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gisapot · 5 years ago

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In defense of Dionysus (written 12-03-2017, posted 12-03-2019.)

It is officially the anniversary of the last creative nonfiction piece I wrote.

I did not realize it has been two years since I wrote this piece, the piece that I consider my magnum opus; two years since my grandfather had passed.

Posting this today of all days was not intentional. I did not intend to post this here because I had bigger plans for this piece; a greater exposure than this tiny blog only my friends and students know and avidly read (not that I am ungrateful for your support). I wanted to see this in print.

I wanted to submit this to Katitikan for its ‘places and spaces’ issue, but to submit this means to remove a thousand words from this five-thousand-word monster, and removing a thousand words is an insult to the integrity of the story I want to tell. To remove a thousand words is to break the legacy of my grandfather.

Another reason why I wanted to post this is to address a comment my mother had received on a photo she posted on her Facebook of her and my grandfather. I do not know if that was their last photo together. She shared the post to share to her world that it is the second anniversary of her father’s death, and someone said, “maayo gyod an badlungon kay ma mis gyod sa tanan!”

Instead of posting a position paper in defense of my grandfather and his merits, looking only one-sided and biased towards the man who raised me, I want to show you this piece, in its entirety, in my grandfather’s entirety.

Who really was Antonio Gulane?

Dear Grandpa: A Story of The Kulafu Warrior.

Dear Grandpa, today is the third of December, twenty-seventeen. I am in the new house, the one you begged my mother to buy for you before you passed: the one-story house made of cement and stone. It has barely been a month since we got the house when you decided to christen it with your quiet passing, bringing in faces old that I’ve never seen in years, and new ones my mother insists I’ve met longer than my brain can recall.

Dear Grandpa, this asphalt house is the first permanent one we have had in a long time. How many houses have we lived in? I don’t know the number, but I know each and every one of them, complete with tiny slivers of memories that are distinctly of you, Grandma, your white chino shirts with her tie dye skirts and half-slips. I remember your loud insistent shouts and your ribs protruding through your thin brown skin as you sit at midnight half-naked, inhaling the smell of Mighty Red, Marlboro, or some lumboy leaves you roll on your own. The smell of it mixed with Kulafu has permeated every household we occupy, radiating out of your rotting yellow teeth as soon as the clock strikes one in the afternoon. Textbooks always told me these were signs of a broken home life, a dysfunctional family. To me, it became a sign that told me that I was home, no matter where I was.

I. Basement

I remember very little about the basement, but I do have pictures of it developed like pictures used to in those times Kodak and Konika were the epitome of photography technology, Richard Gomez’ face on the packs of the finished images. There were blue green walls, and it was constantly dark down there because there no natural light came in. The wooden jalousies were sealed shut and dusty, not really helping our cause. Our TV was a small black box always tuned in to ABS-CBN, and one picture showed it frozen on an old Colgate commercial along with my memory of my first Christmas. You were there with Grandma, candid shots of you making me laugh so that I would smile for the camera. I was a chubby child with skin as pink as the girls endorsing Pond’s for a healthy pink glow, a vast contrast to your dark lumad skin, even more elaborated by the harsh automatic flash of the film camera. Grandma always shied away from the light of it with a bashful grin that took on not only her face but in the lift of her shoulders, carrying me up to cover her face. You, however, were not afraid to show your grimace to a device that immortalized your state: displeased that your photo was taken, but not mad enough to be violent.

I am thankful these photos exist to give me a sight of my childhood that I remembered better through scents. I remember nothing, no experiences and no objects, but I do remember the smell of a very big pink bottle of Johnson’s baby powder, your alcohol, Tatay’s aircon-scented laundry, pungent socks, and your cigarettes.

II. Village

There is always this notion that when the word ‘village’ is present in the address you write on forms, you were someone with money and stability enough to live in a place that had security guards stationed at every entrance. We were renting this house, and I do not remember what it looks like nor do I have the pictures to actually believe that we lived here. There must be a gap in my memory, but I forgave myself long ago for not remembering anything. But I do hear stories from you and Grandma about my childhood: I liked Uncle Dennis’ Lucky Me mami noodles – the one in the blue packet (is it still in production anymore?) – because it smelled like gas. I didn’t eat it, I just smelled the smoke coming out of it. Every afternoon at five, Uncle Dennis and Grandma would take me for a walk to ‘get some Fita’, which was a codeword for fetching Nanay from the corner. You recalled that I never went with them if there was no Fita involved, so my mother resolved to buy Fita before she got to the corner leading to our house so I would greet her by sunset.

It was a quaint village but we had to move away for reasons I still cannot understand to this day, but know well enough that what happened made my mother lose the face to show to her in-laws. Just because she was a tiger does not mean she held the power; her in-laws were kings of the jungle. Grandma maintains we were nothing at the time. We had no one to our defence. We were ants next to them in the grand scheme of things, we could not talk back when the perpetrators had money and we did not, ruling the gated compound as they did. I never believed you to be one to run away from a fight. It did not seem like you or Nanay to be quiet or behaved when mouths start running the way they did towards us, but you just let it happen like it did. We moved houses before I could remember anything constructive of it, or take any pictures to remember it by.

III. Pardo

There is something in Pardo that always drew me in. It seemed like a place that was alive, crowds of people coming in with the setting and rising of the sun every day, judging by the plethora of jeepneys that headed that way. I know that because of my constant commute to school, a small Montessori school, girls in bright red uniforms and at least one boy per batch in grey t-shirts. Other than that, I remember nothing that had to do with what was outside the house except the potted plants lined up by the patio that you sat next to, where you were supposed to be smoking your afternoon away. But you were not there, not at the house, not in any of the pictures. I never saw you in that year. I think you hated the place, or the stampede that came with it, or something else. All I know is that you were never there. Your sister stayed with us instead, a skinny woman with short hair who took orders for empanada from Nanay’s friends. I don’t remember you, but that does not mean I have no recollection of whether or not you were there. It means that I know for sure that you were not there, so I had nothing substantial to remember you of, unless it was Christmas.

I remember you distinctly during our only Christmas in that house, hiding in the darkness of the alley behind the back door where a big blue tank stood. You crouched there, smoking while Nanay and Tatay took pictures of me posing in front of the Noche Buena. I have a picture of that moment, smiling cutely while Grandma stood with her back turned away from the camera facing the door that led to the blackness. I remember she was scolding you in harsh whispers to turn the flame of your cigarette off and come inside to join the festivities, to not be a Grinch on Christmas. Once the photo was taken I got down from the chair I used as a stool, towering adults walking past me – both uncles, Nanay’s younger brothers – who tried talking you out of sitting outside. If you did not feel like socializing, there was always a TV. Your indifference towards Christmas was evident.

The concept of time is longer the younger you are. I look up at the clock as they plead you to come inside and eat some bread or ham, or an apple, whatever; it was eleven in the evening. You finally got up at three minutes later, but it felt like three hours. I wonder how that is so. When you walked past me, I wanted to ask – something, nothing, I don’t remember what I wanted to ask from you. But you just moved me aside and did not give me attention, and you sat on the sofa and I just stared, and I brushed it off. You were offered alcohol, and you asked for a bottle of Kulafu. I did not move. The moment I write this is when I remember that was the first out of two times where you did not make time for me. You always did.

IV. Sugar Apple

Since I was a child I always amused myself with the thought that Tisa backwards was ‘atis’. Of course, now that I am older I have come to realize that this is not true. But it also entertained me that this presupposition of mine was proved true with the sugar apples growing by the barbed wire fence right outside our house that closed the compound in. We were renting a bigger house this time, in a compound of three houses owned by a nice drummer amputee named Tony. I remember the whole town calling him Tony Kimpay like it was his full name. The house had light blue walls and a smooth ground floor that required a whole box and three-quarters of red Starwax and two coconut husks to shine. There was a second floor (a second floor! Only rich people had second floors, thought three-year-old me) where the floors were made of wood, and it was in this house where I learned that you never slept at night.

You sat outside from ten at night until six in the morning with a box of cigarettes, a mug of Nescafe coffee and three bottles of Kulafu, guarding the house in lieu of a dog or a security guard. You would entertain yourself with the ducks Tony owned, chasing them away once they started quacking at four in the morning along with the crowing of the chickens. It was from you where I learned to not fear ducks. And when Nanay’s cousin Dinah came to live with us while she went to college and told me to stay away from ducks because they bite, I did not believe her. They always run away from me because you taught me that I was bigger and more terrifying than any bird.

Sometimes you plucked the sugar apples and cut them in half to share with the family, but I never ate them. Instead, I was interested in the eba that grew next to it, eating it raw and with no salt to neutralize the taste. I loved how sour it was. I have pictures of me giving eba to my cousins who visited the house. Behind the camera, you turn your nose up away from the eba, because you did not like that I like them and preferred that I ate sugar apples instead because at least that is a fruit that made sense.

My first brother was born by then, and I did not remember an instance where you touched him. By then, people from the neighbourhood or Nanay’s friends from work came by to visit and coo at him. I would get jealous and insecure, because there is a baby stealing my mother’s attention, like all three-year-olds would feel when they have a new sibling. Because of the afternoon crowd on the second floor of the house, you woke up from your afternoon nap and went outside for a smoke to calm down to avoid snapping at someone. I followed you outside because I hated how Nanay did not give me any attention, all given to that stupid baby. An adult grabbed me, I don’t remember who it was but I know I insisted on going with you. You took a seat on a plastic stool Grandma uses for the laundry, and told me to go back inside once you lit the cigarette stick. I obey. I walked towards the door when I accidentally kick over last night’s Kulafu bottles. I turned around to pick them up, but you told me to leave it and go inside in that annoyed tone you spoke in when everything is not in order. Despite that, you crouched down and picked the bottles up without further complaint. Irritation was a trademark on you, a trademark I have come to not just learn, but to inherit.

V. Parrots

From the house with the ducks and the star apples and eba, we moved to a white house with a gate. It was not that far from the previous house, it was on a hill right behind it. The house was white, the inside also white except for the master bedroom which was decorated with faded yellow wallpaper. A few months after we moved there, Tatay bought me a pair of birds – a boy and a girl – for no reason at all. He just thought it would be nice to have a pet. They were yellow-green birds and I thought they were parrots and insisted that they speak after me. Under the cage of the birds was a wooden stand for your own rooster. It was then I learned that you liked cock fights, you bet on it and joined it even with the constant reports on the radio that these betting games were illegal because it went against animal rights or some random reason I thought of as a child that would rationalize the world.

I still do not know if the birds Tatay got me were parrots or not, but it is an appropriate analogy for you and K: at the age of three with a head as big as a basketball, he admired you for everything you did to the point that he copied your every move, especially your skill in many types of martial arts. Now as I am older and I look back, I think of the credibility of your claim, if you were really an expert as you said you were. But at the impressionable ages of seven and three, we believed you to be the Filipino Bruce Lee as you introduced yourself to be. You taught K how to use nunchucks and a bit of arnis with a stick you conjured out of nowhere, and I wish I had pictures to prove that you really did teach him and he learned well from you, but all I have are pictures of K alone carrying his nunchucks obsessively everywhere he went. He threw a fit every time he was told that he could not bring them to social events or inside malls because it was ‘unfair’ and he really wanted to show off what he knew.

He was so much like you. He copied almost everything you were. You two were so alike in the shortness of fuse and how you both wanted everything to go your way or you would have to resort to violence. K would wrestle anyone who said no.

Despite the contrast – K a pale milky white while you were a reddish brown like Kulafu – you taught him to be like you and he had grown so attached to his childhood hero that it no longer looked adorable to me as the older sister, but scary. This turned terrified the moment you took an afternoon nap and started kicking in the air like you were fighting someone, asking if your enemy in your dream was going to fight back. K thought you were so cool.

Nanay always tells me that she understands because she is always at work that K was imprinted by you and grandma instead of her and Tatay as the actual parents, but I could not understand what she meant. It just did not reflect the families on textbooks, where the children were close to their parents and their grandparents lived in a separate house. How close he became with you and Grandma was beyond me. He insisted to sleep on your bed, eat out of Grandma’s hands, and sang the lyrics you whispered in his ear before he ever learned how to read. There was no doubt in his mind that you were invincible, and you were the best example.

VI. Dog

We lived a year in that white house. Half of that year I dazedly spent in hospitals because of a severe case of dengue. That year was a bad year for us, it was some sort of bad omen. Nanay decided to move us to Mandaue, a whole city over, because it was safer there from mosquitoes and it was closer to her workplace. Other than that, Tatay was an architect for a new private elementary school that was just erected there, and he decided to send Yelcin and I there. It was in a big compound owned by a chubby old man with droopy skin that made him look like a wrinkly dog. He looked even worse with his constant frown. You did not like him. You liked his sons instead because they drank with you Kulafu with you at two in the afternoon to stay awake instead of being so uppity like their father.

We got a dog too, a female golden retriever we aptly named Goldie. You did not like her at first because she was a non-human creature that came into the house and chased after me because she liked me. You got very angry with her because she wormed her way to the bedroom I shared with Nanay and Tatay, but then insisted she sleep at the foot of my bed to watch over me, and suddenly I see you sneak out chicken leftovers from my breakfast to her dog bowl in the morning. That is when I knew you started to like her.

You sat outside with her in the afternoons. With that you brought some noise, you talked to her and told her to behave and you would give her a dog biscuit shaped like a bone whenever you got bored. You were not quiet anymore. You would bathe her religiously on Saturday mornings before I woke up, and fed her strange things for her meals like fish and some malunggay leaves. She ate them gratefully, like it was not dangerous for her poor dog stomach to eat such things.

You did everything for Goldie. You treated her like your own child, spoiled her with all the dog treats in the world and reprimanded my mother if she did not bring home any more treats for the dog when you ran out. You built her a cage made of metal grills and spare raw coco lumber that you demanded Tatay to bring from his site visits in Catmon, the plastic flooring for the only thing authentically pet-shop about that cage. You made Dennis buy some metal roofing from the construction supply shop around right outside the corner of the street, and you built her a home with your bare hands. When it was done, you put Goldie inside, locked it, and hid in your bedroom with Grandma without a word and took a happy nap.

VII. Protection

We had a house. It was in Opon, it was bound to PAG-IBIG housing loans, but we had a house. It was in a middle-class subdivision whose houses all looked the same, so our minimalist white and brown and green house with a terrace and an outdoor garden with Bermuda grass stood out. We had our own rooms, mine was pink and V’s was blue with a bunk bed since Nanay was pregnant with her third child and we were preparing for him. Nanay and Tatay’s room was a bright yellow with brown furniture. And yet you refused to see us sleep in our own rooms, us kids having to sleep in our parents’ room, on the floor with some mattresses, so that we do not get too hot in our own rooms. It was apparently better in the air-conditioned room, and it was so you could keep an eye on us all together.

We had a car too. It was a secondhand blue Nissan Terrano with a spare wheel on the back that we bought from your cousin who married into a rich family. We did not use the car much, but you took it out for spins around the subdivision so that it would not ‘gather dust’. I still do not know if that really is a valid concern for cars.

Your habits did not change: you still sat outside the house at midnight with your coffee and Kulafu and cigarettes, except now people stop in front of the house to take pictures, and you ‘shoo’ them away to keep them from plagiarizing my father’s work. (I will find in later years that they still succeeded in copying my father, what with subdivisions being erected that now use the same color scheme and the same layout and plan. It irritates the both of us. Whatever happened to intellectual property rights?)

You hated the location, however. You hated that it was an entire city away from where we went to school and we did not get enough sleep. We passed out in the car the moment we get inside, to catch up on some sleep, wake up dazed and lost in school, then come home tired and lethargic to do any of our homework anymore because of how tired we were. We were practically in hell.

Location was always the problem, wasn’t it? We just moved to the new home that was finally ours when it struck: Nanay was laid off of her job and had nowhere to go. With piling debts and deteriorating health and a baby who had more needs than her grown children, Nanay decided to work overseas.

�� You were so violently against it. You were so mad. You did not want the family to be separated. Everyone should stay in one home, together, no matter the circumstance. It was all or nothing for you. But Nanay had already made up her mind, bought a ticket out, found a job that was waiting for her, all that was left was to leave for it. You did not look her in the eye that day she left, staying outside right in front of the car, like you were a boulder that could stop it from moving.

VIII. Following

I remember very distinctly the moment K cried at the airport as we left Singapore after our first Christmas there. He was crying terribly hard, hating the fact that the family he grew up in, his own universe of discourse, was pulled apart into two different fabrics of time and space. It was difficult to be together now. He rolled on the floor of the then-existing budget terminal of Changi Airport, causing a scene, asking why we could not stay with her and be a happy family like those families in textbooks. He wanted to be with Nanay, with Tatay, but also with you and with Grandma and Uncle Dennis and Uncle Julius and their wives Elsa and Janice respectively, both parents and parental figures. K used to be the type that got so attached. I cannot say the same for now, however.

When Nanay said she was working on our immigration to follow her to Singapore, K was excited. You, however, did not say anything. I think you have learned from when Nanay left the country, but you made us promise to call you by Skype every day while we waited to start schooling there. You could not bear to part from us, you and Grandma, but when was the best time to leave the nest, to be honest? And we belonged with our actual parents.

And every day like clockwork since we left, we called you through video call, your brown skin a bright white like the shirts on Tide commercials, asking how we are and what we are doing, same as yesterday. The call sits for two hours as we watch you nap on the wooden floor of the rest house, and when the computer overheats, you tell Dennis to shut it off and you slither away on the floor to your room, not showing that you are crying because of how you miss us. But it is okay, I know you console yourself, because Janice is pregnant, and you are sure this kid is not a kid you will let go.

When we left the country, you had no reason to stay in Cebu anymore, so you loudly declared to the entire family that you were all going back to Medellin where they grew up and where you raised them. There was a rest house there that Tatay constructed for us; somewhere we can sleep in whenever we visited Medellin for the weekend. It was a hut, brown with nipa leaves weaved together for the roof. Everything was made of wood except for the foundations and the bathroom, the cement wall painted green on the outside. Inside was tiled and decorated with seashells Tatay paid your nephew to collect from the beach behind the house. You spent your days there lying on the ground like a dog, never breaking your afternoon-nap-and-Kulafu-at-Midnight ritual like always. Sometimes you got bored and killed flies, made your own barbecue, and even built an extended hut for Grandma that you used as a convenience store. You would participate in secret games of masiao that another one of your nephews is a runner for, you and Grandma arguing about the how she calculated her own numbers and why yours is different, until the tumor in your stomach you kept joking about started hurting too much for you to laugh about it anymore.

Dear Grandpa, throughout these homes we have come into, you repeatedly made me promise throughout my childhood to build you a concrete house that you can call your own. You called our constant moving a hassle and the hut that my father made for you not sturdy to withstand storms. You told me you were tired of the city, and asked me to build you a house in your hometown of Medellin, as big as I want, as long as it was strong and brave and could shelter you from the heavy storms.

Dear Grandpa, we have a home now. It is a bright yellow house in a subdivision a little ways away from the park that displayed an old train from Central that used to carry the sugar cane. The time is one-forty in the afternoon; I am sitting in front of your white coffin with a towel in my hair, and if I move to tilt my head rightwards I can see the bottle of Kulafu I bought for you as an offering. I am alone, save for the people passing by to get food, more ice cream, beer, or arguing about the wi-fi connection. Your Photoshopped portrait sits on top of your viewing glass, staring at the flurry of movement with your intense judging glare and thick eyebrows. You look angry in the photo, but Uncle Dennis says you were about to laugh as the photo was taken, and if I stared hard enough, I can almost see the moment that you do.

Dear Grandpa, you were powerful and strong-willed and loud for all the right reasons. You were never weak, and you never allowed people to spread nonsense about our family. I pretend not to know that the reason for your loss is not deterioration, but a dangerous formation. I pretend not to know that your every day habits are the cause of your passing. I pretend that you’ve never participated in vices in your life; it is in the Filipino culture, Nanay says, that once someone passes, he is an angel.

Dear Grandpa, I miss you very dearly. As I write this I keep erasing words and adding some more, getting distracted by the noise from the children and doors opening and San Miguel bottles tinkling against each other. This is the sound of our family, even as the shape of our living arrangement changes like the sky when it nears a storm. Dear Grandpa, in the years I have grown under your care we did not have a house whose deed was truly ours, but you have shown me the meaning of home and helped me remember it as my own now, as part of who we are: we are fighters, the heat of your Kulafu blood flowing through our veins – we are warriors.

Dear Grandpa, we might be so far away from each other, even further now that you have passed, but as I grow older and help Nanay and Tatay finish this house in your name, I will remember the way we have come, and how much further I have to go. In front of your coffin, I bow my head to mourn, but my blood boils hot under my skin – I will stand like you on this ground and do what I can, defending your name.

And if I can help it, Dear Grandpa, we will not move again any time soon.

#cnf

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adambstingus · 8 years ago

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10 Fun, Cheap Date Nights You Can Have At Home (That Aren’t Netflix)

How often have I babbled on about the importance of keeping the romance alive in your relationship? Im not trying to be annoying or repetitive, but it is important! I am a firm believer that religiously practicing date night on a regular basis is crucial to relationship health. Let me be mores specific. Im not talking about a double or triple date where the conversation is flying six different ways. I do love those group dates with my favorite couples, but I am talking about the importance of one-on-one dates with your boo. Setting aside quality time to spend with your hubby with no distractions is like an apple a day for your relationship.

To keep these date nights interesting, youll want to mix it up and try new things. Obviously, date night has the potential of becoming a very expensive activity. Try hitting up Groupon and Living Social for not only cheap dates, but dates you would have never thought of yourself, like flying trapeze classes or a painting class at a local bar. But for those of us that arent rolling in the dough, these internet deals can still be a splurge. Dont worry, I am here to tell you that you can still have a date night every two weeks (or once a month, whichever you fancy) at home and on a budget. Here are some creative ways to make your date night romantic, entertaining, and low cost.

1. Living Room Camping

This is one has sentimental value to me. When my fianc and I first started dating I was going through a rough time in generally and the bad days at work didnt help. When Id had a particularly crappy day, I would come home to find a good old fashioned fort in the living room. The outside was made with sheets and furniture; inside he made a comfortable cushioned floor using pillows and comforters. We would take refuge inside the fort and forget about all of our problems. Dont knock it until you try it! Use your fireplace or some candles as a mock campfire, roast some marshmallows and tell ghost stories. How does that not sound like a good time?

2. Outdoor Dining

If youve got a nice or even just a clean backyard, use it! Set up a small table for two outside complete with candles and a bottle of wine. Put on some nice background music and have a good old fashioned backyard dinner. Its very romantic. Unlike eating on patio of a restaurant with twenty other couples sharing your moment, this makes for a very private and intimate setting. Think your backyard or patio doesnt have the ambiance needed for outdoor dining? An easy fix is to hang cheap outdoor lights. Its amazing how one detail can work wonders on setting the mood.

3. Boudoir Photo Shoot

Okay, so if you are a little more on the reserved side (cough, prude, cough), this one may not be your cup of tea, but hear me out before you rule it out completely. Date night is supposed to be all out coming together with your significant other and getting intimate. I think this is pretty intimate, not to mention fun for all parties involved. Start by choosing a designated back drop like a free wall, a hanging sheet, the bed, etc. Pick a few different pieces of lingerie to change into. Give your guy a camera (prob best if its not a camera phone, dont want these pictures accidentally getting posted on Facebook or Instagram), and let him take control of the photo shoot. Youre the model, he is the director. Enjoy (insert winky face here).

4. Wine Tasting

If you and your guy are wine-os, youll love this one. Use your kitchen table, bar, or coffee table. Set out a few different bottles of wine and glasses. Make sure to set out some food that pairs well with what youll be drinking, think cheeses, veggies, bread, etc. No food equals getting drunk way too fast, passing out early, and a nasty hangover. That being said, take your time as you would if you were in Napa on a rustic vineyard. Swirl, sniff, sip, and then discuss your opinions on flavor and stuff. Obviously I am not well educated on wine specifics, but you dont have to be to enjoy this. Its just you and your boo, no wine snobs to make you feel dumb. If you are a wine snob, great! Youll have fun with this one too and there wont be any amateurs to slow down your night. Remember to light some candles and put on background music!

5. Game Night

Game night can go one of three ways and Ill leave it up to you to try one or all three. The first is nostalgia game night. Choose your favorite childhood board games (mine are Candy Land and Operation) and laugh at the memories over a bottle of wine or your favorite beer. The second is adult game night. This includes a more grown up version with games like Cards Against Humanity. The third is x-rated game night. Go to your local sex shop or search online for an intimate adult game. There are tons to choose from involving blind folds, melted chocolate, and roll of the body part dice. Whether you choose PG, x-rated, or all three, game night with your handsome babe is sure to be loads of fun.

6. Project/Craft Night

With all of the hours we spend pinning cool crafts on Pinterest, this option seems very appealing. But please, for the love of god, do not make your significant other do something he will hate like knitting or scrap-booking. Choose a house project youve been meaning to get around to or a fun project you can both be involved in. Make sure this is an activity that interests BOTH of you, not just you and not just him. Youll also make sure this is something that is more fun than it is hard work, remember you are doing this as a date. Order a pizza or take out and of course you can add alcohol to the mix if you fancy. Put on your favorite Pandora station and get to work. My man and I did this as a date night with a painting I had seen on Pinterest. It was a hand painting in which each family members hand was in a different color and the prints were all over the canvas, overlapping each other. It looked really cool, so we tried it and of course included the dogs. It was interesting night to say the least, dogs and paint can get messy. No matter, now we have a somewhat decent piece of handmade art to hang in our home.

7. Karaoke

Yes, Blake and I have done this and it was so much fun! We didnt plan on it, it just happened. We started one night with tacos and margaritas, an hour later we were taking turns on the Play Station 3 mic and singing our little hearts out. A bit of heads up, this may not be the greatest idea if you have close proximity neighbors who dont like crappy singing and loud music. If you can, do this! Such a great way to let loose with the one you love. Not into singing? No problem, make it a dance party instead. Im not a video game person, not in the slightest, but karaoke and dancing games are perfect for this. We have Sing Star and Just Dance for Play Station. If you dont have these games but want to try them, check your local rental store or RedBox. You wont regret this one!

8. Spa Session

I know what youre thinking, my manly man wont even get in a bubble bath. First of all, that sucks for him. Second of all, he will end up truly enjoying this one if he approaches it with an open mind. Okay ladies, dont torture your men! No tweezing, waxing, or anything else that is painful and/or will change his appearance. Thats how youll send him running and screaming out of the bathroom. Instead, make this a relaxation effort, not a make over. Run a warm bubble bath with salts and scented oils. While youre waiting for the tub to fill, start with a face mask. I like the warming ones, they immediately send my mind into relaxation mode. Help your beau apply and rinse off his mask. Slip into the tub together and just relax and talk. For added romance, carefully place a few candles safely around the tub and bring a glass of wine for each of you. Just dont get so relaxed that you fall asleep, because after the tub youll want to move it into the bedroom and take turns giving each other back massages. Stop by a body shop like Bath & Body Works for some aromatherapy massage oil. Best spa session ever.

9. Cooking Class

I know I said in home and I meant it. When I say cooking class I dont mean attending an actual cooking class, I mean doing your own cooking class with just the two of you. Find a recipe from a cooking magazine, book, or show that sounds delish to both of you but neither have any experience with cooking such a dish. You will work together, sharing the tasks at hand. And I mean for you to cook an actual gourmet meal, not Mac & Cheese from a box, no matter how much you crave it sometimes. This is your date night activity, so have some fun with it. Put on your aprons and help each other chop, season, and stir the ingredients. When youve completed your edible masterpiece, its time to dig in. Sit down to a table set for two and cheers each other to your cooking accomplishment.

10. Star Gazing

Its back outside for this date night. Sometimes all you need is star-filled night sky to add that little extra bit of romance. If you have a cozy backyard (and ideally a fire pit to keep you warm), take a thermos filled with hot cocoa or spiked cider, a blanket, and your loved one to do some star gazing. Do some research before hand and make a game of trying to spot certain constellations. If you have a stable flat roof, set up some lawn chairs and enjoy the view from up there. Be careful getting on and off your roof! No back yard or accessible roof? Take a stroll down to your local park. Odds are, it will be deserted after dark and the jungle gym style toys make for great seats.

No matter what you choose to do on your date nights, make sure you are focused on each other. Make it about you two and nothing else. Hopefully Ive inspired you to try something new with your partner in crime. Maybe one of these unique date nights will start a spark and youll be truly glad you branched out. If nothing else, simply relish in the company of your loved one.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/27/10-fun-cheap-date-nights-you-can-have-at-home-that-arent-netflix/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/163476190967

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samanthasroberts · 8 years ago

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10 Fun, Cheap Date Nights You Can Have At Home (That Aren’t Netflix)

1. Living Room Camping

2. Outdoor Dining

3. Boudoir Photo Shoot

4. Wine Tasting

5. Game Night

6. Project/Craft Night

7. Karaoke

8. Spa Session

9. Cooking Class

10. Star Gazing

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/27/10-fun-cheap-date-nights-you-can-have-at-home-that-arent-netflix/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/10-fun-cheap-date-nights-you-can-have-at-home-that-arent-netflix/

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allofbeercom · 8 years ago

Text

10 Fun, Cheap Date Nights You Can Have At Home (That Aren’t Netflix)

1. Living Room Camping

2. Outdoor Dining

3. Boudoir Photo Shoot

4. Wine Tasting

5. Game Night

6. Project/Craft Night

7. Karaoke

8. Spa Session

9. Cooking Class

10. Star Gazing

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/27/10-fun-cheap-date-nights-you-can-have-at-home-that-arent-netflix/

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renegadesepiida · 8 years ago

Text

Once upon a time in a faraway land, there was a beautiful city on an enchanted island. Surrounded by a high stone wall it was cut off from the rest of the beauty around it: the rolling green pastures filled with wildflowers, the rocky sea shores with towering stones, the claustrophobic jungle swamps, and the magically calm forests. The only links to the outside world were the defended carriage gates, thin doorways, and archery windows through which few could come in and out.

One such doorway looked straight out onto the Baltic Sea which created the sandy beach of the islands northern west coast. Built late, in the 1870’s, it was part of a wall rebuilding project after a partial collapse. This doorway is known as The Love Gate or Kärleksporten in the original Swedish. It is traditional for couples who walk through the gate to kiss, bringing them good luck. If you are single, however, you are not supposed to walk through at all because that would bring you bad luck in love. At the time I was single and slighly weird about good and bad luck shit so I didn’t walk through alone. One weekend I had a friend giving me the grand tour and we walked through together (without the kiss, of course), don’t know if or how that eventually affected anything, but whatever.

Continuing around the oldest sections of the 13th-century wall, higher gates and defensive towers cast shadows on the cobblestones below. Various towers were used as storage facilities for coins and military hardware, manufacturing tar, grinding malt and grain, production of fish oil, lodging for guests, and even a prison/torture chamber. Digging through time, you can always find the dark underbelly of anyplace you visit. For Gotland that dark history is no clearer than in the medieval-themed rooms of the Gotland Museum. To learn the abridged version of Gotland’s history the museum is a perfect place to go, you’ll also be able to see what the locals thought about what happened. The slightly biased influence can be read in the plaques next to various artifacts.

In its shortest description, King Valdemar IV of Denmark sailed his army over the Baltic Sea to conquer Visby and the island of Gotland in 1361. The wealthier citizens within the guarded city called upon every able-bodied man to come and fight to protect the islands freedom from Danish rule. Though the local militia fought hard, they were getting soundly beaten, and while the people living inside the city promised that, if that were to happen, they would open the gates to let the army inside, but they didn’t. As a result over 1,800 of Gotland’s male yeomen and peasants were killed pretty much right outside the city’s North gate and the citizens of Visby decided to surrender anyway. The people living outside the gates were furious, and rightfully so, as most families had lost at least one member.

It’s pretty crazy to think about, but there are still descendants of the army members’ families who hate the descendants of the citizens who would not let them through the gates. I can’t personally understand that sort of loss playing such a large cultural influence, but as I walked through the now open gates I could kind of feel it. The terror and the pleas for help must echo throughout time, especially for those of whom grew up hearing the tales passed from generation to generation.

Even inside the colorful city there are dark memories. While the city continued to expand, the richer citizens lived closer to the ocean and castle and the poor were forced to build their small houses in the surrounding hills. Eventually, they got tired of living in this small dirty area so they started an uprising, capturing many of the upper class and either executing them via beheading or burning them at the stake, there is still a memorial standing in the middle of a crossroads in the upper section of Visby. This area, which did used to house the poorest citizens, living in their squalor, is now the most desired area with the most expensive houses. The times, they sure have changed.

Getting passed Visby’s dark past, you can really see the beauty in it, the gray cobblestone streets, differentiating from the vibrantly painted cottages. In the summer of 2015, while attending the archaeological field school, Gotland was unusually wet. This meant that when the sun finally came out the rain-slicked cobbles glistened and reflected the colors of the flowers that lined every building, making the entire scene an impressionistic painting.

The architecture of the buildings, the many ruins scattered around the city and even more so during the annual medieval festival, transports you to another era. Medieval Week or Medeltidsveckan is when hundreds of people, from all over come to this historic place dressed in all sorts of elaborate costumes. This weeklong festival, which started in 1984 runs over a week and its surrounding two weekends contains constant tournaments, really old fashion music, day drinking, delicious food, and basically larping (live action role playing). Unless you go for 3 or more days it would be difficult to try every food and drink stall without getting a terrible stomachache or drunk out of your mind since the beer, wine, and mead were flowing freely, both within the festival itself and at every other open bar in the city. The day we were taken to the festival (which was the first time I went) we were given a meal ticket and most of our group decided to try some wild boar that had been roasting over an open flame at the Boar’s Head stand. We took a short lunch fika in the heart of the festival while joyful people were laughing, dancing, eating, and playing all around us. This time I didn’t have as much time to explore on my own since I wanted to continue on with our private archaeological tour so I returned for the second weekend, this time in a semi-correct period costume.

This time the lot of us rode the public bus from Hemse on the other side of the island and were able to re-re-re-explore of our own volition, as this was my fourth time to the city. For “lunch” a fellow explorer and I stopped at a café called Brödboden Södertorg that located inside a medieval church. We rested our weary feet while drinking tea and taste testing a few different pastries while surrounded by partially buried stone monuments that are hundreds of years old. This time I didn’t eat much at the festival itself because we had a group dinner reservation at Kapitelhusgarden (which I could do a whole blog post on), an underground restaurant that does everything as if you were actually in medieval times. But before dinner, we continued to wander the streets and shops, inside and out of the festival, attempting to find all the hidden secrets as we had already done the typical “tourist thing” on previous visits.

One such visit was the third I took when we were led by a couple friends, the two graduate students who worked on the site with us. We hit up most of the churches, as there are sooooo many, pretty much one on every corner, just like a Starbucks chain. All of these ruins are free to walk around in and in most you can even walk up to the second or third floors, depending on the stability of the stones. One medieval church that is still in still in use is the Visby Cathedral or St. Mary’s Church and it has some crazy relics inside, including whalebones which were venerated for centuries as the bones of a giant. And if you look at the stain glass windows you will find one that shows the burning of the city. How fun.

Later in the day we stopped in a legit Irish pub called the Black Sheep Arms, started by a man from England (which made some of us giggle) and I ordered an Irish coffee. Before we finally left for the day on the bus back to Hemse we were taken to one of the most popular ice cream shops on Gotland, Visby Glass, which is right next to Glass Magasinet, both of which are facing Visby harbor on the Baltic Sea.

If you are exploring Visby searching for a direct line to the past or present day normal life you might be slightly confused or maybe even a little disappointed. Visby seems to be in its own time, a mythical area where past and present combine and create a true fairy tale world where magic can become real.

More Historical Information:

Visby: City Wall

Battle of Visby

Encyclopedia of Plague and Pestilence

Gotland’s Vikings

http://www.gotland.net/en/discover-visby-under-your-own-steam

Stepping Into a Once Upon a Time Once upon a time in a faraway land, there was a beautiful city on an enchanted island.

#beautifulplaces #citylife #explore #fairytales #gotland #gotlandhistory #history #medieval #medievalfestival #placestogo #renaissancefair #restaurants #sweden #swedishhistory #travel #vacation

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