7 Weird Things About Me

Annie Fox tagged me to list 7 weird things about myself. I haven't actually considered anything about myself to be weird. I am an ordinary person.

But for the fun of it, here goes.

1) I hoard cookbooks though I seldom use recipes.

2) I believe we are not alone in this galaxy.

3) I once fell off a trap-door and was "saved" by a pile of "gold paper" my aunty was going to burn for the dead.

4) I once tried to play circus mistress and nearly set my brother and cousin on fire.

5) I have been buying meal worms to allow them to live longer.

6) I didn't drive a car until I had my daughter.

7) I ring my mom once a week.

I have to tag seven people so here goes; and they have to respond by typing their weird too.

Christina Yin
Serena Soosay
Daphne Chua
Hugh Bucknall
Linda Lau
Travis Field
Janet Ben

Here is Janet's response (well done girl!)
Weird things - well the list could go forever - depending of course on who is writing the list about me....

My number 1 weird things... total hoarder of cookbooks too - the hawker, who comes every fortnight selling books to our office, can retire on what he has made from me purchasing cookbooks - my theory is that they are better than magazines and I will continue to keep them and read them for years to come - but a magazine - well they are so full of rubbish that it is all old news inside a week anyway.....
Weird thing 2 - I have an enormous library of cookbooks - but always make the same recipes - that aren't in the recipe books anyway - but one day - when I have time.....
Weird thing 3.....A fear of the hairdresser - like Lavender Lady my mother considered herself an expert on hair and when I was 11 years old she insisting on cutting short my lovely long, very straight hair. Even she has to admit that it looked dreadful - so dreadful that she rushed up to the local chemist and bought a home perm. So I went from long straight hair to short frizz - and all the children at school laughed..... scared me for life so I am always nervous getting anything done to my hair...
Weird thing 4 - a desire to be tidier - which disappears as soon as I actually have the opportunity to do something about it - constantly plan whilst at work .... when I get home I am going to ..... and when I get home -yep the desire has gone and instead I go outside and garden or take the dog for a walk home.....!!
Weird thing 5.....a desire to have more land - so I can have more trees - which I love - which in turn is more work and who wants that..... there are so many plants that I would love to have....
Weird 6....a wish I could communicate with my parents - my mum died 6 years ago and Dad 3 - and I would give almost anything to have just another day with them both.... moral here - don't put off until tomorrow... those things that you would like to ask your Mum and Dad - we dont' know when our clock of life is going to stop... and even though we knew that both my parents were fading.... there always seemed time 'tomorrow'....
Weird thing 7.... still married to the same man - 44 years...... and against all predictions and parental advice.... - that is not to say that some days.....are not as perfect as others, but in the current culture of not marrying or only staying together a few years - it is definitely a weird thing to still be living with the same man after all this time and to still actually tolerate each others company.....

Actually the weirdest thing is that I don't know how to write on your blog......
Cheers
Janet



Here is Anie Fox's post on weird facts about herself

1) With predictive texting, my name comes up as 'bomb'. Which some of you might say is perfect.

2) I'm related to Lord Nelson and Abraham Lincoln. True.

3) I've played four musical instruments in my life - violin, piano, bassoon and of course the recorder. Piano is my favourite, bassoon the most fun. Why I stopped playing them all is one of my regrets.

4) I used to be a lefty loser. I recovered from this socialist cancer, but it stuffed my immune system so now I can't overcome Non-Hodgkin's :o).

5) I own a house with a woman - but I’m not a lesbian (I know you all wonder). This is an increasing trend amongst those who don't want to live miles out of town, but can't afford a decent home, in a decent location by themselves. Now this definitely doesn't suit everyone, but Em & I are naturally brilliant - the key is keeping the money issues straight and keeping the palace clean and ordered.

6) My favourite album is the ‘Stranglers Collection 1977-1982.’

7) I hate, hate, hate, hate the colour purple. And I’m not too big on whistles either. And a bonus fact I'm a trader, an objectivist and a libertarian. Which means I make my own money, and I like to keep it.

Transplants – It is about hope & normality

Princess of the House had a liver transplant when she was 4.5 years old. Most of our close friends know this. But most people have no idea Princess has had such as disastrous health record. Last week, I stood as a proud mum of a 10-year girl who battled other normal kids to take 1st place in the 100m and 200m sprints among Year 5girls in her school. This, for me, is a pretty fine endorsement that she is "normal".

I will always remember the liver transplant team’s message to us -– the central pursuit of any transplant is to give the recipient the opportunity to live a normal life. Princess was lucky she found a close enough match; and is under the hawkish care of her liver angels at Starship Hospital. She is into her 5th year as a transplant patient. She is living life like any normal kid – swims, plays tennis, does artistic gymnastics and ballroom dancing. And oh, she even has an attitude problem from time to time.

Who is David Poa?
Recently our specialist nurse sent me a message about this kid called Karl David Poa. I took one look at David’s pictures in the document our nurse sent me and was in awe of David instantly.

I saw this huge mop of long, bushy hair – wild and free – and his mischievous smile. I saw his beautiful face – not a trace of worry or care -- and the twinkle in his eye. I saw total abandonment. Most of all, I saw great hope for him.

I don’t know David. But I know he has intestinal failure. David spent the first 3.5 years of his life in hospital. He is 7 now but has spent most of his childhood for extended periods in Starship Hospital. His “food” is fed intravenously over 15 hours a day.

They are running out of veins (used to administer his feeds) to put a line into David. Lines get infected despite the best of care. His best option is to have an intestinal transplant – which is not available in NZ. He needs to get this transplant done in the US. He has been accepted by specialists in Omaha-Nebraska for an assessment, and likely wait-list for a transplant.

I learnt of David's story from Princess' specialist nurse. Now I want to share this story with you my friends, and hope you too can reach out to your circle of friends –to help with David’s journey.

The NZ health system will fund his transplant cost. But before he can go to the US, he needs to raise big amounts of money for him and his family to live for 3-4 years in the US. The KIDS Foundation in NZ has set up a fund raising campaign for David.

The nurses at Starship Hospital at Ward 26B describe David as a sweet, cheeky, mischievous boy who is also funny, charming and endearing. He is sociable, loves to be in the hub of everything and is inquisitive about what's around him. Like most boys, he loves the PlayStation and his cartoons.

To give is to receive
Now, when I think about David’s fund raising quest, I wish he could get on that plane soon. I wish for David to be able to taste “real” food, to bite into a muesli bar, to have Weetbix and crunchy fries, and not have to rely on TPN (liquid) feeds.

I want David to feel what it is like, to live life normally – but most of all, I wish for David to be given a chance – that’s all. To donate to David’s fund, visit the KIDS Foundation's website

On mothers and parenting skills

Asians tend to “mother” their children to death. I shan’t argue with that. Mum brought me up to be somewhat of a clone of herself. She used to tell me what to do, how to dress and much more. She loves her perms. So she thinks I should have perms. But I hate perms. Always have. I remember how she used to insist I need to perm my fringe. Why I hate perms I do not know. But I think ever since I had hair, mum wanted them permed!

Every school holiday, mum used to march me to 3rd Aunt’s home-based hair saloon. I was too compliant to resist. I was also too polite to tell 3rd Aunt how I hated perms. So, after every school holiday, I end up looking like one of the Three Stooges. And every time 3rd Aunt finished my perm, I would politely pretend how nice my perm looked and Aunty would look at me as her masterpiece.

But ever since I found freedom as a “young adult”, I never had another perm. And I never allowed any hairdresser to tell me I need a perm to lift my limb hair. I like my hair the way it is, straight, unpermed – thank you.

Turning into mum
One would think that I would have learnt. But why do I insist Princess of the House ties her hair this or that way when she goes to school? Or why do I insist Princess puts on a proper pair of pants or tights when we go for our hospital visits or to the movies? Perhaps I am turning into a mum who "over mothers".

I read once that you can’t raise spiritual children unless you and your husband/partner have the same spiritual qualities you seek in your children. How true. You can’t teach your child to be truthful when you constantly lie. You can’t make a child hardworking if you display an excessive liking for slothfulness. I am mindful I am a living example for my child.

Mum is my living example. We never used to have much money growing up. But mum fed not only our family but kids who came to play with us. Mum made cookies for Chinese New Year, not only for us, but for the entire clan. I haven’t had a single friend of mine who has met mum who doesn’t fall in love with her immediately.

Storehouse of strength
I have been looking at my mum closely lately, mostly as a storehouse of strength and wisdom. A kind of person whose qualities I would like to assimilate. And whose qualities I hope someday, Princess will come to appreciate too.

Today, when I spoke to her on the phone, she tells me she had a spectacular failure making one of our favourite Chinese New Year cookies – Kuih Bangkit. It is a cookie made out of tapioca starch, coconut and eggs. Made properly, it crumbles in your mouth – a perfect blend of coconut sweetness with the scent of the pandan leaf lingering in your mouth, perking your senses. Made badly, it is cookie whose taste you want to easily and quickly forget. Mum tasted my version when she was here last May. She pronounced me fit to make the cookie – an image in her own likeness, I think, I was. She laughed -- about how she, the mother wave has turned into a ripple, and I have become the next wave in the ocean.

Mum potty trained all of us from the time we were born – by potty train, I mean she held up our legs as babies and trained us to do our ablutions early in the morning so our bowels recognised it was time to move. My brothers and I never had problems in that department.

Mum didn’t smack us willy-nilly. She smacked us when she wanted us to learn a real lesson. Mum didn’t compare herself to those who had a better life than hers. She used to tell me in Hokkien “lang bi lang, kah toh pi yian tang” which loosely translated means you can never ever compare yourself, nor a part of your leg to the smoke pipes.” I take it to mean, don’t ever be foolish enough to make unnecessary or non-useful comparisons.

Never hurry a person at a meal
Mum doesn't like to rush people when they are in the middle of a meal. “You can hurry a person when he gets born, or when he is about to leave the word. But never, ever hurry a person when he eats,” she used to tell me.

Mum is extravagant in how she treats everyone but stingy in how she treats herself. She is a maniac when it comes to cleanliness. In this department, I am such an inferior sub-specie compared to her. I like randomness, she likes order. She loves and worships beautiful clothes, I treat them like pieces of material to wrap around myself.

So, today, when we chatted, I am reminded again, of how generous mum has been, and always will be. We said our goodbyes on the telephone when I had to rush off to pick Princess from school. She said “thank you” for my time, and my call, and tells me to take care of myself. And I couldn’t help laugh at the irony. Shouldn't I be the one thanking her, and telling her to take care?

Halloween and Cleopatra

This week, Princess of the House told me she would like to go “Trick or Treat” with 2of her classmates. I hesitated for a while before saying yes. Last year, after Halloween, I said there would be no more “Trick or Treat”. But I buckled.

I don’t believe in Halloween. But I do believe in allowing Princess some freedom to exercise a bit of creativity, and to have lots of fun. So every year, I am a dutiful accomplice as she takes her flights of fancy into the hollow world of Halloween.

Last year, I went over the top. To greet the neighbourhood’s kids looking for treats, I decorated our front door with a huge spider web, completed with a rubbery mother-spider with her baby spiders -- I even spun my own spider web made out of wool. The funny thing was, the real cob webs at my front door lent real spectacular effects to my Halloween decoration. Mum would have been appalled at my standard of house cleaning.

Halloween, it is not a Kiwi tradition, nor a Chinese one. This Halloween business is a result of globalization, or the Americanization of the world, whichever you choose to call it. Would we see an American kid carrying a Chinese lantern to celebrate the mi-Autumn festival? I don’t think so? But I hope Chinese lanterns will sprout over supermarkets all over the world, one day, near mid-autumn.

Cleopatra
The last few years, Princess went around in fairy outfits. I think she has outgrown this fairy thing. This year, she wants to be Cleopatra. Ah, Cleopatra – the most beautiful woman of Egypt. Or should I say, the most feared woman?

The little that I did know about Cleopatra from my limited history was that she was a woman of beauty; she charmed men and ruled an empire with a fist.

“Who did Cleopatra marry?” Princess asked Hubby.

“Huh? Hmmm…. Tutunkhamun??” Hubby replied.

Princess and I cracked up, roaring in laughter. Clearly Hubby wasn’t a history whizz.

Cleopatra trivia
Lately Princess of the House considers herself a bit of a Cleopatra expert. Her class has been learning about ancient Egypt. She has just read a romanticized version of Cleopatra’s life as a 12 year old, a book written by an ex-banker turned writer, Caroline Corby.

“Caesar first,” she quipped, “and then Marc Anthony,” she adds, still smarting from her victory over Daddy.

The Egyptians, Princess of the House tells me, invented eye make-up and the water clock. They invented writing and paper. They embalmed their dead, wore plenty of amulets.

Eye makeup
For now, Princess is most concerned about how to make herself look like Cleopatra using eye makeup – just like the ancient Egyptians. She had an “Egyptian” dress ready, one she made with her friend Holly during the school holidays – using a hot glue gun and lots of sparkly bits and fabric paint.

I wasn’t sure about that the eye make-up thing. And I wasn’t sure about Caroline Corby’s version of the romanticized Cleopatra who was all good and sanitized.
Did Cleopatra wear heavy eye makeup?

So I googled a bit. Cleopatra, as it seems, isn’t all sugar and honey. She was ruthless and cunning, and ruled to win.

She had two main lovers in her life – Caesar and Marc Anthony. Caesar, it was said, she admired for his intelligence; and Marc Anthony, probably out of sheer fatal attraction. Historical sites say Marc Anthony had his affair with Cleopatra while still married to his wife, Fulvia. And when he had a chance to marry Cleopatra after Fulvia died, he didn’t – he chose his rival Octavian’s sister (to secure political support), Octavia and continued his fling with Cleopatra.

Cleopatra gave birth to three children (one by Caesar and three (including a set of twins sired by Marc Anthony).

The Marc Anthony-Cleopatra combination as lovers was far from romantic. It reeked of fatal attraction, and cloak-and-dagger politics. It was about animal instincts, a woman’s need for love, a woman’s quest to secure a crumbling empire, and a matriach's desperate attempt to keep her family in power. What is most interesting is Cleopatra wasn’t even Egyptian – she was a Macedonian!

Hollywood's Cleopatra
Cleopatra, I imagined to be a woman of untold beauty. Ah, the Hollywood version of Cleopatra was a woman of Elizabeth Taylor-type beauty, with bangs on her hair, a sharp high-bridged nose, and almond-shaped eyes decorated with heavy eye make-up.

The more I googled, the more I found myself to be wrong. As it turns out, Cleopatra’s image, minted on coins, showed her to be somewhat plain, with a large hooked nose and not so beautiful. Apparently, in real life, she shaved her head and wore a wig with tight curls. Princess is convinced Cleopatra wore eye makeup.

What else did I learn about Cleopatra? Well, her father Ptolemy was also a murderer –he beheaded his own daughter (Berenice) to regain his throne. Ptolemy then married Cleopatra (who was around 18 years old) off to her brother (who was around 12, according to one source) – all to keep the throne within the family.

This was getting too much for me. After her first lover, Caesar, was assassinated, Cleopatra used her relationship with Marc Anthony in various ways to have her hold over Egypt. In the meantime, Marc Anthony was using Cleopatra and Egypt’s finances and harvest to keep his hold over the struggle for Rome.

In ended in tears – Marc Anthony committed suicide (one source says he did so because he thought Cleopatra was dead) and lost his struggle for Rome to arch rival Octavian.

On discovering Marc Anthony dead, Cleopatra apparently chose to commit suicide too. One source says she allowed herself to be bitten by an asp (a poisonous snake) smuggled into her room via a basket of figs. The different sources that I read make me think that Cleopatra used Marc Anthony – yes she did have a soft spot for him -- in her struggle to keep her empire intact.

How tragic. This was the life of Cleopatra. A highly intelligent woman no doubt; brave on all accounts; an exceptional linguist I found; and a woman who can charm with her brilliant speech. Cleopatra of history was also a woman drunk on power and reckless ambition. A murderer and nasty piece of work by all accounts.

I shudder to think why Princess would want to go as Cleopatra in her Halloween outing. I’d rather she go as a fairy, with wings, a magic wand, and glass slippers.

Of ABBA, the sisterhood and, oh sorry mum!

We had a girls’ night out. It would have been nothing out of the ordinary for girls to have a night out. But we were a bunch of Asian women – six to be precise. We were a conservative lot, brought up the old-fashioned way by our mums who knew nothing about getting away. Our sense of the world is defined largely by how well we looked after our family.

We were also a bunch of gals who led busy lives. Some of the gals in the sisterhood had been through the worst time of their lives with family dramas of heinous proportions. I had just been through months of stay with Princess of the House in hospital.

I was brought up by a mother who dedicated her entire life to being a kitchen goddess, which means, she spent -- and still spends -- most of her waking moments in the inner sanctum of my parent’s home, cooking, cooking and cooking. Mum comes alive when she cooks. She also takes great pride in crisp clothes and spotless floors. Mum forgets about herself when she is taking care of us. We were never short of good meals or clean clothes. She never talked about time out. She never had time out. She never had a life beyond caring for us -- her family.

Defining success
I suspect my girlfriends have mums just like mine. But unlike our mums, we all had jobs, and modern machinery to help us with our chores. Like our mums, we tended to fuss over our family. Like our mums, we forget about our needs and focus entirely on how to keep the family together, in one piece, at all cost. Like a protective lioness, we guard our dens well. Like our mums, we define our success mostly by how our families are looked after, and how they cherish us.

But unlike our mums, we feel the attraction posed by our feminist sisters – those who fought for a voice, for equal opportunities, and also a time-out concept. We are not the bra-burning types and you won’t find us marching for women’s rights. But it didn’t take us long to feel the intoxication of the moment – of being free for one night, from cooking, scrubbing burnt pots, handling laundry, taking the garbage out and stacking dishes away.

This gathering of the sisterhood is good – especially when you have great company. We had a fantastic meal at this place called Eiji. To be that busy on a Friday night, the restaurant must have something special going. Our dishes were cooked to perfection. We ooed and ahhhed at how well everything was presented. We rolled out of the restaurant, happy as kids!

Then we headed off to a Mama Mia! We didn’t have sequin tops or platform shoes. But we had the cinema mostly to ourselves, truckloads of popcorn, icecreams and lollies. Only our reserve and conservatism kept us from total abandonment and jumping up to dance to “Dancing Queen” or “Mama Mia”.

What is it about ABBA?
What is it about a movie like Mama Mia! that manages to strike such a chord that box office receipts have totaled over US$440 million? Perhaps there is a dancer inside all of us, dying to surface? Perhaps inside us, we all crave the garishness of shinny outfits with plunging necklines, fancy furs, and platform boots? Perhaps it is the catchy tunes of ABBA, expressing our wish for eternal youth, romance in a complicated world? Who knows?

The total escape from home into the world of Abba songs and the romance of the movie was most electrifying.

By the time the movie finished, we came close to midnight. No carriage awaited us. But like Cinderallas afraid our cars would revert to being pumpkins, we stepped into the dark Friday night to hurry to our separate homes. We weren’t on curfew but our inner programmes told us we were meant to head home now that we had our share of fun and laughter.

Sorry mum
Our ladies night out was a resounding success, we all agreed. The sisterhood plans to have another outing. Perhaps a get-away where our families can’t call. Only this time far more than a few hours in a night. Dare I? Dare we? For me, a sisterhood get-away weekend would be a brave new world. It would be like travelling on a train to Hogsworth, on a matrix that would spin me into a different world – that so far removed from what mum taught me – family above self, family above all. Mum, so sorry I have moved on. So have my sisters, I suspect.

Food fried with plastic added into oil?

I found this post on a blog called Malaysiabest.net. This little story has caught my attention because my friend told me of how she threw out a packet of fried ikan bilis (anchovies) bought at a local Chinese grocers because she had heard the Thai manufacturers fried them in oil mixed with plastics to make them crispier. Amazing! The moral of the story? Avoid eating snacks that come from a source you don’t trust.

Are the fears completely unfounded? Who knows but I would rather not take the risks. Here is a cut-and-paste from Malaysiabest’s post which he found from another blogger. It seems unscrupulous food makers/sellers are adding plastic straws and bottles to give their food more appeal. A lot like the melamine case. So, watch out for those fried onions and fried anchovies, or fried banana crisps.

Story begins...
Consumers’ demand for crispy snacks like goreng pisang and keledek (keledek = sweet potato) has allegedly caused hawkers in Johor Baru to literally coat fried snacks with plastic, creating a health scare.

Emails are said to have been sent out warning people to keep away from consuming extra crispy fried snacks or even chicken.
The emails tell how some hawkers had allegedly been seen adding plastic straws and bottles into boiling oil before frying their snacks.

The snacks thus produced would remain crispy for several hours, the emails said.
A factory worker, Rauf Hamdan, 24, claimed he actually saw a goreng pisang (banana fritter seller) seller in the city throwing a plastic bottle into boiling oil, causing the bottle to melt.

“When I asked the hawker about it, he just matter-of-factly said his customers had not complained of any health hazards from eating his goreng pisang.

“He also said this ‘recipe’ was now popular among many hawkers like him.”
Rauf said it was shocking that sellers of fried snacks were not bothered about the possible health hazards to their consumers.

Plastic bottles are made of polyvinyl chloride (PVC) which can cause various forms of cancer and birth deformities, if eaten.

According to the emails, the trend allegedly started in Thailand, for frying ikan bilis (anchovies) and onions. It spread to Kedah and Perlis, then the rest of the country.

The sender of one of the emails said his uncle had allegedly seen a goreng pisang seller adding plastic drinking straws into hot oil in Perlis.

A friend said he had seen a hawker in Cameron Highland allegedly melt a five-litre empty cooking oil bottle in boiling oil by stirring it in.

Basket of goods in our cost of living changes

How things have changed. The basket of goods that is used to measure our cost of living has altered with the times.

Things such as video cassettes, photographic films and writing paper are no longer used to measure the cost of living in NZ.

Statistics New Zealand has also removed solid fuel burners, old style cathode ray tube TVs from the basket of goods it uses to calculate cost of living. This review is based on a survey of 2,600 households and their spending habits.

According to the number crunchers at Statistics NZ, food accounts for $17.83 of every $100 dollar spent ($17.38 in 2006) and $22.75 goes to housing/household utilities ($20 in 2006).

Heat pumps and Navmans
The new basket of goods include items such as heat pumps (which my hubby won’t let me have!), in-car satellite navigation units (a Navman, or Tom Tom would be good!); free-to-air digital TV receivers (which we don’t have at home) and digital music downloads (which we do partake of).

Items from the services list which has made its way to the new basket include lawn moving (hubby is the lawn mover); house cleaning (I am the cleaner, an auction services (wonder if this is all the Trade Me costs).

Statistics are beyond my comprehension. But what I do know is the cost of living in Auckland has gone up tremendously – starting with parking! When I was working in the city, it used to cost $7 per day to park my car. The last time I went into the city, the average cost of a full-day carpark was $14 to $16 dollars. And some Wilson carpark magnate has set draconian rules such that if you choose to call yourself an “Early Bird” at a Wilson carpark, you must have your car in by 9.30am or thereabouts but can only leave after 3pm or 4pm, not before, to enjoy this offer. How stupid is that?

Real imagination
Managing a household budget takes real imagination. Kudos to the grocery shoppers out there who take the extra effort to brave Pak n Save or Lim’s Groceries – it is also a jungle out there but things are much cheaper.
Hubby complains I stock up too much. But why not? Things on sale are worth hoarding. Free range eggs were going for $3.99/dozen at Nosh 2 weeks ago, pity there are only 3 of us and Princess doesn’t eat eggs.