Diagnosis: Temporary Adult-form ADD

I just read through a full article on the mental control of the bilingual lexico-semantic system...and don't know what I just read. Ever do that? Your eyes read the words, follow through the entire 10-20 pages, but none of it actually registers in your brain and at the end you don't even remember reading that last page with the weird graphs and have no idea how the article reaches the conclusions about bilingual language control that it does...? Egh. I am so not back in student mode. My mind keeps wandering.

"This system involved a process termed contention scheduling in which schemas..."

... I gotta remember to buy garbage bags. Hmm, should I use a green theme or a blue theme for my next painting? Oh, I should remember to call my old lady tonight to tell her I am back in the country...

"Simulations of contention scheduling system..."

... Where did I leave the user-guide for our phone that doesn't work? Hmm, the bathroom could use a good scrub-down...it's the only room I haven't fully cleaned yet since I got back.

Oh, right... "...evidence for the role of frontal lobes in regulating language tasks in unilingual speakers..."

...Did I email about that internship position yet? No, crap, I should do that yet... "And in conclusion, the IC model shares commonalities with existing proposals....".

Egh. I could use some coffee.

Byebyebaby

I am half-packed, just waiting for the rest of my laundry to dry. Tomorrow night I fly back to NL, without Luuk. You'd think that I'd be used to this idea, but I'm not liking it too much. At least it's only six weeks and not six months...

Nice Singapore.

The staff in our hotel building are some of the nicest people in this country. I am sure that is part of their training and whatnot. But they are really good at it. We never pass in the hallway without a "good day, ma'am". Walking into the dining area we are always greeted with cheerful smile and a bright "good morning!". Our cleaning lady always apologizes for cleaning the room when I am around and thanks me when she is finished. The other day, we walked out of the elevator into the lobby and were met with a chorus of "good evening!"; five smiling faces beamed at us from behind the desk where I assume they were waiting for the evening shift change.
I am never quite sure how to treat our friendly cleaners and cooks and receptionists. Their every move speaks of servitude. Even the way they take our money and return our change when we pay for something at the desk is one of respect, using both hands to hold the money by two corners. I fear being perceived as an arrogant colonial, so I smile back and thank them and probably over-do my display of gratitude for whatever it was that they just did for me. Yet since arriving here two months ago, I have become quite lazy with picking up after ourselves and doing the dishes...that is, afterall, what they are paid to do, right?
I wonder sometimes how we look through their eyes. Growing up with a negative response to the word "servant", usually equating it with something akin to "slave", I have a hard time imagining that working with a continual attitude of servitude would be satisfying or pleasant. To me it would seem so demeaning and I would find myself resenting the lazy foreigners who can't even do their dishes even when they have nothing better to do with their time...
But this place is different. It is not only the staff in this building that bear this attitude; everywhere we go we are met with a pleasant smile and an eager offer to help, by business men and street cleaners alike. Once, I asked someone for directions to a place where I was meeting some friends, and after being offered directions from several different people closeby, I was finally brought to the place I was looking for.
Perhaps a shift in perception is due on my part. I could learn much from these people.

(almost) discovered

A few weeks ago a girl walked up to me and asked if I would like to model for some pictures for her portfolio. She gave me the address, in a big busy mall, and I figured, "what the hey, I have nothing better to do" and made an appointment. I worried about it all weekend, what kind of agency, would it be safe, should I go...?...but decided that this being Singapore, and the office being in a mall, the likelihood of that sort of thing happening was pretty minimal, so I should just go to the place and check it out. Then the day of the appointment I completely forgot about it. Yes, forgot. Cause I am such a busy woman these days. Have so much going on in my day to distract me...

Anyway, I remembered two days later.

Today I got a call from someone I presume to be the same girl, saying that I had been recommended for some tv commercial and a magazine of some sort. She asked if I would be willing to come by on Thursday for an interview... "No, sorry, " I said, "I am leaving for Bali for a few days and when I come back I will only be here for two days before I leave again for home. So it won't work out." Undeterred, she asked if I could come by tomorrow instead. "But what would be the point?" To figure out if there are any projects I can do. "But I won't be here to do them...so what's the point?" Well, would you just be willing to come by and talk about it? I finally convinced her that I would not be here to do anything agreed upon in any interview, thanked her, and hung up.

Seriously.

Well, there goes my modeling career!

Thoughts of a hopeless romantic.

Dane wrote a blog recently about love. I have lots of time to think about things. So I kept thinking about it. And here are some rambling thoughts...

That God uses marriage as an example/portrayal of our relationship to Him, has always fascinated me. Obviously, given the state of marriages today, this is not a perfect example... or actually, maybe it still is, though in some cases more of a "how not to..." sort of way.
Think of any marriage that ever impressed or amazed you. Most marriages are admirable, given the effort that sometimes must go into it. But I have seen only a handful (and I can proudly say that my parents' is one of them), that created in me complete admiration and the desire to have 'that' some day. The kind where more than just the cliches were alive, but where something like unquestioning acceptance, loyalty, servitude were all combined to create something that suddenly made all those Bible passages about love make sense. It is those marriages that create the desire to have that special kind of relationship with God that is reflected therein.
Obviously, it's different...I mean, God and I can't hold hands or cuddle or say sweet cheesy things to each other. But that's not even the stuff that impresses me about these marriages; these are only superficial evidence of a deeper underlying power that exists in their relationship. To think that that kind of love can exist between God and His bride the church, is, to me anyway, astounding. This picture of what relationship with God might be like is so different from the 'judging grandfather watching from above' picture that I struggle with so often, or even from the 'loving Father teaching His growing children' picture that I once in a while can handle.
Why we don't hear more sermons on this kind of love, I don't know. Maybe we can't understand it for lack of suitable examples so it's best not to touch on the subject. (Or maybe we get too caught up on roles and who is supposed to do what... Funny thing is, those particular marriages that I admired so much, seemed to work with little regard to those oh-so-important roles. Perhaps they naturally fit into their roles so well I didn't see it, but I think the reason the roles didn't seem to be important was because both parties were too interested in serving the other to care about who was doing his/her part.) It was those marriages and Biblical use of the analogy that began to form my ideal for marriage. I began to see marriage not just as a way to hook up/have kids/find yourself a life partner to make the treck more bearable, but as a way to broaden our understanding of love and of God. As if God actually created the concept of marriage, if at least in part, for that very purpose.
When Luuk and I were planning the wedding, we had to answer some questions for the civil ceremony. As we filled out the answers, we became more aware that we both wanted more than just a happy marriage that lasts. We wanted ours to be a marriage in which others could catch even just a glimpse of the sort of love that can exist between God and His people. I suppose that sort of relationship is one that takes a long time to develop. Somehow the best marriages are those that form a threesome (pardon the lack of a better term) with God.
We are still learning, still working on that(though I like to think we have a good start), yet even in this beginning, growing stage, I have found that my approach to God has changed. The way I see Him is different and the relationship that I desire to have with Him is different, better I think. This will sound incredibly cheesy, I know, but loving Luuk as much and in the way that I do now has made me aware a kind of a love that I did not know existed; I want to love God like that, but more. Because those marriages and because of my own short experience with marriage, I am aware of a different side of God. Does that make sense? I like to think that this was part of the purpose of marriage in the first place... But maye I am just a hopeless romantic.

Recap: the rest of our 'Nam trip

After a visit to the Cu Chi tunnels (where the Vietcon guerillas lived and fought during the war, which in the end was a great factor in defeating the Americans) and the War Remnant Museum (which made me glad to be in Vietnam on my Canadian passport), we escaped the dirt, smog, and traffic of Saigon and took a night train to the quieter, cleaner beachtown of Nah Trang.

Highlights included a trip on a bike-cart (picture a short, skinny, Vietnamese dude huffing us big Westerners up and down the hills of the town, though don't feel too bad, he was paid well by both us and the owner of the sea-food restaurant he took us to); a giant Buddha statue at a monestary (where we were guilted into buying some postcards from some monks-in-training and where we found a group of young boys of various ages who were well-experienced in begging and one of whom carried an expensive looking camera I am sure he did not get for his birthday, and where I was felt up by a 2-foot-tall four-year-old who was, it seems, being instructed by an older boy to either find hidden pockets or search for something little four-year-olds shouldn't even know about...); and a group of Hindu temples from the 7th century, darkened on the inside from hundreds of years of inscence and prayers.

The most interesting experience was the boat tour, the highlight of which was our crazy guide who kept making and laughing at his own jokes that no one understood; at one point he pulled out a styrofoam slab, on which was stuck a plastic basket with several bottels of what he, to the amusement of some and the shock of others, repeatedly called "fucking-mingen-Vietnam wine", which we all figured out really means "really really bad wine". This was our floating bar, around which we floated in our tubes, wine in hand.

Our next stop was Da Lat, a city in the mountains. This place has a bit of a French Alp resort feel to it, only tropical and littered with garbage. Apparently Vietnam royalty used to spend vacations there, and we can understand why. The mountains are beautiful and the temperatures are much more bearable. We took a tour with the Easy Riders (dudes on motorcycles); we each sat on the back of a bike and followed out guides through the mountains to surrounding villages where we saw how silk is taken from the cocoons and turned into the thread and then into cloth; then how "happy water" is made from fermented rice (it is some of the nastiest drink I have ever tried), and how mushrooms are grown out of fermented tapioca and sweet potatoes ("same same, but different", as they say). And of course we took many pictures of the layered farms where families grow all sorts of fruits and vegetables sold in the rest of the country. The day we left Da Lat we took golfing lessons at the incredible golf course on top of a hill, the view being green and mountains; then we flew back to Saigon in a propeller airplane.

Our final adventure was a tour through the Mekong Delta, the highlights of which included the boat ride through a palm tree and bamboo sided canal and the Jewish Israeli guy with a somewhat French accent we met whose greatest joy on this trip was not the food, culture, or scenery, but rather bargaining.

The strongest impression of the whole trip was how similar Vietnam was to Central America and Mexico. Different food, different language, but similar colours, buildings, people, professions/methods of survival, fruit, dirt, treatment of environment, poverty/wealth dichotomy, friendliness. Same same but different, I guess.

(Hmm...I was going to post some pictures but can't find our adapter...That's not good.)

P.S.: Interesting food we tried while in Nam included frog legs, crocodile, pigeon, and snails. Luuk will have to remind me if I missed any interesting ones...

Saigon Dance

The most notable characteristic of Saigon (or Ho Chi Minh) is the way traffic works despite the craziness of obviously untrained drivers and millions (literally, millions) of motorcycles and cars and taxis on the roads that also happen to be filled with pedestrians crossing anywhere and anytime, the occasional suicidal biker, and once in a while a short guy pushing a cart filled to ridiculous heights with some thing or other. There is really no way to describe the experience of maneuvering through this strangely coordinated chaos in a way that can draw a comparable picture. Traffic lights are no meaningless, just slightly ignored; right of way is not a matter of traffic rules, but size; lanes are suggested, not necessarily respected; and pedestrian crossings might as well be non-existant. How we survived our few brave attempts to cross the streets of this smoggy city is beyond me. We simply started crossing and hoped we would be avoided by the wave of motors and lights heading to and around us. Somehow, they always saw us and always missed us. Occasionaly we witnessed a slight fenderbender, but most of the time this dance (which is really the best way to describe it) went on uninterrupted and accompanied with the tune of millions of horns warning other drivers of their presence.

On a side note, Vietnam seems to be filled with extremely talented artists and painters waiting to be discovered by the world. I find myself continuously drooling at gallery and shop windows, wishing that we were not here with just a backpack and seriously considering daring to take the galleries up on their offer to ship for us, at "a special price, good for you, good for me".

so not a morning person...

The breakfast room can get very busy and noisy. I really do not like kids in the morning, especially loud, whiny, expressive ones. Some days I can tune them out; most of the time I amuse Luuk with my grumbling.

Once he leaves for work, I fill my cup with a second helping of coffee and sit outside where I hope to find some quiet amid the thousands of airconditioners hanging out of the surrounding buildings, honking horns on the street below, and the crows that dare to sit on the chair across from me and caw expectantly.

I always thought crows were the mean birds of the city, but the pigeons actually stole more from the crows than the other way around. Funny.

I saw a black pigeon with one single random long white feather in his wing... I wonder if random feathers on birds are like moles or freckles on people. Or spots on dogs.

And why do city pigeons seem to always have messed up feet? Ten points to the best answer.

Real rain.

There must be something basic or elemental to the pleasure taken in listening to rain fall. It's like staring at a bonfire. I could do that for hours and my best sleeps have been to the sound of rain and thunder. Soothing. Therapeutic. Fantasical, in a way.
Watching tropical rainfall from the 13th floor out our window over our pigeon-poo-covered patio is just plain lovely. If the pool weren't on the 9th floor or if there weren't thunder and lightning, I would be swimming in the rain right now.
This is one of the things about the tropics that I enjoy the most. Warm temperatures and heavy straight-falling rain. This is what I miss when I am in Holland, the land of fizzy rain and feel-it-in-your-bones cold.
Sigh. I love this kind of rain.

Take a walk down memory lane...

Last night, Luuk went to bed early cause he wasn't feel well, so I looked for ways to quietly entertain myself in our little hotel room. I started reading my old blogs. I began with the first I ever wrote, continued on through goodbyes to Dordt, the big move to Holland, my oh-so-long year as an aupair, driving lessons, university struggles, wedding plans, homesickness, frustrations, questions about God, and finally up to the beginning of this past year where the memories were still fresh enough to less interesting to read through. The experience was... well, I can't say cathartic or therapeutic cause that would assume I still had some pent up emotions, tensions, or issues to work through from the past three years... but it was something akin to that. As I read, I could remember so many details that I had forgotten. I could picture the very situation, dream, or feeling that had created the necessity to write it in the first place. I relived so many struggles and small triumphs in a matter of minutes before I moved on to the next entry. I realized just how much this blog has been my therapy. It keeps me sane.
And I read through every comment left by fellow blogger friends. Wow do I miss some people right now. The feeling of nostalgia accompanied me through the whole session and didn't leave even after I finally went to bed.
I have a private journal where I write all the thoughts and feelings that I dare not share with the world. It's the kind of journal that is mostly dark and depressing and doesn't really remember the details of my life, only the worst parts of it with only occasional relief. It's not the sort of book I would like to reread through. So I am very glad today that I have kept this blog. This has become the sort of journal I can reread later when I am old, forgetful, and have grandchildren to shock with stories of my youth.

So, yeah, just thought I'd share that with y'all.

The modern child.

This morning at our buffet-breakfast included in the room deal here at our serviced-apartment building, I filled my bowl with papaya and watermelon. A full cup of some incredible coffee, of which origins I have yet to discover, in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, I enjoyed a quiet wake up to the day. The tv shared a news piece on the detrimental effects of high-heels, in the background. Fellow residents from different countries and cultures chewed quietly at various tables spread strategically through the room. A mother and her approx. 2yr old child walked into the room and I groaned. I dislike children in the morning. They are loud, whiny, and annoying, too early in the day. But this one seemed quiet enough, so I smiled at him and went back to sipping my coffee. He noticed the tv on the wall. Tugging at his mother's sleeve and pointing at the tv, he asked, "Obama?"

Kusu

This past weekend Luuk and I took a boat, fashioned like what I would imagine an old Chinese sail boat for royalty used to look like, to a tiny island of Kusu. It is small. I know people who's yards are bigger than this island (no, not in the Netherlands).

Anyway, story goes that years ago some fishermen were caught in a storm and would have died were it not for their rescue by two giant turtles. These men built a shrine on the island where the turtles brought them and today this island contains a Buddhist temple (where a family lives and spends their days watching tv next to shrines, candles, and fat smiling Buddha statues) and a strange haphazard semi-open completely yellow 'building' of sorts on top of what looks like one giant rock. People come to the island to climb the 152 steps up to this yellow place to ask the gods or ancestors or turtles to give prosperity, luck, and/or children. It's especially good luck for a newly married couple to climb the stairs, pay a few dollars, and ring the bell.

The island also contains a turtle sanctuary with seriously a good hundred or so turtles of all sizes. They are not afraid of people. In fact, they scramble straight to you in hopes of being given some of that nasty looking red crap we were handed to share with the turtles. Some of those turtles have some pretty freaky looking mouths. But they are still cute. Especially their little bums, with their fat legs sticking out of their shells and that cute little tail... (Teehee!). If they were more interesting, maybe I'd adopt one.

The website describing the island claimed that people loved to come here to swim in the beautiful lagoons. When I think lagoon, I think lush tropical trees on either side, backed by cliffs and waterfalls, with clear blue fresh water in the middle with perhaps a shiny fish or two... Well, it wasn't exactly that...but good enough. Sunshine, palm-trees, sand, water...what more could we want? And all this with almost no one in sight. We bought lunch from the family at the temple and spent the day reading next to one of the lagoons facing the Singapore sky-scrapers across the water. That's hard to top.

But we are gonna try: 28 Feb, we are on our way to Vietnam!

Interesting...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7871783.stm

What does one do to deserve coming back as a lizard?

I made a friend at the Chinese gardens yesterday. A black lizard 3ft long appeared repeatedly in front of me during my walk through the bonsai section. He flicked his tongue a couple times and staring at me, crawled carefully to his next hiding spot. I didn't know lizards could swim. Now I do.

Day before last, I checked out the trippy Haw Par Villa, where I was informed that there are ten courts of death for those who lived bad lives. Different sins require different penalties. Robbers get the volcanic pit; gamblers are turned into blocks of ice; ungrateful bastards get their hearts cut out; and gossips get their tongues removed. After all this, the punished sinners are sent to an old lady who gives them tea that causes forgetfullness so that they can go on into their next reincarnate lives in whatever form they deserve without remembering their punishments. Ah, yes, that'll teach them.

The day before that, I visited the Sultan mosque, where I was given a scarf to cover my shoulders and received a tour and story of the mosque from a friendly teenage boy. I found out that little boys blush when you shake their hands in a mosque. Or maybe it was just that boy.

Today I go in search of Holland Village. That ought to be interesting.

Update for the interested.

Events of the past few days:
-Friday: I wandered into a market, a very modern and beautiful Buddhist monastary, a colorful Hindu temple, and a run-down, quaint Malaysian Village where I met a very friendly man who sold me a Coca-cola and told me about living in Singapore and then introduced me to a goofy old guard with a heavy accent who gave me a personal tour of the old village with some detours to show me off to his friends.
- Saturday: Golfing with Luuk at 11am (the hottest time of the day). Then Chinatown with a Singaporean girl from church and an American business man from out building. We took pictures, tried strange fruits and candies, visited another temple, then finished the night off with dim sum surrounded by the ever growing crowds of people. Back at the apartment, we started "Band of Brothers" and got hooked.
- Sunday: Went to the middle of the island where there is a tropical forest reserve to be found. Five minutes walk into the forest and the surrounding city was forgotten. We walked a total of 10km; crossed a bridge swinging over the jungle canopy; took pictures of the tree tops with city towers in the background; met some monkeys who were kind enough to pose for us long enough to take many pictures of them picking each other's butts and swinging from branches; then fed some turtles in the pond before coming across a sign with a picture of a hand dropping food to the turtles with a big red X over it...oops. Dinner was followed by more "Band of Brothers". It's addictive.
- Monday: Started the day with "Band of Brothers", felt sick after lunch, postponed a trip to the famous Singapore zoo. Felt better after more "Brothers". Golfing at 3 when the sun was a bit lower (we learned our lesson), then a walk through the Botanical gardens followed by a yummy Indian dinner...
- This morning: woke up at 6am with intense sharp abdominal pain, followed by some digestive...issues. Luuk woke up a bit later with similar complaints. Yay for yummy Indian food...
- The rest of today: Options limited. Everything is closed for New Year's... cept for the zoo. "Brothers" is done, even the extras. And we don't want to go too far without our new best friend, Mr. Toilet. That leaves...swimming pool?

Cosmopolitan

This is one big shopping mall. I have yet to find a building that does not have some sort of shopping centre in it or around it. Not good for my habits of self-control. And dangerous to Luuk's wallet...
It's also one big fashion show. Not good for my self-satisfaction. Suddenly everything about myself, how I dress, etc., that I had no problem with before is continually more and more flawed in comparison with them. These petite, skinny, beautiful Asian women who would look cute in anything but of course they have to make it worse for us big, tall, fat, ogres from the west by dressing in the most feminine, attractive, fashionable clothing out there. Jeans are for losers or lazy Americans. Bring out the dresses, skirts, flowing, colorful, and beautiful. While we are at it, we will make it difficult for you non-Asian women by making every dress 4inches too short. And size L...we've never heard of it.
How these people afford it, I don't know. You pay big bucks to look so hot. Nothing is cheap in this place. Maybe at one of the little market stands I might find something costing less than back in Europe, like the hand carved chess set with only three knights we got the other day, but the necessities like food, shampoo and alcohol will suck your bank account dry. But then, why buy in when you can eat out for 2bucks a meal?
This place... Hip, modern, beautiful and nothing I expected. It's so easy to get lost.

Little India.

Little India, a section in the northern part of the city, is like a village from another world that somehow got lost in the modern Singapore that surrounds it. Streets are wide enough for a row of tightly parked cars and trucks, leaving enough space for one way traffic to flow at ridiculous speeds, somehow avoiding the criss-crossing pedestrians. Sidewalks exist somewhere under the restaurants and stores that spill out of their front doors. Flowers and pottery and bangels and little statues of a fat buddha sitting next to multi-limbed hindu goddesses and fruit and scarves, all for sale at special new-year prices. How much does this cost?, "Ah, that is 120, but I will give you a good price, let's talk. You like it?"

Past the market, down the street, an old mosque, more beautiful than any I have seen in Europe. Leaving shoes at the door, I ask for a robe to cover my bare arms but am told my a smiling lady that I am dressed "ok". There is no one around and the room decorated in intricate green and gold carvings and arches is peaceful and cool. I feel the urge to pray but not knowing how well that would go over from another god's temple, choose instead to wander quietly and take pictures, hoping Allah won't mind my irreverance too much. A few blocks down, a tall, simple, inspiring Methodist church. Then a colourful, aging building once belonging to a mission, now a women's centre. A man smiles at me from his truck where he sits in the heat, waiting for something or someone. Men here are friendly and polite, not yet once making me uncomfortable with their attention.
Later I find a hindu temple, covered in stories told by minature statues. Flower garlands drape the necks of gods and goddesses, men and women bow and cry and murmur in front of them, blessing, thanking, begging for good things to come. An old woman sits in front of an eight-armed goddess, moaning and wailing, eyes wide, crossed and wandering, her arms shaking as she makes a motion of pulling water over herself. A hindu priest in a long white cloth wrapped around his waist, his dark hair in a tight bun on top of his head, a red dot on his forhead, his bare chest spotted with white and red paint, accepts gifts from devotees and drapes them around the neck of the goddess of fertility. The temple is beautiful and sad, I leave with a strange feeling of dissatisfaction, the smell of inscense following me for another block.
The sun is higher and hotter now, my feet start to hurt as I approach a buddhist temple. Next door is another, and across the street yet another. I briefly think of Sioux Center and smile at the similarity. This temple is tall, to fit the cartoonish 15m version of a cross-legged, sitting Buddha dressed in bright yellow. At his feet, rows of candy, creams, milk, flowers and other gifts. A stern looking woman sits behind a sort of desk, playing with a cellphone and not-so-subtlely watching my every move. Next door, "the temple of a thousands lights", a room full of statues and flourescent bulbs of all sizes. No pictures allowed. Across the street, another temple, this one speaking of centuries of use, built out of dark wood covered in carvings and gold symbols. Gold buddhas in different forms sit under glass cases, oil lamps burn on stands in front of them From the ceiling hang chinese lanterns, to the side a large wooden buddha, fat and happy with big droopy earlobes. The roof is covered with hundreds of clay dragons.

My feet hurt and the skin on my arms starts to itch, indicating a deep burn from hours of walking in the sun. I head back to our apartment where smiling workers dressed in smart suits greet me. The pool beckons, where I soak in more sunshine, this time with sunscreen on my nose, and stare at the tall buildings surrounding the pool deck on every side, my blue pool towel the only bright color to be seen.

Ranting.

I watched alot of in-flight movies the past month. Some were quite good; others I would say that I wasted my time on but as they really just served the purpose of helping me pass the time on 8+hr flights, I guess I can't really say that. But they annoyed me so much that I am going to vent on you lovely folks.

Mamma Mia!: Absolutely ridiculous movie. Potentially amusing plot, lost in Abba songs that didn't quite fit the story line. Who makes a movie based on Abba songs anyway? A warning before I started watching would have been good. I never listened to them before; now I hate them. And the ending! Pff. As I am sure none of you will be watching it, being probably better informed than I was, I can spoil the twist... The girl finally figures out that she is ok not knowing who her dad is, is happy having three new men in her life who are equally as happy to accept her as daughter and spoil her as such (go figure), and then decides that she doesn't actually want to marry the guy she was going to marry and tells him at the altar that they should hold off for a while and travel the world together first. As if they couldn't enjoy traveling together married. What is with people and thinking that you need to experience life and the world before getting married, as if after that point you can no long experience anything worth while? As if it somehow magically changes the wonderful, happy relationship you had before you married into something less wonderful and happy? Marriage is a dead end; no wonder half of married people want out.

The Women: Meg Ryan's great come back. Usually I'm ok with, even enjoy, this sort of cheesy, girls-porn chick-flicks in which after a period of uncertainy (i hate him, i love him, is it really him, why won't he call?), the girl eventually gets the guy, he fufills her every dream, totally (and very realistically) reading her very mind and of course changing from the frumpy, disgusting, frustrating man to the perfect prince that she always wanted because he finally realizes how much he loves her, can't live without her, etc., and all live happily ever after. In this movie, starring only women (the men are mentioned but never seen, even though their existance controls every aspect of their lives), her husband is found to be cheating on her with some slutty hot easy-to-hate dumbo who is obviously inferior to her in all aspects except the attention she eagerly bestows on the said man (who of course happens to be rich and goodlooking). In the end, Meggy leaves her man, finds her self, and in the midst of it all suddenly becomes attractive to her husband again who wants her back (though of course he doesn't actually dump the slut till Meg says ok to a second try...bastard). So the moral of the story is: if your husband cheats on you, it's your own fault for not paying enough attention to him and allowing yourself to become dependent, predicatable, busy, and uninteresting. To get him back simply 'find yourself' (whatever the hell that means), create your own life that does not include him, become independent, throw your insecurities and, if possible, a bit of that old fashioned modesty into the wind, and then he will suddenly find you as interesting as the slut he's banging and all will be made well. In other words, change everything about yourself and show him you won't need him and he will want you back....and you will live happily ever after. Of course, men are just like babies and wives their abandoned toy.

Ahh.
I feel better.

Back to sunshine and 28*C weather. Today I am going to find some Buddhist temples and an Indian market. Lovely.

I'm sitting in the family van, on the way home after a game of putt-putt. I feel a light tap on my shoulder but ignore it. A few seconds later, another tap. I see in the rear-view mirror that Kayla is giggling to herself. She slowly reaches forward, unaware that I can see her. Her hand almost touches my shoulder and I quickly reach around and grab it. Ha! Gotcha!
"How'd you know my hand was there?"
I have an eye in the back of my head. Didn't you know?
"No way. You don't have an eye in the back of your head." Her voice pitches a little higher than usual, a hint of doubt.
Yes, I do. Every one starts growing one when they get married so by the time they have kids, they can always see what is going on behind them.
"Nuh-uh."
Yes, it's true. Ask dad.
"Dad, is it true?"
(Stiffled snicker...), Yep... (Hehe!)
"Nuh-uh. He's lying."
Well, just ask mom when you get home. You'll see.
"Nuh-uh. It's not true."
It is. Just wait till you get married, then you will get one.
"No, as soon as we get home, I am looking it up on the internet!"

Quickie

Lucy is drinking the last bits of my coffee out of my cup. I was thinking of getting seconds... A new cup might be a good idea.

Something that made me happy this week: finding out that there is a place in town where I can buy clove cigarettes! I haven't had one of those in over two years. I am so excited!

Another thing that made me happy this week: yarn. I took up crocheting again, just for a bit, to make a scarf for my old lady. She keeps commenting on all my big, fuzzy scarves, so I decided to make one for her. I had forgotten how therapeutic crocheting can be.

I have two weeks left of this semester. Before we leave for Texas I have to: research the Challenger accident, prepare my part of a one hour presentation, study for Cognitive Aging final exam, catch up on all the Cog.Aging reading (meh), get and finish the take-home exam for Human Error, pack for two trips (TX; Singapore), arrange someone to take care of my plants, stock up on Lucy's basics and take her to friends, work out details for when/how/with whom to do my masters thesis, find out of I am getting that internship at Vopac while in Singapore... and yeah, that's about it... Oh, and before Saturday I have to write a poem in Dutch about my father-in-law for Sinterklaas.

Oh, and a third thing that made me happy this past week: we put up our Christmas tree! And I love it, in all its gaudy glory!