With K and C lying under foot this summer, it is starting to be difficult to get any work done. Apart from their general clatter and clamour, I am also faced with the pressures of other super moms with no freelancing work who hie their spawn off to entertainment spots on the island - Wild, Wild Wet; West Coast Park and the go-carts, the Singapore Science Centre. It's true, there have been piano lessons and basketball, we did a jaunt to the National Museum for the Mozart Exhibit and the Singapore History Show, and managed two playdates, but apart from swimming and scootering, it's been pretty quiet. This is mostly to do with C's minor but still troublesome surgical procedure, which has kept us home. Still, I can't say that I have had that many complaints, perhaps because they are voracious readers. Another testimony to their resourcefulness is they are planning a garage sale for "Kids and Yayas" on Sunday at the function room...
But just as hard as it is to find good reading material for aged 8-11 in this day and age, it is perhaps even tougher to find great viewing material. In this over-aware, hyper-stimulated and still politically correct decade, the flicks of my own childhood do not easily translate. The situation is further complicated by the fact that both K and C have imaginations that work on overdrive - [they're nightly prayer is that they have 'no bad dreams'] - and are highly attuned to even the slightest possibility of being frightened. As such, we moved with success but not without struggle, mind you, through the Jurassic Park series, cushioned with comments like, "Spielberg doesn't allow children to die in his movies." We also went through a few James Bond movies which T and I both found to have slightly too much disturbing erotic imagery for our highly impressionables.
Last night, we went through our DVD collection and after dismissing too many films as being too "bastos for kids, we settled on either Men in Black or Mel Brook's Blazing Saddles - talk about bastos. Unfortunately, K balked at the scary alien faces in MIB, and despite some misgivings, we went in for Blazing Saddles, but not before explaining that some of the language they were going to hear was definitely not for school or their friends.
The verdict? Fart jokes transcend the decades. We are now looking for Silent Movie and Young Frankenstein.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Wisdom from Kung Fu Panda
"The past is history. The future is a mystery. Today is a gift - that's why it's called the present."
-Wu Gui
-Wu Gui
Conversation
Wife: My highschool classmate's father died. In his sleep.
Husband: How does one die in one's sleep.
Wife: I imagine it's very peaceful.It's like a dream or a nightmare, maybe.
Husband: And you can't wake up. That doesn't sound very peaceful.
Wife: Still, you're dead. No pain.
Husband: It's not good for the people at home, either. It would be kind of a shock.
Wife: It's like a heart attack in your sleep.
Husband: A heart attack in your sleep doesn't sound peaceful at all.
Beat.
Wife: You want to go running right now, don't you?
Husband: How does one die in one's sleep.
Wife: I imagine it's very peaceful.It's like a dream or a nightmare, maybe.
Husband: And you can't wake up. That doesn't sound very peaceful.
Wife: Still, you're dead. No pain.
Husband: It's not good for the people at home, either. It would be kind of a shock.
Wife: It's like a heart attack in your sleep.
Husband: A heart attack in your sleep doesn't sound peaceful at all.
Beat.
Wife: You want to go running right now, don't you?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Odd realisation
Great writers are a dime a dozen. It's great storytellers that are rare. One isn't necessarily the other. A great storyteller who is a mediocre writer is just slightly better than a brilliant writer who tells a poor story.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
In the meantime...
there were movies. Iron Man was a more than just your usual comic book hero romp. This is because of Robert Downey Junior who infused his Tony Stark with an iron fist full of real world sardonic wit, as well as smarts. And who knew Gwyneth could channel more heat as a red head?
And then there was the breathlessly and long awaited Sex & The City movie, which was intensely pleasurable, when while it was not without flaw. Its authentic moments surpassed its inauthentic ones which were both tolerable and excusable, at least to those well-acquainted with the characters. Noteworthy too is the "Philippines! Philippines!" moment - a small speaking role essayed by Ms Ching Valdes Aran as Big and Carrie's real estate broker.
Last night, we saw Caspian, which I felt surpassed the first Narnia film, particularly in terms of pacing and characterisation. It is also interesting to note the director's choice to make the Telmars Spanish. Why are they Spanish?
Last on the list is the Indiana Jones fourth...which pretty much everyone has panned. This weekend we will see that but take care to bring in our pockets plenty of managed expectations.
And then there was the breathlessly and long awaited Sex & The City movie, which was intensely pleasurable, when while it was not without flaw. Its authentic moments surpassed its inauthentic ones which were both tolerable and excusable, at least to those well-acquainted with the characters. Noteworthy too is the "Philippines! Philippines!" moment - a small speaking role essayed by Ms Ching Valdes Aran as Big and Carrie's real estate broker.
Last night, we saw Caspian, which I felt surpassed the first Narnia film, particularly in terms of pacing and characterisation. It is also interesting to note the director's choice to make the Telmars Spanish. Why are they Spanish?
Last on the list is the Indiana Jones fourth...which pretty much everyone has panned. This weekend we will see that but take care to bring in our pockets plenty of managed expectations.
March 23 - June 8, 2008
During this period, I started and finished a book. I'm not sure it's a great book, but it is my first book, such as it is and due recognition must be paid, at least by me.
September 1 is the start date of the next full-length project, working title: "The Real Thing."
In the meantime, I dream the little dreams, note the little notes, plan the little plans and do the prep work.
September 1 is the start date of the next full-length project, working title: "The Real Thing."
In the meantime, I dream the little dreams, note the little notes, plan the little plans and do the prep work.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
More novel thoughts
I had been feeling disgruntled and discouraged in the process of writing this book. I treated it like another copywriting job. Big mistake. Because of that, I wasn't as emotionally invested as I should have been. So I chugged along and got it down, but I wasn't enthralled. Enthrallment is a great motivator.
Then came deadline week. And then the word was that I needed to turn this baby in...today. So I came home from a day of tennis, lunch with the ladies and half-a-dozen shopping errands, sat down at my computer and took a look. That's when I discovered that by just changing one thing...in the middle, I was able to heighten and energise the whole thing, and consequently, that inspired a more natural ending, I think. That was kind of neat - that I could just go in and tweak it, goddess-like - and have the whole thing change and get revitalised somehow.
It is by no means perfect. But I feel much better about it than I did. What's more, I know how to go about this process better next time. And there will be a next time, for sure.
For now...at least, I'm happy to say I'm 2000 words short, but I see more clearly what it is I have to make happen. Once that's done...well then, I can go and do the next one.
With a hell of a lot more emotional investment.
Then came deadline week. And then the word was that I needed to turn this baby in...today. So I came home from a day of tennis, lunch with the ladies and half-a-dozen shopping errands, sat down at my computer and took a look. That's when I discovered that by just changing one thing...in the middle, I was able to heighten and energise the whole thing, and consequently, that inspired a more natural ending, I think. That was kind of neat - that I could just go in and tweak it, goddess-like - and have the whole thing change and get revitalised somehow.
It is by no means perfect. But I feel much better about it than I did. What's more, I know how to go about this process better next time. And there will be a next time, for sure.
For now...at least, I'm happy to say I'm 2000 words short, but I see more clearly what it is I have to make happen. Once that's done...well then, I can go and do the next one.
With a hell of a lot more emotional investment.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Ending Epiphany
I ought to have finished the book three days ago. But it is more difficult than I thought it would be. And the writing goes more slowly the fewer words I have left to spend, if that makes any sense. Am on page 158 and keep backtracking and rewriting and going round and round the same paragraphs, trying to determine the best way to end this. I am now realising why so many of the promising contemporary novels I have read go pretty much to pot from the climax onward, all the way to the end. And that's because it's very hard to pull off a convincing ending. But it has to end...and soon...
People are beginning to breathe down my neck...
People are beginning to breathe down my neck...
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Another novel thought
I am at pages 138. I figure I have to start wrapping things up. Perhaps about 60 to 70 pages to go. No more than that.
I also feel that things ought to be coming to a crescendo. And it's a little dismaying that they don't seem to be. Yes, circumstances are playing themselves out. Characters are moving, seem to be growing and they're talking a whole lot. But I am not sensing the kind of urgency that the later pages of a novel ought to be invested with. Am I stuck in a long novel? Qualm qualm qualm.
At Border's yesterday, I looked at the books in my "sector"...and came across only one that was something close to three inches thick ala War & Peace. The others were at a comfortable inch or inch and a half.
But it struck me as self-indulgent. I recall RS from 100 years ago saying to me, thin books don't sell. But still.Unless you're talking about an epic with a cast of thousands like, say War & Peace, I really have difficulty reconciling that kind of length in this kind of sector.
Call me a cynic. But one of the genuine charms of this genre resides in its brevity.
I think.
I also feel that things ought to be coming to a crescendo. And it's a little dismaying that they don't seem to be. Yes, circumstances are playing themselves out. Characters are moving, seem to be growing and they're talking a whole lot. But I am not sensing the kind of urgency that the later pages of a novel ought to be invested with. Am I stuck in a long novel? Qualm qualm qualm.
At Border's yesterday, I looked at the books in my "sector"...and came across only one that was something close to three inches thick ala War & Peace. The others were at a comfortable inch or inch and a half.
But it struck me as self-indulgent. I recall RS from 100 years ago saying to me, thin books don't sell. But still.Unless you're talking about an epic with a cast of thousands like, say War & Peace, I really have difficulty reconciling that kind of length in this kind of sector.
Call me a cynic. But one of the genuine charms of this genre resides in its brevity.
I think.
One more idle Idol thought
Neil Diamond was a fun night and all. But it occurs to me that there are other songwriters that deserve Idol nights. Off the top of my head, what about Kenny Rogers, Billy Joel, Abba, The Carpenters, Michael Jackson, Diane Reeves, Patti Austin. A Patti Austin night would be cool.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Is Idol COOKED?
As in...niluluto in Cook's favour?
Something funny happened on IDOL that made T and I think that maybe the show is pre-arranged. Paula made a boo-boo which cast today's show in a dubious light.
This evening, the final five had two chances to perform. All five sang their first songs, and then the judges were asked to weigh in. Except when Paula was asked to comment on the first contestant, Jason Castro, she commented on the both his songs - even though technically, he hadn't sang yet!
Now by itself,that wouldn't be much grounds for anything. What lent the proceeding even more suspicion was the reaction of both the judges as well as the final five themselves to Paula's blunder. They were tense and poker-faced as though hoping against hope that she would pull it together and recover by herself.
She didn't.
The funny thing was even the contestants looked blank. If I were Jason, it would have shown on my face - "Whaddya mean my second song? I haven't sung it!"
But it didn't show. It didn't show on anyone's faces.
Quickly Simon had to rein things in and jump in with his comments, thus keeping Abdul from giving her (literal) two-cents worth on Archuleta, Brooke White and Sayesha. Phew.
Now what was that about?
Wierd.
Something funny happened on IDOL that made T and I think that maybe the show is pre-arranged. Paula made a boo-boo which cast today's show in a dubious light.
This evening, the final five had two chances to perform. All five sang their first songs, and then the judges were asked to weigh in. Except when Paula was asked to comment on the first contestant, Jason Castro, she commented on the both his songs - even though technically, he hadn't sang yet!
Now by itself,that wouldn't be much grounds for anything. What lent the proceeding even more suspicion was the reaction of both the judges as well as the final five themselves to Paula's blunder. They were tense and poker-faced as though hoping against hope that she would pull it together and recover by herself.
She didn't.
The funny thing was even the contestants looked blank. If I were Jason, it would have shown on my face - "Whaddya mean my second song? I haven't sung it!"
But it didn't show. It didn't show on anyone's faces.
Quickly Simon had to rein things in and jump in with his comments, thus keeping Abdul from giving her (literal) two-cents worth on Archuleta, Brooke White and Sayesha. Phew.
Now what was that about?
Wierd.
I am realising...
that when you write a novel, you live in a fictional world. And when real world work crops up, it is a torturous and frightfully difficult thing to drag yourself out of the world you have created and into the one that you actually exist in physically. The act causes you to experience a sensation that's akin to seasickness or the nausea of pregnancy.
It's interesting the things this is bringing to my surface.
It's interesting the things this is bringing to my surface.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Overwhelmed
In the dawn of this new year, I wished for bounty. Here we are on Month 5, and I continue to be surprised and overwhelmed by everything that has been falling my way. I am realising however that I need to stop being an open basket of possibilities. At a certain point, I need to make choices - accept some things, reject others, and confront what is always my difficulty - trusting my instinct about what I want, what I need, and what is right for me.
This of course means that I must also say no. Saying no is yet another way of doing what is right for me.
This of course means that I must also say no. Saying no is yet another way of doing what is right for me.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Good advice not just for would-be Idols
"I want you to do two things. First, open your eyes. Second, open your eyes."
Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber to David Archuleta
Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber to David Archuleta
Archuleta says, 'Take That, Cook!'
Who doesn't like David Archuleta? What's not to like after all? He's cute. He's got appeal. He's disarmingly humble. (We should remember all the past idols have been humble, and this may be Cook's Achilles heel).
And no one can deny the Archuleta kid can sing.
But beside David Cook's vocal inventiveness, I had always thought Archuleta was the lesser David. Someone who is talented but at the end of the day, not ready. Not certain enough in the person that he is. Nice, yes. Cute, yes. As good as bubble gum pop or vanilla ice cream. OK...maybe even French vanilla...with a cutesy boyband twist. Nothing like the raw, edgy strength and confident energy that is the foundation of Cook's capable pipes.
But tonight on the Andrew Lloyd Webber show, Archuleta came back. He said, you want inventive? I'll give you inventive.
He sang Think Of Me. Think of me???!!!! WTF! Who would have thought? OK, edgy it was not, but it was new and different and pretty cool. Loved the acoustic sound! And really I think he has transformed a Broadway hit into pure pop for a new generation of listeners who wouldn't have ever heard this song their entire lives if he hadn't sung it. He made it sound like a Stephen Bishop song. Or a Rex Smith song. There were shades of Simply Jessie. Good, it was great. And although it was nice to see a different side of David Cook, his theatrical Music of the Night was solid enough, but it paled in comparison to the novelty of Archuleta's performance. Little David, as ALW called him, is not going to be taken down that easily. Or at least not without a fight. This David is taking on his Goliath. And the song was a clever slingshot.
Other idle Idol observations to nowhere...
*Why is Simon trying to slow the Archuleta tide? I thought his comment was way off.
*I am a fan of Brooke for making the most of what she has and working with her limitations, but come on. You can't mess up twice in the season. First with the restart in the Sting song. And then restarting the orchestra for You Must Love Me. That said, I thought it was a good song choice for her. It was written for Madonna after all...another one who has made the utmost of her vocal limitations.
*I also thought Carly Smithson got a very very unfair advantage. ALW steered her clear off her original choice of All I Ask Of You which would have been a certain disaster and would have gotten her kicked out tomorrow. As it is, she's safe just because she was saved from her song choice. Why didn't he steer my friend Jason off ofMemory?
Who's coaching these kids? In Project Runway, you always have that designer guy on hand to steer them clear off bad mistakes. No one's doing that for them on Idol. What the contestants should understand is that Idol is about pop music and the broadway show show is about making a stage hit sound like it's coming through to you on the airwaves, ideally in a hit record.
That said, here are some pop-able ALW songs in no particular order that could have been attempted tonight...
Unexpected Song, Come Back with That Same Look In Your Eyes, as well as Tell Me On A Sunday Please - all from SONG AND DANCE. JESUS CHRIST SUPER STAR's I Don't Know How To Love Him was made pop in the 70s by Helen Reddy, and could have been done again. It would have been interesting to see someone do Simon Zealotes for kicks. Or maybe David Cook could have sung Heaven on My MindPr "Could We Start Again Please." Some of the other new songs written for the movie version of EVITA, also possible as well as Another Suitcase in Another Hall. Barbra Streisand did All I Ask Of You, so it didn't really make it as a pop hit...
Clearly I could go on...but there's been enough idle/idol time.
And no one can deny the Archuleta kid can sing.
But beside David Cook's vocal inventiveness, I had always thought Archuleta was the lesser David. Someone who is talented but at the end of the day, not ready. Not certain enough in the person that he is. Nice, yes. Cute, yes. As good as bubble gum pop or vanilla ice cream. OK...maybe even French vanilla...with a cutesy boyband twist. Nothing like the raw, edgy strength and confident energy that is the foundation of Cook's capable pipes.
But tonight on the Andrew Lloyd Webber show, Archuleta came back. He said, you want inventive? I'll give you inventive.
He sang Think Of Me. Think of me???!!!! WTF! Who would have thought? OK, edgy it was not, but it was new and different and pretty cool. Loved the acoustic sound! And really I think he has transformed a Broadway hit into pure pop for a new generation of listeners who wouldn't have ever heard this song their entire lives if he hadn't sung it. He made it sound like a Stephen Bishop song. Or a Rex Smith song. There were shades of Simply Jessie. Good, it was great. And although it was nice to see a different side of David Cook, his theatrical Music of the Night was solid enough, but it paled in comparison to the novelty of Archuleta's performance. Little David, as ALW called him, is not going to be taken down that easily. Or at least not without a fight. This David is taking on his Goliath. And the song was a clever slingshot.
Other idle Idol observations to nowhere...
*Why is Simon trying to slow the Archuleta tide? I thought his comment was way off.
*I am a fan of Brooke for making the most of what she has and working with her limitations, but come on. You can't mess up twice in the season. First with the restart in the Sting song. And then restarting the orchestra for You Must Love Me. That said, I thought it was a good song choice for her. It was written for Madonna after all...another one who has made the utmost of her vocal limitations.
*I also thought Carly Smithson got a very very unfair advantage. ALW steered her clear off her original choice of All I Ask Of You which would have been a certain disaster and would have gotten her kicked out tomorrow. As it is, she's safe just because she was saved from her song choice. Why didn't he steer my friend Jason off of
Who's coaching these kids? In Project Runway, you always have that designer guy on hand to steer them clear off bad mistakes. No one's doing that for them on Idol. What the contestants should understand is that Idol is about pop music and the broadway show show is about making a stage hit sound like it's coming through to you on the airwaves, ideally in a hit record.
That said, here are some pop-able ALW songs in no particular order that could have been attempted tonight...
Unexpected Song, Come Back with That Same Look In Your Eyes, as well as Tell Me On A Sunday Please - all from SONG AND DANCE. JESUS CHRIST SUPER STAR's I Don't Know How To Love Him was made pop in the 70s by Helen Reddy, and could have been done again. It would have been interesting to see someone do Simon Zealotes for kicks. Or maybe David Cook could have sung Heaven on My MindPr "Could We Start Again Please." Some of the other new songs written for the movie version of EVITA, also possible as well as Another Suitcase in Another Hall. Barbra Streisand did All I Ask Of You, so it didn't really make it as a pop hit...
Clearly I could go on...but there's been enough idle/idol time.
New addiction
There is a beautiful outdoor cafe by the river. Nestled in a quiet corner beneath the shadow of a bridge, it sits in the shade of large trees. Sitting there, you feel each and every breeze that comes off that green river and even though there is a roof over your head, you are soaking in the great outdoors even while the free wireless flows your way along with the sunshine. The staff are friendly and nice and don't mind wild cackling or if occasion warrants, impromptu dancing. They serve good coffee with lovely cookies, which I will sometimes succumb to. But most of the time, I will have my iced green tea and me and the swingapore sister will write write write away...and push that word count up up up to the heavyside layer. There it is easy to sink into that meditative, creative state. Just say Eehhhhhmmmmmmmm....
I call it river-writing. Heartfelt thanks to my chicklitclick master for discovering it and showing it to me. It rocks.
I call it river-writing. Heartfelt thanks to my chicklitclick master for discovering it and showing it to me. It rocks.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Meanings of dreams
When he asked me to marry him, T promised me he would love me, be faithful to me, and always always interpret my dreams. I thought that was very romantic, but I have come to understand why he said that. Very shortly after the wedding he confessed in truth my dreams are pathetically transparent, pose absolutely no challenge and get this, they never did. He said I have what is known as a very literal subconscious - the has no real reason for being because everything in me is right there for all to see, very very close to the surface and ultimately, out there.
Anyway, last night I dreamt that my friends are waiting for me and quickly getting very irritated. I cannot go with them because I have left my bag as well as my watch at the far end of this very long strip of sandy beach. I then try to hurry to get my things but walking quickly in sand is very difficult and slow-moving, and my things get further and further away the more quickly I try to walk. My friends begin to show their aggravation. Some start to laugh at me. I hear them in the distance, and start feeling desperate. I have no idea why I am so slow...like I am in a dream. And then I realise I am dreaming, and I wake up.
T says my dream is about me recognising that right now in my life, I am spacing out and I am realising that if I don't come out of it soon, I know I will face much ridicule even from those who are on my side. Although it may be an easy one, I must say he has always been one for the shrewd and snappy dream interpretation.
Anyway, last night I dreamt that my friends are waiting for me and quickly getting very irritated. I cannot go with them because I have left my bag as well as my watch at the far end of this very long strip of sandy beach. I then try to hurry to get my things but walking quickly in sand is very difficult and slow-moving, and my things get further and further away the more quickly I try to walk. My friends begin to show their aggravation. Some start to laugh at me. I hear them in the distance, and start feeling desperate. I have no idea why I am so slow...like I am in a dream. And then I realise I am dreaming, and I wake up.
T says my dream is about me recognising that right now in my life, I am spacing out and I am realising that if I don't come out of it soon, I know I will face much ridicule even from those who are on my side. Although it may be an easy one, I must say he has always been one for the shrewd and snappy dream interpretation.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The way things work
At the their school, the students sometimes get awarded certificates for jobs done well, good behaviour or some kind of excellence in either academics or conduct. K has received one, and C has received something like five, much to her consternation. Today, he said he got another one for "enthusiasm in DEAR" - translated this means, when it is time to "Drop Everything And Read", C is first in line and last to put the book down. But of course he loves it. For us, his heavy-reading family, this is hardly a mark of excellence.
But C has explained to me how it works...
C: You see, K is a model student, right? And I am...
ME: You are not a bad student...you just need to behave better...
C: Yes, I am average...in behaviour...and so they give me these to inspire me to be even more good. But K is too good... she does not need to be inspired.
What do I do? He is too smart for his own good. Must mention this in next PTA meeting.
But C has explained to me how it works...
C: You see, K is a model student, right? And I am...
ME: You are not a bad student...you just need to behave better...
C: Yes, I am average...in behaviour...and so they give me these to inspire me to be even more good. But K is too good... she does not need to be inspired.
What do I do? He is too smart for his own good. Must mention this in next PTA meeting.
Quote for the day
...At the top of his voice, over the backdrop of LOVE SHACK playing at forte...
"Those of you who are new to Body Pump, take it easy. To the regulars, I say... welcome to the PLANET OF PAIN!"
-Andrew, the Body Pump gym instructor
"Those of you who are new to Body Pump, take it easy. To the regulars, I say... welcome to the PLANET OF PAIN!"
-Andrew, the Body Pump gym instructor
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Losing the plot
This expression always used to tickle my funny bone. Now it's not funny at all.
I am at the precipice of page 76 on a novel I need to deliver a draft of by May 1. Which means I have about 130 pages left, more or less. All of a sudden, I'm not sure what to do next. The outline I structured no longer fits and I am now at sea. There are a couple of directions I can take it, but once I take even one step forward, I must be committed as there is no turning back. That commitment is tough to find.
I must first see it...and then make it happen.
Not the other way around.
I am at the precipice of page 76 on a novel I need to deliver a draft of by May 1. Which means I have about 130 pages left, more or less. All of a sudden, I'm not sure what to do next. The outline I structured no longer fits and I am now at sea. There are a couple of directions I can take it, but once I take even one step forward, I must be committed as there is no turning back. That commitment is tough to find.
I must first see it...and then make it happen.
Not the other way around.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Brother and sister
Today was a bad day for C.
We went to see the opthalmologist who said that C could no longer play gameboy. He wasn't told to reduce the playing time per session. Nor was he told to play just two days a week. Dr. F said he should stop - full stop - until his eyes stabilised, in about four years. At first I thought C was taking it well. By the time we got to the car, he was weeping inconsolably. After all, a week to a nine-year-old is already an eternity. He simply could not conceive of four years. I tried to comfort him as best I could. I said that every child has something they have to bear. I talked to him about how K can't submerge her head in water when she swims because of her ears, and how she has made the best of it. He can too. We decided that he would give his gameboy away to M's son - a boy who is older, whose eyes are not weak, and who would not normally have access to a gameboy. That seemed to placate him, a little - the fact that there could be some happiness out of his pain. But when he got home, he continued to cry for a good long while.
I let him play one last time as a goodbye.
Now no more. The only thing that cheered him up was the thought that we could buy his favourite Gameboy game on the Wii platform, which our opthalmologist does allow. But still, it was a very tough day.
Driving K home from art camp, I told her about C's troubles. She was flabbergasted.
"Four years! Four years!??" She sighed with genuine sympathy and murmured softly to herself,"Poor C."
When she got home, she said, "I have something to cheer you up, Coby." She handed him one of the canvas paintings she did at art camp - a charming, rather deft picture of a vase of sunflowers against a navy background. I braced myself for a sarcastic comment or an angry, quick-witted retort. But he looked at it for a moment, then said,
"That's really nice, K. Thank you. Mom, can I hang it in my room?"
He brought it to his room, and we looked for a spot it could stay until we could manage to get it hung. He looked at it again, and smiled a little even though his eyes were still swollen and his cheeks still tear-stained.
K had made him feel better.
We went to see the opthalmologist who said that C could no longer play gameboy. He wasn't told to reduce the playing time per session. Nor was he told to play just two days a week. Dr. F said he should stop - full stop - until his eyes stabilised, in about four years. At first I thought C was taking it well. By the time we got to the car, he was weeping inconsolably. After all, a week to a nine-year-old is already an eternity. He simply could not conceive of four years. I tried to comfort him as best I could. I said that every child has something they have to bear. I talked to him about how K can't submerge her head in water when she swims because of her ears, and how she has made the best of it. He can too. We decided that he would give his gameboy away to M's son - a boy who is older, whose eyes are not weak, and who would not normally have access to a gameboy. That seemed to placate him, a little - the fact that there could be some happiness out of his pain. But when he got home, he continued to cry for a good long while.
I let him play one last time as a goodbye.
Now no more. The only thing that cheered him up was the thought that we could buy his favourite Gameboy game on the Wii platform, which our opthalmologist does allow. But still, it was a very tough day.
Driving K home from art camp, I told her about C's troubles. She was flabbergasted.
"Four years! Four years!??" She sighed with genuine sympathy and murmured softly to herself,"Poor C."
When she got home, she said, "I have something to cheer you up, Coby." She handed him one of the canvas paintings she did at art camp - a charming, rather deft picture of a vase of sunflowers against a navy background. I braced myself for a sarcastic comment or an angry, quick-witted retort. But he looked at it for a moment, then said,
"That's really nice, K. Thank you. Mom, can I hang it in my room?"
He brought it to his room, and we looked for a spot it could stay until we could manage to get it hung. He looked at it again, and smiled a little even though his eyes were still swollen and his cheeks still tear-stained.
K had made him feel better.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
One thing you can count on...
...when you're in the supermarket and they start playing Peabo Bryson's Nothing's Gonna Change My Love You, at least one supermarket staff member will sing along. Very likely more.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Easter Sunday
Pushing my family to 8:15am Easter mass may have been difficult, but it was certainly worth it. It was also the children's mass which not only made it not just appropriate but actually shorter than the other masses today. The children were led out Pied Piper style to enjoy their liturgy separately from the adults and K and C willingly went, as these days they are wont to do. But when they came returned, K had a face.
"How was it?" I whispered.
"Not great," she whispered back, clearly underwhelmed by the experience.
Then she proceeded to deliver a hilarious impression, complete with accent, of the lady in charge of preaching the children's liturgy...
"Jesus rose from the dead to save us from sin - be quiet and sit down!... and the bunnies give us life because they multiply...Put that down or leave immediately!"
I swear I almost burst out laughing right in the middle of mass.
I guess you had to be there.
"How was it?" I whispered.
"Not great," she whispered back, clearly underwhelmed by the experience.
Then she proceeded to deliver a hilarious impression, complete with accent, of the lady in charge of preaching the children's liturgy...
"Jesus rose from the dead to save us from sin - be quiet and sit down!... and the bunnies give us life because they multiply...Put that down or leave immediately!"
I swear I almost burst out laughing right in the middle of mass.
I guess you had to be there.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Where are all the great Beatles songs?
Christy Cook should have sung From Me To You. Amanda Overmier should have sung Hey Jude. David Archuleta chose well with The Long and Winding Road, but he could have also done The Fool On The Hill or Nowhere Man. Michael John should have sung All You Need Is Love, although I do like A Day In The Life. David Cook chose well with Day Tripper but I guess the judges were right. It was too much like last week. He could have sung Norwegian Wood.
I actually liked Carly, the tatooed Irish chick's choice of Blackbird but she could have also done justice to Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Brooke White should have sung Strawberry Fields like Sandy Farina or I Will. Jason Castro should have sung I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends like Peter Frampton did. He kind of has that goofy Peter Frampton quality.
Chikezie should have sung Get Back.
Sayesia was okay with Yesterday but Here, There, Everwhere would have also been a good choice. As for Ramielle Malubay, (who if I may say, doesn't seem to be hungry for this at all), if she really wanted to be upbeat, she should have sung any of the following: All My Loving or I Want To Hold Your Hand or She's Gotta Ticket To Ride or she should have stuck to her strengths with a meaningful ballad like For No One. Why has no one sung For No One?
Why aren't they picking them? I guess because they've never ever heard these songs before. Then again, who's coaching these kids? Why don't they have a Beatles mentor?
What about Nowhere Man? What about Golden Slumbers? What about Strawberry Fields or Penny Lane or You Never Give Me Your Money or my all-time favourite Paperback Writer?
Needless to say, I could go on and on and on.
I actually liked Carly, the tatooed Irish chick's choice of Blackbird but she could have also done justice to Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Brooke White should have sung Strawberry Fields like Sandy Farina or I Will. Jason Castro should have sung I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends like Peter Frampton did. He kind of has that goofy Peter Frampton quality.
Chikezie should have sung Get Back.
Sayesia was okay with Yesterday but Here, There, Everwhere would have also been a good choice. As for Ramielle Malubay, (who if I may say, doesn't seem to be hungry for this at all), if she really wanted to be upbeat, she should have sung any of the following: All My Loving or I Want To Hold Your Hand or She's Gotta Ticket To Ride or she should have stuck to her strengths with a meaningful ballad like For No One. Why has no one sung For No One?
Why aren't they picking them? I guess because they've never ever heard these songs before. Then again, who's coaching these kids? Why don't they have a Beatles mentor?
What about Nowhere Man? What about Golden Slumbers? What about Strawberry Fields or Penny Lane or You Never Give Me Your Money or my all-time favourite Paperback Writer?
Needless to say, I could go on and on and on.
Funniest IDOL quote for me
"I just found out that Ma belle is French. I thought it was English."
- Jason Castro
- Jason Castro
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Sitting with the Amoy traders
Those who do not know Singapore tend to harbor all sorts of stereotypes about it. Some true, and some, just patently untrue. For instance too many people worry inordinately about chewing gum. Some will dismiss the city state unfairly as being a little on the sleepy side in terms of night life, something that may have been true when we first moved here in 2000, but is quickly changing, even as we speak. Other misconceptions? That it is a city with no sense of history or culture, that there is nothing to do here except shop, go to the zoo and the bird park, and eat. That it is a concrete, urban mall city devoid green.
And of course, that's not true at all. Back in 2002, at the height of SARS, we decided not to set foot in the malls for so long as the disease was at large. Instead we spent our leisure in the city's parks and reservoirs. With K and C just a wee age four and three respectively, we would pack our lunches and get them out in the fresh air, trekking or hanging out at the playgrounds. We would always eat at outdoor restaurants believing (and I still think rightly) that the better the air circulation, the safer we would be. Forget the Botanic Gardens, we traipsed around the nature reserves - Bukit Timah, Bedok, Lower Pierce and McRitchie as well as places like Sungei Buloh. But it was not just the parks. Unlike many cities in Asia, there are little pockets of green in unexpected corners of the city, as well as tiny slices of culture. Like the beautiful sculpture by the massive tree, suspended in mid-air of boys leaping into the river, right behind the Fullerton Hotel, for example.
Yesterday, I found myself arriving at my meeting in a shophouse on Amoy street much too early. And since I couldn't find an open coffee shop or eating house, I decided to sit on park bench and read my book under the trees beside the Amoy traders. Just another lovely sculpture in the city of Singapore.
And of course, that's not true at all. Back in 2002, at the height of SARS, we decided not to set foot in the malls for so long as the disease was at large. Instead we spent our leisure in the city's parks and reservoirs. With K and C just a wee age four and three respectively, we would pack our lunches and get them out in the fresh air, trekking or hanging out at the playgrounds. We would always eat at outdoor restaurants believing (and I still think rightly) that the better the air circulation, the safer we would be. Forget the Botanic Gardens, we traipsed around the nature reserves - Bukit Timah, Bedok, Lower Pierce and McRitchie as well as places like Sungei Buloh. But it was not just the parks. Unlike many cities in Asia, there are little pockets of green in unexpected corners of the city, as well as tiny slices of culture. Like the beautiful sculpture by the massive tree, suspended in mid-air of boys leaping into the river, right behind the Fullerton Hotel, for example.
Yesterday, I found myself arriving at my meeting in a shophouse on Amoy street much too early. And since I couldn't find an open coffee shop or eating house, I decided to sit on park bench and read my book under the trees beside the Amoy traders. Just another lovely sculpture in the city of Singapore.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Hanging in HK
Serendipity is one of my favourite words. M and I been planning this girls' mini-break to see C and her Vs, big and small, for months. It is a great break to enjoy such sustaining connections with two of a very small handful of female friends that I have who are constantly helping me defy, correct and outgrow my personal notions of female friendship, the result of too many imperfect experiences growing up.
It was going to be short but certainly sweet, as it always is. Just three days.
What I did not expect was to see J from the old days. But as fate has it, things worked out, and I was able to carve out some time. At the crack of dawn today, I snuck off to have a lovely breakfast and a very thorough catch up with J, all the while feeling that pleasurable rush of connection. As always, I am pleasantly surprised by how vital these kinds of friendships I have are. Despite not really having much time together, the few times we do get are always nourishing, always rewarding. It is such a satisfaction to talk shop and have our individual opinions, thoughts and insights confirmed by each other's mutual smarts and interpersonal acuity.
I am not the sort of 40-year-old wife and mother of two that builds vast numbers of friendships. So often, there is no time and truth be told, no real inclination. But every now and then, l am handed these tremendous gifts - people who don't need so much of you - just that slice of self I am able to give and it is, blessedly, just enough...and in some ways, even more than sustaining than the friendships I am able to tend to on a more regular basis.
The other gifts of this trip that is in itself already a great gift? Well, a great 55-minute hike up the hills of Hong Kong with C. Tremendous food. A visit (ok I'll be honest, two visits) to the fabulous H&M and HMV. A 15-minute visit to a city chapel and a truly beautiful Lenten prayers for just three HKD$. And finally the most adorable personality of little V.
And me being me, I feel at this point, amid all this blessed bounty, that I yearn to come home and share the largesse with my own T, K and C.
It was going to be short but certainly sweet, as it always is. Just three days.
What I did not expect was to see J from the old days. But as fate has it, things worked out, and I was able to carve out some time. At the crack of dawn today, I snuck off to have a lovely breakfast and a very thorough catch up with J, all the while feeling that pleasurable rush of connection. As always, I am pleasantly surprised by how vital these kinds of friendships I have are. Despite not really having much time together, the few times we do get are always nourishing, always rewarding. It is such a satisfaction to talk shop and have our individual opinions, thoughts and insights confirmed by each other's mutual smarts and interpersonal acuity.
I am not the sort of 40-year-old wife and mother of two that builds vast numbers of friendships. So often, there is no time and truth be told, no real inclination. But every now and then, l am handed these tremendous gifts - people who don't need so much of you - just that slice of self I am able to give and it is, blessedly, just enough...and in some ways, even more than sustaining than the friendships I am able to tend to on a more regular basis.
The other gifts of this trip that is in itself already a great gift? Well, a great 55-minute hike up the hills of Hong Kong with C. Tremendous food. A visit (ok I'll be honest, two visits) to the fabulous H&M and HMV. A 15-minute visit to a city chapel and a truly beautiful Lenten prayers for just three HKD$. And finally the most adorable personality of little V.
And me being me, I feel at this point, amid all this blessed bounty, that I yearn to come home and share the largesse with my own T, K and C.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
What every mom should hear...
C: "I wish every kid was like me...to have such a nice Mom like you."
[Am I a lucky mother, or what?]
[Am I a lucky mother, or what?]
Writing
In graduate school, the goal writers in the program had was to be able to make a living writing. That was the dream. I've achieved it to a certain extent. But there was also another dream - to write great fiction. I've written fiction - even good fiction. But great, full-length fiction? Not quite yet, I don't think.
Now it's time to make another dream come true.
Now it's time to make another dream come true.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
"What would happen if I pricked this balloon...
...and it popped..."
Does anyone remember that priceless Sesame Street animated sketch? I'm finding it very useful as I talk to K and C about conscious decision-making. You know how it goes...
A little girl says in cause and effect steps, "What would happen if I pricked this balloon and it popped. That would scare my sister and she would drop the vase and then tell mother, and my mother would be mad and she would send me to bed without any supper...I would miss the chocolate pie Mother's making for dessert..." And there's this really funny audio "Pop! Whahahahah...Mommy!...tong tong tong tong tong Sally!" And then she ends..."Who wants to pop a nice balloon like this, anyway!"
I have told my kids about this as I come from an impulsive lot and while being impulsive has its joys and advantages, children need to be taught that an impulse is still very much in their control. Clearly, I have also spawned an impulsive lot.
We have been talking to K and C about impulses - about how there is in everyone a set of urges, triggers, knee-jerk reactions in the face of any specific set of circumstances. But as human beings, we must, in many cases, make the conscious act of choosing to follow the impulse or not. This means suspending the action for a moment and becoming aware, asking yourself - 'should I do this or not?'. It means thinking, 'If I do this, what would happen?', 'What would my mommy and daddy say?', 'What are the possible negatives that could happen and is there a chance that these would outwiegh the positives?'
I just wish I could actually show them the clip...maybe it's on YOUTUBE?
Does anyone remember that priceless Sesame Street animated sketch? I'm finding it very useful as I talk to K and C about conscious decision-making. You know how it goes...
A little girl says in cause and effect steps, "What would happen if I pricked this balloon and it popped. That would scare my sister and she would drop the vase and then tell mother, and my mother would be mad and she would send me to bed without any supper...I would miss the chocolate pie Mother's making for dessert..." And there's this really funny audio "Pop! Whahahahah...Mommy!...tong tong tong tong tong Sally!" And then she ends..."Who wants to pop a nice balloon like this, anyway!"
I have told my kids about this as I come from an impulsive lot and while being impulsive has its joys and advantages, children need to be taught that an impulse is still very much in their control. Clearly, I have also spawned an impulsive lot.
We have been talking to K and C about impulses - about how there is in everyone a set of urges, triggers, knee-jerk reactions in the face of any specific set of circumstances. But as human beings, we must, in many cases, make the conscious act of choosing to follow the impulse or not. This means suspending the action for a moment and becoming aware, asking yourself - 'should I do this or not?'. It means thinking, 'If I do this, what would happen?', 'What would my mommy and daddy say?', 'What are the possible negatives that could happen and is there a chance that these would outwiegh the positives?'
I just wish I could actually show them the clip...maybe it's on YOUTUBE?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
New favourite things
-Tennis lessons at night
-Reading non-fiction
-Recreating childhood comfort food
-Facials and massages
-Power walking first thing in the morning
-Doing weights in a class
-Staying home all day and not talking to anyone
-The Sun With Moon salad
-Ginger ale
-My new CD of assorted Woody Allen flick soundtracks
-Chopped cabbage,carrots, and beets mixed with dressed with olive oil and apple cider vinegar (don't knock it till you try it!)
-An apple, a pear, three dried apricots, a nectarine, all chopped up and dressed with lemon, a dollop of honey and grated ginger (ditto!)
-Magic miking after American Idol (a woman can dream, can't she?)
-Turning in early
-Reading non-fiction
-Recreating childhood comfort food
-Facials and massages
-Power walking first thing in the morning
-Doing weights in a class
-Staying home all day and not talking to anyone
-The Sun With Moon salad
-Ginger ale
-My new CD of assorted Woody Allen flick soundtracks
-Chopped cabbage,carrots, and beets mixed with dressed with olive oil and apple cider vinegar (don't knock it till you try it!)
-An apple, a pear, three dried apricots, a nectarine, all chopped up and dressed with lemon, a dollop of honey and grated ginger (ditto!)
-Magic miking after American Idol (a woman can dream, can't she?)
-Turning in early
Monday, February 25, 2008
Realisation
Not having seen any of the Oscar-nominated movies really takes the buzz out of watching the Oscars.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Bitten by the performance bug
Made my way to the school to watch the Arts performances the children put up for Arts' Week. K's class had put up a play about Mother Theresa and she was going to be the narrator. She had to memorise a long speech that included dates.Up until last night, she was worried about not being able to commit it to memory. There was also the fact that she left the speech in school. I suggested she rewrite it from memory on the computer and memorise that - which she did. I did not check up on her or test her or drill her. Whatever it was, she could handle it herself - I just said she should do her best.
And she did.
She was an excellent narrator - speaking slowly and clearly and making eye contact, when she could. Unlike the narrators in the other performances, she had no piece of paper. It was just her and the mike. She did a brilliant job.
Afterwards, she sat in the audience and I went to sit beside her. I hugged her and congratulated her and she hardly reacted. Her hands were cold. It seemed she didn't even see me. Could not even muster a hi for her Mom. In fact, she looked forlorn and woebegone.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She didn't answer. Just stared straight ahead at the performers onstage.
"What's wrong, tell me." I persisted, feeling anxious.
She was silent. Then she turned to me...
"After play blues" she whispered.
I laughed in relief.
"What am I going to do now?" she said like it was the end of the world.
A star is born.
And she did.
She was an excellent narrator - speaking slowly and clearly and making eye contact, when she could. Unlike the narrators in the other performances, she had no piece of paper. It was just her and the mike. She did a brilliant job.
Afterwards, she sat in the audience and I went to sit beside her. I hugged her and congratulated her and she hardly reacted. Her hands were cold. It seemed she didn't even see me. Could not even muster a hi for her Mom. In fact, she looked forlorn and woebegone.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She didn't answer. Just stared straight ahead at the performers onstage.
"What's wrong, tell me." I persisted, feeling anxious.
She was silent. Then she turned to me...
"After play blues" she whispered.
I laughed in relief.
"What am I going to do now?" she said like it was the end of the world.
A star is born.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
What's going on
*K and I have started reading Elizabeth Enright's The Saturdays, which I still vividly recall borrowing from the Maria Montessori School Library in Pasay when I was 11. It's a wonderful story about these brothers and sisters who live in a brownstone in New York city in the 1930s. They each only get 50 cents pocket money a week, but they have the idea of pooling all their money together and taking turns to have an independent Saturday afternoon adventure.
*C is doing well in his handwriting therapy. For some reason, his cursive is much more legible than his print. Having therapy after soccer works. He's tired and in the mood to do quiet work.
*After the glory that was Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach, I have allowed myself the guilty pleasure of Hotel Babylon by Anonymous and Imogen Edwards-Jones. It occurs to me if that much pilfering can happen in a luxury hotel, we should not be surprised that it happens in a government.
*Today I returned to hot yoga. This, after I tried (unsuccesfully) to get out of my still a year-to-go membership. It wasn't bad. Today's instructor was a far cry though from the instructors I had in 2005 who delved into the spiritual with their language, while facilitating the physical with their bodies. Today's instructor was all physical. There was no inspiring lecture about the spirit and the mind-body connection, which I sorely missed.
*We are planning for holidays and booking tickets. To my surprise there is a two week break in the last week of March and a gaping eight week hole for the kids in June. Perhaps it is time to go to the US.
*I am in a love-hate relationship with Facebook.
*C is doing well in his handwriting therapy. For some reason, his cursive is much more legible than his print. Having therapy after soccer works. He's tired and in the mood to do quiet work.
*After the glory that was Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach, I have allowed myself the guilty pleasure of Hotel Babylon by Anonymous and Imogen Edwards-Jones. It occurs to me if that much pilfering can happen in a luxury hotel, we should not be surprised that it happens in a government.
*Today I returned to hot yoga. This, after I tried (unsuccesfully) to get out of my still a year-to-go membership. It wasn't bad. Today's instructor was a far cry though from the instructors I had in 2005 who delved into the spiritual with their language, while facilitating the physical with their bodies. Today's instructor was all physical. There was no inspiring lecture about the spirit and the mind-body connection, which I sorely missed.
*We are planning for holidays and booking tickets. To my surprise there is a two week break in the last week of March and a gaping eight week hole for the kids in June. Perhaps it is time to go to the US.
*I am in a love-hate relationship with Facebook.
Monday, February 18, 2008
From a distance
After almost a decade of living outside the country in which you grew up, it is very easy to fall completely out of touch with what has been going on. Either that, or you slip into the pattern where recent political events serve merely as touchpoints in amusing cocktail conversations. It is sufficient merely to scan the headlines and
gather just enough of the facts to enable you to go through the motions of a debate that everyone acknowledges to be endless, even pointless. Eventually, you come to that predictably pat conclusion that things are "tough" or "complicated" or "not likely to be resolved in the near future." Living in Singapore, the distance is emotional and psychological and that breadth of space is so much more than the three and a half hours it takes to fly back to Manila.
It makes me wonder what people think...or if they think at all about the recent political problems in the Philippines (as opposed to thinking about those political problems that are not so recent). As a storyteller, I find it fascinating for its plot points - this story about a mouse ( a country mouse, by all accounts) caught in a trap that forces him to let his captors know where the bigger rats are. There are sexcapades in Hong Kong and "personal relations" and bribery at golf clubs, and more...
I am certainly far from the best person to explain what has been going on - for that, turn to The man with the mike under other Planes of Reality - who not only relates the situation more or less but also coolly comments on it, even while his reactive audience toss in their two-peso or two-hundred-peso views for all they're worth. She Rules also has a interesting take, an indictment on what people power has become. And this morning, I received a copy of the homily that was given at yesterday's mass for Lozada. Before reading it, I tried to predict its overall gist, and find I was not far off in my prediction. Once more, there is condemnation and a call to change. But from a distance, it sounds too familiar and unfortunately, rings as hollowly as a derivative pop song especially to someone who came of age during the first people power in 1986. It has made me ponder however. If I were at home now, would I have been at that mass? Very likely. Would I have been at that rally? It is possible. Would I be calling for change? And that is a question, to be sure.
Those in or out of the country who refuse to get drawn in, those who throw up their hands in exasperation or remain silent because they can propose no strategy or solution for what happens next, I feel give themeselves a convenient excuse. They say, it's a mess. What's the alternative? Who will take over? Corruption, especially excessive corruption, may make you feel outrage, but how can throwing out the regime be the plan, if the system itself is corrupt? How do we know that this won't happen again? And how are you sure that these tides of change the people are calling for won't be surfed upon or used and subverted by similarly corrupt elements?
All valid, to be sure, but these arguments ought not blind people from seeing the truth and condemning the wrong. It is very wrong. At the very least, shouldn't we be able to do that...condemn the wrong and uphold the truth?
Not to do so seems to me, to be just the same as saying, "It's complicated..." and letting those words trail off in silence. Some of us will refrain from taking a stance and leave it at that because we are fortunate enough to be in a position to do so, and from a distance to boot.
gather just enough of the facts to enable you to go through the motions of a debate that everyone acknowledges to be endless, even pointless. Eventually, you come to that predictably pat conclusion that things are "tough" or "complicated" or "not likely to be resolved in the near future." Living in Singapore, the distance is emotional and psychological and that breadth of space is so much more than the three and a half hours it takes to fly back to Manila.
It makes me wonder what people think...or if they think at all about the recent political problems in the Philippines (as opposed to thinking about those political problems that are not so recent). As a storyteller, I find it fascinating for its plot points - this story about a mouse ( a country mouse, by all accounts) caught in a trap that forces him to let his captors know where the bigger rats are. There are sexcapades in Hong Kong and "personal relations" and bribery at golf clubs, and more...
I am certainly far from the best person to explain what has been going on - for that, turn to The man with the mike under other Planes of Reality - who not only relates the situation more or less but also coolly comments on it, even while his reactive audience toss in their two-peso or two-hundred-peso views for all they're worth. She Rules also has a interesting take, an indictment on what people power has become. And this morning, I received a copy of the homily that was given at yesterday's mass for Lozada. Before reading it, I tried to predict its overall gist, and find I was not far off in my prediction. Once more, there is condemnation and a call to change. But from a distance, it sounds too familiar and unfortunately, rings as hollowly as a derivative pop song especially to someone who came of age during the first people power in 1986. It has made me ponder however. If I were at home now, would I have been at that mass? Very likely. Would I have been at that rally? It is possible. Would I be calling for change? And that is a question, to be sure.
Those in or out of the country who refuse to get drawn in, those who throw up their hands in exasperation or remain silent because they can propose no strategy or solution for what happens next, I feel give themeselves a convenient excuse. They say, it's a mess. What's the alternative? Who will take over? Corruption, especially excessive corruption, may make you feel outrage, but how can throwing out the regime be the plan, if the system itself is corrupt? How do we know that this won't happen again? And how are you sure that these tides of change the people are calling for won't be surfed upon or used and subverted by similarly corrupt elements?
All valid, to be sure, but these arguments ought not blind people from seeing the truth and condemning the wrong. It is very wrong. At the very least, shouldn't we be able to do that...condemn the wrong and uphold the truth?
Not to do so seems to me, to be just the same as saying, "It's complicated..." and letting those words trail off in silence. Some of us will refrain from taking a stance and leave it at that because we are fortunate enough to be in a position to do so, and from a distance to boot.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Mad wives
Every now and then, you get a chance to revive some long lost skill - it could be writing or scrapbooking or gardening or cooking. It might be badminton. Or tennis. But whatever it is, may you be so fortunate as to be able to find a small group of people who are already doing it. May they be vastly different from you in as many different ways as possible because difference spells excitement. May they have a measure of maturity as well as a measure of kindness, or at least sympathy. May they be funny and interesting and spirited in their achievements. They might be crazy but they are in a good way. They might hold this skill as important beyond all else or perhaps not that important in the larger scheme of things, but at least for that hour or morning or section of time, they focus and concentrate and the practice of that skill, whatever it is, is all that matters.
And may they accept your need and welcome you with open arms as I have been by my MWF mad wives...
And may they accept your need and welcome you with open arms as I have been by my MWF mad wives...
Forgot to say
it was a happy valentine's day - an evening best spent at home with those you love - and if you're luck - great gifts!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
More about reading
Growing up, I considered myself very fortunate to have at my relative disposal, the extensive girlhood library of my mother and her three sisters, assiduously maintained by my Tita G on the dark wood shelves in my grandmother's house on Espana extension. My Lola, so I've been told, would buy books by the boxful from school libraries and take them up to Baguio for her children's summer reading. (Something always struck me as wrong about that - why were libraries selling their books?). The books were like no books you can find today - Grosset & Dunlap editions of various series' - Nancy Drew, The Bobbsey Twins, The Dana Girls, Honey Bunch, and various one-off titles like Nobody's Girl and Understood Betsy and Family Shoes.
I recall spending Sunday afternoons among the dusty, yellowed volumes along with my cousins, trying to decide what I would "borrow" for the week. Sometimes, Tita G, who seemed to know her shelves like the back of her hand, would make a recommendation, sometimes she would leave us to our own devices. One of her most fervent recommendations was the Maida series.
She had three volumes in a dark blue green hardcover. Maida's Little Shop, Maida's Little House and Maida's Little School.
Despite their coy, cutesy titles, the novels were rich, graceful narrations about children who, it is very likely, no longer exist in this world. And that first story of the lonely little invalid rich girl, the daughter of a Wallstreet maverick, who decides that what will make her happy would be to keep a little shop and befriends the children of the town has lingered in my mind, even now that I am 40, as I am certain it lingers in Tita G's mind.
When it became evident that our K loved reading, we started doing what my cousins and I would do as girls led back then by Tita G. We started book hunts. What I found, however, was that many of today's books for girls, even little girls exhibit a certain precociousness and preciousness that I found myself resisting. I was uneasy about the inclusion of brands in the plots, the overly flippant, overly matter-of-fact characters and their excessively easy and accessible language. I also resented some of the characters themselves - seeming to be almost like imitations of characters on television. And I wanted K to experience the pleasures of rich, complex sentences. I wanted her to read about children who did not watch tv or play video games when they were bored. In fact, I wanted her to read about children who didn't get bored - whether it was because they worked or because they had so many activities of their own making, they had no time to be bored. I wanted her to learn about children who chose to be good, to be just, to be kind, to be generous not because it is right to be these things, but because these were the kind of children they were. So I thought back to the books I loved as a girl - and I remembered the Maida series.
We had already found reissues of Understood Betsy but Maida was more difficult to come by. Finally, I found it on Amazon under the imprint Biblio Bazaar, it was a 2007 reissue of a 1909 book. A month ago, we read it together, chapter by chapter. I would not let her go off and finish it by herself. I wanted us to savour it together. It still reads like a dream.
Now she has gone back to rereading Harry Potter and Anne of Green Gables, but I have already ordered Maida's Little House. I am also in the process of buying Maida's Little School second-hand. Perhaps it might even be that old grosset and dunlap edition that Tita G has. And we wait till we can once again escape into that lush, charming, innocent yet wise world of children who are able to spend their days occupied by nothing more than the green nature that surrounded them as well as the fertile fields of their own imagination.
I recall spending Sunday afternoons among the dusty, yellowed volumes along with my cousins, trying to decide what I would "borrow" for the week. Sometimes, Tita G, who seemed to know her shelves like the back of her hand, would make a recommendation, sometimes she would leave us to our own devices. One of her most fervent recommendations was the Maida series.
She had three volumes in a dark blue green hardcover. Maida's Little Shop, Maida's Little House and Maida's Little School.
Despite their coy, cutesy titles, the novels were rich, graceful narrations about children who, it is very likely, no longer exist in this world. And that first story of the lonely little invalid rich girl, the daughter of a Wallstreet maverick, who decides that what will make her happy would be to keep a little shop and befriends the children of the town has lingered in my mind, even now that I am 40, as I am certain it lingers in Tita G's mind.
When it became evident that our K loved reading, we started doing what my cousins and I would do as girls led back then by Tita G. We started book hunts. What I found, however, was that many of today's books for girls, even little girls exhibit a certain precociousness and preciousness that I found myself resisting. I was uneasy about the inclusion of brands in the plots, the overly flippant, overly matter-of-fact characters and their excessively easy and accessible language. I also resented some of the characters themselves - seeming to be almost like imitations of characters on television. And I wanted K to experience the pleasures of rich, complex sentences. I wanted her to read about children who did not watch tv or play video games when they were bored. In fact, I wanted her to read about children who didn't get bored - whether it was because they worked or because they had so many activities of their own making, they had no time to be bored. I wanted her to learn about children who chose to be good, to be just, to be kind, to be generous not because it is right to be these things, but because these were the kind of children they were. So I thought back to the books I loved as a girl - and I remembered the Maida series.
We had already found reissues of Understood Betsy but Maida was more difficult to come by. Finally, I found it on Amazon under the imprint Biblio Bazaar, it was a 2007 reissue of a 1909 book. A month ago, we read it together, chapter by chapter. I would not let her go off and finish it by herself. I wanted us to savour it together. It still reads like a dream.
Now she has gone back to rereading Harry Potter and Anne of Green Gables, but I have already ordered Maida's Little House. I am also in the process of buying Maida's Little School second-hand. Perhaps it might even be that old grosset and dunlap edition that Tita G has. And we wait till we can once again escape into that lush, charming, innocent yet wise world of children who are able to spend their days occupied by nothing more than the green nature that surrounded them as well as the fertile fields of their own imagination.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
First Sunday of Lent
The kids were especially good in mass today. Even C. Maybe it was the readings. The first reading in which the serpent tempts the woman and she succumbs - aren't children always fascinated by that? And then the gospel where the Devil tempts Jesus in the desert. C seemed absolutely rapt with attention. And then there was the music. Great songs were sung by the 12noon choir, one after another, in waves of comforting melody. The last song You are Mine by David Haas, always moves me. Today, it seemed that the children were also, similarly moved.
After all, who wouldn't be moved by the verse that reads, "Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me. I will bring you home. I love you and you are mine."
K's voice was soaring and while C didn't sing, he read every verse along with the music, quietly and it seemed to me, reflectively. I have to confess seeing him like that sent a joyful thrill down my spine.
After mass, he leaned toward me and whispered, "Mom...that last song..."
"Yes?" I half-said, half-asked, waiting for what, I don't know.
Some kind of insight? A thoughtful epiphany straight from the innocence of a child's heart?
"That last song...
...It sounded like the song sung by Kermit the Frog."
After all, who wouldn't be moved by the verse that reads, "Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me. I will bring you home. I love you and you are mine."
K's voice was soaring and while C didn't sing, he read every verse along with the music, quietly and it seemed to me, reflectively. I have to confess seeing him like that sent a joyful thrill down my spine.
After mass, he leaned toward me and whispered, "Mom...that last song..."
"Yes?" I half-said, half-asked, waiting for what, I don't know.
Some kind of insight? A thoughtful epiphany straight from the innocence of a child's heart?
"That last song...
...It sounded like the song sung by Kermit the Frog."
Saturday, February 09, 2008
I must not complain
when a job that was supposed to last a week, lasts two. I should be thankful instead that I can make a living in this manner, fairly easy enough. And it's not like I missed a huge lunar new year family reunion the way the graphic designers did. Nor did I keep excessively late hours. But yes, I am glad it is finished. I am glad to have a free week to look forward to and that tomorrow, I can have a massage. I am thanful and I am grateful. It is all good.
Friday, February 08, 2008
All of a sudden...
both my children are at ages that I clearly remember myself being. It has been giving me long and drawn out moments of disquiet, which I guess is to be expected at the age of 40.
For K's 10th birthday, she had two school friends over one Saturday. She had us make special strawberry smoothies to serve by the pool. Afterwards, they sat talking, listening to CDs and giving each other French manicures.
French manicures.
Today, C turned 9. Today, the second day of the lunar new year of the rat. It was auspicious.
Nine.
We celebrated as a family and took both kids to the Forest Adventure course in Bedok. It was a beautiful morning, sunny but cool and breezy, and the park by the reservoir was invitingly green everywhere you looked. The Adventure course cost 1M to build, so its website claims. They strung a series of rope obstacles high above the ground, each one connecting two huge trees in a grove, so children could make their way, while safely chained to cables and do a triumphant finish on a flying fox to the ground. C was very game, lithe and sure-footed as a goat, with a very strange fearlessness...as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with being up that high, walking tightropes from tree to tree. K, unfortunately, backed out pretty much at the get-set go and was in tears more due to the embarrassment and humiliation of the experience rather than any actual discomfort. Poor thing. I could relate.
Afterwards we drove back to Holland Village for a Mexican lunch at El Patio and then shopping for what is ultimately a joint birthday present to both - a wii. Back at home, there was a Spongebob sponge Cake(ha) with chocolate frosting and 9 candles. There was also a screening of Singing in the Rain which the birthday boy opted out of. Dinner was late - Black pepper crab, steamed shrimp and fried noodles and the tossing of good fortune Chinese New Year salad.
All in all, it was a good day. C's actual celebration takes place next week - a combat skirmish involving 15 boys and laser guns.
Laser guns.
I saw Singing in the Rain when I was ten.
For K's 10th birthday, she had two school friends over one Saturday. She had us make special strawberry smoothies to serve by the pool. Afterwards, they sat talking, listening to CDs and giving each other French manicures.
French manicures.
Today, C turned 9. Today, the second day of the lunar new year of the rat. It was auspicious.
Nine.
We celebrated as a family and took both kids to the Forest Adventure course in Bedok. It was a beautiful morning, sunny but cool and breezy, and the park by the reservoir was invitingly green everywhere you looked. The Adventure course cost 1M to build, so its website claims. They strung a series of rope obstacles high above the ground, each one connecting two huge trees in a grove, so children could make their way, while safely chained to cables and do a triumphant finish on a flying fox to the ground. C was very game, lithe and sure-footed as a goat, with a very strange fearlessness...as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with being up that high, walking tightropes from tree to tree. K, unfortunately, backed out pretty much at the get-set go and was in tears more due to the embarrassment and humiliation of the experience rather than any actual discomfort. Poor thing. I could relate.
Afterwards we drove back to Holland Village for a Mexican lunch at El Patio and then shopping for what is ultimately a joint birthday present to both - a wii. Back at home, there was a Spongebob sponge Cake(ha) with chocolate frosting and 9 candles. There was also a screening of Singing in the Rain which the birthday boy opted out of. Dinner was late - Black pepper crab, steamed shrimp and fried noodles and the tossing of good fortune Chinese New Year salad.
All in all, it was a good day. C's actual celebration takes place next week - a combat skirmish involving 15 boys and laser guns.
Laser guns.
I saw Singing in the Rain when I was ten.
Nothing like the wisdom of a child
"Being an older sister is like being an amatuer parent, except you don't have the job and the bills."
-K
-K
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Less than ideal circumstances
I had not planned on working at all through the Chinese New Year break, let alone this intensively. But as this is how things fell, I am making the best of it. Apart from CNY, there's also C's birthday to see to. The hope is I will be able to clear everything from my plate by midnight later this evening to be free to do fun, outdoor activities tomorrow. The other hope is that said food and entertainment establishments are open. We shall see.
It occurs to me to reflect that while much is made of the flexibility of the freelance life, there remains something to be said for leaving your work at the office.
It occurs to me to reflect that while much is made of the flexibility of the freelance life, there remains something to be said for leaving your work at the office.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
At last a movie in an actual theatre
After nearly six days of working 12 hours each, I finally allowed myself a movie with T, just because we hadn't seen one in two months. This, after a steady diet of boxed TV series rented from the nieghborhood store, including Aaron Sorkin's now defunct Sports Night (which is actually pretty good), JJ Abrams' Felicity and one night riveted to Notes on A Scandal - a film you don't think you want to see, but when you finally do, you're glad you did.
Unfortunately, I lost the coin toss, and instead of Atonement, we saw Cloverfield. Fortunately, it was pretty good.
Unfortunately, I lost the coin toss, and instead of Atonement, we saw Cloverfield. Fortunately, it was pretty good.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sudden memory that made me laugh out loud
It's funny what pops into your head when you're madly trying to meet a writing deadline. At around five o'clock this afternoon, I remembered the Christmas party we had thrown for the yayas last December. Before the games and festivities, all the guests-of-honour were asked to introduce themselves, say how long they've been working in Singapore, and tell something funny about their job, where they work or their amo (employer).
When our own M gets her turn, she says with a straight face but smiling eyes, "Ako si M, seven years na ako dito..."
(beat)
"Walang nakakatawa sa bahay ng amo ko."
[Translation: "I am M, I've been here 7 years. There is nothing funny about my employer's house."
When our own M gets her turn, she says with a straight face but smiling eyes, "Ako si M, seven years na ako dito..."
(beat)
"Walang nakakatawa sa bahay ng amo ko."
[Translation: "I am M, I've been here 7 years. There is nothing funny about my employer's house."
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
A little girl
just turned 10 can still wail like a three-year-old if circumstances conspire against her. Which unfortunately, they did today for K, when she lost her first mobile phone.
You wouldn't think so
but picking up a badminton racquet and playing a game after a year and a half of not playing is much more difficult than picking a tennis racquet for the first time and playing...
Not that I was actually playing tennis.
Not that I was actually playing tennis.
Friday, January 18, 2008
What is going on?
Remember how the new year is a new born baby and the old year is a doddering old man? Not 2007. 2007 was a herculean in strength, a marathon runner making split second time. But forget 2007, where is 2008 flying off to? This little babe is running clear across the tracks, and his chubby legs are surprisingly fleet. Why such a hectic, frenetic pace? Where are you rushing off to, baby? Didn't we just finish Christmas? But now it's Chinese New Year, and immediately after that Lent. And then the first quarter will be over and done with.
It's getting to feel like there is no time to do the things I need to do. Scratch that.
I am doing all the things I want to do and need to do in 2008, and so much more, no matter how fast it's going.
It's getting to feel like there is no time to do the things I need to do. Scratch that.
I am doing all the things I want to do and need to do in 2008, and so much more, no matter how fast it's going.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Sharing Shakespeare Tales
Wild tales are essential reading, the stimulus of a developing imagination, a resource in the tedium of day-to-day existence, sparking lasting pleasure and keeping alive the crucial capacity to daydream."
- Charles Lamb, 1802
I ran into the greatest thing while I was shopping for Christmas gifts over the holidays, Tales from Shakespeare, a very old book by Charles & Mary Lamb, [an extraordinary brother and sister team - whose exploits actually deserve a separate entry]. As it always happens when I go shopping, I ended up buying this for the kids. It was days before our trip to Switzerland, and somehow, I had a vision of us reading Shakespeare and sipping hot chocolate in a log cabin while snow fell onto a gentle blanket outside.
Due to the fact that the Lauterbrunnen flat had not only cable but wireless, this did not happen as easily as I had hoped. Spongebob Squarepants, even in German, proved a mighty rival to the kiddies' attention, and the fact thaTt T and I had our own tomes in tow (Anne Enright's The Gathering and T's The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman by Louis de Bernieres). Still, we managed to wheedle them away with promises of great action and drama in MacBeth, which both K and C enjoyed much more than I thought they would.
I had fully intended to continue our family forays into these wild tales as Charles Lamb calls them, once we got home, but discovered, much to my dismay, that the already beloved book was nowhere to be found.
"You must have left it at the house in Lauterbrunnen," says K placidly. I was disappointed, naturally. It had been a 10$ Puffin edition with a bright, green child-pleasing colour.
Last week, I went back to that particular bookstore in Plaza Singapura to re-purchase the book, and found they had run out of the ten dollar edition. What they did have was a rather adult Penguin edition for a formidable 21 dollars. The cover was dark, both in colour and in tone due to a rather frightening artistic rendition of MacBeth, which I knew would disturb my children's sensitive sensibilities. But I bought it, nonetheless. We now plan to follow MacBeth up with Romeo and Juliet. T would have liked to do Julius Ceasar, recalling his own youthful foray under the guidance of the beloved teacher Pagsi, but for some strange reason, the Lambs did not choose to retell this particular one.
I wonder rather nigglingly though whether it matters that my children will not be starting with Shakespeare itself, rather with these retellings, but am reassured both by my own experience and by the Lambs themselves.
After all, the first I ever knew of Shakespeare was through the plays I saw as a child with my parents - in Rolando Tinio's Teatro Pilipino in CCP's Little Theatre in Manila in the 70s. I have a vivid memory of my Tita Ella as Lady MacBeth. These productions were my first experience of Shakespeare, my stepping stones, and they were Tagalog translation.
Charles Lamb says in his preface, these retellings are intended as stepping stones to the plays themselves, but the stories themselves have powerful "ethical effect." And in whatever form, they are to be "enrichers of the fancy, strengtheners of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish and mercenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honourable thoughts and actions, to teach (you) courtesy, benignity, gernosity, humanity, for of examples, teaching these virtues, Shakespeare's pages are full." It's hard to argue with that.
I am reminded of mine and the Quintosian all-time favourite novel, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, where the heroine, Francie's mother, Katie is advised to read to her children from infancy every day without fail, two pages a day each from the two best books in the world - the Bible and the plays of Shakespeare. By the end of the book, Francie and her brother Neely make it to college. Neely who doesn't even want to go to college, finds they are doing Julius Ceasar in his freshman english class and he knows it "backwards, forwards and upside down."
And I don't wonder that this isn't what led me to the idea of reading the kids Shakespeare in the first place.
- Charles Lamb, 1802
I ran into the greatest thing while I was shopping for Christmas gifts over the holidays, Tales from Shakespeare, a very old book by Charles & Mary Lamb, [an extraordinary brother and sister team - whose exploits actually deserve a separate entry]. As it always happens when I go shopping, I ended up buying this for the kids. It was days before our trip to Switzerland, and somehow, I had a vision of us reading Shakespeare and sipping hot chocolate in a log cabin while snow fell onto a gentle blanket outside.
Due to the fact that the Lauterbrunnen flat had not only cable but wireless, this did not happen as easily as I had hoped. Spongebob Squarepants, even in German, proved a mighty rival to the kiddies' attention, and the fact thaTt T and I had our own tomes in tow (Anne Enright's The Gathering and T's The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman by Louis de Bernieres). Still, we managed to wheedle them away with promises of great action and drama in MacBeth, which both K and C enjoyed much more than I thought they would.
I had fully intended to continue our family forays into these wild tales as Charles Lamb calls them, once we got home, but discovered, much to my dismay, that the already beloved book was nowhere to be found.
"You must have left it at the house in Lauterbrunnen," says K placidly. I was disappointed, naturally. It had been a 10$ Puffin edition with a bright, green child-pleasing colour.
Last week, I went back to that particular bookstore in Plaza Singapura to re-purchase the book, and found they had run out of the ten dollar edition. What they did have was a rather adult Penguin edition for a formidable 21 dollars. The cover was dark, both in colour and in tone due to a rather frightening artistic rendition of MacBeth, which I knew would disturb my children's sensitive sensibilities. But I bought it, nonetheless. We now plan to follow MacBeth up with Romeo and Juliet. T would have liked to do Julius Ceasar, recalling his own youthful foray under the guidance of the beloved teacher Pagsi, but for some strange reason, the Lambs did not choose to retell this particular one.
I wonder rather nigglingly though whether it matters that my children will not be starting with Shakespeare itself, rather with these retellings, but am reassured both by my own experience and by the Lambs themselves.
After all, the first I ever knew of Shakespeare was through the plays I saw as a child with my parents - in Rolando Tinio's Teatro Pilipino in CCP's Little Theatre in Manila in the 70s. I have a vivid memory of my Tita Ella as Lady MacBeth. These productions were my first experience of Shakespeare, my stepping stones, and they were Tagalog translation.
Charles Lamb says in his preface, these retellings are intended as stepping stones to the plays themselves, but the stories themselves have powerful "ethical effect." And in whatever form, they are to be "enrichers of the fancy, strengtheners of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish and mercenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honourable thoughts and actions, to teach (you) courtesy, benignity, gernosity, humanity, for of examples, teaching these virtues, Shakespeare's pages are full." It's hard to argue with that.
I am reminded of mine and the Quintosian all-time favourite novel, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, where the heroine, Francie's mother, Katie is advised to read to her children from infancy every day without fail, two pages a day each from the two best books in the world - the Bible and the plays of Shakespeare. By the end of the book, Francie and her brother Neely make it to college. Neely who doesn't even want to go to college, finds they are doing Julius Ceasar in his freshman english class and he knows it "backwards, forwards and upside down."
And I don't wonder that this isn't what led me to the idea of reading the kids Shakespeare in the first place.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
It's Funny...
the thoughts that occur to you when you find yourself doing something you've only read about or seen in the movies. Adjusting my winter hat so that it would look nice yet still cover my ears and warm most of my head, it occured to me to wonder whether I could ever possibly look as beguiling as Ali McGraw in her winter hat in the movie Love Story.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
40 is the best time to see
The Way We Were. I think so, anyway. How is it possible that I had never seen this tremendous movie until now? It's mind boggling. Faced with a very broad array of film options the day we flew out of Zurich, I knew that the trick would be making the right decision. I had twelve hours during which I would not be able to sleep - and none of the current hits appealed. But then I saw it and I knew, this was the right time and the right place for this particular movie great by Sidney Pollack starring Robert Redford who looks uncannily like Brad Pitt, and Barbra Streisand in all her unconventional gorgeousness looking like no one else but the luscious goddess that she was, is and always will be. Five minutes into it, and I knew, it was not just my type of movie - it was my movie. How I had gone so long without having ever seen it?
And yet I feel certain that I would not have understood it and appreciated it as much as I have been able to do so now.
So afterwards, after Robert Redford says, "See Ya Katie," and the strains of Memories start to soar, I sigh and wipe my tears and blow my nose and think...what shall I see next?
And that's when I find Funny Girl.
Hello Gorgeous!
I must have been Jewish in a previous life.
And yet I feel certain that I would not have understood it and appreciated it as much as I have been able to do so now.
So afterwards, after Robert Redford says, "See Ya Katie," and the strains of Memories start to soar, I sigh and wipe my tears and blow my nose and think...what shall I see next?
And that's when I find Funny Girl.
Hello Gorgeous!
I must have been Jewish in a previous life.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
The inventiveness of a child
There is a kind of creativity that belongs solely to children. It is deft and exact in its perfection. I never fail to be amazed when I am confronted with this kind of inventiveness and yes, I must say with more than a measure of pride, it never ceases to amaze me how inventive my children are.
Fairly quickly into their first experience of snow this past holiday in Switzerland, K and C discovered, much to their dismay, that it was not all that easy to make a snowman. More to the point, it was nowhere as easy as their favourite comic strip snowman and snowball-building characters Calvin (& Hobbes) or Charlie Brown (Peanuts)had led them to believe. The snow on Pilatus mountain was feathery fine and would not scrunch. The snow on Tetlis was in large hard chunks. And on Mt. Rigi, the snow was ice.
But the backyard behind the house in which we stayed in the alpine village of Lauterbrunnen offered a generous expanse of knee-high snow that seemed altogether different. Maybe it was because this snow got more sunshine, I don't know. The children were thrilled. The day we arrived there, they insisted we simply stay home and veg and play in the snow. And that's what we did.
As they began attempts to construct their first snowman - K and C honed in a certain kind of texture of snow without which a snowman would be impossible to create.
"It's just a bit wet but not a bit melted," K explained to me. "It's called 'Core'" she said with utter seriousnes.
"Core?" I repeated.
"Yes, that's what I call it... Core"
K and C found sheets of "core" resting on dashboards of cars in the parking lot and lumps of it on the branches of the surrounding pine trees. They found it aplenty and hauled it in to our chosen snowman spot.
"Get the core; get the core!" They called to each other, unmindful of the blocks of ice that would occasionally fall with a crash from the nearby mountain falls. And whenever they found a supply of freshcore, say on the steps by the front door or by the fence - they squealed with excitement and delight. "It's core! It's core!"
And sure enough, "core" was the perfect texture for molding a snowman with a firm foundation - just as K had said.
As the one in charge of smoothing down and patting the snowman's curves for her strong and erect foundation (we named her Roxy), I too soon started calling for them to bring me more "core."
What can I say? Core was precisely what it was.
Fairly quickly into their first experience of snow this past holiday in Switzerland, K and C discovered, much to their dismay, that it was not all that easy to make a snowman. More to the point, it was nowhere as easy as their favourite comic strip snowman and snowball-building characters Calvin (& Hobbes) or Charlie Brown (Peanuts)had led them to believe. The snow on Pilatus mountain was feathery fine and would not scrunch. The snow on Tetlis was in large hard chunks. And on Mt. Rigi, the snow was ice.
But the backyard behind the house in which we stayed in the alpine village of Lauterbrunnen offered a generous expanse of knee-high snow that seemed altogether different. Maybe it was because this snow got more sunshine, I don't know. The children were thrilled. The day we arrived there, they insisted we simply stay home and veg and play in the snow. And that's what we did.
As they began attempts to construct their first snowman - K and C honed in a certain kind of texture of snow without which a snowman would be impossible to create.
"It's just a bit wet but not a bit melted," K explained to me. "It's called 'Core'" she said with utter seriousnes.
"Core?" I repeated.
"Yes, that's what I call it... Core"
K and C found sheets of "core" resting on dashboards of cars in the parking lot and lumps of it on the branches of the surrounding pine trees. They found it aplenty and hauled it in to our chosen snowman spot.
"Get the core; get the core!" They called to each other, unmindful of the blocks of ice that would occasionally fall with a crash from the nearby mountain falls. And whenever they found a supply of fresh
And sure enough, "core" was the perfect texture for molding a snowman with a firm foundation - just as K had said.
As the one in charge of smoothing down and patting the snowman's curves for her strong and erect foundation (we named her Roxy), I too soon started calling for them to bring me more "core."
What can I say? Core was precisely what it was.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
My first glimpse of holly
After years in my youth of drawing holly leaves and red berries copied off of yuletide images seen and remembered for countless homemade Christmas cards, I experienced a small but definite thrill of joy when I saw actual holly for the first time - the plant, the tree, the leaves, the berries.
How wonderful to all of a sudden know with certainty that this really really is what it looks like and that I had been drawing the right thing...
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Swiss Family C - 2008
Family
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence
The holiday's eight days were each and all more than ably planned by our own personal travel expert T - such that we had a taste of city delights, and to paraphrase the Osmonds, a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll, and a lot of death-defying rides in cable cars and alpine mountain trains.
We flew into Zurich and hopped on the train for Lucerne - just 40 minutes away. That first day, we did a walking tour of the city, feeding the swans and mallards on the lake, and crossing the old bridge across the river, seeing the lion monument and climbing a hill to a castle that offered amazing views of the lake, the picturesque city and its breathtaking snow-capped alps.There we spent three nights, taking day trips to the mountains - Engleberg for Tetlis - an awesome 3000m above c-level and even a lake cruise to Viznau so we could climb Mt. Rigi. Day 4, we transferred to the tiny town of Lauterbrunnen via Interlacken. T found a very well-priced flat just next to glacial falls. There we spent another three nights - including new year's eve - and went up to the alpine villages of Murren and Wengen. At Murren, we even went all the way up to the peak of Mt. Schilthorn for spectacular views of the trio of alps - Monch, Eiger and Jungfrau. On January 2, we ran for the trains for a day trip in the beautiful medieval town of Bern to see two bear mascots in the pits, finally ending up once more in Zurich and catching our flight home at noon on the 3rd. In all, three cities and four mountain villages.
The other good thing was being stress - (strasse!) free with no driving at all. As T rightly pointed out, the Swiss train system is excellent - clean, well kept and run frighteningly on the dot. And as we packed with consummate skill (just one roller and one backpack each), moving from spot to spot was fairly easy, giving us only the very slightest difficulty.
Apart from all those alps, these were the high points, pun intended: there was a terrific sled ride on Mount Pilatus, a terrifyingly treacherous sled ride down the slopes of Tetlis' surrounding hills all the way down to the town of Engleberg, during which we actually opted to park the kids' sleds and take one each on ours. Finally, there was a nicely manageable ride down from the Allmend hills to the village Wengen. There were also the real pleasures of a lake cruise and a hardy snow mountain hike - in particular the 55 minute jaunt down Mt Rigi.
Now, it's onto the next adventure of the new year...
Intrepid travellers
Zurich Airport
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence
Just got back from taking the kiddies on their first trip to Europe - more specifically, three cities in Switzerland,including daytrips to four villages in the alps. Lots of sightseeing, running for trains, and trudging about in snow - all in minus degree weather. And they were about as hardy as we were...troupers on the trip, with hardly any complaints.
Guess it's true that the apples don't fall far from the tree.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Wishing comfort and joy to one and all
IMG_Xmas
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence
this Christmas...
...and the time and space in the day to relish
a spot of silence and contemplate the joyous miracle borne
unto the world!
Noel!
Noelle
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Testing the boots
IMG_log
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence
At this point, we had no idea we still had a couple of hours of trekking...
From the treetops
As it happens, we had nothing scheduled today. No errands. No classes. No social doings. It was glorious to sleep in and have a lazy breakfast and pad around in our pajamas, just puttering around. When eleven o'clock rolled around, we decided to get ou and do something physical. C said, "You don't mean hit someone, right?"
We decided to kill two birds with one stone and break in our Switzerland boots by going for a trek at McRitchie and doing the famed treetop walk. K was reluctant - she had done this already. I was somewhat game. The menfolk were eager. So we set off in our gear and caps. The day was surprisingly sunny yet cool. When we entered the forest trails it was 1:00. There were sightings of flying squirrels and monkeys. We had braved the heights of the treetop bridge. We had trekked by streams on trails of rock and mud. The boots held up. And so did we. There were many discussions. There were many jokes told. We sang excerpts from Once on this Island and Sponge Bob Square Pants. We did multiplication tables. There were breaks for water and gingerbread cookies. There was a pebble in one boot and a bit of a tantrum from C who didn't like us singing because it "scared away the nature."
Two and a half hours and apparently 7 kilometres later, we emerged, hot and sweaty but feeling virtuous. Virtuous and starving. Fittingly, that's when it began to drizzle. We climbed into the car and went for a very late lunch at Billy Bomber Burgers in Marina Mall - in our hiking gear and boots and all.
Just another day to be grateful for...of family fun this Christmas season.
We decided to kill two birds with one stone and break in our Switzerland boots by going for a trek at McRitchie and doing the famed treetop walk. K was reluctant - she had done this already. I was somewhat game. The menfolk were eager. So we set off in our gear and caps. The day was surprisingly sunny yet cool. When we entered the forest trails it was 1:00. There were sightings of flying squirrels and monkeys. We had braved the heights of the treetop bridge. We had trekked by streams on trails of rock and mud. The boots held up. And so did we. There were many discussions. There were many jokes told. We sang excerpts from Once on this Island and Sponge Bob Square Pants. We did multiplication tables. There were breaks for water and gingerbread cookies. There was a pebble in one boot and a bit of a tantrum from C who didn't like us singing because it "scared away the nature."
Two and a half hours and apparently 7 kilometres later, we emerged, hot and sweaty but feeling virtuous. Virtuous and starving. Fittingly, that's when it began to drizzle. We climbed into the car and went for a very late lunch at Billy Bomber Burgers in Marina Mall - in our hiking gear and boots and all.
Just another day to be grateful for...of family fun this Christmas season.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Joke on the run
Christmas vacation. We've been watching DVDs. First Akeela & The Bee which I thought was great. Yesterday, we rented and Karate Kid and Clash of the Titans. And then there's Boggle in the evenings - the kids are pretty good, and will sometimes even beat T, on occasion.
And the runs by the canals continue - not every day but frequently enough. Today, K joined us. And C came up with a joke that I thought was pretty good.
Question: What did the Daddy cannibal say to his son, after they went for a morning run?
Answer: See, this is how you get a-head!
And the runs by the canals continue - not every day but frequently enough. Today, K joined us. And C came up with a joke that I thought was pretty good.
Question: What did the Daddy cannibal say to his son, after they went for a morning run?
Answer: See, this is how you get a-head!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Oh the weather outside is frightful...
You would think we'd be used to this after eight years in Singapore - a grey, wet Christmas...
Sunday, December 16, 2007
My daughter, the savvy fashion shopper
Sunday night inside a fitting room at Bebe in Vivo City...
ME: Does your Dad know you're with me.
K: Yes, I told him I was going to go to you. He said, 'You're going to Beh Beh,' - (Laughs). He doesn't know it's Beebe
(I laugh and try on a dress that's 70% off)
ME: Well?
K: I like it, but how much is it.
ME: It's $XX...
K: (shocked) What?!>!
ME: (sheepishly) But it used to be $XXX!
K: Hmmm, but how do you know they're not just saying that it used to be $XXX?
[Beat in which I think about this]
ME: Because they're not allowed to do that.
K: But what if it's just marketing?
[Beat in which I think about this]
ME: The first question is does it look good.
K: (Looks at me thoughtfully] It looks good.
ME: OK then. It's 70% off and it fts and it looks good and I need a Christmas dress...
K: It's your money...
My nine-year-old daughter walks away. I pause in the fitting room, wondering if it really is Beebe as I have no idea...
ME: Does your Dad know you're with me.
K: Yes, I told him I was going to go to you. He said, 'You're going to Beh Beh,' - (Laughs). He doesn't know it's Beebe
(I laugh and try on a dress that's 70% off)
ME: Well?
K: I like it, but how much is it.
ME: It's $XX...
K: (shocked) What?!>!
ME: (sheepishly) But it used to be $XXX!
K: Hmmm, but how do you know they're not just saying that it used to be $XXX?
[Beat in which I think about this]
ME: Because they're not allowed to do that.
K: But what if it's just marketing?
[Beat in which I think about this]
ME: The first question is does it look good.
K: (Looks at me thoughtfully] It looks good.
ME: OK then. It's 70% off and it fts and it looks good and I need a Christmas dress...
K: It's your money...
My nine-year-old daughter walks away. I pause in the fitting room, wondering if it really is Beebe as I have no idea...
Mom & Son Run
We awoke early this Sunday to bond and run as only a mother and son can. Since I got a new pedometer, I gave him my old one. And that gadget was enough to get him excited about the exercise. woke him at 7:30, and we hit the road, walking over to the connector park by the creek, five minutes away.
The day was cool and bright and lots of people were out, which surprised me, considering it was Sunday. It was green and breezy and we managed to spot a number of colourful birds - one was blue with an orange bill, and there were a couple of cranes. "This is nice," my son murmured as though to himself.
At first, C was reluctant to do more than walk. "I can't run," he said, "I get tired..." So we broke it up into manageable bites. I told him, "Let's just sprint for 10 counts, and then walk, and then sprint again for ten..." He was amenable, and by the time we reached the end, we were running for 15 counts. We also managed three sets of 10 squats. He clocked in 5780 steps - about 3.5 km - 40 minutes of walking. I was very proud of him and he was very proud of himself. So much so that he's game to do it again tomorrow...
The day was cool and bright and lots of people were out, which surprised me, considering it was Sunday. It was green and breezy and we managed to spot a number of colourful birds - one was blue with an orange bill, and there were a couple of cranes. "This is nice," my son murmured as though to himself.
At first, C was reluctant to do more than walk. "I can't run," he said, "I get tired..." So we broke it up into manageable bites. I told him, "Let's just sprint for 10 counts, and then walk, and then sprint again for ten..." He was amenable, and by the time we reached the end, we were running for 15 counts. We also managed three sets of 10 squats. He clocked in 5780 steps - about 3.5 km - 40 minutes of walking. I was very proud of him and he was very proud of himself. So much so that he's game to do it again tomorrow...
Thursday, December 13, 2007
What can happen at 40
I'll admit, I was up late last night working and didn't turn in till 2am, so it could be that, too. But I awoke easy and fresh as a daisy to my daughter's bday greeting and a number of sms messages wishing me a happy day. Needless to say, I had to drag a greeting out of C - he who tried three times before he got it right (Goodmorning, Mama, I love you Mama, oh...Happy Birthday Mama). After doing the suburban wife thing and dropping T off at the train, I popped over to M's house where she made me her own version of the Popover Cafe breakfast and we hung out till eleven.
Drove back home to change as T was taking me to lunch. Decided on a white blouse and proceeded to have a rather happy afternoon - a festive birthday lunch, Christmas shopping on Orchard Road, various errands and coffee with a friend outside Borders Bookshop. Last but most important thing on the agenda before dinner out with the kids was to attend 6pm birthday mass at St. Ignatius. I was even early. When I knelt down on the pew before communion, I happened to look down at myself and noticed something odd with my sleeves, in fact, with my entire top.
All of a sudden, the blood rushed to my head and I was flushed with the most embarrassing realisation. Pretty much the entire afternoon, I had been wearing my nifty white blouse - inside out.
This does not bode well...but it was a happy day, anyway...
Drove back home to change as T was taking me to lunch. Decided on a white blouse and proceeded to have a rather happy afternoon - a festive birthday lunch, Christmas shopping on Orchard Road, various errands and coffee with a friend outside Borders Bookshop. Last but most important thing on the agenda before dinner out with the kids was to attend 6pm birthday mass at St. Ignatius. I was even early. When I knelt down on the pew before communion, I happened to look down at myself and noticed something odd with my sleeves, in fact, with my entire top.
All of a sudden, the blood rushed to my head and I was flushed with the most embarrassing realisation. Pretty much the entire afternoon, I had been wearing my nifty white blouse - inside out.
This does not bode well...but it was a happy day, anyway...
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
I've learned my lesson...or have I?
Three weeks. A total of 46 periods.
And now it's over, and I have learned that teaching just isn't my thing.
The other day, an administrator from a business school asked me if I would be interested in teaching Business Communications. "This would be different," he said. "Your students won't be in high school. They'll be motivated adults. And it would be just one class a week."
Hmmmm.
And now it's over, and I have learned that teaching just isn't my thing.
The other day, an administrator from a business school asked me if I would be interested in teaching Business Communications. "This would be different," he said. "Your students won't be in high school. They'll be motivated adults. And it would be just one class a week."
Hmmmm.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Not so kiddie observation
Upon hearing Carly Simon's You're so Vain for the first time, K pipes up from the backseat:
"This is a dumb song. Of course, the song is about him - she's singing to him!"
Speaking of which, K also proved her pipes and got selected to be part of the Singapore Children's Choir. Her audition piece was "Happiness" from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown
"This is a dumb song. Of course, the song is about him - she's singing to him!"
Speaking of which, K also proved her pipes and got selected to be part of the Singapore Children's Choir. Her audition piece was "Happiness" from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown
Thursday, November 29, 2007
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."
"You know I was a teacher, also. In 1962. They paid me $350 a month. I gave up after three months."
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
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.
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..."
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..."
Sunday, November 11, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
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...
"What? But I don't feel fulfilled yet!"
How early the search begins...
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
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.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Finding Halloween
K and C are big fans and I'm not sure how they got hooked on it so intensely. They are a distant cry, it seems to me, from D, M and E who decided this year that they would sit Halloween out and just go out and buy their favourite candy.
K was one and a half and C was six months old when they first donned identical pumpkin costumes and we all hopped into a car to do trick or treating within the walls of the Corinthian Gardens subdivision - that's Manila-style.
We then moved to Singapore - and that year, they had two Halloween events. At the first K was a rabbit and C was a cat. At another, they were Woody and Buzz from Toy Story. The following year, Snow White and a Power Ranger. Then Superman and Wonder Woman. But it takes certain cunning to find Halloween in Singapore, a country which is decidedly un-American. You have to find it in pockets.
For years, we relied on a rather large American enclave in one of the posh multi-towered condominium complexes on the East Coast. Due to the fact that we had friends in the building, we lucked into that party bringing food to a potlock supper that would culminate a mad rush and tearing up and downstairs or via the elevator to the various apartment units that were taking part. I imagined it to be the kind of hi-rise halloween that you might have in cities like Manhattan.
And then we hit the motherload in Woodlands, the neighborhood that surrounds the Singapore American School. As it's close to the border of Malaysia, it's a major trek from our part of the city. But for so long as you have company, it's worth it once you get there.
This year, we dragged the M's from the kids school. Now here was a family as unconventionally American as we are. Mother M grew up in Montana and left the US for Paris as soon as she finished college. Her children are French American - though they haven't lived in the US for any extended period of time. After spending the last five years in South Africa, they were starved for Halloween. So we went together. My Halloween-hungry kids and hers to the strangely surreal Woodlands neighborhood that is practically a scene from ET. The roads were dense with trickortreaters of every age. In the spookily dressed houses, the candy givers were sometimes Filipino maids, sometimes Chinese owners but most of the time, they were American expats all dressed up in costume, complete with cocktail or wine glass in hand - offering up their measured amounts of candy, lest there be nothing left by 7pm.
We made good time and had a good run, filling our plastic pumpkins with sweets and then chowing down on KFC at the community centre. Needless to say the two witches and the two black goblins were happy Halloween campers.
Their mothers were happy too.
K was one and a half and C was six months old when they first donned identical pumpkin costumes and we all hopped into a car to do trick or treating within the walls of the Corinthian Gardens subdivision - that's Manila-style.
We then moved to Singapore - and that year, they had two Halloween events. At the first K was a rabbit and C was a cat. At another, they were Woody and Buzz from Toy Story. The following year, Snow White and a Power Ranger. Then Superman and Wonder Woman. But it takes certain cunning to find Halloween in Singapore, a country which is decidedly un-American. You have to find it in pockets.
For years, we relied on a rather large American enclave in one of the posh multi-towered condominium complexes on the East Coast. Due to the fact that we had friends in the building, we lucked into that party bringing food to a potlock supper that would culminate a mad rush and tearing up and downstairs or via the elevator to the various apartment units that were taking part. I imagined it to be the kind of hi-rise halloween that you might have in cities like Manhattan.
And then we hit the motherload in Woodlands, the neighborhood that surrounds the Singapore American School. As it's close to the border of Malaysia, it's a major trek from our part of the city. But for so long as you have company, it's worth it once you get there.
This year, we dragged the M's from the kids school. Now here was a family as unconventionally American as we are. Mother M grew up in Montana and left the US for Paris as soon as she finished college. Her children are French American - though they haven't lived in the US for any extended period of time. After spending the last five years in South Africa, they were starved for Halloween. So we went together. My Halloween-hungry kids and hers to the strangely surreal Woodlands neighborhood that is practically a scene from ET. The roads were dense with trickortreaters of every age. In the spookily dressed houses, the candy givers were sometimes Filipino maids, sometimes Chinese owners but most of the time, they were American expats all dressed up in costume, complete with cocktail or wine glass in hand - offering up their measured amounts of candy, lest there be nothing left by 7pm.
We made good time and had a good run, filling our plastic pumpkins with sweets and then chowing down on KFC at the community centre. Needless to say the two witches and the two black goblins were happy Halloween campers.
Their mothers were happy too.
Stay in the room
Marital troubles. It appears we have come to that age where this is more the norm than the exception. I am hearing more and more stories of surprising break-ups, infidelities or just plain old vanilla disillusionment. I guess I understand. Nobody tells you how hard it is - and really, they should. That way, at the very least, you're prepared.
In a recent Oprah episode, Jennifer Aniston showed a clip of a short film she had directed for a series sponsored by Glamour based on real women's stories. In the scene, an elderly man sat in a hospital room,holding the hand of his wife who was in a coma. A nurse on duty marvelled at the longevity of this couple's marriage.
"45 years. We should all be so lucky."
The old man replied, "Luck had nothing to do with it."
"Excuse me?"
"Making a marriage last has nothing to do with luck. It has to do with just staying in the room."
It's a heartening thought. But it does take a lot of work - and sometimes, you need more than just sheer, dogged will.
For my part, I like to rely on two very simple things: sex and laughter - preferably in simultaneous doses.
Both are good focusing distractions that serve to remind you in small but powerful ways that life and the world are so much bigger than your problems.
In a recent Oprah episode, Jennifer Aniston showed a clip of a short film she had directed for a series sponsored by Glamour based on real women's stories. In the scene, an elderly man sat in a hospital room,holding the hand of his wife who was in a coma. A nurse on duty marvelled at the longevity of this couple's marriage.
"45 years. We should all be so lucky."
The old man replied, "Luck had nothing to do with it."
"Excuse me?"
"Making a marriage last has nothing to do with luck. It has to do with just staying in the room."
It's a heartening thought. But it does take a lot of work - and sometimes, you need more than just sheer, dogged will.
For my part, I like to rely on two very simple things: sex and laughter - preferably in simultaneous doses.
Both are good focusing distractions that serve to remind you in small but powerful ways that life and the world are so much bigger than your problems.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Making a move
I can't believe I'm going through this again.
As we approach our eighth year in Singapore, we have come to another moving point. Blame it on the volatile and rather unique real estate market and the en bloc phenomenon. All things considered, I guess I can't really complain.
And yet the whole tedioous business of weeding and throwing things out, packing, sorting and arranging I find, not surprisingly, exceedingly stressful. Combine this with the even more detail-oriented fixing up and deciding on tile and paint and drapes and shelving, and I'd just as soon walk away from the whole situation.
Most women are not like me. Most women love it; they even thrive on it. They relish the choices - vacillate, ruminate, visualise and strategise. They consult, research and make detail-oriented decisions. Most women get a kick out of all of it.
As it turns out, here as well as in other situations, I am afraid I am once again simply not like most women.
As we approach our eighth year in Singapore, we have come to another moving point. Blame it on the volatile and rather unique real estate market and the en bloc phenomenon. All things considered, I guess I can't really complain.
And yet the whole tedioous business of weeding and throwing things out, packing, sorting and arranging I find, not surprisingly, exceedingly stressful. Combine this with the even more detail-oriented fixing up and deciding on tile and paint and drapes and shelving, and I'd just as soon walk away from the whole situation.
Most women are not like me. Most women love it; they even thrive on it. They relish the choices - vacillate, ruminate, visualise and strategise. They consult, research and make detail-oriented decisions. Most women get a kick out of all of it.
As it turns out, here as well as in other situations, I am afraid I am once again simply not like most women.
Are you still the person you were in highschool?
Or perhaps a better way of putting it would be: how much of the person that you were in highschool remains in you today? I hazard a guess that the average adult still carries about 60 percent of her highschool self, personal baggage and all, whether or not she even realises it. And much of that dynamic continues to guide her present actions.
Which in itself wouldn't be so bad assuming that you liked yourself when you in highshool. I did. Did you?
Which in itself wouldn't be so bad assuming that you liked yourself when you in highshool. I did. Did you?
Sunday, October 28, 2007
One way to do it...
All the years T had of schooling were at the Ateneo, with the exception of his MBA. As for me, I never had formal instruction in catechism until I started high school at St. Theresa's college and of course, the Ateneo which requires its students to take 18 units of theology, apart from its hefty 16 units of philosophy - which includes Philosophy of Religion. But my children, K and C aren't likely to have that chance. Now that they've both received the sacraments of reconciliation and commmunion, we are opting to ease them out of the formal catechism classes. Instead, T and I are undertaking to homeschool them every Sunday. Between the two of us, we felt pretty confident we would be able to give them a solid religious foundation.
Today, we tackled the Sunday gospel - the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector at the same time we gave them a brief on structure of the Liturgy of the Word. The kids were attentive and had much to say. In just over 30 minutes, we did a lecture, discussion and quiz, and finished in time for dinner of tuna burgers.
It sure beats dragging them to Saturday class.
Today, we tackled the Sunday gospel - the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector at the same time we gave them a brief on structure of the Liturgy of the Word. The kids were attentive and had much to say. In just over 30 minutes, we did a lecture, discussion and quiz, and finished in time for dinner of tuna burgers.
It sure beats dragging them to Saturday class.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Reconnections
Once again, I must marvel at the miracle of the internet, if only for the wonderful way it brings me back in touch with people from many lives ago, as far back as the first grade. It seems fitting that all this reconnecting takes place just a few weeks after seeing New York-based C and her kids after not having seen each other for
six years.
First, despite the fact that FACEBOOK irritates me, I am grateful that my gradeschool classmate M was able to find me. She, who I had not seen since we all graduated in the 7th grade at good old Maria Montessori Cooperative School. M is/was/is one of those children who look ageless - at age 10. Back then, she already had a womanly face as well as a good measure of womanly wisdom. She had a great spray of black hair, every strand of it sprang out in finely coiled kinks and her eyebrows were already arched in perfect parentheticals.
Today, she has a blog to keep her folks back in the Philippines updated on her own little family - a husband and an adorable daughter - now living in Seattle. I was heartened to see her familiar face - seemingly ageless - and enchanted to see her baby girl who looks very much like her, and yet not.
Like me, she turns 40 at the end of the year. We have exchanged emails - summarising our life stories, which are still intensely and mutually fascinating, even in their very broadest strokes. And as I read between her lines, I still have a very strong sense of the person that she is - how she still has so much of the girl I used to know, the one who could braid her hair in a manner of seconds, sew like a goddess of domesticity and sing along to Air Supply, and look, even at age 13, disapproving and school-marmish at many of my childish antics. It is good that she found me. One of the little gifts this month has had to offer.
But that isn't even the end of my story. Just days away from our mini-online reunion, I was sitting at the PC and who should pop in to IM-chat with me but D. The story of D is also an amazing one. When I was in the first grade, D was in kindergarten and was "best friends" with my cousin J. Then she got moved up to first grade, and we became fast friends. She was very fair and sandy-haired due to Caucasian grandparents, and we were such good friends that I even invited her to spend my birthday with me and my family at my house. Interesting that I don't recall specific conversations, though I remember quite clearly the spirit and the authenticity of our friendship - how we always had so much to talk about, so much to share. Our friendship lasted just one year, as she soon moved to the US, and we lost touch completely.
In 2003, I found her through her architect cousin, and after the initial thrill of reconnection, we have maintained "chatting" contact. Anyway, D now lives in Sunnyvale - she is a scientist in Silicon Valley. She too has a husband and a daughter.
When she popped up, I told her about M, whom she also remembers. Perhaps they will get together soon. But D also wanted to tell me something. How she had been thinking about me recently. I asked her why.
She asked me if I recalled the movie Sky Riders. "Don't you remember that movie?" D asked me. I had to admit I was drawing a blank. She continued, "It's about these hang gliders, who save these kidnapped kids held for hostage in a cave?" The description stirred a very faint bell. I told her it sounded vaguely familiar.
"You told me to watch that movie."
"I did?"
"You told me it was a great movie and at the time, it was showing at Rizal Theatre, and you told me to ask my folks to watch it."
"Back in first grade?"
"Yes. It is a great movie. The hang-gliders make a daring rescue."
I waited, not quite sure what the point was.
"I saw that movie because you said it was great, and it got me interested in hang gliding. It's the reason I took hang-gliding lessons."
"You took hang-gliding lessons? You mean as an adult?"
"Yes.
"And have you rescued anybody?"
"No, but I did marry somebody. I married my instructor and we went flying in the Andes mountains, and that's why our daughter is named Andes."
I started to get it.
"Marrying someone is a kind of rescuing," I said.
"I just wanted to tell you that. And that I had thought of you. Because we just got a copy of Sky Riders"
I makes no real difference in the world to know this, not really. But I was glad D told me. It was yet another unexpected gift.
six years.
First, despite the fact that FACEBOOK irritates me, I am grateful that my gradeschool classmate M was able to find me. She, who I had not seen since we all graduated in the 7th grade at good old Maria Montessori Cooperative School. M is/was/is one of those children who look ageless - at age 10. Back then, she already had a womanly face as well as a good measure of womanly wisdom. She had a great spray of black hair, every strand of it sprang out in finely coiled kinks and her eyebrows were already arched in perfect parentheticals.
Today, she has a blog to keep her folks back in the Philippines updated on her own little family - a husband and an adorable daughter - now living in Seattle. I was heartened to see her familiar face - seemingly ageless - and enchanted to see her baby girl who looks very much like her, and yet not.
Like me, she turns 40 at the end of the year. We have exchanged emails - summarising our life stories, which are still intensely and mutually fascinating, even in their very broadest strokes. And as I read between her lines, I still have a very strong sense of the person that she is - how she still has so much of the girl I used to know, the one who could braid her hair in a manner of seconds, sew like a goddess of domesticity and sing along to Air Supply, and look, even at age 13, disapproving and school-marmish at many of my childish antics. It is good that she found me. One of the little gifts this month has had to offer.
But that isn't even the end of my story. Just days away from our mini-online reunion, I was sitting at the PC and who should pop in to IM-chat with me but D. The story of D is also an amazing one. When I was in the first grade, D was in kindergarten and was "best friends" with my cousin J. Then she got moved up to first grade, and we became fast friends. She was very fair and sandy-haired due to Caucasian grandparents, and we were such good friends that I even invited her to spend my birthday with me and my family at my house. Interesting that I don't recall specific conversations, though I remember quite clearly the spirit and the authenticity of our friendship - how we always had so much to talk about, so much to share. Our friendship lasted just one year, as she soon moved to the US, and we lost touch completely.
In 2003, I found her through her architect cousin, and after the initial thrill of reconnection, we have maintained "chatting" contact. Anyway, D now lives in Sunnyvale - she is a scientist in Silicon Valley. She too has a husband and a daughter.
When she popped up, I told her about M, whom she also remembers. Perhaps they will get together soon. But D also wanted to tell me something. How she had been thinking about me recently. I asked her why.
She asked me if I recalled the movie Sky Riders. "Don't you remember that movie?" D asked me. I had to admit I was drawing a blank. She continued, "It's about these hang gliders, who save these kidnapped kids held for hostage in a cave?" The description stirred a very faint bell. I told her it sounded vaguely familiar.
"You told me to watch that movie."
"I did?"
"You told me it was a great movie and at the time, it was showing at Rizal Theatre, and you told me to ask my folks to watch it."
"Back in first grade?"
"Yes. It is a great movie. The hang-gliders make a daring rescue."
I waited, not quite sure what the point was.
"I saw that movie because you said it was great, and it got me interested in hang gliding. It's the reason I took hang-gliding lessons."
"You took hang-gliding lessons? You mean as an adult?"
"Yes.
"And have you rescued anybody?"
"No, but I did marry somebody. I married my instructor and we went flying in the Andes mountains, and that's why our daughter is named Andes."
I started to get it.
"Marrying someone is a kind of rescuing," I said.
"I just wanted to tell you that. And that I had thought of you. Because we just got a copy of Sky Riders"
I makes no real difference in the world to know this, not really. But I was glad D told me. It was yet another unexpected gift.
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Kids on break
So what are you going to do about it?
Reminder: Buy fruit
Likewise, Quintosians rule
on with family business
FLASHBACK MANILA
Isang Sandali
Sisterhood rules
Here's to being the best we can be!
Apparently, this is me. Now which card are you?
You are The Wheel of Fortune
Good fortune and happiness but sometimes a species of intoxication with success
The Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. You are lucky in all things that you do and happy with the things that come to you. Be careful that success does not go to your head however. Sometimes luck can change.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.