From the canteen uncle

As I was buying my daily bottle of green tea, I fell into conversation with the canteen uncle. He asked me how I was doing. I told him.

"You know I was a teacher, also. In 1962. They paid me $350 a month. I gave up after three months."

Lessons at School

I accepted a spot of school relief teaching, substituting as instructor for as yet, unhired English teachers. There is a 7th grade class of Japanese and Korean non-English speakers reading 2nd grade English. There is a 9th grade class whose members shuffle in to the classroom but whose eyes glaze over at my every utterance. And there is an angry eleventh grade class who insist on delving into their own irrelevant opinions when they are asked specific questions about an assigned text that they have not really paid attention to. It is thankless and exhausting work, and while I am able to do it, every fibre of my being reacts against it.

It is fitting also that during this period, what is is playing in my DVD player are episodes from Seasons 1 and 2 of Beverly Hills 90210.

It will be over soon.

Easy like Sunday morning - not!

After a late 3am night, we roused ourselves early as we needed to have the kids at the church for the Christmas pageant rehearsal. Trust K and C to actually want to be in the church Christmas pageant.

Unfortunately, even after more than three reminders and a goodly number of threats, C was being stubborn and moving on his own personal time. So what did we do? We left him. And when he realised it, he wailed at the top of his lungs loud and long - and we heard it in the lift on our way down, and even when we landed. In fact, a number of neighbors looked up wondering what was going on. Big sis K took pity on her brother and rode back up to pick him up.

He whimpered throughout the car ride. And in unspoken agreeement that I suppose comes with 15 years, T and I spent the trip talking as though he wasn't there, relating anecdotes about all the people we know who were left behind - on vacations, at school, etc...just because.

These are the lessons that have to be taught.

-o-

For the first time, we had ourselves a spot of brunch at Jones Grocers in the new, hip complex on Dempsey Road, enjoying eggs and sour dough toast alongside our chosen sides of bacon, sausage and sauteed mushrooms. To drink, we had fresh apple juice, iced chocolate for the kids and flat whites for us. Couldn't resist the grocery and bought German salami, Australian back bacon and a loaf of the sour dough. Unbeknownst to me, T also got us a batch of rocky road marshmallow nougat. I resisted the temptation to make purchases from "the largest fromagerie in Singapore" - as we just stocked our cheese section the day prior. But the whole time, I kept thinking about how this kind of approximated our long ago forays at Zabar's and that fateful day in 1991 when I first tasted prociutto and cherry cheese struedel.

-o-

The other high point was dropping in at the Red Sea Gallery next door and finding a gathering of large and beautiful Dao Hai Phongs - my absolute favourite Vietnamese painter. While I was disappointed to learn that he had actually had an exhibition there in September and I missed it (goodness knows my head was buried in work), I was happy to pick up the book so now, I have it to go alongside my "New Town"...

What can I say; it made me very happy.

Making a good home

As we are going through the stress and mayhem of setting up a new household in new premises, this idea keeps running through my mind; the idea and the way the idea is most often associated with being an exemplary woman. An exemplary woman is a nurturing wife and mother who makes a good home for her family.

I know many exemplary women in this way. But I do not see myself as one of them - not in this particular way. Nevertheless, I believe I do "make a good home" for my family. I am not Martha Stewart or Nate Berkus. I am not a domestic goddess. I don't know my carpets from my drapes, but I know what I like when I see it. I do not have all the right kitchen cutlery or flatware, but I know my way around a kitchen and can devise pretty good eats when I choose. I am not obsessive about the house and its accessories - but I do enjoy my home. Is it possible then to make a good home, without actually making a good home? I like to think so.

- o -

The lights guys came yesterday, and we were talking about changing the fixtures. We wanted to change our living and dining room lights to energy saving, but we were told we couldn't with the existing mechanism.

"You can, but you have to call the company in to reprogramme the light switches. But then you'd have to kill the dimmer function, which many people like. It's good for setting a scene..."

I told him. "I don't need a dimmer to set a scene. I can make scenes without it..."

What's happening in the village

Is it me, or have prices gone up at Holland Village?

Last night, we popped in for a Mexican dinner and ice cream only to find that our long-ago favourite Chachacha was serving dishes that were significantly reduced in size, almost by a third, T and I estimated. Plus, gone were the generous sidings of salad, refried beans and salsa that usually accompanied each entree. The food was still of acceptable quality though it was hard to focus on that because the service was definitely spotty in places. We were disappointed as it had always been a family haunt. I guess it's true; you can't go home again.

For dessert, we braved a new ice cream spot - COLD ROCK - which essentially involves you paying somebody to painstakingly smush various toppings into two scoops of ice cream - at a hefty dollar per topping. That racks up to about 5 dollars for the smallest "kiddie" serving, and includes only one topping. In my case, as I chose peanut M&Ms;I got exactly eight.

Sigh.

When we tell K that it's her bedtime...

...and she hasn't yet done all she wants to do, or perhaps she still feels there is more that she wants to do, though she doesn't quite know what, she says:

"What? But I don't feel fulfilled yet!"

How early the search begins...

Make sure this is not you

Someone who looks in the mirror and sees the person that she never ever wanted to be.

Let the chorva begin

I am inspired. Thanks to the swingiest sister in town, I have the push I need to do what it is I am certain I am meant to do for the rest of my life.

Idea for fiction

There's absolutely nothing wrong with a man having madonna-whore complex, for so long as he is able to find a woman who is perfectly happy being a madonna and would never deign to be a whore. There are, after all, such women.

Is it reasonable to believe a well-adjusted man with the madonna-whore complex would recognise that his whoring days are over and be quite able to live all his days making chaste and honourable love to his pristine princess?