Wonky World

It suddenly turned cold. The first day was 4C and raining. I turned the heat back on. The next day was colder. I went out with coat and gloves. I feel discombobulated. A house on our street just listed for $599,000 and it's a crappy reno job inside. I phoned a restaurant to confirm they were open for dinner Monday but when we arrived, they were closed. A good friend's husband has been diagnosed with aggressive prostate cancer. The world has gone crazy.

I dreamt last night I was walking through a hospital with my 6-year-old niece, Kid2. A nurse brought us into a room and asked if I had told Kid2 about my father. I said no. She then told Kid2 my father had died. We wept inconsolably. I woke up and thought, what was that about?

Mom went home from my house by public transit. Where she usually transfers to a bus, the bus stop was gone. A woman took her into the subway and put her on the right bus. But the bus took her all over town before getting to her destination. It took her almost two hours to get home. She phoned me and accused, "Why didn't you tell me where to get the bus? Why didn't you tell me the old bus stop is no good any more?" I said, "I had no idea they moved the bus stop and changed the route. I can't tell you things I don't know."

I took away The Boy's cell phone because he stays up all night to talk to friends, then sleeps in and misses school. This morning, he said, "I hate you." I said, "That's belligerence." He said, "But I do hate you." I said, "You have to feel what you feel, but don't be rude." He said, "Can I have my phone back?" I said, "No." Will he learn he can't tell people he hates them, then ask them for something?

Wonky.

An Afternoon

Here's how I spent yesterday.

In the late morning, I headed out to the gym. A trumpet playing King Of The Road (Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let fifty cents, no phone, no pool, no pets, I ain't got no cigarettes...) greeted me as I walked out onto St. Clair. An elderly black man with smidges of white hair, wearing a plaid vest, was playing his trumpet in front of the liquor store.

I stood and listened for a while. He was good, though he played slowly. I had two $5 bills on me so put one in his trumpet case. He gave me the deepest bow I have ever received from anyone, while still playing his trumpet!

At the gym, as I was changing into my workout clothes, a woman said, "Oh, you sound tired." It's true, I have been sighing loudly recently. It's fatigue from going to the gym four times a week, trying to buff up for summer. But that little comment from her started a conversation.

Now, I think the woman is a little flaky. Despite that, we sat in the change room and talked for an hour. Or she talked mostly.

I found out she's a recent breast cancer survivor, her treatment continues, she's written two movies that have yet to be sold, she works as background in movies, she worked in sales in Cuba for two years a few years back, she's the eldest of four with two younger brothers, one of her brothers works as an executive chef in Russia, one runs a private high school in Toronto, she has one sister who is a homemaker with two teen daughters, and she's single with no kids.

We talked about India and my love of Bollywood movies. Her favourite movies are Moulin Rouge and My Life As A Dog.

She lives on a street next to the gym. She's working out to shape up so she can take part in a 2-day, 60K walk for breast cancer in November. I offered to sponsor her and she welled up in tears. Then she said, "It's so good to have a conversation and to have someone actually listen." I think she may have been lonely.

Walking home from the gym, I saw a fat wooden butler figure placed outside a shop that runs up a side street. The shop window said "Lunch Dinner" and nothing more. This is a new shop. I went in to investigate.

A woman saw me through the window and waved me in. Her shop opened the day before. The place was small, so it was for take out food, though not quite set up yet. The first thing this woman told me was, "I am the best biscotti maker in the city." And to prove it, she gave me two delicious pieces of biscotti to try.

This woman used to teach salsa dancing at my gym. Now she's focusing on food and catering. The little shop has promise. The woman is vibrant. I can't wait to buy food from her.

Leaving this shop, I walked a few doors over to The Cupcakery. The store window has a pink tutu on display. The shop sells only cupcakes. I bought one. By now, I've put back all the calories lost at the gym.

There is a new tapas restaurant on the street, though the white table clothes are all wrong. Maybe that's why I have yet to see anyone eating inside the last three times I've passed it.

There is a new video store. They specialize in foreign and independent films. No more Blockbuster for me. I rented Jasmine Women and Sancho The Bailiff. Both beautiful and full of grief. I have to go back today to rent Harold and Kumar to balance all that despair.

It's a pretty interesting hood I live in.

The Adult Teen

I was in the change room of the gym the other day. A woman beside me was in her underwear, blasting her radio. She looked to be in her 20's, maybe even early 30's. Suddenly, an old man slumbered in. Immediately, he said, "Sorry, wrong change room", turned around, and left.

Earlier, I almost walked into the men's change room. I accepted that the old guy made a mistake.

But the half-naked woman beside me didn't. Granted, she was undressed and I wasn't. She felt she had been caught naked and I didn't. Here's what the woman did. She said, "Hey man, that's not even cute. No way, man. That's not right." For sure, he shouldn't have walked in. But he didn't do it to be cute. Part of me dismissed the incident because really, there ain't nuthin' on a body I hadn't seen, and the old man must've seen it all in his day too.

Then the woman phoned someone and said, "Call me back in 10 and I give it to ya." Wow, she had to tell a friend about it as if it was a talk-worthy incident. When she walked out to the front, she complained to the reception, "A man walked in to the change room and saw me. She was lucky, she still had her clothes on. He said he made a mistake. But that's not right, man, for him to walk in." Did she want the person at reception to undo what happened?

Beyond what she did - blasting her music, phoning a friend, complaining to reception when the old man acknowledged his mistake - it was her tone that made me take notice. It irked me. I thought she was going to ask reception to do something to mark the men's and women's change rooms clearer, but she complained about the injustice she suffered. Something was not right about how she behaved and how she looked.

After thinking about it, I conclude it's because she looked like an adult but behaved like a teenager of the trashy kind. None of the teenagers I know actually behave like that. All judgment aside, I had to ask myself, how many adults do I know who never got over their teen image? More importantly, am I one of them, and do I behave like one in at times? I have to think about this.

The Line

A few nights ago, The Boy came home with four friends to spend the night. Just before bedtime, the kids went out. A little while later, The Boy came back alone.

"Where did your friends go?" I asked.

"They wanted to go for a walk," he said.

"Really? Or are they doing drugs?"

"Are you going to be a cool mom or are you going to chastise them?"

"I won't say anything to them. They have the good sense not to do it in the house, and made a point of not even being near the house."

"They don't do anything worse than pot. That's in fact all they do."

"You're not doing it with them?"

"I can't tell you how much I am against drugs of any kind. Really, you don't have to believe me. I've tried pot, but I don't do it."

"I believe you."

The thing is, a part of me wanted to ask where the kids got their pot from, and whether they could get me some. But I refused to cross the line. I wanted to remain authoritarian parent. So I didn't pursue the subject any more. The kids came back, went to bed, and all was well the next day.

Let The Sun Shine In

The weather has been glorious, around 23C. The sun is out, birds are chirping, little buds on trees and plants are poking through, I've already hung my laundry on the line to dry. Windows are open and neighbours are outside.

Skateboards fly pass my window. A bum in the parkette at the end of the street took his shirt off and rubbed his pasty back against a tree trunk, grunting in satisfied ecstasy, humph, ahh, ohh. That's a tree I won't be hugging in the near future.

I walked up our street and exchanged hello, happy Spring, yippee freedom, holla back world, etc. with several neighbours. My mother is who knows where soaking up the sun to address her vitamin D deficiency. Everyone's cleaning out their gardens and yards of winter's debris. I am sweeping out the leaves that I missed in the fall. A few of our clay pots have cracked over winter. My neighbour said plastic is the way to go. She then invited me to go shopping with her along St. Clair.

It was something to walk along a familiar street with someone. We pointed out shops that the other doesn't frequent. It's like we've walked on different streets and now these streets merge. But Neighbour and I, we are such kindred spirits.

We stopped at Markett where they were grilling mini angus burgers outside. We each had one, then we looked at the meat the shop sold and planned a BBQ for later in the month. I pointed out my yoga studio to her, she showed me a shop that sold garden and home knick-knacks. Neither of us had noticed the other's store before.

We went to Joe Fresh and looked at tops. Of the four items we chose separately to try on, three were the same. We each bought an identical shirt.

On the way home, she said she needed to stop by the health food store. I said, Great, I need to get some soap there. She said, Me too, that's what I'm stopping to get. We went in and both bought soap.

Then she said, I'm just going in to Shoppers for a sec. I said, Me too, I need to get hair dye. She said, That's what I'm getting. So we went in and got hair dye, though different brands.

We got home, where she puttered in her yard and I puttered in mine.

That's when another neighbour invited me over for a BBQ. Except I was putting together shelves for my potting shed so I declined. It was so great to see everyone outside, wearing T-shirts and smiles on the first truly warm weekend of the year.

On The Road

Is this not an amazing doorway. We pass by several like this each time we leave our hotel and go down a street that looks like a lane way.


When we are on the motor scooter in Seminyak, this is the kind of traffic we encounter.



We often pass by these wild, crazy, expressive statues.






Once, we drove beside a procession going to a temple.


For our bicycle tour in Ubud, we stopped at a restaurant for breakfast. This is the view from I sat. That mountain is a volcano. The dark part is the remnants of lava from the last eruption in 1963.




One of the stops on our bike tour was a coffee plantation. This man is hand-roasting coffee beans.


We also stopped at a Balinese home.



Inside, the women and children in the family were making bamboo mats, which they sell to generate income. The mats are used to sit on as well as to cover the roof.




Roosters are kept in cages to prevent them from killing each other between cock fights.


Each home compound houses several families, usually related. While the property is large, the extended family is poor. They open their home to tour companies to supplement their income.


That's our little bike tour group on the road.


We rode through many villagers.





And hi-fived many kids.




We stopped at a sacred banyan tree and one of the drivers made an offering. I think our guide said this tree is 2,000-years-old and the village has to trim the hanging vines to prevent the roots from spreading. You suffer severe punishment from the villagers if you are caught climbing or swinging on this tree.

Another Senior Moment

After the production of Tartuffe at The Boy's school, I went up to the lead actor and introduced myself, congratulating him on his excellent performance. Kids need to hear praise from adults other than their parents and teachers.

I wanted to find the other lead actor to congratulate him too. But I didn't see him. That night, I took mom home and The Boy went to a party with the cast. Then he came home with three friends to sleep over. One of the friends was Phil.

The next day, the kids went off to do their weekend thing. The Boy and Phil went back to the school for the final performance of the show. That night, Phil came to spend the night again. I made them BLTs for lunch the next day.

Today, I had dinner with The Boy after our dentist appointment. The restaurant had a poster of his school's production of Tartuffe on its window. So The Boy and I talked about the play for the first time since I saw it. He really hadn't been home much.

I told him I said hello to the lead who played Tartuffe. The Boy said, Yes, the student told him he met me. I told him I looked for the other lead but couldn't find him. The Boy said, "What do you mean?"

I said, "I mean I looked for him to say hello and congratulate him but I didn't see him in the hall way."

"Mom, that was Phil," he said.

"Your friend Phil?"

"Yes, the guy who slept over two nights in a row and you made him food. You've met him many times."

"Wow. He looked completely different on stage."

"No he didn't. He parted his hair and wore a costume."

"Well, tell him I thought he was terrific."

How did I miss that? These kids are real actors. Phil looks and acts totally like a normal teenager in real life.

The Case Of The Magic Bullet

A magic bullet is a blender. The blender is shaped like a bullet. One half is the motor and blade, the other half is the cup that holds the pureed and blended liquids. It's magic because you open up the bullet and drink right from the cup.

Apparently, teenage girls love the magic bullet. It allows them to mix sauces, fruit and vegetable juices to their heart's content.

But Mom also likes the magic bullet. She commented on the convenience and prowess of the magic bullet several times so I got her one for Christmas. She claims to love it.

While I was in Bali, Mom came each week to stay with The Boy for one night. When I got home, I saw Mom's magic bullet on my kitchen counter. I packed it up one day and put it in the Autoshare rental car I was using for the day, intending to return the bullet to Mom.

Only, I saw Mom, did my errands, went to my outing, and at the end of the night, I had forgotten to return the bullet to her. That was Friday night.

On Monday night, lying in bed and having trouble falling asleep, I suddenly bolted straight up in bed. My god, I left the magic bullet in the trunk of the rental car! The car is parked just down the street five minutes away. I need to go see if the bullet is still there.

The Boy was just coming up to bed. I told him where I was going. "That's not Pau-Pau's magic bullet," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"That's K's magic bullet. She brought it to make juice and left it here."

"Well, it's in the trunk of the rental car in the rental parking lot now."

"But mom, mom...."

So at 1 am, I got into my coat and boots, trooped down the street to the rental car parking lot, and opened the car trunk. Thank god the magic bullet was still there.

Temples

The first temple we visited with our guide required that we wear ceremonial sarongs to enter.


The temple was built in 944 and is still in use today. The temple consists of several structures and gardens.





There were gargoyles and statues all over the place.






This is Spanish painter Antonio Blanco's home. He went to Bali and married a Balinese dancer. His home now serves as a gallery for his art work. His widow and son still live on the premises. But it ought to be temple.



What home keeps a pagoda?


This garden leads to the Temple On The Water.


At the water's edge, there are many gardens, restaurants, and shops.



Across the water sits this little island where a man was fishing.


And there are the two small temples on the water.


While we were there, the fog rolled in.



An artist doing my portrait by the temple. He asked me to take my hair down for the sitting. "Hair up, look pregnant," he said. But I think it was his polite way of say, "look fatter."