By Jennifer Carrasco

When I lived in Manila I formed friendships with many musicians, artists, and writers. It was fun, and often chaotic. When I was squished in a tiny Manila taxi with my musician friends while they were shouting and pointing different directions at once it felt like I was traveling with The Muppets.

My letters about my Manila buddies upset my boyfriend Bill in Wichita, Kansas. He wrote that he couldn't understand why I would associate with "people who weren't normal." I then concluded that Bill and I were not meant for each other and I started going out with Ricardo, my future husband, who was normal but not average.

I never worried too much about normal or abnormal. If I had put labels on people, I would have missed out on a lot of good times.

For example, in the years following,  Ric, our little son Carlos, and I often went for coffee or a San Miguel beer at a joint called The Hobbit, which was a restaurant/bar/night club run by little people. A crowd of them worked there as waiters and waitresses. A dignified job for little people in a country that usually hired them as carnival freaks. My five year old Carlos liked to play darts with Pidoy the manager because they were the same size. And Pidoy always attended my art exhibits.

Our former house girl, Salvacion, was their head cook (she was an average sized Filipina) who also dealt with a pack of 8 pet dogs who hung around the Hobbit kitchen. Not exactly up to code, but hey, my family and  I never got sick there. One time I dropped by the restaurant and there were signs that said "Welcome Back, Faviola!"with  balloons all over the place. I asked Salvacion who was being celebrated, and she said it was for the largest dog, Faviola, who was returning from the veterinarian.

Captain Tommy was also a character, and quite useful, if scary. He was the bodyguard of our wealthy friends Manuel and Juli Mendez who always wanted Norma and me to go night clubbing with them. Gossip was that Tommy carried a 45 and he used it often. One night we girls took a cab to follow Juli and Manuel and I forgot my purse. But Tommy had taken the number of our cab.  The next day Tommy must have scared the cabbie out of his mind. That cabbie personally delivered my purse with all that was in it, including 50 pesos. A first for me in Manila.

Boogie was another case.While he was amiable and smart, Boogie was wacko. On Xmas Eve, Ric and I had gone out to the Mendez home for a short visit before we joined Ric's family in Pasig. We were sitting around in Manuel's weird high backed wooden chairs in awkward conversations with uptight banker types when Boogie came out out of the kitchen to join us. He announced loudly "I just spoke to my dead mother." Our small talk screeched to a stop. 

Doctura Benitez, Juli's mother, was sitting next to me.
"I hope you gave her my regards, Boogie."replied Doctura Benitez.

Unflappable Doctura Benitez. How I admired that woman. Come to think of it, she wasn't normal either.

Jennifer Carrasco is a longtime West Seattle resident and internationally recognized muralist whose work combines historical depth, mythic storytelling, and botanical elegance. With decades of experience painting large-scale trompe l’oeil and chinoiserie murals for clients ranging from Tommy Bahama to private collectors, she brings a distinctive Northwest voice to decorative arts. Her artistic journey has taken her from Peace Corps service and teaching in the Philippines to NEA residencies across the globe, and long ago she chose to make West Seattle her home.