The Frog Princess' Pond

Fathers' Day Sunday

2008-06-15T23:50:00.000-07:00

Fathers' Day Sunday was a blast!

My siblings and I got together and took our parents to a nice Chinese restaurant overlooking the San Francisco bay. We gave our Dad a new fancy Norelco shave, and a box of Kenneth Cole Black Eau de Toilette cologne and after shave colonge, a special at Macy's (with a free travel bag, no less!).

He was like a child opening his presents on Christmas Day; and we were happy to watch him as he excitedly ripped the wrapping off of the shave kit (the other box was not wrapped, it looked sleek in the black packaging, so we didn't wrap it). He loved the free travel bag the most, I think (joke!)

Since the restaurant didn't take lunch reservations, we had to get there early enough to get a good table. Personally, I secretly wished for a table by the window, so we can have a good view of the bay.

12:00 noon. The wait time was 40 minutes before we could be seated. With all of those people waiting to eat Sunday lunch with family and their loved ones, the restaurant lobby looked like the lobby of a movie theater on a busy day. The wait seemed like forever, so we decided to step outside and take pictures by the rocks on the jogging path. All the while, I was praying to my guardian Angel to get us a good table, by the window. It would just be perfect for the occasion, and because our Dad would've felt really special about that if that's what we got. AND WE DID!!! Yay! Thanks AA!

The restaurant serves dim sum and family style meals. We dined on roasted duck, pork roast, siumai, shrimp eggrolls, pan-fried noodles, hot and sour soup, and shark fin soup for Papa (dimsum portion). No rice. Yeah, I'm a little surprised, too...but we managed--very well, I must say. Forty minutes was a long time to wait, so our stomachs were quite happy when we left the place.

After lunch, we all went home. My Kuya from SoCal came to join us but had to drive back immediately after lunch (it's a 6 1/2 to 7-hour drive). My other Kuya had to get ready for work tonight; and I, also decided to get some work done to prepare for tomorrow.

But before going to work, I decided to get a quick haircut. Armed with my special coupon (10% off), I went to the nice salon and got my haircut. Three inches off, all around for my one-length hair. I think I was there for 40 minutes (10-minute wait, shampoo, cut, blow-dry). It looks nice, I think. Nice, just as it did three months ago, when I got the same cut. (wink!)

As soon as I got inside my car, I started the engine, and saw that my gas gauge is on the first line above zero--OMG! I got scared, of course, especially when I didn't know where the nearest Chevron gas station is. YES! I have to have Chevron gas in my 2002 Honda Civic EX (LOL!!!!).

Anyway, I settled for a Valero gas station and filled the tank full, and OMG!

As in: OH MY GAS!

$52.15, for a full tank of gas?!?! For my 2002 Honda Civic EX?!?! To think that I have been fantasizing with buying a new Mini Cooper! Goodness gracious! I couldn't believe it. For the longest time, I have only had to fill half of my gas tank, because I went to the gas station when the tank is half-full. Plus, I am only 4.6 miles away from work, so I don't load up on gas as much. (Now don't ask me to take the bus, okay? I have my reasons...hmp!) ;-)

Geeezez! I couldn't believe it. My small economy car, just held me up. All of a sudden my fantasy love story with my Mini Cooper S went caput. Gone...

Well, actually, it's all a fantasy because I don't think that a Mini matches my lifestyle, and it wouldn't make economic sense to get such a small car for me at this juncture...maybe if I had another car, like an SUV (the Mini will be my "other" car). Haha!! An SUV, another gas guzzler. Oh yeah! IT'S just all a fantasy, remember? Really, it is. I probably wouldn't be able to afford to have both anyway; and even if I could, I wouldn't do it. I am an honest-to-goodness fru-gal, you see...I'll keep the dream on, thank you.

I capped the day with a visit to my Baclaran, and had some time to reflect on the day, and a very nice poem I read today.

So, there, the Big Sunday roundup...oh, btw, to those who care: The Lakers are still alive, they beat Celtics 103-98 in Game 5. I didn't watch of course, but I caught the news in the News.

Have a good week ahead!

1976, Masigla

2008-06-15T06:28:00.000-07:00

I remember sitting on the floor playing jacks (jack stones, as we called them then), while my Papa was writing a speech. I didn't know what it was for, but I vividly remember him reading his draft, and then putting the paper down to make his edits.

Funny how, everytime I recall memories from my childhood, I also seem to smell the scent of that moment, as if I were being transported back, but not really...does this happen to you?

Anyway, Papa was looking very serious about his speech, and I just remembered looking up and stopping play, to listen. It was in English. He didn't recite it loudly, he just sort of read his draft to himself, but he had a look of conviction in his face, as if he was practicing to address an audience. From that moment on, I was proud, that like him, I wrote with my left hand. I knew that he was a brilliant writer, the best speaker, the most respectable man I have ever known.

I was at least five years old.

Uh-oh... :-(

2008-06-14T15:22:00.000-07:00

I am a procrastinator.

I'll tell you about it later.

Okay?

How's you weekend going?

A Dedication for My Father's Day

2008-06-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

“When we arrived at our destination, the fathers of the boys my age were there to pick-up their sons. They took their sons home, so that they wouldn’t have to enlist in the war.”

Since he didn't have anybody to take him back home, underaged as he was, he forged on, enlisted, and fought in the war, without regard to whether he would come back to start another chapter in his life. He had to.

His parents, especially his Mother, would have never allowed it had she been alive then; but from where she was, she took care, watched over, and sent him back home safely... to a certain extent, that was probably the best thing that could have happened to him.

He became a U.S. Army soldier. Nobody had any update on him as he didn't write home. Perhaps because he didn't think that anybody would be waiting for a letter, his Mom was gone. So was his Dad. Relatives who knew him, said prayers for the repose of his soul as he was as good as dead. Most of their other provincemates, who went off to war, have been claimed by the inevitable, anyway, so why would his luck be any different?

While in the service, he boxed and sang his way through his journey as a soldier in Iwo Jima. Old photographs told a story of a young man that, despite the rigors of war, found a way to entertain himself and his fellow soldiers with sports and song amidst the possibility of not having another waking moment. There were also times when he wrote the letters for his fellow soldiers who couldn't write to their families--they didn't know how to read nor write, and he willingly offered to help them.

After the war, he couldn't believe that he came out of the war in one piece, or came out of it at all. He knew going in that it was what he had to do as there was no more life for him where he came from. His new challenge: to come back home and start a life outside of the small town he grew up in, just as his Mother willed it. He had to.

And so he did. He went on to foster friendships, and brotherhoods that aided him through his tough young life. He was able to obtain employment that helped him finish school, date girls, and eventually meet and marry his wife, grow with her and become a father to a brood of six.

In his 80 years on this earth, and everything he has gone through, he still feels that he can do more.

If there is one life lesson we must all learn from him, it is: NEVER TO GIVE UP.

He never did, no matter what the odds were. He faced it and went for it head on. He had to.

And continues to do so, to this day.

Oh, what great valor, this man has!

Papa.

With pride, and much love, from all of us, thank you.

I Hope You Dance

2008-06-12T18:44:00.001-07:00

There is this song entitled, "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack. I have always liked the song because of its meaning. Initially, I was tempted to post the lyrics of this song, as I thought that it would be enough to meet my quota for today. But, I am deciding against that, and will challenge myself to dance to today's music: Write a blog.

For those who haven't heard this song, it is a song about humility, and hope, and courage. Three virtues, I believe I need to have constant in my life. Dancing is the methaphor for living life. Continuing to live events in our life.

For my own purposes, I am limiting the metaphor to an event in my life that I find very hard to take at the moment.

Much can be said about people who dance to life's music. Whatever the tune is. It is even more admirable when those who choose to dance take away with them lifelong lessons once they move on to dancing to the next tune. I do sometimes, but like many, I slip, and trip, and miss my turns, and fall on the floor when the music goes fast...it's embarassing. Humiliating.

Lately, I feel like I've been forced to dance to music that I wish would just stop. I want to dance to another tune, but there is a part of me that want to dance it out until I cannot dance to this music anymore. I have blisters on my feet, a busted ego from falling down so many times, and a prayer that they don't pull me off of the dance floor before I can master the steps (ala Night at the Apollo, you know what I mean?).

I want to dance. I do. I happen to think that I am a good dancer. But lately, I feel like signing up for this dance class was a mistake. I am still too stubborn to admit it, because I want to see myself through it (master it), and then leave the studio, and dance somewhere else.

I look around me and this is a great opportunity, to dance in this studio. So many want to get in, but I lucked out. It's such a prestigious school. One of the best, indeed. But I feel unworthy. Nobody wants to extend a helping hand. I suppose the veterans had it difficult, too, when they were starting; but I am only making an assumption of what the truth is, maybe they were masters when they started.

Many have quit dancing here. And I am inclined to think that the lack of, or absence of instruction or warmth, is due in large part to the fact that the veterans think that I am also another quiter, like the ones before me.

Is it because I speak softly? Is it because I do not have an imposing presence? I don't know what it is. I just feel out of place. Waking up every morning with a wish that nobody would notice me...while I slip, trip, miss my turns, and fall on my behind.

Hello embarassment and humiliation, pleased to meet you--again...and again...and again...

It is almost impossible for me to enjoy coming to this studio. Yesterday, I thought that perhaps if I had somebody special to hold my hand, give me an embrace, a tender kiss (and a hearty meal, yea! lol!), after a hard day would soften the blow from dancing. But how? Finding a partner has been part of my dancing challenges. It just seems so difficult to find a partner.

I have tried on many outfits, but still nothing. Make-over? Nothing. Hahaha!!!

This, I think, is another type of dance, I need to learn. It's not that I have ignored developing this dance skill. I just never thought that it would be so difficult to do it. Somehow, I always thought that it will just come naturally to me...but I guess not, huh?

To a greater point, what do I need to do? Dancing in itself tells me to move. Not to stay still, nor to sit in the stands and watch the others dance. Dancing encourages me to hope that if I try more, maybe I'll dance gracefully, too. Maybe, someone will ask me to dance, too.

It is my hope that I find an elegant solution to my conundrum because I am getting tired of dancing. I want to choose my own music, and dance to that instead, but nature wouldn't have it. I can't catch a break. Some would say, "of course, you can choose your own music," that I don't have to suffer through this dance. I DO have a choice of music, I just need to assert my right to play it, and dance to it.

Maybe later, I will.

But for now, my fervent prayer is that I can dance to the current music selection, with my blistered feet and busted ego; and take away with me great lessons of humility, hope and courage, until the next music of my life plays.

As for you, whatever you are going through, I hope you dance.

Nice to meet you! What's your pseudonym?

2008-06-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

The very first time I've had to use a pseudonym was in high school when I had to join an essay writing contest, to get out of a Math test. I was 16 years old.

Just right before the actual test, Mrs. B., our teacher at the time, took in an announcement from a lower classman, which called all the participants to the Filipino Week essay writing contest. All participants, with their teachers’ permission, were to leave class and proceed to the high school library (location of the contest).

Why, of course I WAS ONE OF THEM participants! (wink!)

So, armed with my two pencils and black ballpoint pen, off I went with my pass from Mrs. B.; and a nice “Good luck, take the test at the Faculty Room at lunch time today” parting message. I pretended not to hear it as I dashed off, of course. LOL!

On my way to the library, I came across the surge of students rallying to the library for the contest. In the crowd, I saw a volleyball team mate, a couple popular girls, and some notorious girls who like to cut class. The smart ones were there, too, and so were all those who wanted to skip their respective classes that morning. So anyway, the library was filled with students (from Freshmen to Seniors), but there were no assigned seats, instead we were allowed to choose a seat at the different tables and were given a couple of legal size paper as our blank template. I decided to sit on the head of a table near the window because I wanted to get some natural light, and did not want to sit too close to anybody (see, I’ve had space issues since my teenage years, haha!).

The theme of the essay was read to us, and the timer was set. Three hours.

I thought in my head: “Three hours? What will I write? What did I get myself into?”

I was beginning to get scared. I wondered what everybody else was writing, from where I sat. [Side bar: It is not uncommon for me to get stumped with my own stupidity, so, what you are reading is a true account.] I thought I was going to faint as my vision was being overcome by the sunlight…I thought I saw what looked like a tunnel. Tunnel vision. Oh gosh, it's a sign! My left arm was lacking oxygen supply that unabled me to even make a stroke on the legal size paper. I felt so stupid to the tenth power. I wanted to die. Or go back to Math class and shame myself there—at least I was in familiar company. Ha!

Sheeesh! I was in the midst of the trifecta of negative adjectives: Ashamed, Stupid, and Suicidal.

But then, I looked up, and saw a classmate, who’s name I will withhold because she is now a wife and a mother living a peaceful and progressive life (bless her for that). Let’s give her the pseudonym: Prue.

Okay, back to story: So, I looked up, and saw Prue, lifting a copy under the desk. What was it? Well, what else but a pre-written essay. The theme of it, or how she got to slip-in the copy was unknown to me (and still is to this day), but somehow, deep in my 16 year young idealistic mind and heart , I knew that I had to do something.

NO. I didn’t turn her in. Instead, I picked up my number two pencil, and started writing. Fifteen minutes have passed. I kept on until the time was up, and I had yet to write four or five sentences to finish my last point.

It was 11:45 a.m., the contest was finished.

I used up both pencils and black pen, and signed-off as "M-Y-K." Actually, it should’ve been "Y-K-L"--yes, the letters from the zipper of my skirt project in Home Economics. I figured it would be a little bit mysterious if I had those random letters that meant nothing to me. Plus, I didn’t think that I had a fighting chance with my unfinished essay against other constestants cheating with their pre-written composition, so why even pick a nice clever pseudonym, right? At the very least, I got out of a Math test (Mission: Accomplished).

But there was something about writing at that moment that changed my thought process completely. Somehow, I went from being a lame juvenile excusing herself from a test, to a more insightful nationalist, who loved and cared for the truth. It suited the theme of the contest; but the inspiration came more from what I believed was right and true on the issue of national pride, of pride as a young Filipino woman of my generation.

Fast forward to a week after the contest: My unfinished essay won bronze, and made Miss C., my class adviser, very proud of me when she handed me my prize. She whispered and asked me why I only placed third? I was dumbfounded. I then whispered back (in jest), and told her that I didn’t have breakfast, and couldn’t think well that morning (even almost fainted). Haha, fair enough, I suppose--we both had a good laugh about it. A Freshman won the gold. The silver? I honestly can't recall. It's tough, because hardly anybody remembers second placers anyway? (aha, another future blog topic)

But that was then. This is now. Now we have the blogosphere. Everybody is now a writer, just as everybody is now a genius and an expert, thanks to the internet(!). No, really, I am grateful to this technological advancement. I was a half-assed average student when I was in school, and am now slightly improved because of the stuff I get to read via the www. Can you imagine what I could've written if I had the internet at my fingertips during the essay writing contest???? LOL!

Moving on.

In the blogosphere, one can use their real name, or a pseudonym. And like any other character in a science fiction novel, pseudonyms also take on a character depending on the writer’s creative mind and mutiple personalities…and also perhaps how much the writer wants to expose about themselves.

Whether the writer chooses to post a blog or a comment on a blog, these pseudonyms or identifiers are used more often than not by people who like to engage other strangers to a forum, or to simply have an ID. However, if you are unsure what pseudonym to use, or are shy about revealing who your are, there's always Anonymous.

I am a novice blogger, but I have been posting comments in other people’s blogs in the past—nice, funny, benign comments only—either behind a pseudonym or as an anonymous visitor or commenter.

In my limited experience, I did and have posted long comments to my friends’ blogs, but all in the spirit of fun. Plus, we all know each other in the thread, so it wasn't as though I was imposing on another person's space. But posting a blog-like comment in a stranger’s blog? Well, I’ve done it, too, under a pseudonym of course, which by the way, I have retired. I had to because I also had to stop going to that blog. Anyway, there are currently two that I am using to comment on various other blogs and of course there’s judity.

So, what’s your pseudonym?

P.S.: Prue was nowhere to be found in the top 10...or 20...or 30... :-D

It’s not what you eat, or who your friends are that tell what kind of a person you are. It’s who you grew up with.

2008-06-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

“Love begins by taking care of the closest ones - the ones at home.” -- Mother Teresa

The lesson in caring for others has been something I have been taught since the time I can take any instruction. Caring for each other, as siblings, was as natural as waking up each morning. As the youngest of six, it fell on my elder sibs to look after me and to make sure that I am growing up and learning the same lessons they all had to learn from. I got picked on a lot (and still do), and had to do the stuff that nobody wanted to do--which was fine with me, because the chore was sold to me as sort of a “right of passage” (To what? I don’t know, but I did them anyway. Haha! What a sucker, huh?). In a way, as children, we took care of each other in ways which suited our situation then, and to this day, we all still do in our own unique ways.

As adults, it maybe a little bit more difficult to care or show our love for one another because we have all charted a different path to follow. No, I’m not talking about physical or geographical distance from each other, but choices.

Choices on how to go about our lives—what to do? How to do things? What to say? How to say them? And so on, and so forth…

So, how do we take care of each other?

Or, should the question be: How do we love each other? The obvious is that there is a lot of, or should I say, a generous amount of spiritual support that goes around within our family. Prayers abound at the right time for every crisis, and we don’t sugar-coat any realities…sometimes I wish that would change.

I am much too sensitive to hear another sibling just call things as they are in a very “clinical way.” Sort of like how a doctor would relay their diagnosis to a patient that they only have a month to live, and show no emotion about the breaking news…great! Oh, wait! I do have a sister who’s a doctor. Haha! Boy, am I in trouble now. LOL!

But wait, they are all like that. At least my sisters are. Of the two, only one is a doctor. The other one was a mob boss in her past life. Ooooh, now I’m in deep sh!t. LOL!!! They both have a great sense of humor, and will probably approve of what I have written so far. My point is, both my sisters, tell it to me, devoid of any pretensions. They are both very honest, but have different ways of conveying their messages. Either way, my Ates are both bad asses, thus I grew up to be the wuss that I am.

My eldest sister is the Ate. If there was a handbook for what an eldest child should be, she would be on the cover of that book (and the promo poster). She does it all really. She loves all of us, and always has the right insights to say to help you through things. It’s amazing how she seems to be so quiet when you look at her, but will certainly not hold back when engaged in an argument. Only intelligent arguments are allowed, I suppose. She’ll get tired and irritated with poorly structured arguments, ignorance and grammatical errors. HA! She writes very well, too, which I hope she would do more often. I’ve encouraged her to do a blog, but she’s probably busy with more worthwhile stuff.

My other sister is the quintessential middle child, if you can imagine what that means. She is at fault for all the fantasy-like imaginings I had as a child, and still do sometimes. The “boss” Charlie’s Angel. She and I love things like Narnia, and Harry Potter, and other fantasy-themed films or books. An avid reader of all types of literature hence explains her active and profound love for dreaming up life beyond the obvious. This is the sister whom I spent long nights doing fashion shows, and hair and make-up expos (Read: experimental haircuts and styles with make-up & accessories!) in the pink bedroom we once shared. Music and dance nights with the B-52’s, with me doing most of the dancing (no less!). Her “world famous” scrambled eggs with cheese after the night’s telephone calls to our friends from the phone book. LMAO!!! Oh gosh! She does know a lot of stuff (and I mean A LOT). Do you wanna talk about make-up? She knows it. How about fashion? She knows it. Politics? Conspiracy theories? Ha! Guess what? How about religion? The military? Sponge Bob??? Do I need to go further??? She is a Gemini, you see; and you know what they say, “two heads are better than one.” INDEED! (wink!)

My brothers on the other hand, are also different, more laid back. I have three. My eldest Kuya is like a father. I have had the pleasure of living with him the longest. Anyway, my eldest brother allows me to be myself, and does care about me…or I guess, to a greater point I probably benefit from the way he cares for himself. I mean, when I lived with him, everytime he cooked, he cooked for both of us. When he did his laundry, to save water and detergent, he included mine. He also always took the trash out. There were many things my eldest brother has done to make life easier for me, especially in the most difficult time of my life. His silence meant so much, when he knew that I couldn’t talk anymore. His corny humor became funny when he was the only one I could talk to. I have so much to say about my eldest Kuya because I’ve lived with him the longest. Maybe I’ll write about him, too in a later blog (with his permission of course).

My two other Kuyas are also very special. My elder (second eldest) brother, taught me Algebra in highschool. I remember crying while he taught me the subject with a red marker (pentel pen, as we called it then). Anyway, he had to drill it into me, because I refused to understand it, it was too intimidating, and I simply preferred watching That’s Entertainment over it. In the end, he told me that I didn’t need to master the algebraic expressions, instead I just needed to learn and go through them like all the other highschool students before me. If Math was a metaphor for life, then this Kuya, taught me a great deal than a+b=c. Truly, a great lesson, that to this day, I still remember, and try to learn when I find myself forgetting that things do pass, and that I have to go through them, no matter how hard they are.

My youngest elder brother (oxymoron?) is like my twin. I have a couple of pictures of us that are most precious to me. One of them, I know, is both our favorite. He is very laid back, and doesn’t really point much out to me, other than “just be careful.” He leads his life quite differently from all of us, and doesn’t fret about what others think. Except when it comes to his dancing. LMAO!!! Okay, okay, that’s an old highschool joke, I’ll leave that one out. One of the things we have in common is our love for sports. He, plays a lot of them, and I, play a few, but understand how the games are played. Anyway, as teenagers, I always looked up to him in this field, afterall he has the height, the talent, and attitude for it—a true natural athlete. I, on the other hand was a wannabe (LOL!). I could play, but was not the best by any means. I had the attitude of a winner, trained hard, and was quite smart when I played, my coaches liked that; but talent-wise, I had to learn it as it did not come natural to me, plus I'm small. Anyway, this brother and I are like “brothers.” When we were teenagers, one of his friends took to teasing me about something (which I can’t remember what about). My brother told, errrr, warned that friend that if I fought back punching, he wouldn’t stop me until I was done doing so. Haha! That still makes me laugh, because that’s how we are with each other. We give each other the freedom to be ourselves, but still stand by the sidelines to make sure that we guard each other’s safety. Well, we’re not hoodlums that get into fights, it’s more of a representation of how our relationship works, we are afterall, a lady and a gentleman, still and always. We don’t share “secrets” anymore but somehow, we get a read on each other like how twins do. Strange, I know…

Gosh! This is harder than I thought…I feel like one paragraph per sibling does not explain my answer to the question: “How do we love each other?”

I’m trying to qualify each description of my siblings to answer the question, but am unable to drive the point without having to introduce who they are and what they mean to me. I suppose, anybody can surmise that I did not grow up in a “lovey-dovey” home environment where we told each other how beautiful and handsome we are with everything we did. Sighs! We are normal kids I know that for a fact. As we all get older, we learn to become more comfortable without being told that we love and care for each other, we just know…

Lightbulb moment: So, I guess, I did answer the question, way up in the first paragraph when I stated, “[c]aring for each other, as siblings, [was] is as natural as waking up each morning."

And for as long as there are mornings to wake up to, there will be much love and caring to go around between all six of us.

Next time I'll write about the two people responsible for having all six of us. 'Til then have a Happy Tuesday!

So, how did you sleep last night?

2008-06-09T21:48:00.000-07:00

The following article is from Yahoo! News. What do you think?

By: Serena Gordon

HealthDay Reporter

Mon Jun 9, 7:01 PM ET

MONDAY, June 9 (HealthDay News) -- Trouble in your marriage can cause trouble in bed, but not necessarily the kind of trouble that first comes to mind.
New research has found that women in happy marriages tend to sleep more soundly than women in unhappy marriages. In fact, women with good marriages have about 10 percent greater odds of getting a decent night of shut-eye compared to women who aren't happy with their spouse.

"Marriage can be good for your sleep if it's a happy one. But, being in an unhappy marriage can be a risk factor for sleep disturbance," said the study's lead author, Wendy M. Troxel, a psychologist at the University of Pittsburgh.

The million-dollar question, Troxel said, is which comes first -- does the unhappy marriage lead to poor sleep, or does poor sleep contribute to a bad marriage?

"We have future studies planned, and we need to tease that out," she said. "If you're not sleeping, you're more irritable, have lower frustration and tolerance levels, so it's possible that could affect the marriage. But we suspect it's in the other direction," that the bad marriage is affecting the quality of sleep because you're trying to sleep next to someone you may be fighting with, and that's stressful.

"If you're stressed or anxious, it can have an effect on your sleep," agreed Dr. Ana Krieger, director of the New York University Sleep Disorders Center in New York City.
Troxel and her colleagues reviewed data on about 2,000 married women who participated in the Study of Women's Health Across the Nation (SWAN). The women were an average age of 46 years. Just over half were white, 20 percent were black, 9 percent were Hispanic, 9 percent were Chinese, and 11 percent were Japanese.

All of the women reported their sleep quality, the state of their marriage, how often they had difficulty falling asleep, if they stayed asleep, and how early they woke up.

Happily married women had less trouble getting to sleep, had fewer sleep complaints, had more restful sleep and were less likely to wake up early or awaken in the middle of the night than women whose marriages were less than ideal.

Even after the researchers adjusted the data to account for other factors known to disturb sleep, the researchers found that happily married women still slept more soundly. And, these findings appeared to hold up across racial lines. The only groups that the findings weren't statistically significant for were Chinese and Japanese women, but Troxel suspects this may be because there weren't as many Chinese or Japanese women in the study as white and black women.

Troxel was expected to present her findings June 9 at Associated Professional Sleep Societies annual meeting, in Baltimore.

"All marriages aren't created equal, and having a high quality marriage may be good for sleep, whereas an unhealthy marriage is a potent source of stress. You could be sleeping with the object of your hostility," Troxel said.

If you have a lot of stress from your marriage or another source, such as your job, Krieger said you need to try to fix the situation that is causing the anxiety. If you can't change the stressful situation, she recommended trying to change how you perceive the stress. Good ways to help you relax are meditation and yoga, she said.

Troxel said that if you're in an unhappy marriage, marriage therapy -- or individual therapy if your spouse won't go to therapy -- can be helpful.

She also recommended practicing good sleep habits, such as going to bed at the same time and waking up at the same time every day.

More information:
Get more advice on getting a good night's sleep from the National Sleep Foundation.

Blah, blah, bah, bah, blah, blah, blah...

2008-06-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

Yep!

I've got nothing to say.

Might as well just babble like what some other bloggers do with their blogs. I mean, what did I do the last couple of days??? I went on the internet "researching" for future blog content. HA!

Most people have themes in their blogs, like their personal or family travels, wine & restaurant reviews, food/cooking, photography, and other hobbies, etc...since I don't have a great palate, don't take photographs, have no talent, so yes (nodding), right now I'm feeling a little depressed for not coming up with a friggin' theme. Thanks!

How about I start with a question everytime, and then I'll write (babble) about my thoughts about the question...interesting...but it's a start, so here I go:

Have you ever eaten for a whole day, non-stop?

I mean, from the time you get out of bed and put some food in your mouth, you don't pause for more than an hour before you put another food item in your mouth (chocolate, raisin, soda, water, cracker, chips, fruit, something, anything!)...and before you know it, it's dinner time, and you've eaten/snacked pretty much all day. BUT, because the clock says 7:00 P.M., your stomach sends a secret signal to your brain that it IS DINNER TIME(!), AND THEN, you eat dinner!!!! Aaaaackkk!!!

Have you ever done this??? I have. Yesterday.

I was surfing the net, errrr...researching...when I realized that I've been eating all day. I stopped and turned to my brother, Van, and said, "you know, I've been eating all day, and haven't stopped. What are we having for dinner?" He looked at me with a smirk, and said, "you're being silly."

Silly?!? Yeah, more like being a cazy glutton who can't control herself from eating more food. I gained 15 pounds since November 2007, and have not done any excercise, none of my clothes fit me anymore, and I feel ugly and unattractive!!!! [and hungry. Hmp! Hmm, I have green tea gelato in the freezer, maybe I'll have that after I write this (wink!)]

Back to topic: What was I saying? Oh, okay. So, my brother told me I was being silly because all he saw me do was snack on little stuff. LOL! My brother is such a sweetheart, I should write about him and me growing up together back in the Philippines, but that will be for later, if he gives me his permission, okay? That will be a good read for sure.

Anyway, to cut to the chase, I ate rice and chicken for dinner, had an orange soda, some Haagen Dazs coffee ice cream, and a few of those chocolate covered raisins (dark chocolate, yum! I know...) (btw, my brother cooked, of course...geez, I haven't cooked in a long time...oh, another topic to write about, yay!).

OMG! My complicated life: uncontrolable food consumption, lack of exercise, insufficient clothing options, low self-esteem, blog theme ideas, etc...geeezezzz!!! Haha! My life is still fun somehow, so no worries...talk about contradictions...first I say, I have nothing to say, and end up writing up something anyway. Although it's far from anything reflective or insightful, I suppose, something interesting is better than nothing...let's all pray that I get better with this. :-)

Happy Monday!

Happily Ever After, eh?

2008-06-06T19:04:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I did a little bit of research via the internet to verify the source of the story or study about how gorgeous women are happier with less attractive men. I initially thought that the scope of the study, which the radio DJ covered yesterday morning, was only for dating couples; but it turns out that the study subjects were married couples.

My findings: The NY Daily News reported that psychologists reckon that happier marriages result from attractive women who wed uglier men. And cautions that women who marry handsome men better watch out, as men who saw themselves as better looking than their wives were more likely to be disgruntled and have negative feelings about their marriage.

The University of Tennessee study tested 82 newly-wed couples for facial attractiveness and the quality of their marriage. Their results, in the Journal of Family Psychology, suggested most men who married attractive women were happy to bask in the glory of their partner's beauty.

But Professor Jim McNulty reported: "Men who were more attractive than their partner demonstrated a tendency to offer less emotional and practical support to their wives."

In a related study, UCLA's Benjamin Karneysaid that, "Both spouses tended to behave more positively when wives were more attractive than their husbands, and more negatively when husbands were more attractive with their wives." Karney also found out that it doesn't matter how much better looking the wife is than the husband--just that there was a discrepancy. Also, according to the study, it is evolution that dictates that physical attractiveness as an indicator of strong genetics. "Because physical attractiveness is less important to women, in contrast, relative attractiveness may only affect them through its effect on their husbands," the study said.

My take: I wonder if the male study subjects' self-esteem were factored into the hypotheses of these studies? Or, if the premise of the study has to do with May-December affairs between older men and younger women.

Shouldn't one's self image play a big part in making a decision to choose a partner (a lifetime partner, in this case)? Apart from the physical attraction, there must also be more to the relationship to keep both parties happy and satisfied (i.e., intelligence, common interests, culture, economics, etc...).

I find it rather shallow and short-sighted to choose a partner and/or anchor one's happiness on the basis of their partner's looks alone. I would like to believe that it takes more than just the physical beauty of a woman to keep her husband faithful to her and their marriage. Grace, compassion, humility, intelligence, and confidence are important qualities, I think, that every woman must possess to make her truly beautiful and admirable...desirable--no matter what her age or size is.

My parting message: "Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul." -- Saint Augustine

ah-ha!

2008-06-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

I had a moment of clarity right after my first bite off of my apple danish this morning--I realized that I do not need to post a new blog everyday.

Yay!

I have to say that I was worried about what to post for today, being that I have to have my sophomore blog release (ahem!) today, or so I thought I should. Thank god for apple 'danishes'(?)!

I am quite busy most of the time, and I couldn't really think of anything worth writing about that can be inspiring to whoever reads this; but I haven't completely decided if I want to write inspiring stuff, or just random thoughts...like this one.

Oh...early this morning while I was getting ready for work, I was listening to this radio station for the weather report, 'cause I wanted to know which of the two outfits I prepared last night would be more appropriate to wear--the short-sleeved top and jeans won, as temperatures will be in the high 60s to the low 80s (yes 80s! we'll see...). Anyway, the radio DJ said that a recent research shows that men who are with attractive women are happier than the ones who are with less attractive women.

Huh? Hmmmm....does this mean I now have to look for a below-average looking guy??? ;-)

I have to think about and research this subject further and address it in my next topic. Until then, enjoy your Thursday.

FIRST!

2008-06-04T21:29:00.000-07:00

My first blog entry. Wow! It's official. I'm going to be a blogger now...at least, that's the goal (yikes!).

This is my first time to blog and I'm quite nervous about not being able to pen my thoughts well enough to convey a good message, or at least write something that may also be interesting to other people. I can be quite a keen observer of my surroundings and if anybody cares to listen, I can talk about just about anything, too. But somehow, blogging to me is something that I need to take seriously...responsibly (in case somebody stumbles upon my page and read my essays).

I feel that it's quite challenging, really. In fact, it took me a while to come up with a blog title and description because, for me, this is a new "adventure" that requires creativity. And I want to come up with something really clever...okay, so "The Frog Princess' Pond" is not really as creative as I wish my blog title could be. I thought that maybe one or two clever words will do, but for now, I think this will work. The description is, well, self explanatory--maybe kind of lame, but it's broad enough, so if you don't like it, sue me. HA!

I also realize that I need to have a theme for my blog in order to have a more focused approach to writing my "random musings." But being such a novice at this, it's hard to be too focused yet...there's always room for improvement, right? So, I'll wing it as I go.

Tomorrow will be crucial as I need to be able to write something in my blog. I keep a busy schedule but I plan to write everyday to prove to myself that I can commit to this, and perhaps to build my confidence in writing and interacting with other bloggers out there, as well.

Here I go...wish me luck!