It's Leap Day. Some customs allow a woman to make a proposal of marriage to a man on this day and he must accept. If he declines, then he must buy the woman a gown or 12 pairs of gloves.
I wonder what it feels like to know your role as husband can be replaced by a dress or some gloves. No no, stop it, I'm not a man hater. In fact, my doctor tells me my testosterone level is on the high side so I am kind of man-like myself. The gift to a rejected woman is a consolation. But still, if I were a man, I would wonder how strong the woman's attachment to me is, if all it takes is a dress to console her for the absence of my company in her life.
I won't make a marriage proposal today. I'll wait four years to see if The Man is still working out then decide. The minute he slips though, Bam - the next Leap Year, I will either have a new husband or a new dress. So in lieu of a marriage proposal, I am making a leap of faith today.
I believe we will all be fine. The Man and I will enter our twilight years truly golden. The Boy will grow up to be a thoughtful, generous, upstanding, creative, and successful man. We will share many good times with our families and friends. These things will happen because we show up and put in the effort to make them happen.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Cousins By The Dozens
The Man has many cousins. There are so many that once upon a time, one of his cousins hosted an annual party called Cousins By The Dozens, and I swear, hundreds of cousins showed up at his farm for this party each year.
The Man also makes many claims about having ancestors and cousins everywhere. For example, one of Oscar Wilde's lovers may have been an ancestor. I've learned to hold my face still as I mentally roll my eyes when he makes these claims now. But once in a while, a real cousin pops up. Like his cousin in Dubai, with whom he had dinner when he passed through Dubai en route home for Christmas and to whom I send five books last month. Or Jill, who I've never heard of but mysteriously showed up one day in Toronto. She and her husband organized the land reform march in India and that's how I ended up going to India.
So now, our Australian cousin (okay, she and her sister are The Man's cousins, but I consider them my cousins too because I'm like that) told The Man Barack Obama is a cousin! As if The Man needed more encouragement to aggrandize his kinship circuitry. Oh they're very distant cousin. They share a common ancestor somewhere way back.
A part of me is rolling my eyes. But there may also be some truth to this one. Australian Cousin's mother was a professional genealogist and wrote books on the subject. She charted her family tree. I don't think she would have gotten it wrong, though you never know.
Does my side of the family have cousins? Except for the current generation of young cousins, I only know of assholes, wife beaters, and adulterers. But The Boy's generation, there are lots of cousins. I like to think I have influence on the kind of adults these kids grow up to be. In fact, I should start planning cousins by the dozens parties for each side of the family so they'd have a place to reunite with their clan once they start their own families, and a hub of support to go through life with. A farm, my kingdom for a farm!
The Man also makes many claims about having ancestors and cousins everywhere. For example, one of Oscar Wilde's lovers may have been an ancestor. I've learned to hold my face still as I mentally roll my eyes when he makes these claims now. But once in a while, a real cousin pops up. Like his cousin in Dubai, with whom he had dinner when he passed through Dubai en route home for Christmas and to whom I send five books last month. Or Jill, who I've never heard of but mysteriously showed up one day in Toronto. She and her husband organized the land reform march in India and that's how I ended up going to India.
So now, our Australian cousin (okay, she and her sister are The Man's cousins, but I consider them my cousins too because I'm like that) told The Man Barack Obama is a cousin! As if The Man needed more encouragement to aggrandize his kinship circuitry. Oh they're very distant cousin. They share a common ancestor somewhere way back.
A part of me is rolling my eyes. But there may also be some truth to this one. Australian Cousin's mother was a professional genealogist and wrote books on the subject. She charted her family tree. I don't think she would have gotten it wrong, though you never know.
Does my side of the family have cousins? Except for the current generation of young cousins, I only know of assholes, wife beaters, and adulterers. But The Boy's generation, there are lots of cousins. I like to think I have influence on the kind of adults these kids grow up to be. In fact, I should start planning cousins by the dozens parties for each side of the family so they'd have a place to reunite with their clan once they start their own families, and a hub of support to go through life with. A farm, my kingdom for a farm!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
I Go
Of late, I've had a burst of energy.
I booked my flight to Indonesia. I am going to meet The Man in Jakarta in about three weeks. The Boy stays home.
I stopped making The Boy breakfast and lunch since he doesn't eat them anyway. Guilt be damned.
I finally made sheers for the dining room. They are unobtrusive, even with dragonflies on them. That is, they don't take over the room and provide just the right amount of filter when the sun blazes in late afternoon.
I made pillow shams for my bed and covered a huge canvas above the bed with fabric. Minimal sewing. Lots of glue gun. It's a change of scene for my bedroom. The Boy said my bed now looks like it doesn't belong in our house; it belongs in India. Ah, the Indian influence coming out. I was entertaining the idea my bed looks like it belongs inside a tent out in the desert in the Middle East.
I repaired a friend's wooden antique tables without experience in repairs or knowledge of antiques. I am returning the tables in better shape than even before the tables broke. Aside from re-attaching the table tops to the pedestal legs, the tables no longer wobble.
I re-arranged my kitchen cupboards, then dug my way through the knee-high snow in the backyard and into the shed to drag out things in storage. I throw out some of these things.
I am fearless. I feel creative and productive. I walk on the plane of colours, shades, textures, ideas and representations and call myself an artist.
I booked my flight to Indonesia. I am going to meet The Man in Jakarta in about three weeks. The Boy stays home.
I stopped making The Boy breakfast and lunch since he doesn't eat them anyway. Guilt be damned.
I finally made sheers for the dining room. They are unobtrusive, even with dragonflies on them. That is, they don't take over the room and provide just the right amount of filter when the sun blazes in late afternoon.
I made pillow shams for my bed and covered a huge canvas above the bed with fabric. Minimal sewing. Lots of glue gun. It's a change of scene for my bedroom. The Boy said my bed now looks like it doesn't belong in our house; it belongs in India. Ah, the Indian influence coming out. I was entertaining the idea my bed looks like it belongs inside a tent out in the desert in the Middle East.
I repaired a friend's wooden antique tables without experience in repairs or knowledge of antiques. I am returning the tables in better shape than even before the tables broke. Aside from re-attaching the table tops to the pedestal legs, the tables no longer wobble.
I re-arranged my kitchen cupboards, then dug my way through the knee-high snow in the backyard and into the shed to drag out things in storage. I throw out some of these things.
I am fearless. I feel creative and productive. I walk on the plane of colours, shades, textures, ideas and representations and call myself an artist.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Quack Quack
Even from afar, The Man makes me laugh like no one can. He phoned this morning to tell me this:
Tasi, my scraggy Afghan Hound, is an old dog. His housemate has been looking for a new home for her so she can live out her days well cared for. Last week, she found a family that lives outside Kabul. The family has lots of space for Tasi to run around in, they have other dogs to keep Tasi company, and these other dogs look well cared for. So Tasi is gone.
But The Man's house guards feel they need an animal on the premises. One morning, as he was leaving the house, the guards approached him.
"We want to get a guard duck. Will you pay for its food?" they asked,
"A guard duck?"
"Yes."
"Duck? Quack quack?"
"Yes, yes, quack quack."
"Sure," he said, thinking guard ducks must an Afghani thing.
The Man went off to his friend's for brunch. There, he saw his housemate and told her about their guards' request for a guard duck.
She said, "You mean a guard dog?"
"No, they said duck. Quack quack."
"Quack quack, woof woof, it's probably the same to them."
Meanwhile, one of the guards went to a nearby ravine and grabbed a stray puppy. When The Man got home, the guards said, "New dog," pointing at the puppy in the yard.
"I thought you were getting a duck."
"No, dog."
So now The Man has the responsibility of providing for the new dog. But here's the thing I'm wondering. Even if the guards really meant "duck", did The Man feel safe knowing a duck was going to guard his house? Maybe that's why I love being with The Man. He makes me laugh at all our foilables and imperfections. In the end, life is still pretty great.
Tasi, my scraggy Afghan Hound, is an old dog. His housemate has been looking for a new home for her so she can live out her days well cared for. Last week, she found a family that lives outside Kabul. The family has lots of space for Tasi to run around in, they have other dogs to keep Tasi company, and these other dogs look well cared for. So Tasi is gone.
But The Man's house guards feel they need an animal on the premises. One morning, as he was leaving the house, the guards approached him.
"We want to get a guard duck. Will you pay for its food?" they asked,
"A guard duck?"
"Yes."
"Duck? Quack quack?"
"Yes, yes, quack quack."
"Sure," he said, thinking guard ducks must an Afghani thing.
The Man went off to his friend's for brunch. There, he saw his housemate and told her about their guards' request for a guard duck.
She said, "You mean a guard dog?"
"No, they said duck. Quack quack."
"Quack quack, woof woof, it's probably the same to them."
Meanwhile, one of the guards went to a nearby ravine and grabbed a stray puppy. When The Man got home, the guards said, "New dog," pointing at the puppy in the yard.
"I thought you were getting a duck."
"No, dog."
So now The Man has the responsibility of providing for the new dog. But here's the thing I'm wondering. Even if the guards really meant "duck", did The Man feel safe knowing a duck was going to guard his house? Maybe that's why I love being with The Man. He makes me laugh at all our foilables and imperfections. In the end, life is still pretty great.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
In Someone Else's Boots
Lately, we've been losing ourselves. In the last three months, I've lost my white scarf somewhere. I've lost two knapsacks. How can I lose a knapsack? Two different ones, two different times.
But the funniest loss is when The Boy came home after the weekend's birthday gig. He came home in someone else's boots. He and his friends stayed behind to pack their equipment. When they left, everyone found their boots. The Boy couldn't find his. But there was one pair of brown boots left. They happen to fit The Boy, though a tad small. So we conclude someone had taken his boots by mistake.
It's been five days. You'd think the fellow who took The Boy's boots, or his parents, would have noticed by now. Thing is, the brown boots The Boy came home with are a better quality than the pair he owned. So you'd think the parents would object to this inadvertent trade and contact the Birthday Son to arrange a switch back.
Where are these people?
But the funniest loss is when The Boy came home after the weekend's birthday gig. He came home in someone else's boots. He and his friends stayed behind to pack their equipment. When they left, everyone found their boots. The Boy couldn't find his. But there was one pair of brown boots left. They happen to fit The Boy, though a tad small. So we conclude someone had taken his boots by mistake.
It's been five days. You'd think the fellow who took The Boy's boots, or his parents, would have noticed by now. Thing is, the brown boots The Boy came home with are a better quality than the pair he owned. So you'd think the parents would object to this inadvertent trade and contact the Birthday Son to arrange a switch back.
Where are these people?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Greatness
My sister-in-law just became a grandmother. Her daughter gave birth to a girl this weekend. Without undermining the family's joyous occasion, let me have an old fogey moment: I am good with being a great aunt, but I am not ready to be a great-aunt.
This senior nomenclature disconcerts me. There is a physical family generation between me and this newborn. Nothing makes me feel my age more than moving one generation closer to extinction. I didn't do anything to bring this on; this is life happening to you.
I've read that men feel their mortality when they have children. The Man certainly said so when The Boy was born. At the time, I said, Pish posh, I feel vibrantly alive, all powerful and potent, I am a giver of life and now I am going to mold this life. Despite The Man's expressed vulnerability, he turned out to be a great dad. Now it's my turn to feel my age.
I hope my niece feels vibrantly alive, that she has the power to shape her life and that of her daughter's. I hope she draws from the feisty, creative strength within to take care of herself and help her daughter navigate through life. I know, the baby was just born and this is a lot to pay attention to, both mother and baby are so young. But someone has to send wishes their way while they are awe-struck with their immediate needs. I found this poem and wishes for her:
This senior nomenclature disconcerts me. There is a physical family generation between me and this newborn. Nothing makes me feel my age more than moving one generation closer to extinction. I didn't do anything to bring this on; this is life happening to you.
I've read that men feel their mortality when they have children. The Man certainly said so when The Boy was born. At the time, I said, Pish posh, I feel vibrantly alive, all powerful and potent, I am a giver of life and now I am going to mold this life. Despite The Man's expressed vulnerability, he turned out to be a great dad. Now it's my turn to feel my age.
I hope my niece feels vibrantly alive, that she has the power to shape her life and that of her daughter's. I hope she draws from the feisty, creative strength within to take care of herself and help her daughter navigate through life. I know, the baby was just born and this is a lot to pay attention to, both mother and baby are so young. But someone has to send wishes their way while they are awe-struck with their immediate needs. I found this poem and wishes for her:
May you feel at home in your body with all its changes and the marks of its experiences.
May you get to know your baby as a person, shaping into an individual you both know and find mysterious.
May you continue to get to know yourself as a mother, shaping into someone who is both her old self and someone completely new.
May you find the time to care for yourself, for your own health and your own goals while you manage the complete responsibility of dependency.
May you sleep with dreams that refresh and calm you for the next day.
May you use your new power of mother love to reach out to the world and change it for the better.
May you have the confidence to speak your mind, act on your convictions and declare your intentions for your life and the planet your children will inherit.
May you be spared heartbreak and suffering in your heart, home and family.
May you discover a sense of newness in each moment in the life of your child and the adventure of parenting.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Freed, Freed For Now
With so much media and home attention on Afghanistan recently, I wasn't aware Kosovo was so close to seceding from Serbia. Today, the Republic of Kosovo declared itself an independent nation, making it the newest country in the world. Serbia and Russia object. Will another war erupt, or will Serbia and Kosovo be like China and Taiwan?
While the Kosovites (is that what they are now?) taste their new freedom today, our street is also being liberated. A city crew has come to remove the snow piles on our curbs. We lost a few parking spots to these hills. My neighbours and I say to each other, Where are we going to put it all if another snowfall comes?
The more immediate question is, where is the City going to put it all? For now, in front of our house. Here's the view from our front porch, looking across the street. That's our car in the foreground, still covered in snow.
Early this morning, the City crew knocked on doors to get people who are parked on the street to move their cars. The snow they dump in the middle of the street spills over onto the sidewalk.
Here's The Boy climbing the snow hill when he thought I wasn't looking.
Here comes the plow down our street.'
Here is the crew getting ready for a break.
When they have piled the snow high enough, new trucks comes in - a lifter and a carrier. The lifter scoops the snow from the pile, travels over to the carrier, and dumps the scoop of snow in.
When the green carrier is full, it drives away and another comes to take its place. All these years in the City, I've never seen a snow removal operation.
Apparently, this year's snow accumulation is close to the amount of snow we received in 1999, when Mayor Mel called in the Canadian army. This has certainly been the snowiest year since 1999. This clean up is costing the City about $25 million. Our annual snow removal budget is $65 million. We get about 125 cm of snow each year. Compared that to Montreal, a smaller city, which has a snow removal budget of $128 million. But then they get about 225 cm of snow a year.
In years, as in the past two years, when we get little snow, the snow removal budget has a surplus, which goes back into city coffers.
So for now, we feel free on our little street. Though I hear we are expect another 15 cm of snow this week.
While the Kosovites (is that what they are now?) taste their new freedom today, our street is also being liberated. A city crew has come to remove the snow piles on our curbs. We lost a few parking spots to these hills. My neighbours and I say to each other, Where are we going to put it all if another snowfall comes?
The more immediate question is, where is the City going to put it all? For now, in front of our house. Here's the view from our front porch, looking across the street. That's our car in the foreground, still covered in snow.
Early this morning, the City crew knocked on doors to get people who are parked on the street to move their cars. The snow they dump in the middle of the street spills over onto the sidewalk.
Here's The Boy climbing the snow hill when he thought I wasn't looking.
Here comes the plow down our street.'
Here is the crew getting ready for a break.
When they have piled the snow high enough, new trucks comes in - a lifter and a carrier. The lifter scoops the snow from the pile, travels over to the carrier, and dumps the scoop of snow in.
When the green carrier is full, it drives away and another comes to take its place. All these years in the City, I've never seen a snow removal operation.
Apparently, this year's snow accumulation is close to the amount of snow we received in 1999, when Mayor Mel called in the Canadian army. This has certainly been the snowiest year since 1999. This clean up is costing the City about $25 million. Our annual snow removal budget is $65 million. We get about 125 cm of snow each year. Compared that to Montreal, a smaller city, which has a snow removal budget of $128 million. But then they get about 225 cm of snow a year.
In years, as in the past two years, when we get little snow, the snow removal budget has a surplus, which goes back into city coffers.
So for now, we feel free on our little street. Though I hear we are expect another 15 cm of snow this week.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The Boys In the Band
I know sometimes I paint a golden picture of The Boy and his friends. But it's hard not to. Take this weekend for instance.
The boys have a rock band now. They call themselves Asteroid M Goes To The Zoo. My Friend's son was turning 17 and wanted a big party. So Birthday Son asked The Boy and his band to play at his party.
The transportation of instruments and equipment involved several sets of parents. For my part, I rented a van, picked up the boys after school, and they loaded their stuff into the van.
As the boys moved about, Butterfly Boy noticed me in the driver's seat. He blew kisses at me through the van window. How is it he's not afraid of being teased by his friends for doing such things? How is it his friends don't tease him?
Once we got on the road, the boys talked about their teachers and the events that unfolded that day. Out of no where, Butterfly Boy said to me,
"Sylph, what do you think of Girlfriend?" She wasn't in the van with us, but she did go up to Deerhurst with us over the Christmas break.
"Wow, that is so girly," I said. "I only know girls and women who ask each other what they think of their boyfriends."
"Oh, oh that explains a lot of things," teased Ry, another boy in the van. "But he needs your approval."
"Yes, I need your approval," chirped Butterfly Boy.
What could I say? I answered truthfully, "I like her very much. I liked that she offered to help me at the cottage. She's a nice girl. But you wouldn't choose someone nasty."
Butterfly Boy beamed. Later, he asked, "How has it been with The Man away? Is it difficult being without him?"
He asked this in the natural flow of conversation. That is, the boys jumped from conversation to conversation as they put in some last minute singing practice and it felt natural that he should inquire after me as one of the topics of conversation.
When we got to the house where they were to play, the boys directed me to weave the unfamiliar van through the snowy troughs of the unplowed street into the snowy driveway to avoid the snow bank. They jumped out with energy and moved their equipment into the host's house with care, making sure they did not drag snow and mud into the house or damage their instruments. Then they offered to pay me for the van rental. I declined.
Now, compare them to the handful of guests who were already inside the house at the party. My boys went in first and said a cheerful hello to everyone they saw. The boys in the house barely acknowledged the new arrivals. When I went in to say hello, one grunted hello back. None offered to help. Some went upstairs to watch TV.
After the party, Friend told me she had a nice chat with The Boy and his friends. They are such nice boys, so outgoing and well-mannered, and they played beautifully, they were the highlight of the party, she enthused. I just knew that was the truth.
The next day, The Boy and his friend Drew went back to the party house to get their equipment. Birthday Son was also there with two of his friends. Everyone did what they had to do and Friend drove The Boy back. The Boy said, "Birthday Son is okay, but his friends are so glum. Throughout the ride home, I told Friend about what I'm doing at school, but the other kids said nothing. Even when Friend asked them questions, they didn't even say yes or no, they just grunted."
I don't know if The Boy and his friends are typical teenagers. I just know they are performing arts majors with extroverted personalities, so focused on their musicianship, so supported by their families, and I am so glad I sometimes get to spend time with them.
The boys have a rock band now. They call themselves Asteroid M Goes To The Zoo. My Friend's son was turning 17 and wanted a big party. So Birthday Son asked The Boy and his band to play at his party.
The transportation of instruments and equipment involved several sets of parents. For my part, I rented a van, picked up the boys after school, and they loaded their stuff into the van.
As the boys moved about, Butterfly Boy noticed me in the driver's seat. He blew kisses at me through the van window. How is it he's not afraid of being teased by his friends for doing such things? How is it his friends don't tease him?
Once we got on the road, the boys talked about their teachers and the events that unfolded that day. Out of no where, Butterfly Boy said to me,
"Sylph, what do you think of Girlfriend?" She wasn't in the van with us, but she did go up to Deerhurst with us over the Christmas break.
"Wow, that is so girly," I said. "I only know girls and women who ask each other what they think of their boyfriends."
"Oh, oh that explains a lot of things," teased Ry, another boy in the van. "But he needs your approval."
"Yes, I need your approval," chirped Butterfly Boy.
What could I say? I answered truthfully, "I like her very much. I liked that she offered to help me at the cottage. She's a nice girl. But you wouldn't choose someone nasty."
Butterfly Boy beamed. Later, he asked, "How has it been with The Man away? Is it difficult being without him?"
He asked this in the natural flow of conversation. That is, the boys jumped from conversation to conversation as they put in some last minute singing practice and it felt natural that he should inquire after me as one of the topics of conversation.
When we got to the house where they were to play, the boys directed me to weave the unfamiliar van through the snowy troughs of the unplowed street into the snowy driveway to avoid the snow bank. They jumped out with energy and moved their equipment into the host's house with care, making sure they did not drag snow and mud into the house or damage their instruments. Then they offered to pay me for the van rental. I declined.
Now, compare them to the handful of guests who were already inside the house at the party. My boys went in first and said a cheerful hello to everyone they saw. The boys in the house barely acknowledged the new arrivals. When I went in to say hello, one grunted hello back. None offered to help. Some went upstairs to watch TV.
After the party, Friend told me she had a nice chat with The Boy and his friends. They are such nice boys, so outgoing and well-mannered, and they played beautifully, they were the highlight of the party, she enthused. I just knew that was the truth.
The next day, The Boy and his friend Drew went back to the party house to get their equipment. Birthday Son was also there with two of his friends. Everyone did what they had to do and Friend drove The Boy back. The Boy said, "Birthday Son is okay, but his friends are so glum. Throughout the ride home, I told Friend about what I'm doing at school, but the other kids said nothing. Even when Friend asked them questions, they didn't even say yes or no, they just grunted."
I don't know if The Boy and his friends are typical teenagers. I just know they are performing arts majors with extroverted personalities, so focused on their musicianship, so supported by their families, and I am so glad I sometimes get to spend time with them.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Dangers Of Travel
I ran into a friend at lunch today. He introduced me to the friend he was having lunch with. They joined me at my table. New Acquaintance talked about what he saw in Cabo, I added my two cents about Kabul, and we carried on the conversation comparing notes. Friend looked at us, from one to the other, and back again.
Then he burst out laughing. "You're talking about Cabo, Mexico, and you're talking about Kabul, Afghanistan, aren't you?"
The three of us looked at each other as the truth of what he said registered. No wonder New Acquaintance said he didn't know the Taliban had been in Cabo.
In December, the Australia government updated their travel advisory. It now contains an "Exercise Caution" advisory about Canada. It lists Chile, South Korea, and Latvia as safer than Canada. Why? Apparently, bush and forest fire "can occur any time in Canada." In addition, "heavy snowfalls and ice" can make driving dangerous, and our "wind-chill factor can also create dangerously cold outdoor conditions."
Areas of Canada are also subject to earthquakes, avalanches, and tornadoes.
Not only that. The Australian government warns their people, "We advise you to exercise caution and monitor developments that might affect your safety in Canada because of the risk of terrorist attack."
Gosh, I'm now so scared living in Canada I'm thinking of immigrating. Maybe to Chile, South Korea, or Latvia.
Then he burst out laughing. "You're talking about Cabo, Mexico, and you're talking about Kabul, Afghanistan, aren't you?"
The three of us looked at each other as the truth of what he said registered. No wonder New Acquaintance said he didn't know the Taliban had been in Cabo.
In December, the Australia government updated their travel advisory. It now contains an "Exercise Caution" advisory about Canada. It lists Chile, South Korea, and Latvia as safer than Canada. Why? Apparently, bush and forest fire "can occur any time in Canada." In addition, "heavy snowfalls and ice" can make driving dangerous, and our "wind-chill factor can also create dangerously cold outdoor conditions."
Areas of Canada are also subject to earthquakes, avalanches, and tornadoes.
Not only that. The Australian government warns their people, "We advise you to exercise caution and monitor developments that might affect your safety in Canada because of the risk of terrorist attack."
Gosh, I'm now so scared living in Canada I'm thinking of immigrating. Maybe to Chile, South Korea, or Latvia.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Game
For me, Chinese New Year is about mah jong - the Chinese tile game played as a form of gambling. No, not just the gambling. It's the bonding while playing the game.
To be sure, the object of the game is to win money from the others at the table. Mah jong is a game of skill, luck, and concentration. One of the strategies is to try to psych out your fellow players before and during the game, especially if you know what their game weakness is. This strategy is an art and a game in itself. The method is witty puns and jovial banter. Much carelessness during the game ensue if you are distracted by the bantering. These often invoke hilarity, sometimes with much shouting and hooting.
Before our game even started on New Year, Aunt said over breakfast, "Oh Sylph, I brought watermelon seeds to eat during the game because I will have lots of time between turns waiting for you to go." She was implying I am slow at the game, a sign of inexperience or dullness of mind, and therefore a weakness.
"Oh Auntie," I said in the kindest way, "It's not whether one is fast or slow. What matters is that I win all your money today."
"Won't you be thrilled if that were to happen. You dream big, Daughter," chimed in Mom. "How much money did you bring to lose?"
"None. I don't need to bring any. One puts money in one's pocket when one wins. I won't need to take any out," I said.
When someone wins a hand, it's called taking or eating the hand. Aunt said, "Have some more food, Sylph, so you are full before we start. That way, you won't have to eat anything during the game." Clever she is.
So the banter goes on in this vein.
I did quite well at the beginning, taking every second or third hand in small winnings. But my first falter came when I realized half way through a hand I was short a tile. You need to build a winning hand with 14 tiles and I only had 13. That meant I had no chance of winning the hand we were playing and my strategy was then to prevent others from winning big by putting out tiles no one wants.
But my second mistake came when I tried to win with an incomplete hand. That is, I had 14 tiles, but I hadn't accumulated the tiles in a winning combination. I just thought I had. That was a big mistake. You get penalized as if you had cheated someone out of a big win. I had to pay everyone as if they won a full-house round. I accused Aunt of making up rules as we play. Being penalized for ruining a hand was not a rule I was aware of.
After this, my game went to hell. I kept putting out the tile for someone else's win. The person who feeds the winning tile to someone pays double to the winner. At one point, I was sure I had lost over $50. But then Bro Bro and his family arrived with 20? 100? 1000? dishes of food for dinner. And Uncle arrived with his children. And Bro Bro and Uncle filled in for Bro so he could tend to hosting duties. That must've changed the game dynamic at the table.
I sensed my luck change. At one point, I stopped all talking in the room to focus on winning an 8-fold hand, the largest hand one can win, only to be beaten by Bro Bro's chicken win, the smallest hand one can win. Despite that tease, by the end of the evening, I had won back most of my money. Aunt calculated I only lost about $9.
Which was a darn good price for a great day of fabulous entertainment and bonding.
To be sure, the object of the game is to win money from the others at the table. Mah jong is a game of skill, luck, and concentration. One of the strategies is to try to psych out your fellow players before and during the game, especially if you know what their game weakness is. This strategy is an art and a game in itself. The method is witty puns and jovial banter. Much carelessness during the game ensue if you are distracted by the bantering. These often invoke hilarity, sometimes with much shouting and hooting.
Before our game even started on New Year, Aunt said over breakfast, "Oh Sylph, I brought watermelon seeds to eat during the game because I will have lots of time between turns waiting for you to go." She was implying I am slow at the game, a sign of inexperience or dullness of mind, and therefore a weakness.
"Oh Auntie," I said in the kindest way, "It's not whether one is fast or slow. What matters is that I win all your money today."
"Won't you be thrilled if that were to happen. You dream big, Daughter," chimed in Mom. "How much money did you bring to lose?"
"None. I don't need to bring any. One puts money in one's pocket when one wins. I won't need to take any out," I said.
When someone wins a hand, it's called taking or eating the hand. Aunt said, "Have some more food, Sylph, so you are full before we start. That way, you won't have to eat anything during the game." Clever she is.
So the banter goes on in this vein.
I did quite well at the beginning, taking every second or third hand in small winnings. But my first falter came when I realized half way through a hand I was short a tile. You need to build a winning hand with 14 tiles and I only had 13. That meant I had no chance of winning the hand we were playing and my strategy was then to prevent others from winning big by putting out tiles no one wants.
But my second mistake came when I tried to win with an incomplete hand. That is, I had 14 tiles, but I hadn't accumulated the tiles in a winning combination. I just thought I had. That was a big mistake. You get penalized as if you had cheated someone out of a big win. I had to pay everyone as if they won a full-house round. I accused Aunt of making up rules as we play. Being penalized for ruining a hand was not a rule I was aware of.
After this, my game went to hell. I kept putting out the tile for someone else's win. The person who feeds the winning tile to someone pays double to the winner. At one point, I was sure I had lost over $50. But then Bro Bro and his family arrived with 20? 100? 1000? dishes of food for dinner. And Uncle arrived with his children. And Bro Bro and Uncle filled in for Bro so he could tend to hosting duties. That must've changed the game dynamic at the table.
I sensed my luck change. At one point, I stopped all talking in the room to focus on winning an 8-fold hand, the largest hand one can win, only to be beaten by Bro Bro's chicken win, the smallest hand one can win. Despite that tease, by the end of the evening, I had won back most of my money. Aunt calculated I only lost about $9.
Which was a darn good price for a great day of fabulous entertainment and bonding.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Bringing In The New Year
Chinese New Year lasts a whole month. Families pick a day within the new year month to gather and formally ring in the new year together. Our family gathered at Bro's today.
When we meet, we are supposed to wear new clothes for the day, but we've abandoned this practice. It's no longer special to wear a new outfit when we acquire new clothing year round these days. But we still exchange new year wishes, give each other special new year food, play mah jong, and share a big meal. As if we really need an excuse to eat a big meal together.
The most common new year's greeting is Gong hai fat choy - May prosperity be yours. Other greetings including wishing each other a healthy and ailment-free year, safety going in and out of the house, smooth sailing in business, and simply a happy new year.
I can't say that I like new year food. They are often not tasty. The food items are chosen because they are homophones of lucky terms or phrases in Chinese or because they are symbolic of desirable things in life. Different regions in China may have different new year food because they speak different dialects.
For example, tangerines or kumquats (literally gold luck) are popular, because they are brightly coloured like red (a good luck colour), come with leaves (a sign of fertility), and look like ingots of gold (which means prosperity). But ox tongue is also popular, because tongue sounds like the word smooth in Cantonese. There are also nuts, seeds, and sugared dried fruit that show up around new year because of the eponymous good fortune they bring.
The one food I regret we no longer make are deep fried pastries filled with crushed peanuts and sugar. They are labour-intensive to make. I remember long ago, mom, granny, and their friends sometimes gathering for a day just to make them. I helped by rolling out the dough or putting filling in the pastry and nipping the edges with water to ensure they don't come apart during deep frying. They are crescent shaped, like gold nuggets in ancient China, deep fried to a crisp golden brown, and filled with crunchy sweetness. See why it's a new year favourite? I have extracted a promise from mom to make them with me this month.
Married couples give children and single adults lai see - lucky money in red envelopes. There is a whole protocol involved in the giving of lai see. When I was young, mom's and dad's friends used to say to me, It's candy money, when they gave me lai see. As a young adult, that changed to, It's beer money. Since I married, I have not received lai see from anyone but my parents and grandmother. You always give to your children whether they are married or not. At some juncture in life, adult children start to give lai see to their elders as a sign of respect.
You invoke luck by giving lai see, the recipient receives luck by accepting lai see. I made sure I gave out lots of lai see this year and accepted one from mom. I even had the gall to ask Aunt for a lai see. She didn't give me one because the lai see protocol doesn't allow her to give me one. But sometimes, you still have to ask good fortune to come your way, I say.
When we meet, we are supposed to wear new clothes for the day, but we've abandoned this practice. It's no longer special to wear a new outfit when we acquire new clothing year round these days. But we still exchange new year wishes, give each other special new year food, play mah jong, and share a big meal. As if we really need an excuse to eat a big meal together.
The most common new year's greeting is Gong hai fat choy - May prosperity be yours. Other greetings including wishing each other a healthy and ailment-free year, safety going in and out of the house, smooth sailing in business, and simply a happy new year.
I can't say that I like new year food. They are often not tasty. The food items are chosen because they are homophones of lucky terms or phrases in Chinese or because they are symbolic of desirable things in life. Different regions in China may have different new year food because they speak different dialects.
For example, tangerines or kumquats (literally gold luck) are popular, because they are brightly coloured like red (a good luck colour), come with leaves (a sign of fertility), and look like ingots of gold (which means prosperity). But ox tongue is also popular, because tongue sounds like the word smooth in Cantonese. There are also nuts, seeds, and sugared dried fruit that show up around new year because of the eponymous good fortune they bring.
The one food I regret we no longer make are deep fried pastries filled with crushed peanuts and sugar. They are labour-intensive to make. I remember long ago, mom, granny, and their friends sometimes gathering for a day just to make them. I helped by rolling out the dough or putting filling in the pastry and nipping the edges with water to ensure they don't come apart during deep frying. They are crescent shaped, like gold nuggets in ancient China, deep fried to a crisp golden brown, and filled with crunchy sweetness. See why it's a new year favourite? I have extracted a promise from mom to make them with me this month.
Married couples give children and single adults lai see - lucky money in red envelopes. There is a whole protocol involved in the giving of lai see. When I was young, mom's and dad's friends used to say to me, It's candy money, when they gave me lai see. As a young adult, that changed to, It's beer money. Since I married, I have not received lai see from anyone but my parents and grandmother. You always give to your children whether they are married or not. At some juncture in life, adult children start to give lai see to their elders as a sign of respect.
You invoke luck by giving lai see, the recipient receives luck by accepting lai see. I made sure I gave out lots of lai see this year and accepted one from mom. I even had the gall to ask Aunt for a lai see. She didn't give me one because the lai see protocol doesn't allow her to give me one. But sometimes, you still have to ask good fortune to come your way, I say.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
We're Under Cover
Those are the poor cedar trees in my backyard this morning. And my poor clothes line.
We've had back to back snow storms in the last two days. The snow gods must've had quite a party, shaking down 50 cm of fluffy confetti on us. For a few brief moments last night, there was even thunder and lightning, with snow, not rain! Wonder what they were celebrating.
The cedar trees in my backyard form a fence between our neighbour's backyard and ours. But it's looking like the trees may topple. If they do, I will need to replace them. Despite the grim prospect of the work involved, I actually delight in the thought of having younger trees that I can train and shape.
The ones there now were neglected for ten years before I realized they needed a trim. By then, the branches took up almost half the backyard and needles no longer grew close to the tree trunk. Each year, I trim some of the branches hoping to reclaim some of the yard space.
And here is our street covered in snow. In summer, when the red maple trees are full of leaves, they form a canopy of breezy shade over the street. But after a snow storm, they form a canopy of icicles over us. I like our street best looking like this.
And here are our neighbours out shovelling the snow off the sidewalk after work yesterday. The Boy wouldn't let me take his photograph so I took one of the neighbours instead.
After a snowfall, when all the neighbours come out to do the same thing, there is such a festive feel in the air. It's like we're having a street party. I get to talk to people I haven't seen since...since the last snow storm.
And hey, Happy Lunar New Year!
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
My Compatriots
In the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, the bride's father had a fix for everything: Windex. Got a dirty table? Use Windex. Got a cut on your finger? Spray it with Windex.
My father also had his own fix-all. Have trouble breathing? Do tai chi to expand lung capacity. Fat? Do tai chi to sweat it out. Got a mortgage problem? Do tai chi to get clearer thinking. In fact, he articulated clearly to me one day: The Middle East would not be trying to kill each other if everyone there just took up tai chi. In his random logic, he was right.
Dad tried to teach me tai chi. But I rejected it. I didn't want to exercise with white-haired people in their 80's.
But today, I signed up for a tai chi class. I've been trying to go for six months. But the timing was never quite right. Today, I made it to class. The class is taught by two retired women in their sixties. There are four students in class. Three are senior citizens. How do I know? They all asked for the senior's discount. Two have physical ailments.
Hank, he must be close to 70, has trouble walking. When he entered the office, he collapsed into a chair by the door. The instructor gasped and said, "Oh, he fell." Hank said, "Yeah, but good thing this chair was here." This is the second time he's taking this beginner's course. I can barely understand him as he talks with a heavy British brogue.
Marilyn came in slowly with a cane. Osteoporosis, she said.
Cynthia seems okay so far. I have knee problems, she said. But so do I. After a few years away from tai chi, she has returned to start at the beginning.
They all seem like very nice people. I had to smile. I am exercising with retirees after all. Dad would have been proud.
My father also had his own fix-all. Have trouble breathing? Do tai chi to expand lung capacity. Fat? Do tai chi to sweat it out. Got a mortgage problem? Do tai chi to get clearer thinking. In fact, he articulated clearly to me one day: The Middle East would not be trying to kill each other if everyone there just took up tai chi. In his random logic, he was right.
Dad tried to teach me tai chi. But I rejected it. I didn't want to exercise with white-haired people in their 80's.
But today, I signed up for a tai chi class. I've been trying to go for six months. But the timing was never quite right. Today, I made it to class. The class is taught by two retired women in their sixties. There are four students in class. Three are senior citizens. How do I know? They all asked for the senior's discount. Two have physical ailments.
Hank, he must be close to 70, has trouble walking. When he entered the office, he collapsed into a chair by the door. The instructor gasped and said, "Oh, he fell." Hank said, "Yeah, but good thing this chair was here." This is the second time he's taking this beginner's course. I can barely understand him as he talks with a heavy British brogue.
Marilyn came in slowly with a cane. Osteoporosis, she said.
Cynthia seems okay so far. I have knee problems, she said. But so do I. After a few years away from tai chi, she has returned to start at the beginning.
They all seem like very nice people. I had to smile. I am exercising with retirees after all. Dad would have been proud.
Monday, February 04, 2008
No Thanks
I dislike telemarketers. I dislike even more telemarketers who trick you into giving them your phone number by having you fill out something under false pretenses just so they can get your phone number.
But I often feel sorry for the caller because they have to make a living by phoning people who don't want to hear from them. I try not to be rude but I am often not successful. It's like they set me up to fail.
This is the phone call I received this morning.
- Hello. Is this Mr. or Mrs. Sylph? Hello? Hello?
- Yes.
- My name is ...unintelligible... I am the vice president of ...mumble mumble... Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- I have here a hand-written coupon with your name on it. Do you live at ...mumble mumble..? Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- Hello? Yes. Do you remember filling out a form on June 17, 2007 at a shopping mall or ...unintelligible..? Hello? Hello?
- No, I don't remember doing such a thing.
- Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- No? I don't blame you. It was a long time ago. Hello?
- Yes?
- If you asked me if I remember doing something from June, I probably won't remember either. Hello?
- What are you calling about?
- Our company has been operating in the States for seven years. We are now expanding into Canada. Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- We are now in Canada and we are located in Woodbridge. Hello?
- Yes?
- So I am calling to offer you a promotional gift. Your name was selected. Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- All you have to do is...
- What does your company do?
- We offer vacation ...mumble mumble...
- Vacation? No no, I'm not interested in vacation scams.
- Hello? Hello?
- No thanks. Good bye.
If I am going to get scammed, I want it at least to be a good experience. I want to know what technique is being employed, I want admire the cleverness of the maneuver, I want to delight in the audacity and eloquence of the delivery. To satisfy this appetite, I always let telemarketers go on for longer than necessary.
But that was a pretty bad pitch on his part. I couldn't understand him. His cell phone didn't seem to work for him. I had to ask him what he was calling about and what his company did. He made me do a lot of work. All that so he could scam me? No thanks.
But I often feel sorry for the caller because they have to make a living by phoning people who don't want to hear from them. I try not to be rude but I am often not successful. It's like they set me up to fail.
This is the phone call I received this morning.
- Hello. Is this Mr. or Mrs. Sylph? Hello? Hello?
- Yes.
- My name is ...unintelligible... I am the vice president of ...mumble mumble... Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- I have here a hand-written coupon with your name on it. Do you live at ...mumble mumble..? Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- Hello? Yes. Do you remember filling out a form on June 17, 2007 at a shopping mall or ...unintelligible..? Hello? Hello?
- No, I don't remember doing such a thing.
- Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- No? I don't blame you. It was a long time ago. Hello?
- Yes?
- If you asked me if I remember doing something from June, I probably won't remember either. Hello?
- What are you calling about?
- Our company has been operating in the States for seven years. We are now expanding into Canada. Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- We are now in Canada and we are located in Woodbridge. Hello?
- Yes?
- So I am calling to offer you a promotional gift. Your name was selected. Hello? Hello?
- Yes?
- All you have to do is...
- What does your company do?
- We offer vacation ...mumble mumble...
- Vacation? No no, I'm not interested in vacation scams.
- Hello? Hello?
- No thanks. Good bye.
If I am going to get scammed, I want it at least to be a good experience. I want to know what technique is being employed, I want admire the cleverness of the maneuver, I want to delight in the audacity and eloquence of the delivery. To satisfy this appetite, I always let telemarketers go on for longer than necessary.
But that was a pretty bad pitch on his part. I couldn't understand him. His cell phone didn't seem to work for him. I had to ask him what he was calling about and what his company did. He made me do a lot of work. All that so he could scam me? No thanks.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Waste Not
In Brazil, the government funds human milk banks. Nursing mothers who have too much milk express the excess and donate it to the bank. The bank pasteurizes the milk, packages it, and gives it to babies whose mothers have trouble lactating.
A friend just got back from Brazil with photographs of such a bank and its staff.
Biodynamic farming is apparently the next step up from organic farming. This was the subject I learned most about in India while chatting with marchers from Germany. The practice allows small farmers to treat farm land as a self-sustaining whole. Farmers do not use chemicals to control disease and encourage growth. They bury dead plants and animals so when decomposed, nutrients return to the earth. They practise crop rotation so the same minerals and nutrients are not sucked out of the soil by the same crop year after year. They use the calendar only as an approximate guide for planting and harvesting; they rely more on the "feel" of the weather for the precise time to plant and harvest.
The Turkish salwar is sewn using two leg-lengths of cloth without wasting a scrap. This is how they cut the pattern.
That flap that comes out from the crotch is just the leftover fabric from the leg turned upside down.
I like the simplicity and non-waste of these practices.
A friend just got back from Brazil with photographs of such a bank and its staff.
Biodynamic farming is apparently the next step up from organic farming. This was the subject I learned most about in India while chatting with marchers from Germany. The practice allows small farmers to treat farm land as a self-sustaining whole. Farmers do not use chemicals to control disease and encourage growth. They bury dead plants and animals so when decomposed, nutrients return to the earth. They practise crop rotation so the same minerals and nutrients are not sucked out of the soil by the same crop year after year. They use the calendar only as an approximate guide for planting and harvesting; they rely more on the "feel" of the weather for the precise time to plant and harvest.
The Turkish salwar is sewn using two leg-lengths of cloth without wasting a scrap. This is how they cut the pattern.
That flap that comes out from the crotch is just the leftover fabric from the leg turned upside down.
I like the simplicity and non-waste of these practices.
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