How goes my packing?

I have been following the weather forecast for Tokyo and Kyoto. The prediction is sunny days with temperature in high teens, or else rain bringing the temperature down to high single digit.

I am being stubborn again, just like I was when packing for New York city. That time I decided that it could not possibly snow on me. It did. I lived my days all bundled up in everything I had.

This time, I am betting that it will not be too rainy, and ambient temperature will be comfortably cool, not clammy cold. I am actually bringing my many brightly coloured Paul Ropp skirts with tops to match any of the colours. If my bet went against me, I will wear everything all at once; I will look like a bag lady wearing a confusion of multi-layered multi-colours.

I really should learn to look at weather forecasts with greater reverence. Just not this time.

An alternative investment

There are many alternatives to wealth creation besides investing in the stock market. There are bank-bundled products, foreign currencies, land banks. And for the uber-snobbish, there is investment in fine, rare, collectible wines.

Proponents say wine investment outperforms the stock market and is recession proof.

Detractors say wine is not an investment.

Then there is this.

Unstable

I was at a MRT pickup/dropoff stand that everybody uses as a taxi stand.

I was next in line when a young lady asked from behind me if I was waiting for a cab. I turned to her, smiled and said yes. She did what any well mannered regular person would do: she smiled back and proceeded to stand behind me.

In the next minute, I heard a timid voice from behind saying to the young woman that he was there before her. I expected the woman, who just a short while ago, was all sweetness and light (and sane), to tell the man something like, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you." And switch places with the guy.

But noooo... In a flash, her face contorted into a snarl. Then, with fangs bared and neck veins popping, she screamed into his face, "WHAT FOR YOU TELL ME?! GET IN FRONT OF ME LOR."

I exaggerate not when I say the poor guy froze, not knowing what next to do. Sigh. He looked pitiful! I turned, smiled at the stunned bloke and said to him, "Get behind me, ok?" Oh, he made this big curve of a path to put himself between the woman and me, keeping the angry shrew within his nervous sight . He must have been really scared and wanted to give her as wide a berth as possible.

I looked at the woman again as I got into my cab. She was just standing there, looking at nothing in particular in front of her. Acting like the violent outburst of invective never took place.

And I thought, that's what it means when an animal is described as "of unsound temperament". When the animal is all purr-ry and cuddly one minute, and, in the next, has snapped and bitten half your face off.

It's called unstable when referring to humans.

I felt chill down my spine. I was scared. Really. Truly. Scared.

A heart-to-heart

Sometimes, it takes a heart-to-heart with an old friend to get back one's perspective. Even if it's a friend from so long ago. Even if the friend wasn't even particularly a friend back then, for whatever reason.

We filled in the 45 year blank for each other. We heard of each other, but never had the chance to meet in those years. We are mostly amused about the scandals heard through the grapevine - they were more spectacular than we could have lived up to.

Her advice to me - keep my distance from the known enemies because they will always be just that. Of course I have been doing just that, but it is interesting that we are talking about the same rumour mongers...

Her words that gave me pause because I never looked at myself that way: I have done well enough to have real enemies. My complimentary assessment of her life: so has she.

We said our goodbyes. We will remember the evening until next we meet.

The mutterings of a guru

I listened to her heartbreak story with disbelief, as I watched her face crumple with dismay and her body slump with defeat.

She had asked her spiritual guru (whatever that is) about her future and her happiness with her partner. The guru told her there is a woman in her path.

She confronted the partner (compulsive-impulsive woman that she is), saying she had set a PI on him, and she knew he was seeing another woman. She hoped to hear him deny the allegation.

Instead, he (silly like most men) blurted that he was sorry, the other woman didn't mean anything, and it was only a one time fling etc etc.

I am numbed to think that the mutterings from a stranger, even if he is a spiritual guru (please tell me what that means) can have such devastating effect.

And couldn't "the other woman" just as easily have been an overly possessive mother, a petulant sister, a crazy cousin? Couldn't the know-it-all obi-wan have been more specific?

But the damage is done. It will be a long road to recovery.

I hate how the mutterings of a guru can turn into a self fulfilling prophecy.

A beautiful dance

I remember again how beautiful the middle eastern dance is:


as I listened to the woman wax lyrical about the ballroom dances, which she now learns with a professional partner.

And I bit my tongue instead of giving in to the temptation of proffering my unsolicited opinion.

I admire my will power. LOL

March

was the month

Princeton Art Museum

- I did not hear from mother. I said to the sister she's either too busy rumour mongering to more sympathetic ears, or she has totally forgotten about me. The sister says its the former. I don't know how I feel about that, and decided it doesn't matter.

- A handful of old friends found me on FB. I am surprised I am not simply forgotten. One of them was my collaborator for the small community newsletter I wrote for, edited, and published. The other is currently doing my job. I am happy to know the newsletter is still alive. They are arranging for past copies to be sent to me. Words cannot express how touched I am about their graciousness.

- I am happy to see an old friend back in town for a short visit - and happier to learn she has written a second book. I admire her for turning adversity to advantage.

- The man is itching again to "go somewhere". It's only been 5 weeks since we got back and have only just settled into our routine! But I am not complaining. I have never been to Tokyo and Osaka.

Just like old times

She's one of the bellydance girls. Then as must happen, she got married and moved away. She's now back for a short visit and was just twitching for a girls' night in, just like old times.

I had the home to myself for the evening. A few quick phone calls and a dinner-party-hafla was good to go.

Women friendship never fails to amaze me. The company is always easy and amicable, the conversation is always frank and the sentiment is always supportive. Everyone has stories to share, and every story is poignant - things that happened, things about to happen.

And when filling in on each others' lives was fully explored and reached its natural denouement - at least for the time being - the dinner party dissolved into a bellydance hafla.
Just like old times.

Michael Jackson's This is it

I am not a consistent fan of the late Michael Jackson's music. I also did not expect him to be carried off in such untimely fashion either. I expected him to be around for a long time yet, and once every few years, he would come out with a hauntingly beautiful song that would call to me.

When This is it was released, I did not rush to see it. Many months later, stuck on a long trans-Atlantic flight, I finally saw the movie. I was struck again by Jackson's awesome command of stagecraft, exacting the minutest detail in musical arrangement, dance routine, entry cue, etc. that made him legend.

It also struck me that, three weeks before his comeback 50-concert tour, Jackson might have looked very thin and overworked. But at no point could anyone have thought he'd go to sleep that night and never wake again.

Many Jackson songs were featured in the movie; most of them would bring back good memories.

The one I won't ever forget is this.

On wifedom

Historically, the woman was never considered a person; she was a barter for territory, a means for procreation, a worker to take care of his home, his children, his family, his creature comforts.

The legal status of the woman has much improved in most progressive societies, but...

Unfortunately, married life today is not yet truly equal. ..."his" marriage continues to be better than "hers". The data on marital satisfaction, garnered from surveys, interviews, and personal assessments, indicate that husbands have a more positive view of marriage than their wives, and that wives fall behind husbands on numerous measures of marital satisfaction. One consistent finding is that single men do worse than married men on almost all measures of mental (e.g. suicide, depression, nervous breakdown), whereas single women do better than married women on these same measures. All agree that wives experience greater stress than husbands from their career/family obligations, and that women put more time into caring for children, aged parents, and sick relatives.

... divorce produces a 27 percent decline in women's standard of living and 10 percent increase in that of men. This represents an almost 40 percent gap between what ex-wives and ex-husbands experience financially in the aftermath of a divorce.

A history of the wife,
Marilyn Yalom, 2001

Now I am truly depressed.

We like it as is...

The young couple used to rent in a nearby condo where they had a view of this older condo with its timeless quiet charm and grace of simplicity and spaciousness. They immediately bought a unit and moved in when an unit became available.

Once settled in, they started to agitate for upgrading of the common areas which they deemed as deplorable and in dire need of updating.

I stand in the lobby and entrance of the condo, and see an open airy ground floor that serves as the reception area that leads to the various indoor facitilies (gym, squash courts etc), the common function room, the management office, and the lifts. The surrounding landscaped grounds boasts the obligatory tennis courts, swimming pool, koi pond and children's playground.

The newcomers want the entire reception area glasssed off to update the look, and swipe card access to increase security. Or else the condo will quickly lose its value because it is not keeping up with the new condos, they hissed at the naysayers in the last two Annual General Meetings.

Well, the majority of the residents voted for the necessary upkeep and sprucing up of the common areas. We voted to keep the open and airy feel of the existing reception/lobby areas. The majority of us will likely vote the same way again in the upcoming AGM because we really like our place as it is. The newcomers will complain about our non-cooperation and nearsightedness for another year.

And I will wonder again - for the umpteenth time - why didn't they just buy into one of the newly built condos that have all the newest gadgets and features they want?

You got fine!

Call me picky and prickly, but I must protest against the way some of our front line staff talk to their customers.

I know I am returning the DVD rentals late. I know there is a late penalty to pay. So, please, couldn't the silly twat just ask for the payment in neutral fashion by saying, "There is a late payment fee of $XX"?

Instead, she said, "You must pay a fine of $XX for returning this late"!

It never fails to amaze me that businesses lose their customers and never even know why.

Gentle dancing

A lifetime of injuries from sports and dance is catching up with me.

I live with recurring muscle aches and joint pains for years now. I keep downgrading my dance activities with the aim to prolong the dance shelf life I have left.

I put bellydance on hold for now, because I cannot do both hula and bellydance. It puts too much strain on my knees.

I enjoy the less demanding folk dance sessions with the aunties at the cc. The repertoire covers cha cha routines from the 70s, Taiwanese alishan tribal, and circle folk dance which covers the israeli and greek hora, arabic dabke and the folk circle dances of Eastern Europe.

Less demanding, yes. Less dangerous, no. Because somehow there is always the odd one who will lose her sense of direction with the turns and spins and collide with the dancer next to her.

The strange thing is you know it two seconds before the collision will happen. And you try to avoid the full impact of a moving body slamming into you by jumping out of the way. Which is how I end up with aches and pains in muscles and joints - jumping out of the way whether my body and limbs are aligned or not.

How can such a gentle dance with a bunch of sweet old people be so dangerous?

I want to know...

does this man's standing up for this man's lascivious behaviour make sense to anybody?

From Turkey with love

It's been two and a half years since we were in Turkey. Two and a half years since the man got a chance to be around the carpet shops at the kapali carsi.

His carpet merchants waited the right amount of time before they started to tempt him again with their collection of beautiful antique rugs. They started sending him pictures of their latest acquisition by email.

Of course, the man fell for several of them. At last count, he bought four pieces from the dozen that they showed him.

I love the resourceful way they take their pictures. Like this 2-meter long tent band. They laid out the tent band on the pavement, then hung one of their brothers out the window of their 3rd storey shop so that they could take a picture of the masterpiece in its entirety.
The tent band will drape around the top part of the walls in the living room.

The home is well on its way to becoming a nomad's tent, inside and out.

The man cannot help himself. He loves these guys :)

Anjelica with the smiley "c"

We never give housekeeping staff any thought.

We check into the hotel, get into our impeccably tidy room, sleep off the fatigue, and after pulling ourselves together the next day, leave the room to do the tourist thing in town. At day's end, we drag our weary bodies back into the tidied and picked up room and start the whole process again.

We never see the housekeeper whose job it is to make the bed, vacuum the carpet, replace the used bath towels, replenish the toiletries so that we always come back to a room that's spick and span.

So it was recently, with the invisible housekeeper tidying up my room unfailingly, turning a well appointed room into a perfect comfortable retreat at the end of the day.

Then, on the third day, I noticed a folded note propped up against the table lamp. The words, "Have a good day. Housekeeper Anjelica" were carefully written in a childish scrawl, and the letter "c" was stylised into a smiley emoticon. It brought a smile to my face and a cheer to my spirit.

I scribbled on the back of her note, "Thank you. You have a great day too. (my name)" and left it in the same spot for her.

I came back and found her new note: "Thank you. Housekeeper Anjelica" with the letter "c" smiley.

As I readied to check out the next day, I walked down the corridor looking for Anjelica. A housekeeper told me Anjelica had the day off. I did the next best thing I could to reach out to her. I wrote on the reverse side of her note, "Anjelica, thank you for making my stay special. (my name)" and dropped it off with a tip in a sealed envelope at the front desk.

I hope I will meet her someday, somewhere - Anjelica with the smiley "c".

Not missing her

She is an old schoolmate. We've known each other just about all our lives.

We are not anything alike. I am sure we get on each other's nerves often. But as we are wont to do with people whom we have known all our lives, we overlook all incidents over time.

So she continues to ask insolent questions. In response, I sometimes answer her with a measure of rebuke, other times I tell her bluntly it's not any of her business.

And her insensitivity grows.

Right before my recent trip to the US, she blithely asked that I say hello to the ex since I would be in California and to tell him she remembered him fondly. My straightforward response was that the ex no longer lived in California, and even if he did, I would not be looking him up.

Right after my return, she nonchalantly asked if I had "resolved" everything in California. I gave her a piece of advice about her insistent inconsiderate remarks, and then gave her a piece of my mind.

I have not heard back from her in over a week now. Maybe, with luck, I won't ever again.

And I find I'm not missing her at all.

January/February

were the months

Princeton, February 2010

- My time was split between two favourite places - Singapore and the US.

- New York was still in the grips of snow blizzard. It felt like a record setting amount of snow was being dumped on us.

- I visited my cousin and her family whom I had not seen in 10 years. I am proud and happy to see them comfortably settled in the new homeland after first arriving there 23 years ago as post graduate students.

- It goes without saying that the time spent with the old friends in Bakersfield who unreservedly rolled out the welcome mat will always be remembered with gratitude.

- The man has finally got his own reasons for making regular and frequent trips stateside. Strong enough pull factor to make him get around his dread of the long flight.

- It was good to come back for the second half of the Chinese New Year. It was especially fortuitous to be able to get together friends and family for dinner to close out the new year.

The year is starting out right in every way.

Reawakening the past

It seemed like the right time to close the chapter of my life in Bakersfield. It is time to give up the self-storage unit after all these years.

Everything has a place to go now: the furniture have a new home, the clothes go to Goodwill, and I will bring home what will always be a part of me. The rest can be junked.

Everything was as I left them - in cartons and suitcases- when I fled the town. Now, two inches of desert sand covered all flat surfaces. I could just about hear a whisper of reproach for abandonment carried on the cool breeze of this quiet winter morning.

I started to sort out the inventory. By the third day, I knew I underestimated what has been kept in storage all this time.

These are not just things. These are everything of my life up to when I left Bakersfield. And it was a full life, complete with good and bad times.

There were the pictures: of friends, of my number one and number two dogs, of a much younger me with my sports car, my home, my garden that I had lovingly tended. The crochet afghan throw made by a very special woman. The love letters. The certificates of commendation for civic work done for the local government. So many memories, long suppressed and almost forgotten, stared me in the face, daring me to damn them to oblivion.

I did the only thing I could do. I cleared what I could in the short few days I gave myself in Bakersfield. The rest will stay until my next visit. I know I will be back. Again and again. This place too, was home, for a big part of my life.

Now that the past has been reawakened, it will join me in the present.

Eating orgy

One of the great adventures in travel is to eat at places that one has heard about, or read rave reviews, or seen on food and travel channels.

We did our research on New York City and was looking forward to a marathon of eating orgy such as we have never experienced before.

Unfortunately, we never made any of them because of uncooperative weather. We even braved the pelting snow one night to get to this quirky restaurant only to find its doors tightly shut against the relentless weather.

But still we ate well. Too well in fact. Because the fallback was to duck into any diner that was conveniently close by.

I got reacquainted with the comfort food of Middle America - the burger, the reuben sandwich, the patty melt. The man happily tucked into steaks and barbeque babyback ribs. Always accompanied with a generous side of fries. And when we had enough of the oh-so-good greasy stuff at the greasy spoons, we did the Asian restaurants for Chinese dim sum, Korean BBQ, Vietnamese pho, Indian tandoori, Middle-Eastern shawarma.

And of course, the week in Bakersfield, the friends treated us to the best of all dining experience - home cooked fare.

We had our eating orgy after all in the good old USA...

The Cowboy Store in Microsoft Country

Redmond, Washington. Home to Microsoft Corporation which employs 39,000 of the small city's population of 50,000.

It is nestled between the Cascade mountain range to the east and Puget Sound to the west. It boasts 34 parks and more than 25 miles of trails and is known as the Bicycle Capital of the Pacific North West.

So the last thing I expect to find in this quiet, hilly, wooded enclave of smart business and green ecological haven is a Country and Western store. Walk through its doors, and one is transported to a whole other world, a whole different time.

I spent an afternoon poking around the shop, totally rapt in the array of cowboy necessities and accessories while songs lamenting unrequited love and cheating hearts played.

Out in the west we wear our hats
for a whole lot of different reasons
Some for work, and some for show
but mostly we follow the seasons

Rusty Calhoun

New York New York

There is much to do and more to see in New York City. And we would have loved to do and see them all in the city that never sleeps.

Unfortunately, we were in the right place at the wrong time. The snow blizzard made every attempt to get anywhere too daunting an expedition.

We were parked in midtown Manhattan. We restricted ourselves to places that were either within walking or short cabbing distance.

And happily for us, it was still plenty to take in:

Main picture above: Times Square
Pictures starting from top left:
1. Broadway 2.somewhere in Koreatown 3.Chinatown @ Canal 4.a street fruit stall in Chinatown 5.Macy's on Broadway 6.another view of Times Square.

Main picture above: Central park at dusk.
Pictures starting from top right:
1. Lincoln Center 2.yours truly post performance Rogers and Hammerstein South Pacific 3.street hot dog stand 4.soul brothers acapella 5.Metropolitan Museum of Art 6.yours truly enjoying Met Museum

Snow, snow everywhere

New York in late January/early February can only be described as c-o-l-d. Bitterly, relentlessly, mercilessly cold.

I have been known to say I'd sooner freeze than wear puffy puffy coats and beanies. I had to compromise this time: I wore the beanie (with desperate but futile effort to glam it up with a fashionable scarf), and pulled on a decidedly unglam poncho to protect my trench coat from the wind-driven snow.

Two more days and a couple of degrees colder, and I would probably eat my words and bundle up in a puffy puffy coat.

Happy Days

gong xi fa cai and happy valentine's day!

Had a fun time in New York City in spite of the snow blizzard and freezing minus degrees C. Am now in drizzly seattle with temperatures in the mid teens C.

Will be home in a week's time. I'm ready for that too.

Yes I'm Ready

The long to-do list is mostly done. At least the absolutely necessary ones and the ones that can be taken care of are done.

There is now the packing left. And then, yes, I am ready.

I am looking forward to this trip for many reasons:

- I will be happy to see my longtime friends in the old Californian hometown again. They are a very special lot, always there with a kind word and a helping hand for me.

- I will be visiting New York city for the first time. It never crossed my mind to see the place all the years I lived in California. I guess I always thought I'd get there someday. And then I left the country.

- I look forward to shopping for myself. I love how clothes and shoes sizing fits exactly right regardless of brand. I am a size 6 regular/average/miss for clothes and a size 7 for shoes. I don't need conversion tables to find my size.

- The US, especially California, is a very special place for me. It is where I was allowed to make enough mistakes, be forgiven for them, so that I could grow into who I am.

- It is still home to me, if only in my heart.

Yes, I am ready.

The before and after of a marriage

I am not fond of cynical jokes about marriage, but this one manages to be clever :)

Not my dinner guest

The girlfriend is a busy woman. She is single, holds a full-time job, and has an aged mother living with her.

And she gives dinner parties regularly. Always home-cooked. Always labour intensive. Always done with great deliberation and graciousness.

At the end of one of her dinner parties, I find myself in the lift with another of the evening's guests. For small social chit-chat, I said that was so nice of the hostess to have gone through so much trouble for us. The guest gruffly replied, "Oh, it's nothing. She needed to de-stress by cooking."

I was shocked and dismayed by her total dismissal of the friend's effort and hospitality.

Thankfully, we reached the ground floor, and I need not say anything more.

Hopefully, I need not see her again.

Definitely, I will never see her at my dining table eating my home-cooked meal which I had expended time and effort to lay out.

Suji - still a good idea

It really seemed like a good idea at the time.

I was baking suji cookies and happily passing them out to the ladies at my folkdance class.

I got a kick out of their surprise and pleasure.

They then asked if I would make the cookies for them over Chinese New Year. They'd be very grateful because suji is simply hard to come by. That was long before there was any hint that I'd travelling anytime around January or February. So happily I said yes, it would be my pleasure.

Of course I will now be travelling. And the ladies were self-consciously saying that while they would be so happy to have the suji cookies for Chinese New Year, they totally understand I wouldn't have the time now.

It is true that I am somewhat pressed for time. But I couldn't bring myself to tell them that I am sorry that things have changed and I'd make it up to them after I got back.

So, I have been busy the last few days baking suji cookies. They got delivered to the ladies today. And it was gratifying to see their glee all over again.

So, in spite of spending a precious chunk of my time on this, it is still a good idea today.

The coat

It's four days before my flight to the US.

The clothes and accessories I will bring are largely decided. The indecision is which overcoat I will need - the full length wool or the trench coat.

I don't need either in the Pacific north-west. The temperature there will be between low single digit and mid double digit C. The uncertainty hinges on the weather in NY, NY.

I have been monitoring the weather forecast for the past two weeks. My judgement call is that by the time I am in NY on the 5th of February, low temperature in NY will be between -1 to -3C.

With the clothes that I can layer on, I have finally decided that the iconic London Fog trench coat will do me fine.

Finally. Decision made.

Every other piece of clothing will fall nicely in place. Heh!

Cairo! Cairo! 2010

Yes! she is finally coming to Singapore! and Yes! I am going!

It will also be a reunion of sorts with the belly dance friends I have not seen in a very long time.
Tickets for Cairo! Cairo! 2010 (March 2) are available at SISTIC.

Workshops by Dina, Doaa Sallam and Ibrahim El Suezi run 3 to 5 March. Please contact Claribel for details.

Belly dance bazaar by Mahmoud Abdel Ghaffar, owner of the biggest bellydance costume and accessory shop at Khan El Khalili will be set up at Claribel's studio February 27 to March 1, and at Victoria Theatre March 2 to 5.

Why men cheat

It's the sex, stupid.

Men who cheat on their wives mentioned in the article include actor Jude Law, former US President Bill Clinton, footballer Ashely Cole, talkshow host David Letterman and golf superstar Tiger Woods.

It could have been an interesting read on why men cheat. Instead, the three men interviewed for their story gave lame reasons: my wife and I were not getting along (duh), she and I worked in the same industry (duh), I am surrounded by groupies because I am an entertainer (duh).

All three eventually ended their affairs and stayed with their partners.

But I take exception to the juvenile way they tell their stories:

1. "We went out for meals and did that thing which happens between couples behind closed doors". (Really? What thing?)

2. "My wife has no clue". (Really?)

3. "I just find it hard to curb my physical needs." (Really?)

These men who drivelled their childish stories should be compared to the men at the start of the article who had been raked over the coals by the frenzied media and blood-lusty feminists?

When at no time did the men ever even acknowledged it's the sex, stupid?

Paul Ropp January 2010

It gets more tempting, but I still don't have the time to make it. And I will keep wondering what I might have missed.
p.s. They do make beautiful posters :)

Special People, Dear Friends

I am a fairly independent person. Truly I am. I try not to have to inconvenience people. Truly I do.

But there are times when I need help. And it is so good to know what steadfast friends I have, even the ones who are separated from me by time and distance.

The lot in Bakersfield (where?) are sterling. One offers to make the 2 hour drive over the grapevine to pick us up from LAX and drive us into town (a hard four hour turnaround drive). I absolutely refused this very kind offer. We will drive ourselves into town; we need a car locally in town anyway (they offer use of their car too). And the man will get his GPS to navigate ourselves out of LAX to get on the northbound I-5 and Hwy 99.

Another insists we stay with her for the four nights in town, saying everyone of my friends are within a two-mile radius from her and it will make her happy if we were her guests. That is hard to turn down. I graciously accepted.

I will clear out the storage facility I have maintained the past 10 years. There are furniture I have to dispose of. A third friend will ask around to see who the furniture can go to. That will be a big help.

I also make mention of two other people here who have been so helpful : my former colleague who unfailingly prints my hotel/travel reservations (I have no home printer yet) and a special friend I have not seen in years for her invaluable information on New York City.

I *heart* all you special people.

Paul Ropp 2010

Hi My VIP Friend,

You are invited to Paul Ropp Factory Sale

19th January 2010 for VIP only,

Start @ 9 am to 05 pm

Location :

PAUL ROPP FACTORY

Jl. Pengubengan No.1X

Kerobokan

Hope You have room in Your closet!!

Thankfully, sometimes decisions are already made for me. I have to give this a miss because it is too close to my leaving for the US and there are too many things to take care of beforehand.

I hope they have a good sale day. I wonder what I have missed out on.

To freeze or not to freeze

The upcoming trip to the US gets convoluted because we will be travelling to 3 different places.

The man will get his way - he will get the GPS so that we can navigate our way out of LAX to get on the northbound I-5 for the 100-mile drive over the grapevine into Bakersfield.

It's the cold weather. Friends have been telling us to be sure we have adequately warm clothes for Seattle, Bakersfield and New York city. Especially New York city. I have in my mind that we will be looking at temperatures of single digit C degree, so what's the fuss?

I finally thought to check the weather. Seattle and Bakersfield are, as expected, between 2 and 9 C. But NYC! Its been -2 to -6. And historically, it stays that way through February!

I thought of the many times I've been saying I'd sooner freeze than be caught wearing those warm puffy padded coats and a beanie. I feel my resolve weakening as I think of sub zero temperatures. Maybe I will be made to eat my words this time. But I am really loathe to not look stylish because of inclement weather.

I look for my full-length wool winter coat, scarf and padded gloves to see me through the cold. It really has to get to double digit sub-zero before I will look at puffy coat and beanie. Or, just maybe, I will stay true to form and choose to freeze...

Waiting for her memoir (not)

I was actually quite interested when she told me of her aspiration to write, and has actually signed up for a writing course.

Of course, I had to ask: she was going to write with a view to what?

I want to write my memoir to leave as a legacy to my children, came her instant reply.

Memoir? Politicians, business leaders, prostitutes and the like write memoirs. Technically speaking, a memoir is a narration of one's career rather than one's private life.

She has been a homemaker, wife and mother since she married. And not even a particularly admirable one in any of these sub-roles.

And she hasn't exactly read or written much of anything, if at all. (She doesn't read my blog but that's not the point).

With the smile frozen on my face, I carried on listening to her as if anything she said made sense.

I have given what she said quite a lot of thought. I really do admire anybody's aspirations to write. The quality of writing, form, medium, reason, target readership matter little.

But I am not putting money on this project ever coming to fruition. I am not even betting on the first paragraph to ever be put on paper.

Planning a trip

The man and I have been putting together our itinerary for the US. We are working out transfers and accommodation for Seattle(the kid is there on a short stint), Bakersfield (where?) and New York City (yes!).

He is already getting the jitters thinking of
- the long haul to Seattle,
- the drive out of LAX to Bakersfield,
- the long haul back to Singapore.

I am excited about seeing the very good friends I left behind in Bakersfield. The long flight to and fro does not bother me. And I think so long as one is able to drive, travel within the US is not a difficult thing.

I know what I am looking forward to, in a country I am fairly familiar with, in towns and cities that are completely do-able. He will lose sleep over the unnecessary and the unvoidable.

It has everything to do with attitude, dude.

December

was the month
- I did the most baking of any other time I can think of in recent history. It was a real pleasure to rediscover the therapeutic value of baking. And an even greater joy to see the happiness on friends' faces when presented with the finished product.

- I must have voiced my frustration at some of my baking attempts so much that fellow blogger and friend Bunny pointed me to her friend's delightful baking blog. My baking skills and ambition is nowhere near this woman's - hers is the type of creation that puts a BIG smile on anyone's face:)

- I finally found the resolve to "dump" people who frustrate me with their selfish and unkind words and deeds. I don't think they even know that they cease to matter to me. I don't think it matters to them anyway.

- I had the most number of dinners with and for friends. It is good to see them again.

- I closed out the year with a much better and healthier frame of mind and celebrated the end of another year with close friends and family who made me who I am.

I wish every one of my readers a very happy 2010.

He turned 70

It is difficult to think the uncle turned 70 on Christmas Eve. He is every child's favourite uncle - always cheerful, always kind, always happy to take the child to the playground, always ready with a handy treat.

There has been many stumbling blocks to happiness in his life that included an irrationally critical sister-in-law (Mother), a demanding older brother (Father). Mostly, it was having to live with, deal with, and in later years, care for, a strict and old fashioned father who demanded absolutely obedience.

Whatever the hardships, the uncle kept his peace and silence. Today, the old patriarch is gone. The uncle's own children are grown, married and have children of their own. The nephews and nieces he so fondly helped to care for are mostly married with grown children.

The uncle looked content. Happy. At peace. Proud of his brood. Still looking after the family's young children whenever they needed babysitting.

He will forever be my favourite uncle. And I am very, very happy for him on this, his special day which he celebrated with all every family member who could come.

I wish him many more happy and good years ahead.

Unnecessary and Irksome

Like that engrish sign over Orchard Road, she continued to irk me. Even a whole week after she left. Her card arrived soon after, like 3 days later.

We did meet; I let her speechify and preachify, All the people she criticised as irresponsible and self-centred I still cannot help but like. Deep down, I guess I even admire them.

On her last day, she messaged me to say she will be back at 6pm to begin packing and I could call her if I liked (oh thank you). I waited a decent 15 minutes past the assigned time and called, and of course she has not made it back yet. I did not bother to try again because by then she would have really been frantically packing, and I got to being busy in the kitchen.

I messaged her the following day wishing her a good flight and safe arrival. Nothing came back. I sms'ed a Christmas greeting to her. Nothing came back.

Yesterday, she texted me in the late afternoon announcing she was free to talk. Well, I was not.

Today, she rang while I was busy tucking into my favourite lunch of dim sum. I did not pick up.

Did she really think I would be free and available to tend to her at any time? Especially this time of the year?

Well, she'd be wrong.

Just like the engrish sign is wrong.

And because neither is necessary in the first place, I find them unforgiveably irksome.

Another year over

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun

John Lennon
Happy Christmas, 1971

A lot actually.

I got rid of useless emotional baggage and feel no guilt. And after an appropriate grieving period, I feel no pain.

And because my load is lighter, I now have the luxury of giving more time and care to the things/people that matter.

I am happier than I have been for a long time.

That is a lot I have done, actually.

The sweet Christmas season

The approach of Christmas brings harassment and dread to many excellent people. They have to buy a cart-load of presents, and they never know what to buy to hit the various tastes; they put in three weeks of hard and anxious work, and when Christmas morning comes they are so dissatisfied with the result, and so disappointed that they want to sit down and cry. Then they give thanks that Christmas comes but once a year.

Mark Twain
Following the Equator, 1897

I have been on baking duty for the past week. I have been doing little of anything else except bake and getting the cakes, brownies and cookies delivered to the people who have made this a wonderful year for me.

And in the hours that I am in the kitchen, the mind wanders to Christmases past. The lovely friends I had spent this special season with. Each of us busy with the cooking to come together for a special dinner, each bearing the dish we specially requested of each other because she does the best this or that. I know all is well with them, even as many of them are living elsewhere these past 10 years. And if things go according to plan, I will see a few of them again next month in the old hometown.

I am happy to have spent the days leading up to Christmas in the kitchen instead of joining the shopping crowd at the malls. And more happy to know that the people who matter will have the confectionery of their choice at the end of their dinner tonight.

A nice sweet start to the holiday season. I like that.

I don't even really care anymore

I don't get it. And I don't even really care anymore.

Do people still send postcards instead of sms or email? Especially when time is of the essence? And to send postcard from an inefficient European country where there is a strike every other week?

Anyway, so the woman shows up here and phones me asking to meet up. I had exactly the one afternoon free for lunch, take it or leave it. And at a location near my home, not somewhere on Orchard Road with the mad Christmas crowd.

We did manage to meet. And it was a couple of hours of torture, listening to her preachifying to me about the waywardness of today's youth, criticising our peers who are under-achievers, and praising her own endeavours at making a meaningful life.

Sigh. Alright. I let her speak her mind. I don't really bother to counter the falsehoods she belabours.

Because her mind is made up. And like the unthinking youth, the life-long bum-abouts and the rest of us who try to live meaningfully, we will each carry on doing exactly what we set our minds to do.

Only one thought stayed with me: this woman who thinks she is the paragon of everything righteous and proper, does she even realise she is the only one who does not sms or email (or even phone), but chooses to send postcards? In this day and age? When time is of the essence?

She will never admit she cannot handle sms or email. But that's neither here nor there. She is above all shortcomings.

Whatever her problem is with the world today, I don't even really care anymore.

Aches and Pains

Of late, I find myself whinging to friends in my age group about various aches and pains in my body. The knees creak, cackle and pop when I get up from a sitting position. My shoulders stiffen if I slept in an awkward position. Nowadays I even wake up with pain in my wrist and finger joints.

Some of these are from sports injury of long ago. Others are from present day lifestyle. The rest are I guess just part and parcel of growing older.

And most of the friends feel the aches and pains too, just in different places and in varying degrees of severity. We have a grand time discussing what to do and what to take to minimise the trauma of living with pain.

Mr Chubby who has been listening in all this time finally puffed up his chest and cheerily said, "You know, everybody who were sports jocks in their younger days seem to live with some sort of injury. I, on the other hand, was always a couch potato. I must be the only one among us with no chronic pain problem from sports injury. I must be in the best of physical condition compared to the rest of you. Heh!"

You know, Mr Chubby Couch Potato has a point there. But shaddup already. I am in pain here, okay?

Dancers and Dance on Us

The place is Azzucar. The school is Dance on Us.

The performers are students and instructors. Some are professional dancers. Most are still finding their place in the world of dance.

But for this one night, every dancer came together as equals to strut their stuff in front of their peers, friends and family.

I love dance school recitals. There is always the nervousness and excitement among the dancers. And after they finished their turn, there is the applause and approval from the crowd.

Above all, there is honesty and pride in their delivery that never fails to touch a special place in my soul.

An evening at Shiraz

It has been a while since I was at Shiraz.

The review about the food continues to be mixed. Diners tend to be hung up on whether the restaurant serves authentic Persian fare rather than Middle-Eastern. Does it truly matter? My input is that the food is definitely good, whether one thinks it's Persian or Middle-Eastern.

The review about the bellydance performance continues to be generally unkind. Similarly, comments tend to focus on whether the performers dance Arabic or Persian. Again, does it truly matter? The performers are entertainers, and they do the best they can with a less than ideal stage.
The bellydance show changes every few months.

The current dancers are Fatema (a winner of several bellydance competitions) and Angelina (a favourite with local media and events).

Shiraz is located at:
Blk3A, #01-06 Clarke Quay
Tel: 6334 2282

It really is always about the the food

Like my blogger friend put it in a recent post, it is always about the food. Really. And it makes for a happier world.

I enjoy baking. I enjoy making extra to pass them on to people I know who enjoy them: friends, the cleaning crew at the condo, the dance aunties at the cc...

Then there is this small staff of three who work extremely long hours in a neighbourhood mall. I have been bringing them cookies, brownies and cakes. Each time, I'd watch with amazement as they put away the entire tray within minutes. Without any drinks. Without any hesitation. Without any more critical review beyond "Thank you. This very good" between their mouthfuls.

Then the man decided to be really nice to them. He made a huge plate of woh tieh (pot stickers), taking care to arrange the 30 pieces in perfect nautilus-fan pattern, and rushed it over to the crew. He expected them to go oooh and aaah over the fancy arrangement, to ask how he got only one side of the woh tieh fried perfectly brown and the other side remained a steamed white, to show curiosity as to what the filling was, to wonder how we managed to make the perfect pleated folds.

The three grinned at us, thanked us as usual, grabbed their forks and started to dig into the food. Between "Thank you. This very good" and shoving the pot stickers into their mouths, the platter was cleaned out within minutes.

As we left them, the man turned to me and said, "They never noticed the perfect fan arrangement. They never realised the woh tieh were handmade. They didn't even wonder how come the woh tieh were still warm!"

And I said, "They are hungry. They are happy to see us, they are happy about the sale they make off us. But in the end, it is always about the food."

And we are happy if it makes their long day just that little bit brighter.

Coco and Coco

We felt like watching a movie at home. We dropped in at the nearby video store, and to my delight, I saw Coco Chanel on the shelf. We had missed the movie completely when it was playing in town.

We popped the dvd into the player. We quickly went through all the set-up options and settled in to what we expect would be a delightful evening of further expanding our experience of all things French.

First we were puzzled the voice-over at the start of the movie was in English. But, what do we know? Maybe Coco is a Hollywood flick after all. So we went back into set-up to remove the English subtitling. And quickly forgot all the incongruency between what we've heard and read about the movie and what we were watching.

The movie was thoroughly enjoyable. There was the august Shirley MacLaine as a festy older Chanel and someone I didn't recognise as the younger Chanel. But two and a half hours later in the wee hours of the morning, we were struggling to stay awake; the movie did not look like it was anywhere near ending! We soldiered on till the end, some near four hours later!

I only figured out today, after checking around with friends and imdb.com that there is the big-screen Coco avant Chanel, and there is the made-for-mylifetime-TV Coco Chanel.

Now I have to get my hot little hands on the French movie version...

November

was the month
- It began to look a lot like Christmas everywhere.

- Orchard Road got all glitzed and lit with Christmas kitsch. I am particularly tortured and haunted by the huge banner straddling the road at Patterson that reads "A Christmas all decked out". Where is the signage police team when you need them?

- I finally got my head around the fact that when our venerable national newspaper announces any grand plan to better look after the senior citizens, third-agers, retirees who might outlive their savings and should consider returning to work now, it is talking about me. And I shudder to think of the fate that awaits me.

- I started baking for the festive season ahead. Suji cookies is my favourite confectionery to make this year.

- I started making a list of the parties that await me in the weeks ahead; I am carefully checking it twice to make sure I don't get trapped into going to the dud ones.

- I knew everthing was going to be alright.

Dumb foreigner in our midst

I really do make a genuine and brave effort to not show my instant dislike for people I take an instant dislike to.

Even when the person is a smug pompous ass. Even when the person has an unfounded sense of superiority of herself and her nationality. Even when I find her usage of the term "expatriate" to describe her presence in Singapore offensive and obnoxious. (These days, they are all foreign workers to me. They come in two packages - the too-well paid and the less -well paid).

I stoically let her bend my ear as she rattles off all the wonderful activities she is involved in to promote/preserve her country's culture and language in foreign Singapore: coffee mornings, bridge afternoons, golf days with her fellow country folk.

Then she mentioned that her foreign club also offers mahjong games.

Out of curiosity, I asked the most basic but pertinent Chinese question of this most Chinese of all games: what sort of stakes do you play?

The foreign bitch practically spat her answer at me: "We do not play mahjong to gamble! We play for enjoyment and for the social aspect of the game. We talk about anything as we play."

Stupid me thought to give her one last chance to bridge a cultural gap here, saying, "We do all the social parts too when we play mahjong. But if no money is involved, you take nonsense risks and throw the game. And you don't have to keep the winnings. The winnings can be collected over time and donated to charity."

I would have accepted, by way of concession to my point, a lame reason like it would create problems if money is involved because they are a social club. But noooo...

Foreign bitch said with rabid self-righteousness, "It is illegal to gamble in Singapore!"

Sigh. She has used up my be-nice-to-dumb-arrogant-foreigner quota for the evening.

Without further fuss or flap, I simply turned my back to her and started a tentative conversation with the stranger sitting to the other side of me.

On living with wrinkles (or not)

A woman will tell you about her sex life, or how much money she has, and then you say, 'Did you do something [to your face]?' and you get, 'Of course not!' ... How nice it would be for women to say to each other, I've done this and you can do it too.

Joan Rivers on the Rachael Ray Show

It would be nice, wouldn't it? To know that a woman need not grow all wrinkly into old age.

But instead of understanding and support, the focus is invariably on cosmetic surgical procedures gone horribly wrong.

It will not stop me from seeking surgical intervention when I get tired of looking like the old woman I will grow into.

The nay-sayers can wear every line and wrinkle they will gain over the years with all the pride and bravado they can find in themselves.

I am not that proud nor am I going to pretend to be brave about wrinkles.

Aunties and Tattoos

I put together what I thought was a real nifty costume for the folkdance party at the community club.

By mixing and matching different bits of several bellydance costumes I have collected over the years, I managed to pull together a look that's somewhere between Taiwanese tribal and middle-eastern ethnic.

And for the finishing touch - I covered my right arm with a tribal tattoo arm glove.

The aunties at the dance party LOVED the glove. They kept telling me all evening long that it looked "so nice". And I thought if there was a prize for best folk dress accessory, I would be winner many times over.

Then one of the aunties asked me if I could get a pair of the arm gloves for her.

Of course I can, I gushed.

Oh wow, maybe I have even started a trend with the folkdance community I thought.

Shamelessly fishing for more compliments, I said, "The tattoo glove is nice, isn't it?"

The auntie nodded enthusiastically in agreement and said, "Yes! Very nice. Very clever also. They are perfect for covering up all the age and liver spots on OUR arms!"

Coffee, Cakes and Conversation

It has been many months ago that I last saw any of the girls. So it was a real treat for the small group of us to put aside demands of work, husband, children and get together for an afternoon of coffee, cakes and conversation.

It is particularly heartening to know everyone is doing well in her life, personally and professionally. It is amusing to share common complaints of the men in our lives. It is enlightening to catch up on gossips of certain personages of notoriety. But above all, it is refreshing to take the time for ourselves and just enjoy friendship and companionship for a few precious hours.

I managed to sneak my suji cookies into the cafe so everyone had exactly one cookie. They loved it, and I had regrets that I didn't smuggle a few more. But that would have been a really tacky thing to do, even for me :)

By the time we left, we have new resolve to get together like that on a more regular basis. I think we will make it happen.

Coffee, cakes, conversation, and maybe some home-made cookies for good measure. We all need to take that break for ourselves from time to time.

I hate telephone calls too

We got home to find the telephone ringing. It is a sound that both of us detest, and there is always a certain amount of maneuvering to see who can avoid answering it. We have an innate pessimism about telephone calls; they have a habit of coming at the wrong time, and they are too sudden, catapulting you into a conversation you weren't expecting. Letters, on the other hand, are a pleasure to receive, not least because they allow you to consider your reply. But people don't write letters anymore. They're too busy, they're in too much of a hurry or, dismissing the service that manages to deliver bills with unfailing reliability, they don't trust the post. We were learning not to trust the telephone, and I picked it up as I would a long-dead fish.

A Year in Provence, Peter Mayle, 1989

I feel exactly the same way about telephone calls. Fast forward twenty years to present day and I dare say snail mail is even less likely.

My sentiment is if it is a matter that did not need my instant response (and what does?) I will appreciate email or sms.