Author: charlestess

walk this waayyyy!

the realisation that i am old struck me again in HMV. no i didn’t catch a look at myself flipping idly through cd racks and realised that the suspected chin hair was a reality, it was a series of things.

from 1995-2001 i bought every NOW cd, a compilation of the year’s best hits. i also bought grammy’s best hits 1995-2001. for the most part, loved them. a couple of the songs i could have done without, but i knew the words i could understand the words and they weren’t all about killing each other.

so today i hip-hopped my way through hmv, and admitted i couldn’t understand what was being said/sung over the in store speakers. i justified it by thinking that was because the room was so big and the sound gets distorted, the buzz of other people talking, the bing of the cash register…oh i was good.

and then i walked over to NOW 2005. flipped it over and scanned it idly, getting ready to smile as i read the titles of some cool tunes.

i didn’t recognise one.

i am sad but serious. not a one.

that’s because you are old, whispered some unfriendly part of my brain.

i fought the ugly whisper by putting on the headphones, thinking that i might not have known the titles, but i sure as sam heck knew the songs and would be familiar with them as soon as i heard the first tunes.

i gave up after the first six.

disgruntled, i put down the headphones and wandered around. comforted myself as i looked at the bestseller list and saw moby’s name. HA! i even had that cd. how cool am i. not wanting to answer that question, i continued my meandering.

then i saw something, in the corner, that made my heart race. it was, and i quote, "pop music". i was thrilled and homed in on it. there were three "pop" cd options to listen to…and i picked up the first one and started grinning. 80’s and 90’s music…there should have been a big sign…WELCOME HOME TESS.

whitney houston (or whip-me beat me as we ever so cleverly dubbed her) "you give good love", reo speedwagon, "i can’t fight this feeling", steely dan, "i really want to see you tonight" and "lady" (okay, they are 70’s but i really liked them)…it was memory lane as i stood there, soaking in the memories of suntan lotion, laughing at the mall, getting ready to go out to a restaurant with friends, their brothers and several male contenders…i only played a few favourties, and then decided i had to be democratic and at least SEE what the other cd’s had to offer. reluctantly i checked it out…i ignored the air supply and berlin, and focused on duran duran, john parr’s "man in motion" (from st elmo’s fire), rem "losing my religion", aerosmith, rick springfield, billy joel wanted to tell me he loved me "just the way you are", but we settled for "uptown girl", i tried not to moonwalk during "thriller", the recently dethroned miss america, vanessa williams got tasty revenge for "the sweetest days" and had to bite my fist so i didn’t cry while mike and the mechanics sang, "the living years".

20 years ago we listened to the music and really thought it was applicable to our lives. when i was 13 a friend of mine dedicated the song (remember when you could still do that?), "physical" to her boyfriend because she wanted him to kiss her at the theatre that night. i didn’t necessarily like all the songs i heard today, but that’s not what it was about. they evoked nostalgia.

i saw a gaggle of girls singing and bustin moves to music they knew and hoped they understood that the songs they download and are part of their lives will be part of their lives forever.

i am so glad i was a child of the 1980’s and a twenty somthing in the 1990’s. dressed in my respectable (fuschia) jumper, pink patterned chiffon skirt and sensible shoes (okay they were from nine west) i could admit i was a totally different generation from these teens. and i was glad of it. i am probably two generations removed from them. no worries

eighties music is often criticised by the "experts", but there are too many memories in the 80’s and 90’s stuff to make me able to see clearly what was so wrong with it. it was terrific. we liked it…can that be so wrong?

my eighties, my memories, my music. my goodness.

white noise

last night was a typical magnificent free evening. i ate, finished the book i was reading, slapped some moisturiser on my face (years too late to start now, but there you go), woke sebs up to take him for a semi conscious wee, put him back to bed, checked the babeolas, took myself to bed and prepared for a night of some sleep.

i dont sleep well when magnificent is gone. not because he is such a part of my life that i can’t sleep when we aren’t wrapped together, more so a paranoia that there is something out there. not a person. something. i eventually will get to sleep, but it will be an uneasy sleep. full of starts.

saddled with that unease, imagine how i reacted around 1.45am when the room flashed with light. i shot right up in bed, heart pounding and knew that the thing had entered my room. except (surprise), it hadn’t. false alarm.

i lay back in bed again, heart pounding. i hate my heart pounding like that, it reminds me of the burst i get in the minutes before a seizure, fear, adrenalin, mouth dry, body sweating. and then the room was light again as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky.

relieved, i listened carefully…no thunder apparent. fair enough, the storm wasn’t close. for the next 20 minutes, there were lightening streaks once every two minutes or so. i managed to fall back to sleep, and had a terrible dream where because of the lightning, sebastian came to our room and then wtih the next streak of lightning i looked beside me and couldn’t see him…and i started screaming. (in the dream).

that was enough to wake me up, heart again booming, and i rushed to the kids room just to make sure. there they were, sleeping.

back to room, and heard the distant rumble of thunder.

the lightening was changing, instead of thin streaks lazily cutting across the sky, the streaks were brighter and extending. like a branch in spring, there were offshoots from from the streak, long thin twisted fingers.

and then the thunder decided to be the vocal accompaniment to the lightning. slice across the sky and BOOM. five minutes of this and then the boom became a CRACK BOOM. and the lightning got brighter and the rain started pouring, vertically and then diagonally. fire trucks were breaking through the rain coated streets, drains were swirling trying to keep up with the downpour. and the lighting continued. for a while there, inside 15 seconds there were three flashes. and they were so bright i couldn’t look at them so i can’t tell you what shape they were.

it was fascinating to watch it happen, and to look through the windows of our flat and see others in our building also watching nature’s late night show. you sometimes forget how powerful nature is. and beautiful.

kids started crying and i went in to pat them down and pick them up as needed. was patting someone as a particularly loud CRACK sounded over us, and popped their thumb in their mouth in hopes it would take care of the situation. (and it did). at one point, seb’s eyes flickered open, but he rolled over and went back to sleep. of all the kids, i was most worried for him, it he had woken up to this, it would have really frightened him.

the elapsed time between the streaks and the sound was lengthing. the storm was moving away, the sky was no longer light with occasional dark periods.

a few more flickers, and the room and sky were dark again. the last lightning streak i saw was at around 3am, one hour and 15 minutes after i saw the first one.

it was annoying to be woken up like that, but it was a beautiful display. i searched for the storm on the internet today, but nothing showed up. it was so worthy of column inches! forget the irony of tom cruises baby being born the same day as brooke shields… this was newsworthy!

this morning i asked sebastian if anything interesting had happened last night. he replied, "yes mummy, i heard very loud noises, but i just grabbed Special Blanket and put that over my ears." i told him he had been very brave, but if he ever got scared by the lightning and "funder" again, he could come to our room.

i didn’t like the funder, admitted sebastian, they made me scared.

well, it also rained alot and that was noisy too, i told him, which cheered him up greatly.

"because of the rain i need to wear my wellie boots." and he did.

i am turning into my mother.

for those of you who know my mother, you would think this is a lucky occurrence for me. great smile, 117 lbs of cuteness, size six, and just the person many people turn to when they need help getting over a crisis.

and very, organised. she and her friends (all likeminded and bodied individuals, i might add) of course had to take their tendencies and form the anal retentive club, and they have regular meetings, proper notebooks, and there are never crumbs on the table or condensation rings from the drink.

i used to lay on my parents bed (and long as my dad wasn’t in it…if my dad was laying down on the bed i had to either get off it or sit up) and laugh at my mother as she hauled out her suitcase and started packing. why the laughter? oh because THE HOLIDAY WASNT FOR ANOTHER SIX WEEKS. seriously. she would put odds and ends in, a pair of nylons she had bought for the occasion, the new toothbrush, her bathing cozzie because she wouldn’t be wearing it until she went on holidays…you get the picture.

and i thought this was hilarious.

my packing habits were about (aboot?) 180 degrees opposite to the fair maureen’s. the day before the trip, i would do my laundry. and empty my purses. and bring all my shoes that were downstairs, upstairs, so i would know exactly what we were dealing with. and from there, i would pack. because i had everything together, which would give me an up to the moment idea of what i had to work with. and of course i had things like straps broken off hats, a stain on a favourite tee shirt, but i didn’t care. it took me 25 minutes to pack.  and there is no chance of me forgetting to pack items i use on a daily basis, because as i finished using them, i would just throw them into my suitcase.

the day i went into labour with sebastian i had time to pack my suitcase and make sandwiches. in my own way, i am organised.

last summer, i did my last minute packing for myself and made the MASSIVE concession of packing the kid’s suitcases the day before. big step, psychologically.

but this year, i have turned into a tiny meatball. the other day, right at the end of a nice family dinner, i pulled out the annabel karmel cookbook and a bunch of yellow stickies and placed them on recipes i wanted charles to photocopy. i then wrote down the unusual ingredients so his dad or our girlfriend anne would be able to shop for them in advance and have them waiting when we arrived in toronto.  no kidding. and magcharles says, "don’t send the list to anne just yet, we want the stuff to be fresh on our arrival…it’s only april tess, and we arrive in july."

does mc think i LIKE being this way? a slave to lists?

i have made a list of drugs to take on the plane and items i need to buy (personal sized hand sanitisers, personal sized wipes) for the plane. i admit, i have not started packing my own clothes, but i have started tucking things away in a corner for people i will be seeing. a shirt for my niece who was SO HELPFUL with the babies last year, a book for a friend, a dvd for my mother. WHO IS THIS PERSON?

my mother.

and if i stop in my prepacking frenzy and listen, i can hear her laughing.

i am turning into my mother.

does that mean i can be 117 lbs too?

guess what we did?

i have neglected posting lately, but it has been a definite choice.

last thursday, charles and i were talking. he had just come home from india, we were chatting away and i realised, with some shock, that this talking thing felt rather foreign. sure he travels a great deal, but we can’t blame it all on that.

as he set about pulling out the dirty socks and pressies that he had bought (bless him), i realised that having the television in the bedroom is not always a good thing. NO it doesn’t play much into THAT statistic, but when he turns off his laptop and comes into the bedroom at 10.30 or so, if i am not asleep or am not reading, i might have the telly on. what i am watching (unless it is the amazing race) i can’t really tell you. and it is too easy to ease into mindless gazing and then an hour or so later, lights off. not a lot of chat, although we have established that david caruso has ruined csi miami for us. does that count?

so i proposed and charles eagerly agreed, no television througout the easter weekend. and then i extended that to blogging. the time together has increased and even better, it has been good time. we managed to sort out some stuff about how my very real aversion to company dinners (do they mind if i pull out a book when they start talking business?) is not so thoughtful, that they might actually be nice people that i would have a fun time with, and that HE really likes them and wouldn’t invite me unless he was quite sure i would have a good time and for some reason they all want to meet me or see me again but i always say no.  we don’t want to become one of those couples who have the children in common but nothing else. so we sorted that out, and a few other similar issues.

no, our relationship was no where near that point of mindless conversation when you’re only about kids and david caruso and people you know, we have always been able to still chat about ourselves (except possibly during infertility, which was dreadful), but talking sure reminds you of what you have in common.

it has been one week, and the tv hasn’t been turned on yet. tonight is the amazing race, and charles isn’t home, so i WILL watch. i’m not perfect, but we are making the effort to be better. we’re worth it. i love charles, and i like talking with him more than i love any tv show.

i was going to post yesterday on my take on why Good Friday really IS a good day, Good friday emphasizes just HOW much love Christ had for us, it was the fulfillment of prophesy, and especially knowing how it ends, we don’t have to be dour. for a long time i didn’t know what to wear on Good friday. i felt like wearing black. these days (Except for yesterday when i was in the creche), i wear exactly what i would to any other service.

but i hadn’t written a thing before i heard something. turned in my chair and saw: sebastian sitting by himself in one of the tiny chairs, with the pink hello kitty pen i bought him that is tied to a pink ribbon that goes around his neck, and he was singing the welcome song. school was in session, and there were no pupils. it was a no brainer, and for the rest of my life i will be glad that i walked away from the computer and said,

"michelle, may i come to school too?" and was rewarded with a huge smile. he responded sweetly, "yes".

what followed was nothing earthshattering, but it was a confirmation for him that i like spending time with HIM. that he is more entertaining than the computer. i would rather be with him than with the computer (even though i have a deadline three days away).

i commented on the lack of students, and realising his game could expand, sebastian said, "i fink there are lots of students waiting to get off the bus." this was our cue to go to his room and collect some more students, in the form of stuffed animals and Special Blanket, who is ALWAYS named, you guessed it, sebastian.

so we put everyone in a circle, re-sang the morning song, and sebastian then unclipped the pen and did the "morning wegister". and then it was the weather weport, and then the calendar. he doesn’t talk like elmer fudd, weally he doesn’t.

sometimes i think sebastian’s accent is vanishing, then it comes back clear as ever. i think being in canada this summer will be good for him, hearing the canadian pronounciations. because although my friends say i still do the "aboot" thing, apparently i am losing my canadian accent. (they say it approvingly. what is wrong with the canadian accent?)

we were halfway through the weather report, when school abruptly ended as sebastian stood up and annouced, "no more school, michelle has to do a poo."

carys dethroned

it was an impressive streak, but carys was unseated by big brother sebastian early this week. to be fair, she gave up her crown with no struggle at all. and to be totally objective, sebastian won it by default.

however, carys has made a huge effort these past two days and is now wearing her crown again. and if you think she has bribed the judges by saying, "mummeeeee, iwubu" you are absolutely correct.

apologies for the silence, not that i couldn’t think up lots to say on the topic of female protection (say FEMPRO and you seem a lot cooler), more like other things were happening around me, and taking up my energy. some bad, mostly good.

i took jasper to the doctor this week. he has been walking with a limp for a bit and has not grown more than 2cm in the past six months. the dr noted his thinner legs, and quickly asked if young jude had received all his polio shots. thankfully i had checked just the other day, and was able to say, YES. he then checked his reflexes and said they were good, so for now we have nothing to worry about.

on the topic of jasper’s height, the dr told me what i already know, that pulmicort, one of the medicines used to help jj with his breathing stunts growth. that is one of the reasons we try not to use the pulmicort except when we need to. when i told the dr this, he nodded and said basically, "fair enough", and then explained that another reason jude has stopped growing is because all his energy/calories are going towards trying to breathe, and that leaves nothing left over to contribute towards growing. not sure i completely understand, but it sounds good. he did mention and i do believe that children do grow in fits and starts, but still.

the girls seem to be at the 3rd and 5th height and weight percentiles, while jasper is at around the 10th for weight and the 2nd for height. and if they seem small, i just pull out the madeline dresses the girls were allowed to wear after they topped the four lb mark, and shake my head. perspective is always good.

very quickly…

a new record has been set in the flat. carys has been my favourite child for the last five days. in a row. no one has achieved that goal ever. the previous record was set by sebastian back in 2005.

to be fair, it is not exactly what carys is doing right, more that the others are doing masses WRONG. sebastian comes out with sentences like, "i am only hugging you because my daddy told me to" and "if you don’t obey me (ie: obey request to drink ribena rather than water), then i am not going to obey you." charming.

jasper, oh give me a break. he bit me on the playground yesterday, sank his teeth into my leg. my crime? i was holding sela and therefore could not pick HIM up. and he has this way of looking at you and saying, "NO". not to mention that he has decided he is afraid of the dark and wakes up screaming in the middle of the night which means i have to sleep with the door open and the hall light on and i am a dark room person.

sela is still crying over any possible slight, imagined or real. she refuses to drink her milk, and preemies need their milk. she has the loudest scream, when she lets loose i watch her tongue and epiglottis wiggle…she reduces glass to shards. and she has decided that she loves lita and the rest of us are nothing. this does not do much for my ego. on the other hand, it is pretty nice to only have to worry about three kids. seriously, she trots after lita, cries if lita leaves the room, rushes to lita if she is crying…basically turning to lita for all the comforts mummies are meant to give.

the lita thing i can deal with. lita is a great helper and does her job so well. she doesn’t seek sela out, she doesn’t condescend to me or act like sela isn’t preferring her right now. i know i am lucky to have lita, and her dignity and humour in this situation makes me appreciate her more. but sela is an inconsiderate cow. or a child.

carys, despite her streaming nose, is number one right now. she has learned to say, "i love you" and she will say, "mum-eh" in her little hoarse voice, and i will say, "yes, carys" and she will respond, "i wubbuuuuh." and my heart goes crack. she is very happy to hold my hand and doesn’t bite me. she is happy drinking water and doesn’t request ribena. she tries very hard and races around. her hair is incorrigible, she has maybe three crowns, and it is floppy and straight, fine and fair. she crinkles her nose and is good humoured. and she can still pull off those crocodile tears.

so, will carys make it to a sixth day? or will the others conspire and vote her off the most favoured island? tune in.

oh, tomorrow i might be writing about feminine protection. be warned, and send in requests of topics you want me to touch on.

are you tired of me saying that hong kong is a fascinating place?

i can’t stop, not even for you. HONG KONG IS A GREAT PLACE TO LIVE.

after nine years, you might think that i would have a pretty good idea of the lay of the land, but i don’t. there are two reasons for this.

1) although the city has 7million plus people, expats are pretty contained to a few areas. the majority live in central/midlevels, some in sheung wan, many in tai tam/stanley and with a growing number (hoorah!) in pokfulam. and did i mention discovery bay, which is kind of like the truman show? so that is the residential area, with the business districts mainly being central, and oooh, for the dangerous types, the outer edges of wanchai. (located next to central, if you don’t count admiralty, which is a district less than 1/4 of a kilometre squared.)

expats congregate in lan kwai fong after working hours, or in soho, noho, boho..you get the picture. there are the long lasting popular bars like big al’s diner, home of the vodka jello shots, and the trendy places like dragon-I, where sting hung out when he was last in town. the name brand area to shop is central, the discount area stanley and wanchai, while the best malls, the drs offices, there is a great wet market and the overpriced speciality shops…they’re all in central.

although central doesnt’ seem too hong kongish, (once you remove the tram running through it), there is something about central that can sum up hong kong…one street away from a 34 floor shiny metallic office tower, is a wet market, where flopping fish, laichees, oranges, cilantro, catties of chinese greens, spices and other fresh produce and meats are sold. some places have automatic scales, others just have the weighing scales. right around the end of lunch hour, about 1.45, you see the mix of armani clad business boys and the bowlegged, toothless stall owners, and you have to smile. central may be the most sophisticated district hong kong has, but it’s roots are revealed if you bother to look at the bottom of this financial tree.

2) there is always a new sidestreet, a new area to explore. it can take you hours to explore two blocks if you stumble into a great area. my friend sandi and i found ourselves in an odds and sodds shop the other day, where we managed to pick up a variety of items including velcro holders that keep electrical cords together, cartier ciggies that are no longer being made (much to her dismay), those white with blue streak dishtowels that we both enjoy, fresh curry powder, a stepladder, mascara, and fresh mint leaves. we didn’t find what we were looking for, a plain shower curtain, but we were pulling items off the shelves for a good 45 minutes. and then there was a shoe store, which we had to explore, and a noodle shop (we had to figure out what was smelling so good), and a temple….was it a special day, were there flowers for sale right there? a cinema…what was a cinema doing here and why was it playing a foreign film? a japanese clothing shop….a hello kitty! store (okay, we didnt’ go in there), a tree with a fence around it….why??? why??? and of course we asked people and they would look at us as if we were insane, which just made us dissolve into laughter… hong kong is full of these divine little areas, that spill off from main routes. the smells range from rancid to tantalising, to the overly familiar to the unknown.

right, and not to mention that because of landlords and lifestyles, some stores don’t last long. so you might have to be searching around for a new tailor because your previous place shut down. another great excuse to explore off the main vein.

i explore a lot. i love jumping on a mini bus and seeing…who knows? possibly my desire to get the cheapest price possible fuels me to get out of overpriced central, but who cares about the motivation? the new facets i find aren’t shattering, they’re nothing that hong kong isn’t supposed to have, but it is nice to be on streets that don’t have the obligatory starbucks on every corner, and i love getting fresh perspectives on this old city i love.

one year later

one year ago charles and i were in bangkok and i learned that my grandad had died.

one year and one day ago we decided that i would go back for the memorial service.

one year and four days ago i was on the airplane for vancouver, stuffed in cattle class (and that actually is not because of my thighs thankyouverymuch, the flight was v. full) and trying to read a book and consider it a luxury to have 14 hours in the sky sans children.

it doesn’t seem like one year since my grandad has been gone.

i wonder what that year feels like for the surviving spouse. how can my gran not be lonely? yes, grandad was in a home for a while before he died, so she was used to living alone, but living alone is not the same as being alone. and she is. while mum and pam and mandy are very good about calling gran, there isn’t the shared history, the special songs and rituals that you develop with someone after almost seventy years of marriage. the habit of them.

i miss charles when we are out of contact for three days. a year without him and knowing only my own death would reunite us? i think the worst bit would be not being able to see his reactions: when the kids gallop to the door screaming, "Daddy!", when they set their jaws in caldwell like determination and achieve a task, the wounded look when they pat "o-eah" a bit too hard and she responds with a gentle scratch and they are convinced they did nothing to deserve it, how he gets a bit dreamy when listening to elton john, the way his eyebrows raise when anne archer is on television, how he pulls his lips together whenever i say something ridiculous and he knows it is in his best interests not to laugh, his frown when considering a problem, how he smiles when i scratch his back, give him a bum-rub or smooth his hair. "that’s the best ever"…"i was born for bum-rubbing"…"you have no idea how good that feels.."

i wish i could board a plane and be with my gran today. to look at pictures and hear stories. to scrub shelves and the fridge and take care of other chores that need tending to. to take her for a walk along the beach, like pam always does. instead, charles and i will read the letter grandad wrote us after sebastian’s birth, look at the picture of him holding sebastian and we will call gran. when you have lost great love, i hope it is comforting to know that you are still surrounded by love, even if it is not the sort you have lost.

oh i have funny friends and readers.

comments i have received (besides joe’s inquiring about the type of dance) included:

"and sometimes you have to go to dance lessons to remember how it’s done"

"and the woman needs to learn to wear higher heels so when another chick tries to cut in, she can grind her heel into the woman’s shoe…and all the other women will applaud"

"and dancer’s kids will roll their eyes and say, "they’ve always danced like this for as long as i can remember..""

"even when the music changes they dance the same way, should we respect people doing the quick step when eminem is playing or ignore them entirely?"

"why is it that it is the people dancing properly together that get the attention, even when music today doesn’t glorify or encourage that style of dance?"

and very important i need to confirm that longer love doesn’t mean the lust leaves, it just means your love is more than just lust. which actually makes it better.