From Knee-Length to Mini-Skirt in 45 Seconds or Less

Some of my posts take a few weeks to write in my head, and then finally I put them down onto "paper." This post just keeps popping up in my mind because the following story just makes me laugh. At myself. Again.

In Canada, by the time we got to the 2nd half of our journey, we were pretty rested up and manual labour looked kind of fun (it'd been a while, you know?). Tris' parents rent out their property/gardens for weddings during the warmer months, and one Friday night before a small Saturday wedding was to occur, we were tidying things up a bit. One of the given chores was to use the leaf blower to move dirt and debris, although a broom can do just as good a job in about 10x the amount of time. I won this job after much debate and hustling; I fought for the job because there's nothing like the feeling of accomplishment after one has literally "clean sweep-ed" an area. Once I figured out how to work the thing, and after Sunny and I finished our discussion on why I didn't need to go and change out of my skirt and into some grubbies (it was a cotton batik skirt that cost me about $2.50...I didn't think it was a big deal), I turned it on. All went well for quite some time, but it was about 3/4 of the way through that my arms began to get tired, and it became difficult to hold up the blower for very long. Occasionally my skirt would even get a bit close and 'stick' to the intake air vent. Some people don't take verbal suggestions very well, nor are they observant enough to recognize danger signs.

It wasn't until I felt heat against my legs, and was unable to move my thighs in any direction, that I realized that my skirt was not only venturing towards the engine: it had crawled inside! The motor started screaming a high pitched wail although, strangely enough, it had enough strength to keep on blowing at its regular force. I started yelling "Help!!!" and even though help in the form of Sunny and Matthew was only a few meters away, no one responded. Sunny looked up, smiled, and went back to her weeding. Matthew just kept listening to his i-pod. I yelled louder, laughing at the same time, and when Sunny looked up--she commented later--it seemed like I was having such a good time that I must be joking around with someone. Finally, it wasn't until I started yelling "No, I'm SERIOUS!!! HEELLLP ME!!" that Matthew gave me a funny look and decided to check out the situation. He came over and realized that he should probably turn off the engine. He then proceeded to try to catch the blower, which was still sucking my skirt into its belly, which in turn caused the skirt to tighten around my legs, which, combined with the force of the blowing air, was causing me to start to spin. Not an easy task for a young man, even one as co-ordinated as Matt.

Eventually, however, Matthew turned off the engine and removed my skirt from the fan. In all actuality, you'd think that after all that my skirt would have been a little piece of material, all in shreds, but it wasn't all that bad. If I was to cut out the damage, what was originally a knee-length skirt could become a mini. Not a good look, especially here in Indo. So, I gave the skirt to my sister-in-law, Laura, who hopefully can work that lovely pink and black piece of material into a quilt somehow. One of the best things about a quilt is that every square tells a story, and I like the story that the batik has to tell.

What are they trying to say?

Here's a funny dvd cover that Tris bought the other day. We're not too sure what they were TRYING to say, but I'm not sure I want to check this one out. Maybe the word is PHOTOGRAPHY??? It's a DISNEY movie!

Communal Living

It’s been so long since I’ve posted, I don’t know where to start. I have options galore: things I’ve learned in Canada lately; people we’ve visited; places we’ve seen; a list of animals we’ve had the pleasure of stumbling across (no whales or bears yet!!); favourite moments; what we’re doing right now. Laughter is good for the soul, and so that’s where I’m going to go. May I add, as a ‘pre-script,’ that as I write this I am sitting on a balcony at Whistler (where the Olympics were this winter), surrounded by the phenomenal beauty of God’s creation. It’s breathtaking, the still-snow-topped grey mountains in the distance, the closer ones covered in a variety of coniferous trees, a mesh of green that can only occur in nature. I can barely see my computer screen if I turn my gaze a little to the right and over the top; the sun is preparing to set, and as it slides down the sky the reflection in Lake Placid below is like a brilliant diamond. Kind of like the ring that Tris bought me for my 40^th but THAT is another post altogether. I’ve got Van Morrison (Astral Weeks and Best Of) partially masking the sound of the highway and the swoosh of the breeze up here is doing the rest.

If I ever write a book, I think I’ll call it “And I Disgress…”

For those who have sat and chatted with me for some length of time, you’ll know that it’s been my dream/vision/momentary lapse of sanity to buy a huge chunk of property and divide it up among some chosen individuals (they’d pay me back, of course). We’d live in “community,” share ride-‘em lawn mowers, cut fire wood together, build a work shop and communally own the tools, can fruit and veggies for the winter, look after each other’s children and probably take first aid courses annually in our raised-in-a-day gymnasium/barn. During the last week we’ve had opportunity to practice a little of this “community living” as we have stayed at my in-laws’ house. Laura (Tris’ sister), her husband and their 4 children have recently moved in as well, as they work on renovating their home. Along with the 10 people there are also 4 dogs, two of which are becoming very hard of hearing. Needless to say, between children singing (Justin Bieber??? What happened to Raffi???), dish & laundry washers churning, dogs competing to see which deaf dog can bark the loudest, parents gently chiding (“Bullfrogs out of the house!” “Don’t poke your sister in the eye with that weenie stick again…” “Willie, you silly dog, you’re all wet. Get off the white sofa!!!”), it’s quite hard to hear what’s actually under the noise. Like the time I forfeited knocking on the downstairs suite door because I knew they wouldn’t hear me anyways. Ooops.

That morning I was in a rush, and so I barged in. Unfortunately, on the other side of the door, next to the bathroom, stood my quite-undressed brother-in-law (I promised no names. Do the math), who, upon seeing me, whipped his left leg up to protect my virtue and, so it seems, to hold up the tiny facecloth he was apparently using as a towel. It wasn’t this image that caught my attention, nor was it the flash of never-sun-kissed white. Rather, it was him yelling “Hold on! Hold on! I’m naked! I’m naked!” This stopped me in my tracks. I turned around and shut the door behind me, chuckling. Later, when I returned to the suite, apology in hand, I learned that my brother-in-law had been answering a business call when I walked in. It was then that my chuckling turned into guffaws, complete with snorts and tears. The only thing that the man on the other end heard was “Hold on! Hold on! I’m naked! I’m naked!” I never did find out if the business deal was successful.

Golf Humour

Have you ever heard the joke about the old men who were golfing their 16th hole, high on a hill, when a funeral procession slowly drove by? One of the men took notice, stood up straight and tall, removed his cap and held it close to his heart. Another of the men commented on how much the first man respected the dead, and the man replied, cap on his heart, "well we'd been married for over 40 years!" For some reason, that joke has stuck with me (and I tell it much better when typing...no chance of telling the punchline before it's time!). It seems very sad to me, but a good indication of how some marriages end up...sports or hobbies put before one's spouse, probably because one's spouse is like a leaky faucet drip drip dripping all the time. It's my hope and prayer that no matter how much Tris loves golf, he'll always want to come home at the end.

With this in mind, a girlfriend and I decided to head out on our own to the local driving range while our husbands were out on the course. We'd hit a few balls, gather a few good stories about how far we hit those balls, and head home knowing we were working on our skills for the benefit of our husbands. It sounded good. Little did we know that we were going to create a sense of terror at the range. Before I go on, let me explain that clubs are hard to come by here. We could rent a bunch for $10 but why would we when my girlfriend has an old bag of woods and a putter in her garage?

When my friend M and I met at 7 am to head to the range, we realized that both husbands had taken our cars, so we popped the 3 woods (clubs) into M's bike basket and we rode our bikes to the range. It kind of reminded me of Huck and Tom riding their bikes to the creek with fishing poles on hand. Not a problem when you're in a hick town, but here, at one of the more prestigious places to play, we were directed IMMEDIATELY upon entry into the motorcycle parking. That didn't phase us. We took our three ancient (but very beautiful, I might add) woods to the front desk, and after a few wrong turns, we ended up at the range.

May I start by saying that I haven't hit a golf ball for at least two years, and M admitted the same. As a result, our first few tries were only ok. After a few more we had some pretty good shots going. I even felt a little cocky when I shot over 105 yards. Then, something happened. Something we can't quite put our fingers on. The balls starting hitting the post beside us, the metal plate beside us, and once, the roof above us. We giggled a bit, made funny faces at the staff who were watching us from a distance, and who moved an even greater distance after the first ball headed their way. I have to admit that after they were pegged off with the 2nd ball, they watched us while they ducked behind their counter, with only their very wide eyes staring at us. I think astonishment was in those eyes, but I'm not too sure. I was too embarrassed to look for very long.

I was so proud of myself when I heard the man next to us speaking Indonesian to a staff member, and I knew what he was saying. I was NOT so proud when I realized that the man was telling the staff member to change our rubber tee, that ours was too high. THAT's what was going wrong!! Except, the next few balls were almost as bad as before. Finally, we had two men approach us from either side. One was suggesting that we move our mat forward, so that our balls would no longer ricochet off the post to our right (and inevitably hit him). The second man actually left the lesson that he was teaching down the deck and, uninvited and without word, began to show M (she happened to be standing on the mat at the time) how to use the "power" in her arm. Apparently we were using power from our shoulders. Gotta remember that for next time! Thankfully he used up about 20 of our golf balls while showing M how to hit (we were done).

The miracle of it all was when this instructor grabbed a 7 iron from a staff member and let us use that ("FREE!" he said); we actually hit our balls straight and high. We looked not bad (can't say good yet) and although we just wanted to leave, were able to shoot out the rest of our balls without event or injury. I have to say that I chuckled from the moment that I laid eyes on the staff members hiding behind their counter, laughed a little harder when the man asked us to move our mat, and almost fell on the floor when the instructor insisted on helping us (and I am grateful to him). I tried not to disrespect the game of golf, but there was no respect in my playing, that's for sure. By the time we left, unable to make eye contact with anyone there except the instructor, who stuck his hand out for a shake as we passed, we were ready to burst. We hopped on our bikes, stuck the woods into the basket and rode our bikes home.

Our conclusion? We probably aren't made to golf, at least not a lot, but we ride our bikes REALLY well.

Thanks for reading.

POOP!!!

Are you here because of the title? Good. It worked; I got your attention. Last night we had the funniest experience in our home and I'd like to share it with you.

Yesterday was a typical Saturday. Chores in the morning, errands (or massages) in the early afternoon, head to church at five. After church we headed to American Grill (great salad bar) and then home. We arrived to a very 'stuffy' smelling house. It almost smelled like urine, and I announced exactly that. On his way into the kitchen Tris noticed some disgusting little balls near the refrigerator, all stacked nice and neatly as if put there on purpose. Almost, actually, as if some large creature had intentionally backed up, lifted its tail and left a rather impressive 'deposit' for us. I was sitting at the table and could see the pile he was checking out, and just in case the 'depositor' was still in the house, I made sure my legs were up around my neck. We've been hearing

some rather disturbing noises in our roof again, very similar to a rat's version of WWF (that would probably be WRWF...World Rat Wrestling Federation), but it would have to be a VERY large rat to leave something so ... large.

It was hard not to laugh when Tris, bent over at the waist and intently inspecting the pile, let out a "what the heck (or some such word) is THAT???" The look on his face was truly priceless. Later he explained that he had "komodo dragon, monitor lizard" and such racing through his brain. Both kids were called to the scene to bend and inspect as well. Rebes was no where to be found. I got over my 'fear' of whatever had been in our house and went to inspect as well. Looking at my kids, I got down on my hands and knees and gave the poop pile a poke. That brought some good 'ewwww's from the kids, especially Abby. It wasn't until I picked one up and popped it in my mouth that the screams of laughter started, and Abby yelling "she bit one! She put it in her mouth!!!" The look on the kids' faces and the laughter was worth every rupiah (a whole $2 worth) and then some.

On Friday Rebes and I were grocery shopping and decided to check out the Chinese New Year food section. We came upon these GREAT looking dried prunes that were covered in some kind of long, grassy spice. They looked like miniature horse poops, and that gave us an idea. We got a WONDERFUL, AWFUL idea. Just before we locked the door on our way to church, Rebes planted the pitiful pile of poop next to the fridge. What a great end to a wonderful day. Laughter. Tears. Both related.

Thanks for reading.

ps. for Rebes' version of the story, check out her blog (click on Rebes with a Twist...to the right)

Surgery's Over and all is well

Well, Tris had his surgery this morning. It lasted an hour and a half at least, and he was pretty out of it when I arrived on the scene. He's got this huge wrap around sling on, and bandages everywhere under it. Once the anesthesia wore off he was in great spirits, especially once he was able to make his right hand and fingers move. That concerned him a bit, but the nurses said he was unable to move them because of all the drugs and painkillers in him. IF he was able to feel them right away that wouldn't have been good. Prognosis of recovery is good. Thanks for your prayers. It's been a very peaceful time.

The surgeon came for a visit in the afternoon and showed Tris a video of the surgery. Needless to say, although I am better able to take blood, a video of someone cutting and stitching my husband was a little too much for me. I was burying my head in a book, just peeking over the top now and then to see what was going on. Tris is excited to show it to his physics kids when they do 'physics medicine' or something like that. At least it's not as weird as my brother Darren's biology teacher in the 1980s, who kept his first child's placenta in a jar of fermaldahyde in the classroom. To tell you the truth, what I saw looked very similar to National Geographic photos of the planet Mars. Bizarre.

I love Singapore. The stores in this area are quite expensive, except for one little 'local' mall right in the middle of the famous shopping haven "Orchard Road." This country is definitely east meets west. Sometimes it seels like Asia and sometimes home. I love to just listen to the Singaporean accent...it's very singsong and beautiful.

We had a chuckle last night when I opened a bar of the hotel soap. It actually had an expiry date and had a line "fat content 89%" on it. Like I'm gonna eat the thing!

Anyways, all is well and we head home tomorrow. Tris and I had a great conversation today about God, his will, destiny, pain and God's discipline. Maybe when I get it all sorted out in my head I'll blog it. I am just thankful, ultimately, that no matter what is going on, my strength and peace comes from God as I trust him. Sometimes I don't want to, but I know it's the only way to go.

Thanks for reading.

Indonesia is a good place to be

Summer must be coming because it's getting longer and longer between blogs. The weather hasn't changed much, but it seems my computer time has shortened. It probably has had something to do with the fact that Dale was here for 3 weeks and that afterwards the kids had assignments to finish up before the end of school. Now that school is officially out (as of this afternoon), we're prepping to head off for a bit of time away. Most people are heading back to their home countries but we've decided to stick a little closer to Indonesia. I'll be heading to Singapore for a history tour/conference and I'll meet Tris and the kids in Bali.

Sometimes the reason I don't blog is because I have so many ideas that I put off writing anything down. Tonight I want to share a few things that are truly Indonesian. First, there are a few funny stories about communication or lack thereof, and second, we have a few silly labels around our house. Finally, I have a list of wonderful things about Indonesia and I think the end of our first school year is a great time to examine it.

The other day the woman that we are sharing a driver with, Sarah, called me and told me a funny story. Our driver, Haris, was at work for about 3 hours when he approached her and told her that his ankle was dead. The translation for the word dead here can mean 'dead' or 'off' and it wouldn't seem too odd to say that an injured ankle was a dead ankle. I'm sure that we say weirder things when we speak Indonesian. She asked how he hurt his ankle and Haris answered "fell in the bathroom." Throughout the day she hadn't seen him limping so she assumed he must have just done it. He asked if he could go home for a little bit and then return home. What was weird is that he was going to go home for a bit and then come back to work. If his ankle hurt, why would he go home and then return in a few hours? I can't remember how she figured out the whole story, but eventually her husband Mike, who had no knowledge of Haris' hurt ankle and his wanting to go home, received an sms (text message) saying "my uncle is in the ground now. May I come back to work?" Apparently Haris' uncle had died in the late morning and was buried within a few hours of his death. It is a common Indonesian custom to get the body into the burial plot before sunset, and so the funeral is as spontaneous as many of the deaths themselves. Family members can attend the burial and be back at work within a few hours. Sarah and I have decided that we need to learn how to say "I'm very sorry for your loss" in Indonesian, and make sure that it's a proper translation!

Another funny story happened while mom and dad were here, but I didn't figure it out until months later. Recently I was going through our cooking cupboard and found some ginger oil, which is ginger infused into sesame oil. It's quite expensive and I couldn't remember having bought it, so I asked our (past) helper. She told me that when I was sick with dengue fever, my mom asked her to pick up some ginger oil to help me feel better. What my mom had asked for was 7Up or Ginger Ale. Just a slight misunderstanding, but I refuse to drink the stuff!

When Dale was here she noticed a funny label on my barbie-sized mix-master. It seems odd that they'd label something 'food grade' when it's made specifically for the kitchen in the first place. Where else would you use a mix-master? Art class? How would you advertise that? "Everyone needs a mix-master! And this one is safe for food, too!" Obviously advertising is focused on the consumer, and here it seems most Indonesians ride or own a motorbike. Check out the description of this L'Oreal hair gel: "Resists hair being messed up by hands, clothes and helmets." I chuckled at that...in BC it could say "Resists wind, rain, sleet, snow and ski helmets." Too bad it doesn't really do what it says.

Finally, now is the time that everyone is leaving us for their home countries, whether they're going for a visit or permanently. As a result, it's a little difficult for those of us who have decided to stay behind and tour locally, because we miss family, friends and all things Canadian (in our case). With so much emotion flowing during this time, I've had to focus on the positive things in Indonesia. I'd like to end this post by sharing the really good things about Indonesia with you:
*you can buy fresh strawberries, melons and pineapples any time of year. They vary in price but they're always reasonable. Sometimes the pineapples and melons are dirt cheap.
*the thunder storms are the coolest! The storm can sometimes be right overhead, and the thunder shakes your bones it's so close.
*if you wait long enough during a rainstorm, eventually you can walk outside again because the rain DOES stop within a decent time.
*you can hire someone to clean your house, wash/hangdry/iron your clothes, and cook your meals as well as someone to drive you anywhere you want to go.
*it's pretty cheap to eat out
*it's tropical and palm trees are everywhere. My favourite trees are coconut, mango or frangipane. I actually think that frangipane might be a bush, to tell you the truth. A really big bush. that smells incredible.
*the SPH school community is extremely welcoming.
*there are oodles of photo ops.
*depending on the time of year, it could cost our family less than $1000 to visit Bali, one of the world's finest tropical destinations, for a few days.

There is more but I'll leave you in suspense. We do miss our family and friends.
Thanks for keeping in touch, and thanks for reading.