Face Of Another

During the school year, The Exchange lives with his mother and maternal grandmother in a town near the Spanish border. His grandmother is elderly and a little confused, he said. Somehow, she got it in her head that The Boy would understand her better if she spoke to him in Spanish. I asked if she thought The Boy was Spaniard. He's been mistaken for that before. The Exchange said no, she's just old and confuses the two languages since they are both foreign languages to her.

Then I asked The Boy if he's picked up any Spanish as a result of the grandmother speaking to him. He seemed surprised, not having clued in until now that's what the grandmother had been using.

The Boy told me The Exchange's mother speaks excellent English. I asked The Exchange how she learned. He said, "In school."

"But she speaks it so well."

"No, she doesn't. She just likes to speak English so she tried to speak it all the time to The Boy."

Well that explains why she didn't understand me in the two phone conversations we had.

Then The Exchange dropped a good one. He said his paternal grandfather was Cambodian. You would never know looking at him with his light complexion, hazel eyes, tall nose and wavy brown hair. In fact, he looks quite like Frodo in Lord Of The Rings.

In the one photograph of his father we have, the father doesn't look Cambodian either. But The Exchange said his half brother, who is 6-years-old, has Asiatic features. The Boy agreed.

I suppose it's possible. Looking at Kid2, you would never know that she has Chinese blood, what with her blondish hair and round eyes.

I once had a friend who was blond with a Chinese surname. We were in grade six and she was a rough and tumble girl. Definitely not the hair-dying kind. She said her biological father was Chinese, though she had no Asiatic features. Her brother, however, was very oriental looking.

The Boy had a pretty friend once who had curly dark hair with hazel eyes. I thought she was Italian. Lo and behold, her father is black and her mother white Russian.

There is no predicting what bi-racial kids look like. You just accept that they have an exquisite genetic blend.

French Kissing

I like the French custom of children kissing their mothers every morning, one peck on each cheek. I mentioned this to The Boy and he immediately gave me two pecks. He said he doesn't object to this custom.

I used to kiss him every morning. But I stopped when he declared his independence and we started keeping different schedules.

I am working on The Man kissing me in the morning and at night. Once upon a time, he did that. But then along the way, he stopped. Probably because we started going to bed at different times, and sometimes slept in different rooms, and we wake up at different times. To be fair, he kisses me often enough. It's just that I often recoil in horror because of his bad breath. So what I'm really working on is getting him to improve his breath so I can enjoy his kisses.

But as for the morning kiss, I want to institute that custom in our house. I see Exchange, The Boy, and The Man lining up to kiss me each morning as the start to their day. Yes. I like this custom.

I wonder if French teens kiss their mothers good night.

Nice Young Spacemen

I am sure they are not all innocence and charm. But lately, all the young teen boys I've met are such nice boys.

A while ago, a 16-year-old came to dinner. His mother brought him because she thought The Boy might like to meet him. This 16-year-old was articulate, charming, polite and worldly, with a sense of humour to boot. He's looking forward to getting together with The Boy.

Our Exchange is also like that. I like that he kisses me in the morning (that's what the French do apparently), and when he hears me run the sink, he offers to help me with the dishes. He's soft-spoken, likes music, and stumbles through his English in a most easy, unapologetic way. He's trying to read Harry Potter in English. Takes a long time in English, he says, reading only 100 pages a day. Still, he's way ahead of me. I seem to be stuck at page 14.

Yet, there's a benign, spaced-out-ness with these boys. It's like they are constantly wide-eyed with wonder, willing to adapt and take in whatever comes their way, with easy-going personalities. Maybe it's because these boys have travelled and they treat me with the reverential respect that well-brought up young men give to their friends' parents. I wonder if The Boy comes across to other parents like that, despite being so difficult and complaining at home.

The Boy tells me his friends are eager to meet Exchange. That's so social of them. I can hear Bro say, I don't want to meet him, what's he got to do with me? Maybe I'm just really lucky that The Boy is a good guy and attracts friends eager to participate in life.

Earth, Wind, Water, and Fire

This year, more than in past years, I felt all elements of nature alive and in balance at our camping site in Killarney. The six of us pitched our tents high on a rock, with the blue sky above us, the lake below us, the wind blowing through the trees, and at night, we lit a bonfire and stared at the stars.

I skinny-dipped in the lake, in broad daylight! because there was little traffic passing by our site.

I got lost in the pitch black forest while visiting the thunder box at night. It's amazing how disoriented one can be when one can't see one's surroundings. Thankfully, I wasn't far from my tent mate and she guided me back with her flashlight when I called out for help.

I am convinced that mosquitoes hover around smoke fire at night to keep warm and look for feedings. When you step away from the fire and into the cooler air and night breeze, you can see the pests hovering those close to the fire, especially those under the white mosquito netting. It was like the net attracted the pests.

We paddled, hiked and ate tremendously well of vegetarian fare. That's one of the things I love about this annual trip: I come home healthier and I incorporate more meatless dishes in my family's meals.

My favourite part of this year's trip was nestling in the crook of the rock. There were several of these crooks high up on the rock that was the foundation for our campsite. It was earth's way to cradle me while the sun kept me warm, the wind kept me cool, and the water below kept me attentive.

Lying there on a lazy afternoon, happy feelings of childhood came flooding back, though I can't recall ever having nestled in a rock by the water in my childhood. It just felt like that feeling of contentment, being protected and carefree should be a childhood memory for everyone.

The House At Home

I just got back from a wilderness camping trip straight into tearing apart the computer room to convert it into a bedroom. The Boy and Exchange arrive this afternoon!

We are almost ready. Just some last minute cleaning and tidying.

Ours is a 3-bedroom house. The third bedroom has always been an office, or the computer room. I've always wanted it converted to a bedroom, for me, on days when I snore too loudly and when I need alone time. Now that we've done it, it feels natural to have the third room as a bedroom, as if the house is at home. How do I persuade The Man his office needs to be permanently in the basement?

For now, we will enjoy the house as is for at least one month.

WTF?

The Man invited someone to dinner, to catch up on things. The Man said, "If your brother in still in town, bring him too. I haven't seen him for ages."

The guest said, "As a matter of fact, he is."

The Man said, "Great."

"And my other brother is here."

"Well, bring him too."

"Okay. My son will probably join us, and my brother has two kids."

So from what I originally thought was two guests, we now have six. Then this morning, The Man sent an e-mail from work. There are actually eight of them coming.

WTF? Who are all these people?

The Girls, Part II

I visited the bra shop with the persuasive saleslady again. I took a friend there because I trust Bra Lady's judgement and Friend needed a new bra.

Upon entering the store, Bra Lady asked which of us needed a bra. I pointed at Friend and Friend pointed at me. Friend whispered, "She looks fierce. You have to get sized too if I am going to get one."

Bra Lady said, "One at a time." Then she measured me with her hands and eyes. "40F," she pronounced.

"40F? No, hold on. You gave me 40D last time. I've lost weight since. How can I be 40F now?"

"Different make." She pulled a bra off one of her shelves. "Try this. Trust me. I see you wearing Canadian bra that make you flat and too far apart." She pointed at my girls.

I went into the change room while she hunted for a bra for Friend.

The cups on my bra were huge. No way I could even fill half of them. I put it on. Lots of room up front. I peeked out from behind the change room curtain and said, "It's not going to work. It's way too big."

Bra Lady stood at the curtain and stuck her hand into the cubicle, reaching for inside my bra. She pulled the flesh up front to fill the cups. I felt so jello-y. But there was still too much loose fabric around the cup. I put my shirt over the bra and whoa! My breasts were pointing sky high like rockets ready to launch. "No, no, this won't work. They make me look fake. Too high, they're pointing too high."

"No, trust me. That's perfect. Why you want to look flat and saggy? This bra hold you in. Make you look like a woman."

"Do you have a wireless one?"

"Wireless? No, what you use to hold you up if no wire?"

"How about one that makes me less pointy?"

"You not look pointy. Good support."

"I can't, I feel too fake in this."

Bra Lady shrugged and said, "Up to you." I wondered if she knew she made a pun.

Then she tried to fit Friend. After sizing her up, Bra Lady pronounced, "36C."

"She's good," Friend said. Friend buys 34 bras but felt she really needed 36. But C cup?

Bra Lady gave Friend two bras to try on. Surprisingly, neither fit. One was too small, the other too big. Bra Lady shook her head. Then she said, "You need corset to keep this in," pointing at her mid-section.

Friend said, "You are probably right. But I am not going to get a corset. I am going to lose weight first."

So Bra Lady didn't make a sale. She was defeated by our girls.

The Girls

To better prepare myself for my pilates summer, I bought a second yoga top. It is lined across the chest and hug you skin tight so you don't have to worry about flapping bra straps.

I said to the cashier, "This is an exercise top, right?"

She said, "Yes. It's got this bra lining inside so you don't have to wear a bra. But I always wear my bra anyway when I exercise. Because when you're jumping about, the girls jump out if you don't hold them in."

I tried hard not to laugh. Her girls were not that big. So I said, "Well, you know your girls."

Then like a pervert, I started looking around the store at all the women to size up their girls. Oh really, if even she has trouble with her girls, imagine how out of control some of our girls are.

What Father Never Told Me

I brought Mom to Cobourg recently for a house and garden tour. After, we had dinner with my Mother-in-law. For a woman who claims to speak no English, Mom communicated well with Mother-in-law. Mom never needed a translator. It was Mother-in-law who asked for translation, I think not because she didn't understand Mom, but because she couldn't believe what Mom was saying.

So this is what I learned about Dad: he was engaged to another woman before Mom.

In the mid-1950's, Great-grandma (Mom's dad's mother) was living in Hong Kong. She rented a room in a building. In the same building lived a young woman and her mother. The young woman also had a rented room. Her mother rented a bed. (Those were the cramped housing conditions of the poor at the time. Apparently, it's not much different now.) This young woman was engaged to Dad.

They were engaged for three years. That was a long engagement back then. It was Dad who kept delaying the wedding. One of the reasons for the delay was, as a condition of marriage, the woman's mother required Dad to support her till death, and after death, to maintain her grave.

It meant he would have to tend her grave till the end of his days. Culturally, this was a common request. But Dad was a man of his words. He didn't want to do that and he didn't want to lie about it. I wonder if even then, he had thoughts of leaving Hong Kong some day. And he figured it was not worth it to get married only to gain two dependents for life. I think he must've really not liked the woman's mother.

Eventually, he broke off the engagement. In ancient China, arranged marriages were common. If a man backed out of an arranged marriage, even though he has never met the intended bride, it could cause such humiliation and irreparable damage to her reputation as an unwanted woman that jilted brides often committed suicide. Even though Hong Kong in the 50's was not ancient China, this turn of events must've have been devastating for Dad's fiancee.

But Mom came from a family of successful gold merchants. They know when to seize the opportunity. That's when Great-grandma said, but he's still a good man, and suggested to Dad that he meet her granddaughter, who was still in China, but was moving to Hong Kong soon. Dad was 29, he was eager to be married. Mom was 18, just the right age to be plucked. Accompanied by her mother and brother, Mom moved to Hong Kong and met Dad.

Within 6 months, they were married. When knowledge of their engagement spread, Dad's ex-fiancee phoned Dad to ask if he wanted her engagement ring back. Dad told her to sell the ring and buy something sweet for herself.

A year after Mom and Dad married, I came tumbling out of mom and into a whole new set of drama.

A Spur Of Enthusiasm

I've been monitoring my diet the last six weeks. This was necessitated by high blood pressure. I've lost almost 10 lbs. I can't be more delighted.

To capitalize on my good work, I purchased a summer membership to our local pilates studio. That means I can take an unlimited number of classes during the eight weeks of the summer. (This is disturbing, to see in writing that summer only lasts eight weeks.) But to make the membership worthwhile, I'd need to take at least three classes a week. More, to make up for the week I'll be away camping. So this week, I signed up for six classes. That's almost exercise every day.

I've had two classes so far this week. It feels great to be back at pilates after a three month absence. I missed it so. But today, I am hurting all over. How can I do this six times a week? Too late, I've signed up and paid.

Go Sylph go!

Just Fine

Though of course, all it takes is a phone call to know that the situation has changed. Apparently, The Boy is having a good time. He's borrowed triangle underwear for the pool. The camp ground owners like them. He and Exchange have made friends with some little kids at the camp ground.

They were making all kinds of noise and screaming when I talked to him. He even spoke to them in French, asking one of the kids if he was five or six. Sounds so natural.

Now I can go to pilates in peace.

A Reprieve, An Anxiety

Who knew that with The Boy away, I would have nothing to write about. It's almost like I've put my mind on a shelf. Not true of course, but there have been days it's felt like that.

The truth is, The Boy has been terribly homesick. I've talked to him almost everyday, and sending off e-mails and text messages. It's being so far away from home, it's not being able to communicate meaningfully with anyone, it's not having good food because really, you only get good food in France in restaurants and he isn't eating in restaurants with his host family. He's had little internet access so he's had to withdraw from the online course he was hoping to complete in France.

At least he likes the Exchange and the Exchange's 14-year-old cousin. He and the Exchange share similar taste in music and art. The Cousin is the regional break dance champion. Who knew villages in southern France have regional break dance champs.

He's been camping with the Exchange and the Cousin. They were driven to a family camp ground 20 minutes away from the Exchange's village and given two tents and sleeping bags, and that was it. The three were left at the camp ground overnight. While it was an adventure of sorts, they had absolutely nothing to do.

There was a swimming pool with a slide at the camp ground. But camp owners would't let The Boy use it without the proper swim wear. They only allow the triangle, Speedo type bathing suit, or you can even swim in a skin-hugging triangular underwear. But they did not like The Boy's bathing trunks nor his boxers. Too much like street clothes.

The Boy's asked that we arrange to send him back to Paris for a day or two to meet a friend of his, who will be in Paris for a week with her family. Maybe a bit of familiarity will help with the homesickness and improve the second half of his trip. I asked him to put me in touch with her parents first and we will talk about it, without promising anything. Then yesterday, I did not hear from The Boy at all. He has not even replied to my text message. Nor has he gotten in touch today. They may have moved to the Exchange's cottage, or things improved for The Boy and he has not had a chance to recharge his cell phone.

Or he's lost his cell phone.

I will phone tomorrow. I worry about him.

Off To A Good Start

After The Boy got on the plane, I came home to stay awake. I couldn't sleep, knowing he's travelling by himself, across an ocean to a place he's never been, to meet people he's never met, never talked to except in e-mails (The Man and I talked to Exchange Father by phone once), not even sure what they look like except for one photograph exchanged (The Man did a little video of us and uploaded it to YouTube for them).

That first night, I knew he landed in Paris at 3:30 am. I checked with the airline. That's 9:30 am in Paris. At 4:00 am, the Exchange Father phoned to say he's got The Boy and they are still at the airport. I was relieved to talk to them. The Boy sounded tired. All he managed to tell me was, it was fun on the plane travelling by himself.

I thanked Exchange Father for calling and told him I was going to call The Boy's cell in the next half hour. He said, "If I were in your place, knowing my son arrived safely would be more important than being awakened in the night." I said, "I have not gone to bed yet so you did not wake me."

The next day, we went about our activities and came home to this message:

Hey mom and dad. So um, what did you guys do today? Yes...mm hmm...well that's nice. Oh me? I went to the Arc de Triomphe and attended mass at Notre Dame. Talk to you later.

That saucy boy. We phoned the Exchange Father in Paris. It was 9:00 pm there. But The Boy had already gone to sleep. Exchange Father told us they had a great day. Walked along the Champs-Élysées, went for ice cream at Berthillon. The Boy loved the ice cream, paid attention to everything wide-eyed with interest, even asked questions about the history and architecture of what they saw. Really? Has he picked up the wrong boy at the airport after all?

They are staying with friends. The friends also have a 16-year-old son. So The Boy, Exchange, Friend's Son hung out together. "He speaks French very well," said Exchange Father. What? Since when? He almost failed French in Grade 9 and dropped the subject.

"And he's very outgoing, polite, and good natured. Funny too. He's a pleasure to be with." Well yes, he's usually all that.

We chatted and The Man was giddy over The Boy's experience. We feel assured he's safe and Exchange Father is a good man. Especially when The Man told him The Boy has money with him to pay for museum admissions, food, and transportation, and Exchange Father said, "No no. He is in France, I treat him like my son."

I went to bed at 9:30 pm last night, from not sleeping the night before. At 4:30 am, my cell phone gave off a loud shrill that woke me up. The Boy had text messaged:

Hey, im just hanging out at da Louvre ;)

There were The Man and I fumbling in the dark, not quite awake, not sure how to do text messaging. But we managed to send back this message:

Cool. Don't steal Mona. Call you later. Love you.