There are moments when it feels like life has come full circle, even though I know (well, I hope!) that I still have a lot more life to live.
Like this afternoon, when we celebrated my dad’s birthday with a very satisfying lunch at Baba Chews Bar and Eatery. The two monkeys were fascinated with the bar counter, but I told them not to climb the stools in case they fell off. So grandpa gamely went with them, supposedly to take a look at the counter too, but actually to make sure they didn’t fall off the stools and break their little heads. And there he stood, supporting one with each hand, and then later carrying them to the ground safely.
And I flashbacked to my own childhood, and the many outings I had with my grandpa, and remembered the feeling of him hoisting me onto his shoulders although all my uncles and aunties and grandma were all “Put her down, you’ll break your back!” How I loved that feeling of being on grandpa’s shoulders, and I knew he was indulging me back then, and it mattered to me.
Last week, I attended the first of five watercolour classes conducted by local watercolour artist Tam Kwan Yuen. This week, we had our second class. We started off with a (according to him, “quite simple”) bunny, and I was quite happy with the finished result.
This week’s challenge – a mountain-valley landscape piece – was significantly harder for us, and I was somewhat not satisfied with my end product. But I think it’s a good kind of dissatisfaction that spurs me on to want to keep trying to get better at my craft.
A few weeks ago, I took a stroll around my grandma’s garden.
It’s been a while since I did something like that. These days, we normally sit on the front porch on Thursday evenings, our weekly extended family get-together time, and watch the kids playing on the swing or scooting up and down the driveway. We chat about our week, snap photos, and chase everyone in when dusk falls and the mozzies start their nightly rounds.
Perhaps it’s because David has recently started reading his first ever Enid Blyton book – The Magic Faraway Tree. (We have a good deal going – he reads one page, I read two) Or maybe it’s that article I wrote last week, about the importance of boredom. Either way, I’ve been thinking about the past more these days, and remembering the high jinks we cousins got up to when we were young. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, other times I remember it like it was just yesterday…
A nightclub singer, a double-murderess, a smooth-talking lawyer and a cell block of sin. The stage is set for the return of award-winning Broadway and West End musical CHICAGO, bringing audiences back to the decadence and grit of the 1920s. Back to the “Jazz Age” of society, an era of bootleggers and booze, when sensational headlines were rampant and a revolution in morals and manners was on the rise.
Growing up, I wasn’t the typical girly girl who wore frilly dresses and puffed sleeves and played lovingly with her Barbie dolls. Actually I was quite the tomboy, preferring comfort over ribbons and lace, and I chopped off my Barbies’ hair when I was about 6, then couldn’t deal with their hair loss, and promptly decapitated them and cast them down the chute – true, sad story.
But even as a little girl, I gravitated towards order and perfection, such as making sure my textbook covers were properly wrapped and uncreased, and using a ruler to draw lines on any paper before writing so that my words would always be straight. Looking back, I think those were my benchmarks of “beauty” back then. I wouldn’t say much has changed, although these days I am definitely very much in love with all things floral and sparkly.
In short, I had come to think of myself as a person who appreciates beautiful things. The glory of a golden sunset, of my child’s innocent smile, of the promise of crisp, new things and of words that touch the soul. Thus it came as quite a shock to me when I was recently challenged to examine my perspectives on beauty.
As you have probably guessed by now, blogging has taken a little bit of a backseat this year, as it’s been challenging to juggle mothering my two adorable rugrats with managing Dottieshop and housework and church work. But I’m still going to blog as often as I can, and today’s rainy afternoon was the perfect opportunity to huddle up in my cosy sheets with my laptop while the boys took an afternoon nap. (I LOVE the sweater weather we’ve been having the past two days! Except during the school drop off and pick up times…)
In all my 35 years of life up until last December, I have never once camped in a tent overnight. Oh, I’ve been to many camps and mission trips over the years, but they all involved stays in dormitories or hostels, never the outdoor kind of tents that I would see in movies or read about in books. And I had no inclination to try anyway, since I’ve never been particularly nature-loving nor outdoorsy, but then God gave me two bug-loving, flower-plucking, ant-spotting, bird-watching boys, so…
I know I’m late, but it’s been quite the exhausting week of transiting to a different way of life, with new routines we’re looking at keeping for the next 12 years at least! Life as a P1 mum has officially begun…
I caught La La Land the movie alone on Boxing Day, jam-packed into the corner of my row by lovey dovey couples and giggling groups of teens. It was poignant and wistful and romantic and real, and left that bittersweet taste of love and loss, peace and regret. Beautifully unforgettable.
Silent night. The balls of crushed wrapping paper have been tossed into the bin, the opened gifts have been admired and rejoiced over, the boys are sweetly sleeping in their beds. Finally, time to sit and be still, after a day full of cheer and laughter, gifts and feasting, family and friends. Finally, alone.