All In A Day's Work

ALL IN A DAY’S WORK
I had just recently arrived from the Philippines, when my brother, Steve called to ask a favor. His co-worker was going for an R&R and he needed a reliever. It was only for 2 days anyway , so I agreed to help him out.

Steve’s assisted living facility had only 2 patients but could occupy 4. Sonya, a Caucasian in her 70’s stayed in Room 1. Her bouts of dementia and the inability for her only daughter to care for her due to work commitments, led Sonya’s confinement in an assisted living set up.

Dillo, an octogenarian Italian widower who had lived in America half of his life, occupied Room 2. He had family nearby but they couldn‘t get along with him so they opted to put him in the facility . Although Dillo’s mind is still sharp, he was having hallucinations of the mafia following him .

One morning while changing Sonya’s bed sheets, and dusting the furniture , I was singing to my heart’s delight. I twirled and pirouetted around the room oblivious of my lone audience, who was sitting in her wheelchair.. When I finished my chores, Sonya beckoned me and said, “Missy, you are so beautiful, but you know what? You don’t sing nice?!”

I just winked, smiled and said, “ooo-kay, there goes my singing career!”

After breakfast, I wheeled Sonya to the living room. I parked her by the wall to wall window, which revealed a small garden before visibly showoing the street. Since the next door neighbor was a nursery school, Sonya was entertained by the traffic flow of mothers carrying their children and cars passing . I would then be free to do my other chores of clearing dishes and getting ready for lunch.

More than an hour passed when Sonya decided to call for me.

“Missy, can you come over? She screamed over her shoulders.
“What’s up?” I answered swiftly walking to the living room.
“Can you change the channel, please?” she said.

I looked at her. And then I looked outside the window. No more cars, nor people were passing by. Did she think the window was a television? I looked back again at her face. She was dead serious. AND BORED!

“Is there another channel?” she reiterated. Was her dimentia in ‘play’ mode, I wondered.

I immediately ran to my brother, who was cleaning Dillo’s room
“Steve! Steve!” I said,
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
“quick! Put on some fast music!”
“Why? “
“I want to go outside by the window and dance. Quick put on the music of Macarena so I can dance the ocho ocho. Then Sonya will think it’s another channel!” I excitedly proclaimed.
“Stop your foolishness and go back to work!” Steve commanded. With a pout and a snapping of the fingers, I went back to Sonya. There goes my dancing career again. It had already ended before it even began.

I wheeled Sonya to the kitchen while explaining that there were no nice channels that morning. I asked her to keep me company while I prepare for lunch.

Just then, Steve walked in and asked what was for lunch. “I’m making Lengua” I said. Steve’s demeanor was a cross between disapproval and anxiety. “Why?” I wondered.

“Huwag mo nalang sabihin anong linuluto mo kasi hindi kumakain ng dila ang mga puti! Baka magka ulcer itong mga matanda at magka problema pa tayo” Steve explained.

Dillo, who was in his room watching t.v. all this time, suddenly appeared in the kitchen. He saw Steve and I conversing and became suspicious.

“Are you talking about me?” he asked with squinted eyes.

“Of course not!” I said. “we’re reminiscing about our Filipino food!”

“what about it?” he asked

Glancing at Steve I said, “Well, in our country, nothing is wasted. From chicken feet that we call adidas, chocolate porridge made of pig‘s blood, and even ox tongue which is a delicacy.”
“Yuck! I wouldn’t want to think of eating feet stomping on dung, nor do I want to eat something that’s tasting me back such as your ox tongue. Disgusting!” and with that he turned and headed back where he came from. Steve’s “I told you so” look further concluded his earlier remark.

Away from Dillo‘s hearing distance I said, “Well, MISTER , you’re going to do a lot of French kissing with your food today . There will be wagging tongues galore.”

Lunch was served with utmost restaurant ambience. The rectangular table was set for 4 . The centerpiece was a bowl of fresh fruits honing with fresh roses scattered among clutters of grapes, apples, peaches and pears. The main dish was glamorously plated with the lengua encircled over a mound of mashed potatoes at the center . Buttered corn kernels, cubed carrots and peas surrounded the meat and a sprig of parsley on the top center of the plate added the finishing touch.

As the dish was handed to the elderlies, Dillo was curious “What’s this?” , he asked.

“It’s beef?” I answered. “Try it!”

He picked a slice with a fork and placed in his mouth. He was chewing and nodding at the same time and then declared., “This is the softest meat I have ever tasted.” He exclaimed. “ What kind is it?”

Without realizing, I blurted, “That is called Visayan beef. And the reason it’s soft is because it has been pressure cooked.”

Then I turned my back and muttered under my breath. “Tinawag kong Bisaya yan kasi matigas ang dila ng mga bisaya pero lumalambot kung napipressure. There!

Sonya and Dillo ate with gusto that day. Dillo complimented me again and wished that the Visayan beef be served in the future. At least I have a promising career in the culinary industry even if I don’t have one in entertainment industry. But if there is one thing I really learned from this experience with Sonya and Dillo is this: be kind to your children, you’ll never know what kind of nursing home they will send you to---and if they do, make sure the cook from that nursing home isn‘t from Haiti.