly to watch the familiar activity around: the rigging of the canopies, the exuberant camaraderie, and the wonderful sight of parachutists dangling from their colorful canopies, some landing all over the place. I cannot help but feel nostalgic about this extreme and exciting sport that first hooked me years ago.

I leave my car at the parking lot and saunter toward the gathering of people who came to skydive, or simply to watch their family members or friends jump. People place their lives in the reliability of the parachute strapped on their back, knowing that if it fails to open, they’re history. For most people this sounds insane. Yet, a growing number of men and women of all ages continue to clamor for the adrenaline rush and thrill of skydiving. And for an elite group, it is a lifestyle. Like it was once for me.

I claim my place on the grass lawn and visualize bailing out of a perfectly operational aircraft from 13,500 feet. The dreadful thought of my mother nearing death makes me want to sail into the clouds and then fall freely at the speed of terminal velocity.

It is hard not to want to jump again, but it is harder not to recall my recent skydiving mishap that I thought was going to prematurely terminate my license to live. I remember that very last moment just before my consciousness fluttered into oblivion. It was my mother’s voice screaming to me: You see? I told you you’re going to kill yourself one of these days.

Let me tell you about my mother's voice. It is soft, gentle, and always filled with affection. When she is displeased, it retains these qualities, but the strength in the timbre dominates, and you can almost feel it passing through stone walls.

In my youth, I was always fascinated by anything that soared gracefully in the sky: birds, planes, kites and imaginary angels. To simulate flying, I’d flap my arms and jump from my bedroom window, from atop the fence or from a tree in our backyard. None of these take-off points were high enough to cause bodily injury, but they were high enough to cause an improper landing that would later reveal itself on my knees as ugly bruises. Unfortunately, the sting from these bruises was not as intense as the pain my mother would inflict on my behind with a spanking board. Ah, yes, she didn’t do it often, but I had my share of spanking when I was young. And rightly so.

Why can’t you be more normal like your sisters? Mom would always admonish me. But I was a stubborn young girl. I kept doing things that traumatized my mother.

Many years later, my wish to fly like a bird would come true. And the memory of my first jump would never be obliterated from my mind.

It had been years ago, when Doug--an old boyfriend—invited me to an annual Skydiving Boogie--a huge event that usually attracts hundreds of amateur and professional skydivers from all over the country, Europe and Canada. When I asked Doug to describe the sensation of free-falling, he replied, "Why don’t you jump and find out for yourself?" I smiled and without hesitation I said, "Okay."

Because I had not taken any skydiving lesson, I could only jump tandem--the state-of-the art piggyback method where I would be harnessed to the belly of a Tandem Master.

The Boogie was teeming with Tandem Masters looking for gutsy would-be-first-timers. Doug referred Bill to me; supposedly one of the most reputable Tandem Masters around. I immediately felt a special bond with Bill; after all, he would be holding my life in his grasp for a while.

In addition to Bill’s instructions, I watched an introductory film for a quick lesson on the theory of skydiving, personal equipment, aircraft procedures, body positions, parachute opening, canopy steering, landing and emergency procedures.

Doug also hired Wayne, an aerial photographer, to videotape my entire experience, hopefully capturing the intrinsic excitement of my performance without any humiliating incident.

Dressed in a bulky jumpsuit, I climbed into the aircraft behind Bill and thirteen other skydivers. Cramped inside the Beechcraft King Air, I closed my eyes and saw visions of my body dangling from a tree like a rag doll. I began to doubt my sanity. This is not like jumping from my bedroom window. At 13,500 feet, the roar of the plane’s propeller rang in my ears. "It’s time," Bill said. He checked all the safety locks that attached us together and announced they were secure. We were ready to go. I began to feel the excitement of anticipating my first leap.

A door in the side of the plane swung open and a cold wind ripped through the cabin. My gut wrenched and my whole body rocked. The guy closest to the door knelt at the doorway then tumbled out. The big guy in front of us in a Star Trek outfit jammed up the small opening, his hands grabbing the sides. He was playfully screaming, refusing to jump. His friend pushed him with a finger and he was beamed out of the prop blast.

It was our turn. Now or never! With Bill strapped to my back and breathing hard in my ear, we waddled toward the gaping hole. I gripped the sides of the door and I wondered if they could ever pry my fingers off them. My toes hanging over the edge, I stared at the empty space leading to the twilight zone. The wind was rushing up at me, pushing my cheeks back. The primeval fear began to consume me and I thought my brain would short-circuit and explode. "Oh God!" I screamed.

"There’s no turning back now." Bill yelled. "Swing your leg out and jump!"

In a lightning speed mode, I mentally reviewed the fine points of doing a proper and flawless jump: a full-spread eagle form, arms and legs straight and spread widely, head back, with a backward arch at the waist, pushing outward, maintaining throughout, a stable, face-to-earth free-fall body position.

I made a sign of the cross, thrust my body forward and jumped our one-way ticket to earth. We stumbled straight into nothingness, and all the instructions I had reviewed in my head were scattered in the wind.

Almost instantly, an incredible euphoric sensation replaced my anxiety. With my arms spread wide like wings of an eagle, free-falling at a rate of 32 feet per second, I looked down at the panorama of colors below. I did not think of the hard ground that waited straight down for me. Instead, I soared with a sense of tranquility and quiet bliss, enjoying the sensation of experiencing the closest thing humanly possible to flying like a bird. The wind was roaring past my ears at about 120 miles per hour but all I could think of was that the mystery of the sky had been unveiled.

My childhood dream of flying had become a reality!

I was hamming at the camera; smiling, waving and giving Wayne the skydivers’ thumbs-up language. I yelled: "Look, Ma! I’m flying!"

After about forty-five seconds of free-fall, we pulled the ripcord, instantly jerking us upward. I craned my neck to look up, and there it was — our luminescent blue, white and yellow canopy blossoming heavenward, rippling gently in the breeze — like the wings of an angel protecting me. I noticed the total quiet and peace around me. I didn’t know whether to scream or say a prayer. I chose to scream — it was a manifestation of joy for being a part of an adventure that was bringing me so much thrill and satisfaction.

I thought I heard my mother’s voice yelling: You’re still not normal after all these years! If you do that again, I swear. . . !

That was the beginning of my fanatical obsession with skydiving. On my 55th jump, however, I thought I heard my Mom scold me for the last time. Fortunately for me, none of the severe cuts and bruises and torn ligaments left any physical imprint on my body to remind me of that mishap. But throughout the recovery process, my mother’s voice kept playing in my head like a broken record: Do you have a death wish? Didn’t I tell you? Now, are you going to listen to me?

* * *

"You think you’re going to join us this time?" A very tall skydiver yells, pulling me out of my reveries and sending me back to earth. I’ve seen him here before. No woman could forget that California sun-kissed sculpted face, and that unruly, blonde hair. He must be one of the regulars.

I smile. "No, thank you. I’ll just watch."

All right," he says with a grin. "You don’t know what you’re missing!"

I remain sitting comfortably on the grass for a few minutes, watching jumpers land on their feet; one being dragged by his canopy instead of the other way around.

I turn my head to the right toward the manifest table. I check my wallet to review my cash. I hope they have jumpsuits available for my size. I get up and walk to sign up.

Handsome sees me at the manifest table. He flashes a toothy grin. Of course, he's got those perfect, pearly teeth.

"So you decided to join us after all," he says.

"Yes, I did."

"We have a tandem master on board. He’s quite good. You’ll like him."

"No, thanks. I jump solo.”

I catch the look of surprise. "Well . . . How about that?" he says. "How long have you been jumping?"

"A few years,"

"Cool!"

"But I haven’t jumped in a long while."

"What made you change your mind now?"

I ponder his question for a moment. Maybe he thinks it's because of him. How can I tell him that Í just want to hear my mother’s voice again, even if only in my head?

"For my mother," I say.

~~* * *~~~

Author's note:
Having tasted human flight, I often find myself walking with my eyes to the sky where I have soared like a bird many times before.
My mother is gone now. When missing her becomes unbearable, I drive to the nearest drop zone, hoping to hear her say in feigned anger: You’re still not normal after all these years! If you do that again, I swear . . . It's the closest thing to feeling next to her again.
(I dedicate this article to Bill (who died after a skydiving accident), and to Doug (who introduced me to skydiving).

© Copyright 2006 writeartista (UN: mariapanlilio at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

They Don’t Grow Flowers In Afghanistan

World Trade Center Bombing

They Don’t Grow Flowers In Afghanistan

Published after 9/11 2001
by Maria Panlilio

A continuing series of articles about slavery

(Written immediately after 9/11, this is dedicated to all the heroes of the WTC attack, all the persecuted women of Afghanistan, and all the forced slaves of the world.)

They Don’t Grow Flowers In Afghanistan

They don’t plant seeds to grow flowers in Afghanistan
None to express affection for their mummified women
Who live their lives without respect, warmth and inspiration
How can there be love when one is treated as subhuman?

In the desert of hell the Talibans plant bullets and guns
Iraq, Philippines, US, Europe, Sudan, Algeria, Pakistan
Throughout the world Osama bin Laden buys young men
Enslaving the world’s forsaken and troubled minds

One gun for each young man, slavery for mankind

The seeds of evil philosophy sprout among the Afghans
The young men grow, and now it’s harvest time

Americans plant trees that scrape the sky in Manhattan
Made of steel, earthquakes they could withstand
But on Sep 11, towering trees burn and fall to the ground
As the Al Qaeda slaves execute the works of the demons
Murdering more than five thousand of our innocent civilians

Gripped with terror and disbelief we hug our loved ones
While the Red, White and Blue waves all over the land
As we sing the Republic’s Hymn in our hearts and minds
We lay flowers where dust and debris cover the grounds

Flowers we give to express our love and affection.

And they don’t grow flowers in Afghanistan.

* * * * *

Strange Alliances Form
In U.S. Campaign To Fight
Global Terrorism

“Either you’re with us, or you are with the terrorists,” declared President Bush. And most of the free world jumped the bandwagon of coalition. Unfortunately, this new alliance includes those ruling regimes that have provided refuge to the world’s terrorists, as well as those who engage in chattel slavery like Sudan’s National Islamic Front, which harbored Osama bin Laden for six years.

Osama bin Laden buys young men from all over the world with guns and raise them to become the most feared terrorists. In Uganda, it costs one Kalashnikov assault rifle for every child bin Laden buys. In Sudan he uses the children as forced labor on the marijuana fields that fund his international terrorism network. Sudan has been a training ground for terrorists with at least 17 training camps and the target is to install Islamic fundamentalist governments in east and central Africa by 2002.

Since 1994, Sudan has abducted at least 8,000 Ugandan children and forced them to serve as soldiers or sex slaves, or traded into slavery, many to bin Laden, in exchange for guns and ammunition. Some of these slaves have escaped and testified before the U.S Congress about Sudan’s own jihad—terrorizing, killing and enslaving black African civilians.

Before September 11, the Sudan Peace Act, which imposes capital sanctions against foreign companies who continue to do business with Sudan was about to be passed. In the wake of the USA attack, Congress has tabled action on the proposed legislation and the US may soon reopen formal ties with Sudan who “promises to turn over several of bin Laden’s associates.”

The US already is waiving, easing or softening economic and military sanctions imposed against countries known for their human rights violations; who develop and test nuclear weapons; governments that come to power through a military coup d’etat; and even some countries charged with backing terrorism. For their cooperation during this “New War,” the Bush Administration is preparing major aid packages for these countries, which include Pakistan, Uzbekistan, Indonesia and Algeria, and lifting sanctions imposed against them. U.S. officials say that these countries have become very cooperative and have provided significant information on key terrorist figures in the Al Qaeda network and have promised to bring them to justice.

The sudden USA-Sudan alliance might have sacrificed the struggle for freedom for the tens of thousands of slaves in Sudan. Anti-slavery and modern abolitionist organizations that have worked so hard at getting the Sudan Peace Act are now watching the realization of their dreams fade from the country’s paradigm shift in foreign policy.

While I agree that fighting and ending global terrorism should be the central organizing principle of our country, we cannot abandon America’s performance on human rights to reward those brutal regimes who have “joined us” in our battle to shatter Osama bin Laden’s terrorist network.”

The United States must persevere in pressuring Sudan and other human rights abusive countries to clean up their acts.

What can you do
to make a difference
in stopping global slavery?

There are international anti-slavery organizations that exemplify the best of American values in their campaigns against enslaving regimes. If you want to make a critical difference in ending global slavery, you may start by logging on to iAbolish.com and learn about this modern day abolitionist movement.

From the Underground Railroad Movement to the electronic superhighway. Modern day abolitionists still help slaves escape to freedom. Many of the leading abolitionists of these contemporary times are young, educated, vocal and visible human rights activists. Their voices and organizations are strong, powerful and international. They observe, scrutinize and battle modern day slavery around the globe, untiringly fighting for the liberty of the victims.

Unlike their popular predecessors these 21st Century anti-slavery activists do not ride the imaginary railroad to freedom trails; instead, they navigate the cyberspace to take slaves to safety. There is no hiding in the dark, no keeping their identities a secret, no whispering in public or clandestine meetings to discuss their activities. In fact, you can log on to their websites and read about their missions, join the organizations, and contribute your financial support through the Internet. You can learn about their activities by subscribing to their newsletter, delivered to you through weekly e-mails.

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© Copyright 2007 writeartista (UN: mariapanlilio at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

JESUS AND THE TWELVE APOSTLES

JESUS AND THE TWELVE APOSTLES

(Based on information gathered from the Web)

St Peter the Apostle also referred to in Bible scripture as Simon Peter, was the brother of Andrew, another of the fisherman from the Sea of Galilee who became an apostle of Jesus. Peter is considered to be one of the most impulsive of the apostles, (i.e: cutting off a Roman solders ear at the time of Jesus Christ's arrest in the Garden of Gathsemene) and one who in reading the holy scriptures seems to speak out in bold and sometimes brash statements (i.e: stating he would lay down his life for Jesus even as Jesus informed him he would deny even knowing him after his arrest).

St Peter the Apostle is also known as "the Rock" as a result of his response to Christ's question; "Who do you say I am..?" Peter's reply is; "I say you are the Christ, the Son of the Living God..." Jesus then let's Peter know that no man had revealed this truth to him, but his Father which is in Heaven and so calls Peter "The Rock" in his famous statement; "And upon this Rock I shall build my Church..."

Scripture records that eventually Peter was crucified, upside down, by the Romans by Peter's own request as he felt he was not worthy to be crucified in the same way as Jesus Christ was. St Peter has also been proported to be the first Pope.

St Andrew the Apostle was active in bringing people to Jesus Christ and scripture records he is the one who brought his brother Peter to meet Jesus.

St James the Apostle was the older brother of John the Apostle and was the first of The Twelve Apostles to be martyred.

St John the Apostle also known as "John the Beloved" spend a significant portion of the balance of his life writing what would be one of the main four Gospels comprising today's Holy Bible on the Island of Patmos after the crucifixion and Resurrection of Lord Jesus Christ. St John wrote what is probably the best known and most quoted line of scripture which is: John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life..."

St Philip the Apostle from Bethsaida, as were Andrew and Peter, was eventually martyred, proportedly in Hierapolis.

St Bartholomew the Apostle was one of the disciples to whom Jesus appeared at the Sea of Tiberias after his bodily Resurrection from the dead. He was also a witness of the "Ascension of Jesus Christ into the Clouds".

St Thomas the Apostle also called "Didymus" which is the Greek version of his name is in many instances mostly remembered as "doubting Thomas" as he wanted to actually see and touch the mortal wounds on Jesus before he would believe Christ had Resurrected. After Jesus appeared to Thomas who confirmed his bodily wounds he would exclaim; "My Lord and my God" after which Jesus would say: "You believe because you See, Blessed are those who believe and have not seen..."

St Matthew the Apostle was formerly a tax-collector at Capernaum before meeting Jesus, and ultimately became one of the most prominent of the twelve apostles being responsible for writing one of the four major Books of the Holy Bible.

St James the Apostle also known as "James the Younger", or "James the Less", wrote the Epistle which bears his name in scripture today.

St Thaddaeus the Apostle also known as "Judas the brother of James" not to be confused with the apostle who betrayed Jesus, "Judas, Iscariot".

St Simon the Apostle was also known as "Simon the Zealot". Zealots were primarily known as a close knitted sect with very strong political views.

Judas Iscariot, once an Apostle also known as "The traitor or betrayer of Jesus Christ", and ultimately rejected Jesus as the Messiah when Jesus didn't fulfill his political expectations and cause the people to rise up and fight against the Roman oppression of the Jews.

St Matthias the Apostle came on board as the new twelfth apostle after Judas betrayed Jesus and ended up tossing his 30 pieces of silver as payment for his betrayal and hanging himself on a tree. Matthias was chosen by the remaining eleven apostles.

Beyond the Twelve: "St Mark, St Luke and others..."
In addition to the original twelve chief apostles, Jesus Christ chose another seventy apostles including; "St Mark, St Luke and others..." To all his apostles the Lord Jesus Christ gave the power to heal the sick, to cast out unclean spirits, and even to resurrect the dead.

He also sent them out to preach. When the seventy apostles returned from preaching, they said with joy to Jesus, "Lord, even the devils are subject unto us through Thy name..." (Luke 10:17) Jesus said to them, "Do not rejoice that the spirits are subject unto you but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven..." (Luke 10:20) Do not rejoice over the miracles, which are given to you for your preaching, but rejoice over the fact that you will receive blessings and eternal life with God in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Besides the disciples, Jesus Christ can also be said to have a few female apostles. Women who had been healed by him such as, "Mary Magdalene" (from the city of Magdala) of whom Jesus cast out seven unclean spirits and "Joanna", the wife of Chuza, as well as King Herod’s steward; "Susanna". These women who worked wih and Loved the Lord Jesus Christ have been largely overlooked in the currently day scritures as they were edited at the cousel of Nicea.

IN SEARCH OF THE APOSTLES AFTER CALGARY

A CATHOLIC GIRL’S PASSION

Myths, Facts and Legends in Apostolic History
(In Search of the Apostles after Calgary)

by Maria Concepcion Panlilio

“The Twelve Apostles belong to the realm of mythology, and their alleged martyrdoms are pure inventions,” said Dr. Kuenen, and other Dutch Theologians. Do you believe it?

I am neither a theologian, nor a Bible historian. I am only a simple Catholic girl with a lingering passion and endless curiosity about the fate of the Apostles after Jesus died. And what of the Three Kings? What happened to them after they visited with the Holy Family? I want to know this, and more. The Bible doesn’t give all the answers; therefore, I search ecclesiastical traditions, books, the Internet, and maybe you, for guidance.

Yes, this is my personal mission. First and foremost, to discover the facts, myths and legends surrounding the Apostles. For example, after the resurrection of Jesus, Apostle Thomas, also known as Doubting Thomas, The Wanderer, and Didyman (twin), went to Babylon and several other eastern countries as far as China. He established churches, preached the Gospel of the Lord, and converted many people to Christianity. He settled in India, where he was martyred in A.D.72. His persecutors chased him to the hill where he prayed (now known as St. Thomas Mount), and stabbed him to death with a lance. His body was brought to Mylapore and buried inside the Santhome Church that he built himself. One legend says that Magi Gaspar lived and died at about the same time, and was buried in the same place.

Today, Thomas is revered as a saint in both the Roman Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox, and in the Oriental Orthodox Church. In 2002, the 1,950th anniversary of St Thomas’ arrival in Kerala, India, was celebrated by the Sryo-Malabar church.

If I can survive reading all the assaults on Jesus and his Apostles, and the condemnations on Christianity, I hope to complete this project by Christmas. On a happier note, below is a delightful short story written by Timothy O’Fallon. (The story, based on a longer piece entitled The Angels, is a tribute to the slain children of Bethlehem.) Enjoy!

The Magi’s Last Journey

The Condemned Man opened his eyes in the midst of his prayers. Could he have imagined the greeting of his old friend?

“Hello?” the kindly voice repeated. “Why is your door barred? Why haven’t you been to the village lately? Where are you?”

“I am here,” said the Condemned Man through a hole in the cave wall. “You should leave, old friend. It is dangerous for you to be here. The killers who have sought me for months have found me, and could murder me at any moment. This is why the door is barred!”

“I see,” said the old man. “Then I think I’ll take a nap.”

“No,” said the Condemned Man, fearing that his captors would only kill the old man if they found him asleep outside. To keep the old man awake, he said, “Instead, would you tell me a story?” He could almost see the old man’s eyes light up.

“Story? What kind of story?”

“Tell me of the time when you first met the Lord.” He knew it was the old man’s favorite story to tell. It was the story that made him a celebrity.

“Oh, that old story! You have heard it a thousand times! Haven’t you? Or did I forget to tell you?”

“I would love to hear it again, old friend.”

After pausing for a moment, the old man began to tell the story of his search for the Mighty King.

People called me wise. I knew about the soul and how the spirit world could reveal the destiny of nations in the stars. Once, I noticed a star that I hadn’t noticed before. I studied what it might mean, and determined that a powerful spirit had entered the world. It could be the event of a thousand lifetimes! I divined that this event had taken place in a land far to the west, so I chose immediately to make the journey. I loaded down my servants with supplies and gifts for the mighty King I hoped to meet, and set off to the mainland.

I was not the only one who had seen this sign in the heavens. I met the others when I crossed the Arabian Sea. A large group of kings and religious men had bought every camel in the region! I found them, and was overjoyed that they were making the same journey. They too had seen the sign and were seeking the new King. They lent me some of their camels, and we journeyed together.

Of the friends I made, Baltazar was my closest companion–one of the youngest there, and the most enthusiastic! The only one I avoided was Melchior, a brooding and pessimistic sage. He wanted to prove to certain people at home that there was no truth to this sign, no great king in the West. He spent much time alone.

After many days, we calculated that the sign in the heavens was directing us to the coast of the Mediterranean, north of Egypt. We sent a message to King Herod, and he agreed to receive us. He knew nothing about any new King. Melchior was delighted, and had a good laugh at all the rest of us. I was disheartened, and dreaded the thought of returning home in my folly.

But Herod grew serious. He gathered his own religious experts to determine the birthplace of this new king. Apparently, the religion of these people promised a Messiah. When the local wise men named a town, my heart leapt with joy! Herod gave us free passage, and made us promise that if we found the king we would send word so he could also give the Messiah many gifts.

But we found no one in Bethlehem who knew anything about a king. After a week, we gave up and decided to go home. Melchior’s gloating was insufferable.

The night before we planned to leave, my fitful sleep was interrupted by a servant. Some local sheepherders wanted to speak with us. Reluctantly, I got up to hear what they had to say. They claimed to know where this King was staying, and in fact were present at his birth. They had this story of supernatural beings directing them to a stable, of all places, two years earlier. They considered themselves guardians of this family, but agreed to take us with them. The oldest of these men – a fellow by the name of Nehu – told us that only three of us could go, but that Melchior had already been chosen in his dream.

The rest of us groaned at that choice. Melchior only smirked. We tried to reason with the sheepherder, but he paid no heed to us. Finally, we cast lots to see who else could go, and as you guessed, I was one. Baltazar was the other, which made my heart very glad. But imagine my disappointment when Nehu laid a further condition on us: we were each to bring only one gift apiece. This was terrible after all we had brought with us. Melchior didn’t see why he had to bring anything. He took a gold cup offered by one of the other wise men. I brought some fine perfume thinking they were still living in a stable. Baltazar had a hard time choosing. Finally, he brought out a small box, but he did not tell anyone what it was.

The sheepherders brought us to some caves outside of town where the poorest lived. The mother welcomed us when we arrived that morning, and she used what little food she had to make us breakfast. The father was preparing to go to work in town. He was a builder. We tried to exchange pleasantries but we had no common language. Neither of the parents spoke Greek or anything else we knew. We noticed a manger in the middle of their small home, and through Nehu’s translation we asked about it. The mother smiled and said it was their son Y’shua’s first crib. I was aghast. Baltazar looked uncomfortable. Melchior was strangely quiet as he looked at it.

Suddenly, about a dozen small children came running into the small cave. They were shouting and laughing. The leader seemed to be a very young lad with dark, curly hair. To my surprise, they all came to me, tugging at my clothes, and wanting to play games. Astonished, I asked, “Which one of you is Y’shua?”

The little curly-headed boy walked right up to me and hugged my leg. Then he said in a voice so clear for one so young, “Thanks for coming to my house. Won’t you play with my angels?” He waved at the children.

I wondered who was filling this boy’s head with delusions of grandeur. I did stiffly tousle the hair of a few of the urchins. None of them had shoes, and they were all poking me and being somewhat more playful than I was accustomed to. I looked to Baltazar for help, but he was only laughing at me. The father then said something to Y’shua, who then spoke to his friends. They whined and complained a little, then filed out of the cave. The father said a blessing, and we all sat down to eat.

The child kept asking us all kinds of oddly perceptive questions. I answered him, though I was a little annoyed. Melchior kept quiet, and barely ate his food. I was convinced that the trip was a waste. We found a bright, engaging child, and there seemed to be some local legends about him, but he seemed so ordinary. We spent several hours there, and in that time all those other children came back. Although I like children, I felt overwhelmed. Baltazar must have been feeling the same, because he finally said, “We brought you gifts.”

Y’shua smiled, and told his angels to settle down. It was funny to watch the older children obey him, even though they teased him and tugged his hair and chased him like any other child.

“What did you bring me?” Y’shua asked.

I presented my gift to the mother, as was proper, and she thanked me very much. Melchior silently brought out his cup, and a few gold coins, which he had found in his tunic. Baltazar looked very worried, but reluctantly handed the small box to the mother. She gasped, and her eyes filled with tears, snapping the box shut. I had a glimpse of what was inside, and I must tell you that I was a little shocked. Baltazar had brought Myrrh, which as you know is used for embalming. We had brought some on our journey in case of any unexpected deaths. I was amazed that he would do such a thing. But Y’shua thanked us. He walked over to Baltazar, and gave him a kiss. Baltazar was bewildered, but kept silent.

Our parting was uncomfortable. We had come to find a king, and instead we found…well…an interesting family. Baltazar broke the ice with a quick bow, and both Melchior and I followed suit. Then, all the children jumped all over me again, and I couldn’t really say anything proper, as I was busy untangling myself. But the little boy, Y’shua, walked with us a few feet out of the cave. As we walked away, he said to us, “I’ll see you again!”

Disappointed, we returned to our caravan. Melchior stayed quiet, and the rest of us were thankful for the lack of gloating. We decided to depart in the morning.

In the night, we had a dream not to say anything at all to Herod. We decided to leave secretly. Baltazar went back to the cave to help the family with some kind of move. I bid him farewell. I never saw him again. I joined with Melchior, and a few others for the return journey. We escaped Judea, lamenting the failure of our mission. There was really nothing magical or divine about this child after all.

A few days later, during one of our worst laments, Melchior startled us with a shout. “Are you stupid?” he said. “Do you have any idea what you are talking about? There was a miracle right under your nose!” I protested that I saw no miracle, and he threw his hands up in frustration. “In what language did he speak to you?” he asked. I stammered, and answered that it was in my own dialect. “Well, I heard him in my own language. And I’ll bet Baltazar heard the child in his language. So there’s your sign, you blind fool!”

I was shocked. I hadn’t even thought about the language. Everything seemed so ordinary. But Melchior was right.

After a few hours, a messenger from another group who had gone a different way came running to us with evil news. Though the family we had met left for Egypt, Herod’s soldiers killed all male infants and toddlers remaining in Bethlehem. I wept bitterly for the children who played with me. Once again, I doubted the kingship of the child Y’shua. If he were divine, surely he could have saved his friends!

Melchior fell to his knees; his face streaked with tears. With trembling voice he said, “He is the one. Y’shua is the savior of the world. We found Him.” I did not understand at all. Melchior, gently and in a tone I had never heard before, said, “Remember how He called the other children my angels? He knew their time was short.”

Realization dawned on me. It was indeed a powerful sign.

I decided to become a Jew, and to try to follow the teachings of Y’shua’s religion. Since there were no synagogues in my own homeland, I came here to the mainland, and joined a Jewish community. I have lived here ever since, trying my best. And when you came, I stopped trying, and started living in grace.

After a long pause and an audible sigh, the old man continued. “That’s my love story. Are you sure I never told you that before?”

The Condemned Man spoke with a soft voice. “I never tire of hearing it.”

“Good. I need to go home, though. It is getting late. But do come to the village tomorrow. We miss your teachings so much, Thomas.”

“The Holy Spirit is the real Teacher, Gaspar,” said the Apostle.

Gaspar walked home, and the murderers did not try to stop him. But the walk was long, and the Wise Man stopped to rest under a tree. He closed his eyes to sleep, and fell into the deepest sleep of all.

At first he did not know what was happening. Light was all around him, and he thought he heard the sound of Melchior laughing merrily. There was music – such music! But then, he felt a tug on his arm.

There were several children all around him. They looked familiar. I am too old to play with you, he was going to say, but then he noticed that his arms were strong and his body was straight. Somehow, in this beautiful dream, he was young again! So he played with them. He played catch, and chase-the-calf, and tag, and all kinds of games he had never heard of. After a time, the children became still and just stood there giggling. Then Gaspar remembered them.

“The Angels! How beautiful you are! Tell me, where is your Friend?”

They pointed behind Gaspar. He turned around, and was face to face with the Son of Man. His hair was white as snow, His skin a burnished bronze, His eyes like burning coals…and on His face, a gentle smile. His arms were open in embrace.

Gaspar embraced Him, and whispered, “My goodness, how You’ve grown.”

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© Copyright 2007 writeartista (UN: mariapanlilio at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

AMONG EDUARDO PANLILIO

(This article was published in 2007 after the Pampanga gubernatorial election)

AMONG EDUARDO PANLILIO
The new Governor of Pampanga is a Priest

It was a gubernatorial election riddled with controversies . . .of twists and turns, of nail-biting suspense and an ending that has been called “providential” and “miraculous.”

If it had been a novel, it would be a bestseller. Who could resist a plot that is centered on a Catholic priest who sacrifices his priesthood to heed to the outcry of his fellowmen?

THE STORY

Father Eduardo Panlilio, 53, popularly known as Among (an endearing term for a priest) Ed, is the underdog hero of the third party running for Governor of Pampanga. He has no money, nor the machinery to finance and run a campaign against his affluent and powerful opponents: Mark Lapid (incumbent Governor and son of Senator and former Pampanga Governor Manuel “Lito” Lapid), and Lilia Pineda, a former buko vendor, now provincial board member and wife of a political power player). Lapid and Pineda are political allies of President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, and both have repeatedly been linked to graft and corruption, especially in pocketing large amounts of quarrying fees, and controlling an illegal numbers game called jueteng.

The good priest has not escaped malicious gossips of romantic liaisons and fathering children during his priesthood. One of the more vicious stories aimed at smearing Among Ed’s image is that his vitiligo is caused by HIV-Aids Virus Infection. Vitiligo is a skin disorder characterized by smooth, white patches caused by the loss of the natural pigment.

Among Ed’s entry into the political arena divides the Catholic Church. His candidacy is devoid of support from the ecclesiastical hierarchy, who, instead of granting their blessing, indefinitely suspend Among Ed of his priestly duties. This suspension prevents the priest from saying mass and hearing confessions. He takes a leave from the church, stating that it is time to serve the people in a different way. He admits that it will be a difficult battle, having no money or the machinery. But his candidacy attracts more than thirty thousand volunteers, including thirty-three lawyers who provide free legal services to the priest.

Can a simple man of the cloth beat the rich and powerful candidates? Can Among Ed, whose machinery is humility, honesty, conscience, charisma, and the Holy Cross, win against the well-oiled machinery, money and clout of the Lapids and Pinedas? Can his campaign, which is run solely on donations and volunteerism, win an election? Can this priest, who is running for governorship purely out of love for his people and his ministry, win against all odds?

A former high-ranking government official is quoted as saying: “It would completely turn around everything should he win.”

Indeed, a win by Among Ed will be a crystal clear testamentary from the Kapampangans that they’re tired of all the anomalies and corruptions, and they want change. They want an honest man to lead and serve them, and they believe Among Ed is the man for the job.

At election time, many of the volunteers guard the ballots with their lives, some campimg out overnight around the town halls to avert any illegal tampering on election returns and certificates of the canvass of votes.

Among Ed trails Pineda throughout the canvassing. His supporters hold candlelight vigils and praying the rosary. When only one certificate of canvassed votes is left to be opened, Among Ed’s victory remains in doubt.

People make the sign of the cross and hold their breaths as they wait for the final vote count.

Wild cheers erupt all over the province, especially at the convention center in the City of San Fernando, as soon as the winner is proclaimed.

FATHER EDDIE PANLILIO IS THE
NEW GOVERNOR OF PAMPANGA

It’s a narrow margin, but the 11,097 votes from Magalang makes this small town become Panlilio country–the town that clinched Among Ed’s victory.

“Among Ed wins! Among Ed wins!” my brother Jun exclaims on the Phone through overseas call from the Philippines. His excitement is infectious. He has been one of the major supporters of Among Ed.

AMONG EDUARDO PANLILIO

A Kapampangan priest revives hope in politics with honesty and conscience. He makes history as first priest to be elected Governor.

Looking at Among Ed’s photo, I can’t get over his clonal resemblance to my Uncle Carlos, Auntie Liling and Grandpa Brigido Panlilio.

Among Ed, you make all Kapampangans and Panlilios proud.

THE FUTURE GOVERNANCE. Among Ed vows to put a kind of leadership that is participatory, advisory, transparent and God-centered. He is known for his missions for small farmers and the indigenous Aeta tribesmen since the Mount Pinatubo eruption in 1991. He headed the Social Action Center of Pampanga, and because of him, the church’s presence in the communities ravaged by Pinatubo became very visible.

“It is out of this love,” he says, “that I heeded the call to a more concrete expression of my priestly vocation, of serving as a shepherd to God’s people, especially the poorest of the poor.”

Alejandro Camiling, a colleague with the Academia ning Amanung Sisuan International, said it best with the following commentary: “Kapampangans have restored an entire nation’s faith in its electoral process and its faith in the potency and efficacy of People Power without violating the Constitution or weakening democratic processes. And by allowing a priest to lead them, Kapampangans have strengthened the historical role of the Church in secular affairs, especially in this province.”

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© Copyright 2007 writeartista (UN: mariapanlilio at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

GOD BLESS AMERICA

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this article In celebration of the U.S. Independence Day on July 4, 2006 for the July issue of a certain periodical. I knew then that it would be after July 4th that people would get to read it; hence, the reference to this in the first paragraph of the article. Also, the pictures that accompanied the published article are not reproduced here.) Hope you enjoy and learn a thing or two about the history of our beloved country. HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!)

GOD BLESS AMERICA

Land Of The Free, Home Of The Brave

By the time you read this article, July 4th celebration will have passed, and you have had your banquets, your picnics, your outdoor barbecues, and the fireworks displays. And now that the dust of the July 4th festivities had settled, next time you celebrate this holiday, consider the following historical facts and trivia.

America derived its name from Amerigo Verpucci, the inconsequential Italian explorer who studied under Michaelangelo. His first expedition in 1499 led him to the coast of South America. In 1501, he was the first to identify the New World of North and South America as separate from Asia. His third voyage to the New World was his last for he contracted malaria and died in Spain in 1512 at the age of 58.

The Bald Eagle, from the Latin word aguila, is the national bird of the United States. Bald really means “white,” in this instance, not “hairless.” Benjamin Franklin thought the turkey was a better symbol for the national bird.

The Star Spangled Banner was written by Francis Scott Key, an American lawyer and amateur poet. It was originally titled The Defence of Fort McHenry. By a Congressional resolution signed by President Herbert Hoover, it was adopted as the American National Anthem in 1931.

China invented the fireworks. The first July 4th celebration in 1777 included fireworks.

The word barbecue derived from the Arawak or Haitian barbacoa — a word for a wooden framework for drying meat or for cooking meat over fire.

The word picnic derived from the French word pique-nique. Picnics started out as social occasions to which the participants brought comestibles.

The U.S. Independence Day marks the end of the American Revolutionary War of 1775, and the end of America’s rule by the British Monarchy. Great Britain did not recognize the colonies’ independence until the 1783 Treaty of Paris. But it took Congress 165 years (in 1941) to establish July 4th as a legal holiday.

Although Thomas Jefferson did the final working draft of the Declaration of Independence, he was not the originator of the Declaration. Thomas Paine was. Jefferson was given full credit for the Declaration, while Paine who had advocated the ideas behind the Revolution and the end of slavery, died a poor, broken and despised man.

The single, most defining symbol of the United States is the Stars and Stripes. It started with 13 stars representing the original 13 colonies, and evolved to 50 stars that represent the 50 States. The last States to be admitted were Alaska in 1959, and Hawaii in 1960.

To this day, the origin of the Flag cannot be determined with absolute certainty. Although many historians say that Congressman Francis Hopkinson was commissioned by Congress to design (and maybe make) the Flag, Betsy Ross, the Philadelphia seamstress and close friend of George Washington, continues to be credited as having made the first one.

The three colors used in the flag represent: Red–for the blood shed in becoming an independent nation; Blue, for the oceans that were crossed to reach the New World, and White–for purity and innocence. When stored, the flag is folded in a triangular shape, to represent the tri-cornered hats worn by the settlers at the time of its creation.

The term OLD GLORY was coined when shipmaster Captain William Driver was presented with the Flag with 24 stars during one of his voyages that climaxed the rescue of the mutineers of the Bounty in 1831. As the banner opened to the ocean breeze, he exclaimed “Old Glory!”

The Flag is a living symbol of the U.S. Constitution, and the Bill of Rights that uniquely symbolizes freedom, liberty and justice for all. However, around the world, and sometimes, even here on U.S. soil, desecration of the Flag is the popular means to show contempt to the United States and its policies. Protesters deface and burn it, trample and spit on it, or affix protest stickers on it like the swastika below.

Recently this year, illegal aliens from Mexico seized control of a high school flagpole during the nationwide demonstrations protesting, among other things, the move in Congress to reform the immigration law. The protesters turned the American Flag upside down, and hoisted their Mexican flag above the Stars and Stripes.

During the Vietnam War, protesters shocked the country when they started burning American flags during their demonstrations at Central Park. Congress reacted by passing the Federal Flag Desecration Law. A year later, the Supreme Court Ruled that flag desecration is protected by the Constitution. Through the years, Congress has made many futile attempts to overrule the U.S. Supreme Court by proposing a constitutional amendment banning flag desecration.

As our heroes continue to die in the name of freedom and liberty for all, we continue to protect the right of those who desecrate the American emblem. One of the bloggers on historychannel.com wrote: “It’s just a piece of cloth. What’s the big deal?” It’s just a piece of cloth? When I look at the Flag, I do not see the fabric or material from which it was made; I look at the symbol it represents for all humanity: freedom, liberty and justice for all.

When husbands and wives disagree on some issues, do they spit or trample on their wedding rings, or worse, burn it? Maybe somewhere in this world, someone has done it, but I’ve never heard of it. In the movies I’ve seen an actor throw his wedding ring away after a breakup with his wife, but that’s fiction. The ring is made generally of metal, and maybe adorned with some precious jewels, but it’s more than that: it’s the symbol of love and the sanctity of marriage–till death do us part. And because of this, we cherish it and give it the utmost respect.

I’ve never served in the Military but I fully appreciate the sacrifices that the men and women of the U.S. Armed forces have made to protect the American Flag and all that it stands for. I salute the U.S. soldiers for they were the ones who fought and died to give us this nation, and it will always be the soldiers who give up their lives willingly so we can continue to have the freedom and liberty that we enjoy as Americans.

God Bless Our Heroes “He knew the cost of freedom and that it was not free, and he volunteered to go to Iraq anyway.” — A quote from Washington Post by Margaret Johnson, mother of fallen Army Captain Christopher Johnson

To quote Master Sergeant John Ubaldi, a U.S. Marine Reservist who served in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom, “On this Fourth of July let’s celebrate the principles of what this nation stands for: that freedom belongs to all mankind, and let’s help lift the weight of tyranny so all mankind may enjoy the fruits of freedom. The revolution that started on July 4th 1776 sparked a desire in the hearts of men that man is destined to be free as our creator intended not to be enslaved, but free! Lets spread that same freedom to others or someday our own freedom will be in jeopardy! Lets stand for freedom for all!” (Ubaldi is the founder of Move America Forward.

(For the complete text of his message, please visit moveamericaforward.org. To shorten this piece, I’ve deleted three paragraphs about a personal friend’s service in Iraq: Commander DON BAILEY, of the U.S. Navy, Al Asad AB, Iraq.)

The American Dream There are many political, social and personal reasons not to love the French now-a-days, but when we think of liberty, we think of the Statue of Liberty — the French’s greatest gift to the United States. And it would become one of the most famous monuments of world history and the symbol of the American Dream.

French architect, Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi, was known for his devotion to sculpting monumental sculpture, specifically, large-scale pieces of heroic accomplishments. In 1865, he conceived the idea of France giving the United States a monument for its Centennial of 1876. Many believed that he used his mother, Charlotte Bartholdi, as his model for the statue. In 1879, he acquired US Patent #11,023 for a design of a statue named “Liberty Enlightening the World.” It was later named “The Statue of Liberty.” On October 28, 1886, President Grover Cleveland dedicated the Statue of Liberty in front of thousands of spectators. (The colossal figure is the tallest metal statue ever constructed, and at the time, it was the tallest structure in all of New York.)

America was founded on immigration and for hundreds of years, countless people have died in pursuit of liberty into the New World, and the realization of the American Dream. To this day, even though the United States may be the most hated country in the world, people from all over still will do anything and everything, even risk their lives, to come to this country–legally or illegally. There are now about 12 million illegal aliens who live in this country, and immigration is one of the most sensitive issues facing the country today.

In closing, let me quote a passage from one of the poems of Emma Lazarus, which is also engraved on a bronze plaque at the base of the Statue of Liberty.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

END

© Copyright 2007 writeartista (UN: mariapanlilio at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

HOW TO STAY LOOKING YOUNG

HEALTH ADVICE ON HOW TO STAY LOOKING YOUNG
(Derived from various articles I’ve read, which I’ve summarized for an easier read)

A good face cream can work wonders, but it’s equally important to nourish your skin from the inside out. Below, I present four delicious foods packed with essential nutrients to keep your skin looking radiant and fresh!

1. Sweet Potato Fries
Sweet potatoes are a dynamite source of beta-carotene (their bright orange color is a dead giveaway). Your body converts beta-carotene to vitamin A, a nutrient that helps to continually generate new, healthy skin cells.

I like to turn sweet potatoes into crispy oven-baked French fries. Cut peeled potatoes into ¼-inch strips and spread them in a single layer on a baking sheet coated with oil spray. Mist the fries with oil spray and season with salt, black pepper, or any other seasonings (ground cinnamon, curry powder, and chili powder are all fun options). Bake in a 400 degree oven for 20 minutes, flipping the fries halfway through. I finish my fries under the broiler for 5 minutes to get them extra crispy!

2. Balsamic Carrots
Like sweet potatoes, carrots come equipped with a generous supply of beta-carotene. In addition to its pivotal role in skin cell renewal, beta-carotene acts as a potent antioxidant, sopping up damaging free radicals that accelerate skin aging.

Fend off wrinkles with my recipe for Roasted Balsamic Carrots. Cut 1 pound of peeled carrots into 1/2-inch wedges. Spread the carrots over half of a large sheet of aluminum foil, and sprinkle them with ¼ cup balsamic vinegar, 2 tablespoons minced fresh rosemary, 2 cloves minced garlic, ¼ teaspoon paprika, salt, and pepper.. Drizzle the carrots with 1 tablespoon olive oil and fold the foil over to create a tightly sealed packet. Place on a baking sheet and bake in a preheated 400 degree oven for 25 minutes or until the carrots are tender.

3. Spinach Marinara
Spinach delivers a triple of dose of wrinkle-fighting antioxidants: vitamin C, vitamin E, and beta-carotene. All three work in concert to protect your skin from the sun’s UV rays so it stays vibrant and healthy.

Make a quick spinach marinara sauce by wilting fresh spinach leaves into a pot of simmering tomato sauce, then serve over pasta or grilled chicken cutlets.

4. Toasted Pecans
Pecans are one of a short list of foods rich in Vitamin E, a nutrient that’s vital to skin health. By forming a protective barrier in the cell membranes of your skin, the vitamin E in pecans helps to ward off harmful free radicals and therefore helps to keep skin firm and elastic.

Pecans are delicious on their own, but toasting them makes them incredibly buttery and rich…they’ re like candy! Spread pecans on an ungreased baking sheet and toast them in a preheated 350 degree oven (or a toaster oven) for about 10 minutes (watch them closely to make sure they don’t burn). Enjoy them whole as a scrumptious snack, or chop them up and sprinkle them into oatmeal or low-fat yogurt..

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After reading this I went to COSTCO and bought their Kirkland branch Bolthouse Farms’ Organic 100% Carrot Juice. I love the taste of it. In one small bottle, the company claims that 16 carrots were used for the juice. Let’s see if this really works. I will give you my update in three months.

IS YOUR PC MALE OR FEMALE?

A SPANISH Teacher was explaining to her class that in Spanish, unlike English, nouns are designated as either masculine or feminine.

‘House’ for instance, is feminine: ‘la casa.’
‘Pencil,’ however, is masculine: ‘el lapiz.’

A student asked, ‘What gender is ‘computer’?’

Instead of giving the answer, the teacher split the class into two groups, male and female, and asked them to decide for themselves whether computer’ should be a masculine or a feminine noun. Each group was asked to give four reasons for its recommendation.

The men’s group decided that ‘computer’ should definitely be of the feminine gender (‘la computadora‘), because:

1. No one but their creator understands their internal logic;

2. The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else;

3. Even the smallest mistakes are stored in long term memory for possible later retrieval; and

4. As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it.

(THIS GETS BETTER!)

The women’s group, however, concluded that computers should be Masculine (‘el computador’), because:
1. In order to do anything with them, you have to turn them on;

2. They have a lot of data but still can’t think for themselves;

3. They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they ARE the problem; and

4. As soon as you commit to one, you realize that if you had waited a little longer, you could have gotten a better model.

The women won.

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(This is from my collection of “Favorite Jokes"; authorship is unknown. If you happen to know, please let me know so I can give him/her proper acknowledgment.)

GOVERNMENT PROGRAMS

This is really funny. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

(Please note: This is an anonymous article that’s circulating the cyberspace, and I do not claim authorship to it. I wish I had the creativity and imagination to have written it, though. It’s simply hilarious. ENJOY!)

Due to the current financial situation caused by the slowdown in the economy, Congress has decided to implement a scheme to put workers of 50 years of age and above on early retirement, thus creating jobs and reducing unemployment.

This scheme will be known as RAPE (Retire Aged People Early).

Persons selected to be RAPED can apply to Congress to be considered for the SHAFT program (Special Help After Forced Termination).

Persons who have been RAPED and SHAFTED will be reviewed under the SCREW program (System Covering Retired-Early Workers).

A person may be RAPED once, SHAFTED twice and SCREWED as many times as Congress deems appropriate.

Persons who have been RAPED could get AIDS (Additional Income for Dependants & Spouse) or HERPES (Half Earnings for Retired Personnel Early Severance).

Obviously persons who have AIDS or HERPES will not be SHAFTED or SCREWED any further by Congress.

Persons who are not RAPED and are staying on will receive as much SHIT (Special High Intensity Training) as possible. Congress has always prided themselves on the amount of SHIT they give our citizens.

Should you feel that you do not receive enough SHIT, please bring this to the attention of your Congressman, who has been trained to give you all the SHIT you can handle.

Sincerely,

The Committee for Economic Value of Individual Lives (E.V.I.L.)

PS – - Due to recent budget cuts and the rising cost of electricity, gas and oil, as well as current market conditions, the Light at the End of the Tunnel has been turned off.

PIGMENTS OF MARIA PANLILIO'S IMAGINATION

"Safe and Secure"
Georja and Isabelle
(Oil, ca. 2003, 20x24, by Maria Panlilio)

"Hiking In The Woods At Sunset"
(Oil, ca. 2006, 12x18 by Maria Panlilio)

"I Want To Walk With You On The Mountain"
(Oil, ca. 2006,24x30 by Maria Panlilio)

PIGMENTS OF MARIA PANLILIO'S IMAGINATION
(A published feature artifcle by Angelo Niles)

Art of Maria is a gallery of extraordinary drawings, prolific masterpieces and ceramic ware. With hundreds of portraits, scenic renderings, and handmade vases in her repertoire, Panlilio’s talents shine in an array of mediums: pencil, pastel, watercolor, acrylic, oil, and marker art. When she paints, a pristine garden unfolds – yielding the majestic rise of Pele, the coral shores of Hawaii, or a molten sunset sprawled over Mount Shasta’s snowy rim. One can nearly step into the breezy palm-lined beaches, forested mountainscapes, sparkling brooks and orchards of her Nature Gallery.

“I’ve always loved the outdoors since I was a little girl,” she says with wanderlust in her brown, almond-shaped eyes. Raised under the splendorous rise of Mount Pinatubo, in the shadows of a U.S. military base, she comes from a close-knit family. Hence, her earliest art pieces were often of relatives and the rustic wilds of the Philippines.

An array of exotic locales rises from her earthy, fecund textures. Among Panlilio’s soulful sketches and paintings are wintry mountainscapes, quiet vistas, and floral vignettes from her many travels. Cast in vibrant Renoir-like settings, her exquisite Serenity Series features original oils and acrylic paintings, framed and signed for authenticity, and matted prints produced in high-quality, colorful finish. Panlilio’s zestful love for nature as a living, breathing jewel is reminiscent of Georgia O’Keeffe. The strokes of her brush are almost sensual.

By far, though, it is Panlilio’s pencil portraits that enrapture the onlooker. With a few graceful strokes, she captures the soul of her subjects. “I love the simplicity and elegance of charcoal pencil drawings,” she says, displaying an angelic portrait of a young Filipina bride. “To me, they captivate in a way that is hard to describe because it is inexplicably magical. It pleases me when my patrons choose this medium for their portraits, and hopefully they also feel that certain pleasure that pencil drawings render.”

An almost haunting beauty flows from her 2004 pencil portrait Mother and Child. In delicate shading, boldly wrought strokes, and a keen eye for subtle mood, Panlilio immortalizes the faces of Geojia and Isabelle, both from the artist’s abundant clan of relatives. Something intrinsically wholesome seeps from such images. Her fluid style evokes such classics as Frida Kahlo and Nigel. As if the very Mona Lisa, her self-portrait: The Artist, exudes charm, grace and mystery.

Panlilio exhibits a Family Portrait Gallery that displays her watercolor painting My Parents’ Wedding. Surprisingly, this superbly detailed homage was captured from a torn, warped and soiled wedding photo of her parents – the only one she owned. This, and a companion tribute to her mother Feliciana, painted in mixed media, brings Panlilio (in her words) an immense gratitude for the God-given ability to immortalize a special moment in the life of an incredible person.


Such passionate roots sprang from a humble childhood in Angeles City. Despite growing up in a family of eight siblings, plus two cousins raised by her parents for many years, she honed her craft with few luxuries beyond a pencil set. By age eight, she began writing and illustrating her own comic books. At 14, her graphic short story saw its debut in a comic book in the Philippines. And at 18, a TV series was inspired by one of her stories. When she was 23, her first romance novel was published in the United States. “It was one of those pocket books that you can literally read while luxuriating in the bathtub,” she says with a shy smile. “I think it contained only fifteen thousand words, and the writing style was not all that impressive. It was a good story, but lacking the element of craft. I think I am a much better writer now,” she continues almost apologetically.

After a life in the corporate world where she worked for a Fortune 100 firm, administering a multi-million dollar pension portfolio and managing the retirement benefits of Aaron Spelling Productions, Inc., Panlilio began her quest for her place in the world of art and literature. When exploring the virtual galleries at www.artofmaria.com, you will but enter a primordial forest with Pinatubo On My Mind, or stroll along the foamy black sands as you hike down the craters of Haleakala Volcano, with visions like Hawaii On My Mind.

As though sculpted in Polynesian beauty herself, she ponders a series of illustrations done while exploring Hawaii’s cliffs and springs. About her inspiration for her Serenity Series, Panlilio explains, “Thoughts of Hawaii conjure up images of azure water, towering palm trees curved skyward, tracing their graceful lines against the bleeding sunset sky, a moon over Waikiki, or a rainbow arching over downtown Honolulu.

The lush greens and countless waterfalls spill right onto the canvas in her original oil paintings. Peace, Serenity and Solitude. One of Panlilio’s favorite works is City of Refuge (20x24 oil), a remote place in Hawaii where she whiled away the hours, reading, writing and painting. In another collection, she shows off her Rembrandt style impressionist scenes, using Vis-a-Vis marker art in ways that amazed even the President and CEO of the manufacturer of the famed projection markers. Wielding her mastery of contrast, light and shadow, she produced brilliant floral landscapes. The rustic images seem to breathe from her very soul:: A countryside cabin hedged by tall windblown grass and wildflowers. Or a meandering trail matted with orchids, willows, and a misty lilac peak in her oil painting I Want To Stand With You On The Mountain.

Gazing out at the snowy wonderland outside her California studio, some force beckons her restless spirit. Having hiked the peaks of Shasta, Adams, St. Helens, and Rainier, she aspires to conquer all the summits in the Pacific Rim. “Climb them, paint them, preserve their mystery on canvas,” she says.

With such a hectic lifestyle, Panilio still finds time to skydive, go climbing, hike and take scenic drives along the Pacific Coast. Each summit recurs like an old friend in her vivid alpine motifs. Among all others, Mt. Rainer remains her Holy Grail. During one of her most daring efforts to reach the peak in 1997, Panlilio was snowbound for two weeks. Dreadful weather and avalanches had claimed the lives of two hikers; caused power outages, mud slides; and inspired Panlilio’s literary journal Sleepless in Seattle With Cabin Fever. When at last sunlight broke the dismal spell, it cast Rainier in glorious golden rays. “My chest swelled with excitement," she says, as if tasting freedom from captivity for the first time in years, "I set off to join the brave and the adventurers, not to mention the foolish—and headed for the mountain.”

When she’s not at the easel, Panlilio strives to bring awareness to the plight of the indigenous tribes of the Philippines. Her selfless activism has taken her to the jungles to live alongside the gentle Aeta tribes, long displaced since the 1991 eruption of Mount Pinatubo. While among them, she campaigned for better living conditions, raised funds, and gathered research for a book about the Aeta, whom her father traded goods with when she was a young girl. Her essays have frequented many periodicals, alongside touching profiles of Asian immigrants living in the United States. In her ongoing cause she has broached such topics as The Cancer of Slavery in the Souls of Human Civilization, homeless heroes, war and love.

Panlilio continues to take refuge in the melody of her artwork. With Monet flamboyance in her brushstrokes, each scene holds a cherished memory of her life and those of her growing clientele. While Art of Maria vaunts a gallery of contemporary gems, she has been commissioned to produce many of America’s historic landmarks since 1992. An impressive watercolor of the Taft Museum in Cincinnati showcases her classical, yet modern forte.

A delicate fire kindles on the edge of a pristine grove, startling pink fuchsia, or a molten skyscape bursting over her canvas. Such lifelike beauty is bountiful in Panlilio’s masterful art. Whether buying her landscapes, painted vases, pencil portraits, her exquisite originals or the limited edition prints, one gains a unique gift of imagination.

Like a rose unfolding to yield its fragrant promise, Maria Concepcion Panlilio brings a fresh face to Asian Pacific art.

As if imbued by Taal Volcano’s smoldering reverie, Panlilio’s eyes smile with fiery wanders. Every so often she strolls back to a long ago misty peak, still daydreaming under a tree in Cavite. “One day,” she playfully admits, “I’ll soar into an azure sky, only to leap from a perfectly good plane and skydive into the mouth of a live cauldron.”

Oh, sweet lava hot dreams.

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