CHIM CHIM CHER-EE

Posted on July 11, 2014 by hafong

It’s Friday and time for fiction of 100 words, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Kelly Sands

The dark clouds rolled in. She had better hurry and find them. Oh, where were they? What mischief had they got themselves in now?

The wind had picked up again. Her skirts billowed out. She brushed them down with one hand. It was tough hanging onto her umbrella with the other.

“Why did I take this job?” She muttered. “What was wrong with my noggin?”

The wind blew her higher, her feet almost touching rooftops. She peeked in windows as she drifted past.

“Damn kids!” Oh no, she’s taken to swearing! She better sing instead.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious……

LIVING WITH/WITHOUT MAC

Posted on July 10, 2014 by hafong

Here I am on the fast track again. I’ve been limping along on my old PC since June 28th, having killed my MacBook with a big splash of white wine.

It was a sobering moment. It stopped me cold. I sat transfixed, staring at my wet keyboard. I was not quick to the draw to shut it down, unplug it or to throw a towel over it. Instead when I came unstuck, I turned the computer upside down to rid the wine.

That was when the lights flickered out and the rest/Mac was history. It sat in a bag of rice in the basement for over a week. It had to come out. We were running out of rice. I should/could have ran it to the Mac Store just a few blocks down the street. I should/could have done a lot of things differently. BUT I didn’t. I did take it there two days ago. Too late! The hard drive was okay and the data was migrated into my new iMac.

Here are some lessons from the accident:

Don’t have liquids nearby to be spilled. Coffee, tea with cream and sugar are most damaging. Sugar corrodes.
Turn computer off right away. Unplug. I would dry laptop right away before turning it upside down. That’s when the wine dripped into it for me.
Run it to Apple Store.
Do not try to turn it on till cleaned/fixed. It could cause more damage.
Buy another better and bigger computer if can’t/cost too much to repair old one.
Get an external hard drive to back up your stuff.
After learning the lesson, forget the incident and enjoy the new computer.

I was a little distressed over the incident. Who wouldn’t be – my photos/writing AND the financial expense. But I had read a lot of self help books on attachments, etc. etc. It was a perfect time to put all that into use. What was done was done. So how was I to proceed now?

You know the saying that there are no accidents. I believe that it’s true. The ‘accident’ is a prod to awaken me to something else. I have been sleeping at the wheel too much. It is time that I wake up and take direction/control of where I am going. That is the way I looked at it.

I’ve been working on my HP PC and Windows this past week or so. It gets frustrating learning old stuff with a slower connection and on an old PC. I see in the moment that I need to be more- much more patient than I am. The past week of navigating on the old PC has helped me tremendously – patience wise and stimulating new brain cells.

I had to device new and different ways of getting around the PC’s sputters and hiccoughs. The Mac had none of that and did everything for me so slick and fast. It did put me into a trance.

Trances can be costly in many ways. But I’m still ahead. I’m enjoying the slick and smooth of Apple. I’m enjoying the the pictures that I thought were lost forever.

A YEAR LATER

Posted on July 9, 2014 by hafong

I think retirement has been good for me. A year later, I am standing slightly straighter, my smile more relaxed, albeit goofy. I’m working on being natural and ‘me’. My vegetable beds look awesome, don’t they? I’m slowly excavating and recovering the lost parts of myself – my core, my hard drive.

I wonder if I have been suffering from what they call ‘compassion burn out’. I do not miss work at all nor have any desire to revisit my place of employment of 34 some years. It is strange and troubles me sometimes. Does my work have so little meaning? I feel cynical and sarcastic at different times.

I thought I would be tapping out story after story of my life as a nurse. There were many stories over the years, some funny, some not. You could count on plenty of drama. There was always plenty of poop if not blood and gore. My blog was set up, BUT the words and stories were slow to come. My memory went blank. My mind fled the scene.

Now the blog sits abandoned like an unfinished house, waiting for the contractor to return. Its few posts are still standing, bravely holding the space till the once-upon-a- nurse returns to tell her tales. Will she? Can she – recover her nursing cap and pin? Can her fingers tap out the medical history? Only time can tell.

Meanwhile she is busy clear cutting the under/over growth of her life. Woolly and wild things can take over when you are busy slinging bedpans and saving lives. Now the weeds are being machete-ed. There are clearings in her forest. She can breathe. She can almost think again. She has resuscitated herself.

The bread is rising, the flowers are blooming, the guy is tinkering in the garage. Sheba is keeping a close eye on him.

She is tap, tapping out her history.

COME TO THE GARDEN

Posted on July 8, 2014 by hafong

It’s Friday and time for fiction of 100 words, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT, Copyright – Claire Fuller

The servant girl handed her a folded note and ran off. Making sure she was alone, she opened it.

Come to the garden. Meet me by the old king. I’ll be there waiting. R

Gathering her skirt with both hands, she ran toward the back of the estate, past the stables and toward the woods.

She entered a small clearing. Breathless, she clutched the front of her gown. A few feet further, she found the statue of the old king, covered with moss and lichen.

She heard a rustle behind her.

“Marian!”

“Robin!”

She rushed into his arms.

WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN

Posted on July 7, 2014 by hafong

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year. The Pan American Games was in Winnipeg. I had finished Grade 10. I wore mascara and eyeliner and had a $7 hair switch which I put up in curls almost every day. I was full of confidence I didn’t possess.

I invited myself to my pen pal, Gail’s home in Winnipeg (to see the Games) and a waitress job in her grandfather’s restaurant. The most surprising thing was, my mother allowed me to go. She was trusting Gail’s mother to keep me safe from harm.

Our mothers had met at the Immigration Office in Hong Kong. Coincidentally, we were on the same plane from Hong Kong to Tokyo. There they boarded a different plane to Winnipeg. We stayed on to Vancouver. Addresses were exchanged and they kept up correspondence over the years.

Feeling lonely and set apart being the only Chinese girl my age in town, I asked my mother for their address and started writing to Gail. That was the start of our friendship and the trip to Winnipeg the summer of 1967.

Thinking back it was a miracle. I boarded a Grey Hound Bus to the big city of Winnipeg all by myself. Gail and her family were virtual strangers to me. I stayed for the whole summer, coming home in time for school. I had more courage then. Or maybe I was too young and naive to be scared.

Winnipeg was much much bigger than our town of 600. Somehow I got around. Chan’s Restaurant was on Main Street. It was big, consisting of two floors. I worked on the main floor. First lesson I got was, You don’t get friendly with a customer. You do not sit down and have a conversation with them. Boy, it was a good thing I worked for a friend’s family! Otherwise I would probably get sacked.

I never did see any of the games. Mostly I worked. That’s what I remembered anyways. I did meet a few guys and saw a couple of movies. Of course that got Gail’s mother calling my mother right away. She was responsible for me so I sort of understood. I didn’t want to cause her worry. I did my socializing in the afternoon after that.

It was not the young guys that had things on their mind. It was the adults. Uncle Bing gave me rides home when we were working the same shift. He wanted to show me different parts of Winnipeg on the way. One night he took me to the airport to watch the planes take off. He taught me to drink coffee and smoke a cigarette. I liked Uncle Bing but sometimes he had this weird breathing – fast with a funny sound. I did not understand. He was married with children.

God protects the young, weak and innocent.

SUNDAY SAILING

Posted on July 7, 2014 by hafong

The weather had forecast some rain in the afternoon yesterday. We headed out to Elbow early in the morning anyways. We had waited so long for the first sail of the year. It was time to get out of Dodge, away from the traffic, noise and speed of life.

You can only speed on a sailboat if there is a wind, but that is only after you have the boat assembled and on the water. That is no small feat – for the novice and on the first sail of the year.

Two hours later, we were finally in the water. By then the clouds had rolled in. What to do? We headed off in the direction of least clouds. It was rather a pleasant sail. The rain was gentle and we had our rain gear on. We dove into our sandwiches for we were starving by then. Sheba looked on eagerly mouth watering, from her place on the trampoline. She got a bite of my sandwich when I wasn’t looking. I appeased her with her favourite rawhide chew. Satisfied, she settled down and looked off to ~~sea~~ towards the horizon.

The rain continued. We saw the clouds lifting in the distance and hoped that clear skies would reach us soon. In the meantime I was enjoying the ambiance of skimming across the waters. I did wished mightily that we had hot chocolate though. It would have been perfect then.

We got a little wet and after awhile a little cold. The captain decided we better head back for shore to warm up. The winds had died and we motored the last stretch -to the dock where the mosquitoes greeted us with glee.

And wouldn’t you know it, the sun came out in blazing in all its glory by the time we had a beer. I sat in the truck, out of mosquito range and finished reading Anne Lamott’s Rosie. By then I was feeling no pain, drowsy with sun and beer. I cared not what the men and Sheba did. I was mellow.

It takes an hour to pack up the boat to head home. Nothing is instant about sailing. What went up, must come down. Knots tied has to be untied. It was a process, much like living. A click and an ENTER work only in cyberspace but not on earth. I know that but sometimes I forget as I tap and tap, click and press ENTER. Sailing brings me back to earth.

A DANGLING CONVERSATION

Posted on July 5, 2014 by hafong

Life is like a song, like Simon and Garfunkel’s The Dangling Conversation.

“It’s a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.”

I sit under cover on the deck and watch the clouds move over the sky. The thunder roll in. Darkness washes over me and beyond. The raindrops fall pitter patter on the roof, running down the pipe and drip drops into the tub below. I am cocooned in the moment. I sit and drink my tea, thinking of nothing, suspended from the ‘borders of our lives’.

I have been reading Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. I have been trying to write and live by one-inch frame after one-inch frame. It is slow going, I tell you. But where is the fire? I am RETIRED after all. I have all the time to dangle my feet, drink my tea, sip my wine and sigh and sigh.

I try not to let wrong tenses, misplaced commas, periods and dangling participles set me on edge. However, that neighbour of mine has managed to irk me time after time. I find myself clenching my jaw and grinding the teeth. But I have not yelled. I am doing well.

Perhaps it is I who is mentally ill. It is all a matter of perspective, you know. I am so glad for Anne Lamott who says that most of her friends are walking personality disorders. Isn’t that a wonderful line? It gives me hope that I am alright and maybe interesting. I have been called eccentric before.

“Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
“Can analysis be worthwhile?”
“Is the theater really dead?”

It is hard to speak of things that matter. I am still embarrassed by my own passion, afraid people will laugh at my seriousness. I am afraid to succeed so I try to fail. I am no passion flower but a bud about to drop. I am a dangling prepostion, a participle or whatever you want me to be.

The conversation is coming to an end. My words are slowing down. I love the tap, tap of the keys as I slowly sip my wine. I am slow to learn my lessons but I am using more care. Time is passing, the minutes and seconds are ticking with each tap of my keyboard. I bid you farewell till our next conversation.

“And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.”

WHO KNOWS BEST

Posted on July 4, 2014 by hafong

Happy Fourth of July to my American family and friends.

It’s a hot one today. Nothing like a dripping tap, broken toilet and a mentally ill neighbour having an episode in the morning to set my teeth on edge for the day. A slow Internet on an even slower PC isn’t helping my disposition any. But I am hanging in there. I am determined to make the month as per status quo. I breathe, drop my shoulders, clear my mind. I close down the browser, shut the computer off and restarted everything. Success!

I left the computer running as is. I needed time and space to get into the zone. There were no words in my crowded, messy and frustrated brain – no transmission possible to my finger tips. They could not tap out anything no matter how nimble and willing they were.

Out came the vacuum and I am now happy to say the air and floor are much clearer of dirt and Sheba’s dog hair. The AC has been running. It is cooler. My edges are smoother. I haven’t yelled at anyone. My fingers are happily flexing their muscles. I wonder if they have a story to tell.

I’ve been a slob, clutter bug forever and a day. It’s a story I’ve been obsessed with and told for decades. Maybe I should change the story for it no longer serves me. So let me tell it one last time and then forever hold my peace.

It was a class in Grade 1 or 2 when we were living in Hong Kong. The teacher requested our parents to send a note stating our worst habit. We all dutifully brought our notes to the teacher. When my name was called, I had to stand up. The teacher read my mother’s note which said that I do not pick up after myself. I drop things, like paper and leave them on the floor.

The class was, in essence, like Show and Tell. My mother probably did not know what the teacher was going to do with the information. I didn’t. She read the note out loud while I was standing up beside my desk. Then in a very authoritarian and loud voice she said my name: LEUNG HAFONG! and proceeded to tell me to mend my ways. Then: SIT DOWN! I felt crushed. Tears stung my eyes, but I did not cry. I was a stubborn and willful child. I clamped down inside.

Who knows if that did me more harm than good. But now I am done with the clutter bug story. I am done with being that willful child. I do not have to be a willful and stubborn adult. I can let go. I no longer need that clamp.

It is the Fourth of July. We are all free!

THE FRUITS OF OUR LABOUR

Posted on July 3, 2014 by hafong

I think it is safe now to say that summer is here and the heat is on. It’s been a long wait this year. We’ve worked hard getting the raised beds built and prepared for planting. Then there was the hauling and shoveling before seeding and planting could be done.

It’s time to sit back, relax a bit and admire the fruits of our labour.

I almost wept when I was gathering the greens for a salad this morning. The lettuce and kale were so tender, the colours translucent yellow, green and brown- next to the rows of carrots, radishes and onions. So beautiful they were – a feast for the eyes and palate. I reminded myself then, that I deserve more credit than I usually give myself.

These salad days of summer are meant to be tasted, savoured and enjoyed at leisure. It is the time for me to dig through the clutter and rubble of a life to find hidden and by- passed treasures. They are waiting with bated breath to be discovered. Am I up to the task?

I remembered Anne Lamott’s advice about writing a book. You write down as much as you can see through a one- inch picture frame.

“E. L. Doctrow once said that “writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” You don’t have to see where you’re going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice about writing, or life, I have ever heard.”

I have tested it out and it works, not just in writing but any task. It works especially well when I am faced with a difficult task. I don my Wonder Woman costume and tackle one-inch frame after one-inch frame.

In the end, after task was completed, I did not find it hard at all. No golden lasso nor bracelets were needed. It was just human inching along power.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMASES PAST

Posted on July 2, 2014 by hafong

Last night I heard the first of July fireworks through our bedroom window. I felt a little left out, like Cinderella leaving the ball early, losing her glass slipper in her hurry. It reminded me of all the Dominion Day celebrations of my childhood – of being left out. I was that child, face pressed against the window, outside looking in.

July 1st would find most everyone down at the Maidstone Sports Grounds. I never did know what the celebrations involved. If it was not a Sunday, our cafe was opened. Even if it was not, it was unlikely my father would take the family. My mother knew no English then. We were not part of the community socially. We had the cafe.

Isn’t it funny how these feelings of want linger on? They come out still, years down the road. That child in me has never gone away. It’s not that I don’t like special days or celebrations. I know I am suppose to but I never knew how. So I am uncomfortable with the unfamiliar.

Being immigrants, we did not celebrate the same occasions or in the same ways as everyone else in our small town of 600 people. We did not exchange presents at Christmas, but we did have a Charley Brown kind of tree one year. I thought that it was because we were poor. We did not have birthday parties nor presents. Instead, my mother made us a special treat for a meal. Christmases and birthdays enhanced my feeling of being left out and being different.

Being different is something I value now, but not then. The left out feelings are faded, though they still reared their ugly heads now and again. At least now I understand their source. I try to be a little kinder to that little immigrant child in me. I try not to blame my parents for any lack.

They did the best they knew how. We never went hungry. They gave us a good education. We grew up, became adults with successful careers and productive lives.

Now we do celebrate Christmases and birthdays with all the trimmings like everyone else. And I wish for simpler ways. How age change one’s perspective! Now that I can fulfill whatever want that I thought was missing, I have no want.

onethousandandtwo

Looking at Infinity

Monthly Archives: July 2014