Nightmare.

I am really trying to live a simple, quiet life.  I really am not trying to court danger and mishaps.  But I guess as a clumsy artist with an active imagination, sometimes, I find myself, tangled.

                                                          This morning was perfect.

The afternoon was perfect as well.

The evening began on a perfect note.  The plumber showed up, on time!  It's his 3rd trip this week, and he's now fixed the heating in my flat! 

Then I went into day-dreamy mode, and wrote the previous post because I could not get the happiness nor thrill of this morning's ride out of my head and limbs.  I fixed dinner, fed Bruno, and all I could think of was the feeling of flight.

After I finished my writing exercise, I took Bruno out for his last walk.  I was still in a day-dreamy state.  I forgot my boots, walked him in slippers and socks.  When he was done, we climbed up the stairs to our building.  Fantastic.  I forgot my keys.

9:15pm, Thursday night.  Bruno and I are locked out.  I have no keys, no purse, no cellphone.  

Plan A:  Go to the Mama Store across the street and ask for help.  The old lady that mends the cash register once complimented Bruno and my hair.

Plan B:  Go to the Japanese Restaurant on the same side of the street and ask for a ladder.  Scale ladder onto the roof of the restaurant.  Next, scale pipes and shared wall a la Angelina Jolie.  Climb in through the kitchen window.  Retrieve keys.

I cross the street.  

Folks at the Mama Store don't quite understand my English.  

"Locksmith?"  Long pause, strokes chin.  

I ask them to call the police.    "The Police?!!!" A phone is handed to me instead.

I call the police (999).  I explain my situation.  The police takes my details and tells me they can't help me.  I ask the police if they can just come and kick open my door.  I am told that is not a good idea.  The dragon directs them to suggest a solution.  The police says- call a locksmith.  The dragon slides away and the fake damsel says, please help me call a locksmith.  Bravo, I am put on hold, and next I hear someone saying he will be here in 15 minutes.

Bruno and I sit on the stairs and wait.  We are cold.  Half an hour later, the locksmith arrives.  I see the neighbor on the ground floor watching television.  After a few tries, we get his attention and he opens the front door for us.  The locksmith runs up the stairs, shoves some kind of sheet and tries to jig the door open.  No luck.  He removes his leather jacket.  He heads back to his van.  It's gonna be a long night.

10:45pm.  Perfect.

Right.  So he had to drill holes, use the axe, use some kind of wire, use a hammer, use another drill.  

It was a (noisy) nightmare for him and I.   But, now I am home.  And oh, I met the neighbours.  

Sixteen Going On Seventeen

The night the baby began her descent, there was blood on the bathroom floor.  I stood unmoving, one hand clutching the sink, the other pinning a towel to my cold body.  He came and knelt to look at the red pool blooming, like a faint flower, between my feet.  He told me to wait, and hurried off to get his father.

His father took in the sight of me, heavy and unsure.  He nodded kindly and told me to wash up and get dress.  It was time.

I remembered having the sense to braid my hair and to pack a pair of socks.

At the hospital, the nurses fussed over me because of who my father-in-law was.  Past midnight, there was still little progress, so I asked him to go home and get some sleep.

Late in the afternoon of September 19 1996, I kept my eyes shut to still my fear, and did what the doctor said to do.  I parted my legs without dignity.  I pushed three times.  In between waves of sickness and dull pain, the baby came, a perfect creature, my body part expelled, mine.


***
She wasn't expecting anything special for her birthday this year.  She has of late, begun her first steps into adulthood- a new school, a new country, a new group of friends.  She calls me to read her teacher's comments on her recent English Oral Presentation.  She calls me to tell me the grade she has received for her biology test.

Before the end of her school day, I take a train out to the countryside.  I go to her house and place a small gift and a birthday cake on her desk, in her room.  I note that her room is kept very neat.  The neatness is a new trait.  I feel my heart leap.

I leave her room and go for a long walk.  I am not expecting to see her as today is a regular day at school.  She is busy.  I have come unexpectedly and unannounced.

When she finds the cake, she knows how to locate me.  When she sees me, she runs and flings herself at me.  She is taller and bigger than I am now.  But when she holds me, she likes to shrink and hunker down, to make herself deceptively smaller.  I think she feels safer with this illusion she creates.

There are tears that fill my eyes just seeing her run, run, run to me.  Then her engulfing of me- one body part eclipsing the other to create a new whole.  She has so many things to say, to share.  She is constantly touching me and hugging me.  Her happiness is like a hot air balloon, inflating.  We ride it together, up, up, up, and peer at our separate selves, below.

Girlfriend Power- Singapore Style, London-Based

Guilty.  Of moving to a new city and not bothering to make any new friends.  Oops.

In America, I didn't exactly have friends from Singapore.  Maybe because often I was one of the very few Asian students dancing.  If I did encounter an Asian friend, the friend would usually be from China, Hong Kong, Taiwan.  Or my Asian friend would be Asian American, second, third- generation, born on Golden Mountain.  When I moved to New York City, I made my first true Singaporean friend.  We became flatmates.  Then I went on my first blind date.  My blind date became my husband, and he moved me back to his native Singapore.

When I moved back to Singapore in 1995 and 2005, I had of course, my incredible, irreplaceable, forever friend Trace, and a few other friends from childhood whom I admire.

Friendship immortalized in Elle Singapore, 2006 

Friends from childhood become like family.  Family, yes you love, but perhaps don't see as often as you ought to, as life moves on and on.  SF introduced me to S whom I adore and miss, and then while obsessing over horses, I found my Thursday Lunch Table.

photo credit- YL

As a (shy-ish) loner, I have no idea how I have been gifted with so many beautiful friends!  I am even more spoilt here in London.  For the first time in my life, I have moved to a new city and simply not bothered reaching out, because some of my best friends, from would you believe, Singapore, are here as well!

A dark, stormy, Friday night.  I text K:  Heaven-ing?  She replies:  Possibly.  You wanna come?  Just like that, I could be out dancing to the 80s all night long in the company of one of the kindest and most intelligent woman I've ever known.

Superstar K.  

Earlier today and all of yesterday morning, my young, sweet, gorgeous friend TJ gets us both back on horses, and my London mornings re-charge with serenity, purpose, joy.

photo credit- TJ   His name is, Victor :) 

 Not only are we finally riding again, we have repeated with remarkable ease, The Post-Riding Meal; the sort of meal where time is lost and the only conversation heard is an excited, babbling rush!

The Post-Riding Meal

Wednesday, I laid the table for the precious, earth-goddess SF.  

It was SF who explained British Laws, and took me step by step, through the harrowing process of buying a London home.  When I could not physically be in London, she went and did the reconnaissance on my behalf.

Once, BOTH K & SF went- here they are showing me the front door of flat x!

I love CS, my tall, strong, very blond and blue-eyed American BFF.  But this post is really about  Girlfriend Power, Singapore-style, London-based.  When they come over?  Singapore Girls always bring the most thoughtful of gifts- food!  Specifically, comfort food from home!  

Curry powder from Katong!  Thanks, SF!

Instant Laksa, Prima Brand?!  Awesome!

Cooked up immediately to combat Puffy Eyes/Long Distance Marriage Blues.  Thanks, TJ!

Courtship (C) Team Work

On that first blind date in January 1995, you figure out quickly what he is good at, and what you are better at.  So it is you, native New Yorker, that reserves a table at the restaurant, guides him down the N & R, shows him Blue Man Group.  He picks up all tabs, tips generously, gives you a key to his room at the Pierre.

You know he loves you because you've worked so bloody hard all your life and he feels he can give you more.  You know he loves you because it is you who makes him feel safe.  You know he likes a woman, agile on her feet, quick with her mind, and he likes that you cook and cook for him.

Cooking and cooking...

During the Fall Courtship of 2013, you remember that as a quick-thinking, improvisational woman capable of carrying LOADS, there are still some things, best left for him to do.  It is pointless doing everything for then what purpose is there in team-work and marriage?  So you tell him, right before he leaves, that you need him to:

1.  Clear the topmost shelf as you can't reach it even when standing en pointe.

Good job, Baby!

2.  Sort out the fire extinguisher because you have no interest in shopping for one.

Excellently done, Baby!

He shows you how to use this and asks you what your plan is if there was a fire.  You say, put fire out, call 911, grab Bruno, passport, cell, climb out the kitchen window.

The Kitchen Window (background)

When you are not paying attention, he sorts out bills and internet banking.  He's also bought, carried home an ironing board, and offers to iron the laundry.

This train ride to Heathrow takes 15 minutes and is dreadfully sad.  Nothing you do can slow time down.  You look at him, imprinting the contours of his face, his face, to memory.  He leaves his hand on your lap, and your tears fall, your face now so wet and cold.

And then he is gone.  His last word were-  I'll see you real soon.  And, It's important that you are here for yourself, and for Summie.

The train back to London comes in 12 minutes.  You stand on the platform with your head held elegantly, and your little dog clutched close.  Off he goes to do X, while you stay here to do Y. That's the way it has been and will always be.  You thank God for Team-work and whisper a prayer, hallelujah, because yours is, a winning team.

XXOO

Courtship (B)- Gone Shopping

When you are married with a child-teenager at home, and the both of you are busting your asses to build your careers, family and to provide, shopping tends to be driven by a singular concept-  Responsibility.

So the purchases you make together/alone are weighty (and terribly boring for a non-shopper):
car (in Singapore = FAINT), 1st home (instant debt disguised as mortgage), private kindergarten (ouch), graduate education (thank God for that fellowship), relocation costs (uh oh), 2nd home, 3rd home (sorry Baby, that house was calling out to be saved), international school (ouch, OUCH), car again (moan), car, boarding school (YIKES), and car (every man needs toys).

3rd home- salvaged & sold.  Goodbye house!

On occasion, your husband surprises you with a gift you know you have no need of.  When the gift is placed in your arms, you forget your days before his arrival, and you wonder at how big love gets.

The Love Gift

He's been wanting to get me a raincoat.  He leaves later today and is worried about me schlepping in the rain.  Three days ago, I humoured him and attempted shopping.  We found something that sits well on me, but the coat was hoodless, so we left the store.  It rained quite heavily all afternoon.  We crossed the street, fingers laced.  He then surprised me with something chunky.

Surprise!

So I am learning, as with Courtship Round 1 circa 1995, shopping during Courtship Round 2, 2013 is indulgent, improvisational, impulsive, (almost) irresponsible.

It's chunky!

Sigh.  Even the most reluctant of shoppers/tomboy at heart, appreciates a gift born of flight and fancy!  Something unexpected, thoughtful in the gesture, and the touch of color against skin.  I am going to miss you when you leave.  As it was then, so it is now, this maddening, maddening long distance.  

Call me on my cell when you get into Singapore tomorrow, Baby.  If I don't pick up immediately, just know that I may be nursing an achy heart, and have possibly gone, shopping.

XXOO

Courtship

So, now we are officially, Empty-Nest-ers.  The very first thing we did after leaving Cheltenham was take TJ out, celebrate her birthday, attempt painting the town red.

  Bruno and I don't do late nights anymore.  I awoke with a hang-over the next morning, and very nearly missed our train to Edinburgh!

In the nick of time!!!

The Empty Nest?  It feels a lot like Courtship.  You go on a trip together, you eat in adult places (factoring Bruno into the equation of course), you hold hands when walking, spend long moments talking and listening to each other.  You kind of get to know each other again, but without the anxiety of having to impress.

You take pictures of each other because there is a part of you that wants to hold these moments, when you were (still) young, when you were young, forever.

Best of all, Courtship now is enacted on a stage built on the firmest foundations. You don't think of escape routes (what if, but,never mind, just divorce).  

Girl meets Boy.  Boy meets Girl.  For a long while, God and Life willing, they live happily every after.

Edinburgh Eats

My husband J rarely takes a  vacation.  When he does, he prefers lazy days, sleeping in, and dining out.  In Edinburgh, he was curious about The Kitchin.  I contacted them to ask if Bruno could be accommodated.  They regretfully said no, but helpfully suggested another of their restaurants- The Scran & Scallie.

 Located about 10-minutes from Old Town, Stockbridge is a lovely neighbourhood with just the right mix of cute independent stores.  Tom Kitchin seems to be the prodigal chef returned home, and putting Edinburgh firmly on the culinary map.  The Scran & Scallie is a warm gastropub, and the food (locally-sourced) excellent.  J is convinced its his best meal he's had in the UK so far.  Bruno nibbled on bread, and fell asleep.  I had a generous portion of cauliflower and cheese.

On our last night in Edinburgh, we ventured to Leith, by the shore, to eat at The Vintage.  I was curious about Leith as it is reportedly experiencing some kind of food/art renaissance.  In the darkened night, Leith appeared tired and on the cusp of gentrification.

Standing outside The Vintage on a tired street corner.

Inside, The Vintage was rocking and the noise-level deafening.  J had a lamb stew of sorts and an American ale.  I ate the vegetarian special (risotto).  Many locals are worried that The Vintage is getting too popular with its ascending cult status.  I wasn't crazy about my dish (vegetables were cut too chunkily), but appreciated the spartan sense of design, local-feel, terrific service, and dog-friendly stance.

The Vintage, 60 Henderson Street, Leith EH6 6DE

Prestonfield House- Interiors

Here's a glimpse at More is More is More... 

One of the many drawing rooms in the hotel.

The room above leads out to this patio space.

Close up view of the crazy ceiling in the above room.  More is more is more.

An elegant dining space (there are many).

Above the entrance hall.  I looked up and was freaked out by Cupid (left)!!!

Stairwell right outside my room.  The drawings are of the house (beautiful!), done in 194X when its owners worried that Prestonfields would be bombed by the invading Germans.

Breakfast is served in our living space, with generous views of the grounds.

Leopard-printed carpeting, gold-themed wallpaper, and ancestral portraits.  Not for the faint-hearted.

I like this antique desk, mirror and the orchids, but I'm not sure about the man in the painting staring down at me...

The bathroom with mosaic, marble and fresh flowers gets two thumbs up!

Silver-painted sleigh bed... I have no idea how Bruno managed to jump vertically onto it.  

Prestonfield House, Priesfield Road, Edinburgh, Scotland EH16 5UT

Prestonfield House, Edinburgh (Brief Thoughts)

Yesterday, we caught the 14:00 train from King's Cross right at 14:00 as my head has gone to mush since sending Summie off to school.  All that sense of responsibility, punctuality, organizational skills I once possessed, have somehow dissipated.

In this vegetative state, I arrived in the magical city of Edinburgh.  

Prestonfield House is about a 10-minute taxi ride refuge from the heart of town. It sits on acres of lush land, in the shadow of Arthur's Seat, with resident cows and peacocks roaming its grounds.  

Prestonfield House, side view, Arthur's Seat in the background

Bruno could not believe his luck.

 After having to be on his very, very best behaviour for a 4.5 -hour train ride, I let him off his lead, and he jubilantly dashed away and back.

Bruno practising the re-call command...

 Forget Minimalism.  More is more is more.  The rooms are opulent.  Every nook and cranny is filled with antiques.  The walls are papered, painted red, hung with rows and rows of period etchings and paintings.  There is complimentary champagne served on arrival and a bucket of fresh lavender placed in the room.  

Spot the bucket of lavender!

Service is swift, helpful, discreet.  Breakfast is stupendous and included in the room rate.

  I'm not sure if I would stay here again, but for this brief trip, it meets our needs and allows a temporary escape into history and period design.

Bruno our seasoned traveler with his EU passport?  Wastes nary a moment making himself, right at home.

The Prestonfield House, Priestfield Road, Edinburgh, Scotland EH16 5UT