Fermented Pickle Puree

 

Ever since I bought my fermentation crocks, we have been making pickled vegetables at least once a week. We don't enjoy chewing on the sour pickles but we do like it in puree form, as a dip, or a condiment. Laden with probiotics, this pickle puree tastes good and has done wonders for our digestion. The Husband is plagued with digestive problems: constipation, flatulence and bloatedness. I was able to remedy his constipation and bloatedness with milk kefir.

Now, the pickle puree has fixed his flatulence. Yay!

We are no longer culturally used to eating fermented foods. M's family in Myanmar has no fridge nor freezer. All their vegetables and meat are stored as fermented, dried or salted foods. In between watching Li Zi Qi and Dian Xi Xiao Ge, and listening to M reminisce about her village back home, I am motivated to experiment with more traditional foods. So far, we have had 2 Myanmese helpers, both of who developed allergies after 6 years with us. Now that M is back on fermented foods, her allergies are also getting better.

It tastes good too!

Favourite Fruits Stall

 

Chong Pang Market's fruit stalls look like something out of Paris' markets HERE. At the start, there were only 2 stalls. Then, there were 3. Now, 2 more stalls have appeared: heavy with fruits and colourful too, like edible jewels in a whole row of treasure boxes. Our family spends a lot on fruits. Some days, that is practically all I eat all day, along with nuts of all sorts. Every day, I make 2 litres of fruit smoothies to help the whole family's digestion along.

I like to buy my pineapples from 1 stall, which sells them at $1.80 per pineapple. I buy the rest of my fruits from another stall where the men are quietly friendly. 

The stall opposite my favourite fruit stall can be quite intimidating. The auntie never smiles and once denied me a bigger plastic bag. The men yell so loudly at me "美女" when I walk past that my stress levels hit the roof. Once, one of them threw a grape at my feet to get my attention. Such bizarre sales tactics. Really ah... I will buy your fruits because you throw your fruits at me? Thank goodness my fishmonger does not think that way, or I might get a squid thrown at me.

Over time, my face has become a loyalty card program. One uncle at my favourite fruit stall gave me $1 or $2 discount off my entire bill. Later, the other men also did the same. Yesterday, I bought 8 mangos and got 1 free from a guy that I had never seen before at the stall. So, I guess they have all told each other that I am a good customer, and to be treated well. I now trust them to choose my fruits. They choose nicer ones than I do. I only need to tell them whether I want to eat them on the same day, or to keep them a few days. I think I will give them home grown vegetables.

On another note, my favourite hawker stall has closed for 11 days. The Boss is really one in a million. Twice a year, he closes both his stalls and allows his workers to spend time with their families. That is 11 days of forgone earnings twice a year. I always miss them when they close but I recognise that everyone has families and families are important to everyone. So, I shall quietly miss all 4 of them + their boss.

The Historian

The Daughter has a good friend who is a historian, like... I mean, a real historian who travels to archaoelogical sites in China and Japan for her research, and reads ancient Chinese and ancient Japanese fluently... and teaches a module on The History of the African continent to African students from Africa.

That sounds to me a dream job.

This child did rather poorly at her A levels (which amongst the peers in her class simply meant that one of her many subjects... and ONLY one... was not a distinction). She was devastated. At that time, it seemed as if the world was at an end. No one understood why her strongest subject was not a distinction. We all finally concluded that her brilliance was such that her understanding of the subject went outside of the 'A' level marker's marking scheme. 

Life went on, as life is wont to do.

She obtained a PSC scholarship to study at NUS, her favourite subject. When most people in your class ended up in Oxbridge or an Ivy League, this option is painfully disappointing.

Within 1 year, the entire History faculty (I imagine) had decided that this young one represented the future of their faculty. Even I thought she was brilliant, and would make important contributions to her field. So, the faculty made up their own scholarship just for her, and went and bickered with the PSC to have her transferred to them. I would imagine that they said to the PSC, "You have plenty others to fill your pipeline of human resources. This one is perfect for us. There is no other, in her generation, like her."

So, the child left for Cambridge to do her Masters.

With Covid19 raging in the USA, she is back here continuing her PhD research by reading ancient Chinese and Japanese military correspondence. Wah... imagine that! She gets to read the equivalent of MI6, FBI and Secret Service correspondence, from the ancient times. She watches Game of Thrones, and instead of hiding her head in her pillow like I did, she huffs, "That is wrong military strategy! You will lose the war you morons!"

At lunch, I saw the need to impress The Historian.

Me: I do history research too, you know.

The Historian: Oh... really? What are you studying?

Me: I watch C-drama on Wu Zetian, Yang Guifei, Wei Yingluo and Xiao Yanyan.

The conversation segued to Confucius and his nefarious impact on gender equality throughout East Asian history. 

Before the 1949 Maoist revolution, women were only ever wives, concubines, or prostitutes. Female oppression stemmed from Confucian beliefs about gender roles in society where wives were to be subservient to their fathers before marriage, their husbands after marriage and their sons, when their husbands were deceased. Women made deep obeisance to their husbands, and not the other way around. Concubines had even fewer rights than wives. They were kept as mistresses by men for sexual services or to produce children. Men were polygamous (permitted one wife and an unlimited number of concubines), but women were allowed only one husband. Men held the power within the family and had greater freedom compared with women. These norms were upheld by mothers against their own daughters. Women's education only aimed to teach them these restrictive norms as laws under heaven.

What a sad existence, thanks to an idiot who lived from 551BC to 479BC. Confucius' insidious impact has resulted in many a bondmaid's death and the oppression of countless daughters-in-law. Thanks to Confucius, it was alright to bury a man's living wives and concubines with him, when he died. Confucius' impact is still seen today at Chong Pang Market when 60 yr old women refer to 30 yr old men as 帅哥 placing themselves into a subservient role they are used to, or when the men my age (or younger), call me 小妹 tipping me into a subservient role that I am not used to. Confucius' impact was also seen within my family where my mother-in-law presumed that she owned me and mine through her son.

It is all Confucius' fault. His influence throughout history has been singularly the cause of countless blighted lives and unnecessary deaths. What an odious man!

Despite Confucius, there were still women who rose above the oppression to wield raw power. Wu Zetian became an emperor in her own right. Unfortunately, there was no way to do it through institutionalised methods. You could not, for example, do a Ruth Bader Ginsburg, by getting a life - i.e., going to law school, graduating first in class, and then get appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States. Wu Zetian's path to power included first 

- becoming the concubine of Emperor Taizong, 

- and then, she became the Empress of Taizong's son (Emperor Gaozong), 

- and then, she became the mother of the crown prince.

Then, there was the Empress Xiao Yanyan of Liao, who lead her own army against the Song in 1005 AD. Her path to power also included 

- being first the wife of Emperor Jingzong of Liao, 

- and then mother of the crown prince.

A woman's path to power, independence and glory had to be through a man, and his son. No wonder Chinese mothers throughout the ages favour male offspring. It is through their sons that a woman can achieve some semblance of dignity and self-empowerment. A woman spends almost her entire life powerlessly, under the control of father, husband and mother of husband. 

Only when her son comes of age does she begin to gain some power, at which point she replicates the kind of oppressive control of younger women. I suppose my MIL was thrilled that she could now (according to Confucius' teachings) exert legitimate control over her son's household. I am not sorry I disappointed her. 

Confucius is an idiot, and I have no respect for her Confucius values at all.

Our TV

12 years ago, I hosted a gathering at my home. My guests wanted to watch a TV programme. So, I switched on our TV. The problem was that our TV looked like this...

My guests were torn between the need to look polite and the frustration of having to squint at the TV screen to make out what the moving people on the tiny screen were doing. I tried to justify my lousy TV by explaining that I did not want my kids to watch TV. So, it did not make sense to buy a nice one. One guest patiently explained to me that TV was educational, and that if I did not allow my kids to watch TV, they would grow up stupid.

We went for another 2 years with that lovely antique. I thought it looked quite charming in the living room. It gave off vibes from the 1980s, and if someone really wanted to watch TV, we did actually have a TV, which was better than no TV at all. TVs in those days were a few thousand dollars each. I did not feel like spending that kind of money.

Then, Little Boy failed Chinese so badly that he was 20 marks below the 2nd last. Desperate to improve his Chinese, I decided to sign up for Cable TV so that he could watch Chinese cartoons. The Husband was overjoyed. Finally, he did not have to feel embarrassed when his friends came over and saw our TV.

So, we bought a 50" TV for a little less than $2000. Little Boy did not enjoy watching TV because I only allowed him to watch Chinese TV. He could not understand Chinese and quickly became bored. It did not help that I was always nagging him to watch TV. It became a chore. In the end, no one watched that beautiful flat screen TV. We moved it over to our bedroom and I used it as a full length mirror after my bath. It has a beautiful reflective surface.

Then, Petunia discovered the joys of C-drama, and the benefits of hula hooping. So, the TV began to fulfil its life purpose. I would connect it to my iPad so that I could watch it, and hula hoop and knit, at the same time. When the soundbox gave out, I asked for a new TV.

The Husband still thought it was a very lovely TV, and refused to get a new one. He connected an external speaker to it. The sound was not very clear but I made do. It is not worth a conflict with The Husband to insist on a new TV.

Then, it became impossible to even connect up the iPad. So, I again asked for a new TV. The Husband said, "No, I can make it work again." When it was clear that the TV was quite quite unusable, The Husband said, "Watch from the iPad. You don't need a TV."

It was then that I realised that The Husband had bought a TV just for show. It has the same utility as a vase or a sculpture. In The Husband's worldview, the TV is not meant to be watched. It is meant to be looked at for its sleek lines and deep black reflective surfaces. He deeply disapproves of me actually using the TV in the way it is meant to be used. Watching TV is a waste of time, never mind that I am also hula hooping and knitting as I watch.

So, I said, "If you don't buy, I will go to Harvey Norman tomorrow to buy one." The Husband does not trust me to buy expensive things. He always thinks I don't shop around enough and get the best deals. So, he decided to get down to brass tacks and do his husbandly duty of providing me a TV.

We are both thrilled to buy THIS (the PRISM+ E55) at $665. In every way, it is superior to our current TV, and it can do a whole bunch of other stuff (not sure what yet) that our current TV cannot do. It is somewhat bigger too.

Then, I wanted to throw away the current TV. The Husband insisted that it still looked very elegant and we could keep it somewhere. When I insisted to throw it away, The Husband mourned, "We let go of things too easily. We let go of Milo. Now, we need to let go of the TV."

Me: Do you love me more than you love Milo and your TV.

The Husband: Yes. Why?

Me: Ok... when I die, you don't let me go, ok? You dress me up and lay me on the bed next to you and chat with me every day.

Farmhouse

When we moved into this house, it was a nice and elegant house. Colours and furniture matched. There were large empty spaces and everything unsightly was packed away. We have... emmmm... evolved.

The house now is full of...

- fermentation crocks

- worm composting bins

- dou miao pots

- beans sprouting

The garden used to be nice and neat. Now, it is a jungle of vegetables and fruit. This is now a house that feeds us well but it is not a house to socialise and entertain in. The Husband had visions of a manicured garden. He lives in a reality of jumbled leaves and shoots. The Husband thought classy. He is getting homely. He is getting old too and has no energy to fight me and M, together. It is a good thing for The Husband that it is illegal to keep a goat in Singapore.

M and I were hoping to get one nanny goat for milk.

At Chong Pang With Hub

The Husband was able to take leave this morning to spend with me. We had a lovely time at Chong Pang Market this morning eating tauhuey, ku chye kueh and teh si kosong. I would not exchange my Chong Pang experience for the most sumptuous hotel buffet spread (chiefly because I don't want to put on weight).

Then, The Husband strolled with me to explore the wares. This morning, I scored a steaming plate with holes that lets water drain away instead of pooling at the bottom of the plate. We saw glowing stones of all sorts but I did not buy any. There were also double layered teapots that I also did not buy, but I handled them lovingly. There were hands of bananas at $1. Masks were selling at $1 too. Then, we bought 4 foldable tables at $33 each. 

Fermented Pork Belly

I adapted the recipe HERE to make Thai naem.

It started when I had a craving for Pig's Trotters in Black Vinegar. One economy rice stall at Chong Pang makes that dish every Thursday and Sunday. So, for a few weeks, I would buy 2 bowls a week from them. M is Myanmese. Her home and village relied heavily on fermentation to preserve food. So, M is also partial to sour flavours. Everything she eats is sour and spicy.

When she tasted my pig's trotters, she sniffed and then she said that she would make me sour pork the way her mom makes it. When she described the process to me, I turned pale. I stopped her until I could get a proper fermentation crock for anaerobic fermenting. Then, I researched the process to death.

Today, I took my very first step into fermenting meat.

To be very safe, I used 50% alcohol rum to sterilise the meat before rubbing on the sticky rice. I also used tons of salt. Once done, I intend to follow dianxi xiao ge's recipes HERE, to cook the meat.

Privileged

Many years ago, HERE, I followed the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem: the Via Dolorosa. This is the route through old Jerusalem that Jesus walked on the way to his own crucifixion. At various points along the way, there are little signs that indicate the various points at which certain events happened as Jesus carried his cross towards Golgotha (the Place of the Skull). By the end of the Via Dolorosa, The Husband's sleeve was rather moist from my tears, and my snot.

The 3 points that affected me the most were the parts where Jesus stumbled. At one point, his hand reached out towards a wall to support himself. I looked up at the wall and saw a depression where hundreds of thousands or even millions of people had placed their hands. My head was filled with noise, smell of blood, sweat and the vision of a man weighed down by the crushing burden of a huge wooden cross.

All Christians know that Jesus bore the cross for our sins. That all the pain and wickedness you and I inflict upon the world found themselves tearing into the flesh of Jesus. We sinned, and He had pain.

And then He died.

At many times throughout my life, I have had trouble reconciling the pain I suffered with the God that I know. Growing up, I was caned daily (at least twice a day). Sometimes, blood dripped down my calves. On occasion, I was made to eat vomit as punishment. I was still only a small child. 

Then, after getting married, I had to endure a mother-in-law who kept up a stream of criticism, undermining, character assassination to friends, neighbours and relatives. My mother-in-law presumed to own me and mine for 30 years. 

Little micro-aggressions, every day, a few times a day for 30 years.

Of course, I have entertained thoughts of revenge and retaliation. I have wanted often to inflict pain on my perpetrator just to assuage my own. For some strange reason, when the moment came to take revenge, I could not bring myself to do it. Yet, inside me, there was still angst and negative energy... and so much anger.

The thing that brought me comfort were the images of Jesus walking the Way of Sorrows towards Golgotha, and towards his own death on the cross. The thing that brought comfort was to witness as if I were really there, Jesus' pain as He walked, stumbled, fell along the Way of the Cross (the Via Dolorosa). 

The Via Dolorosa translates into the Way of Sorrows from Italian.

You see, as a fellow journeyman along the road of Life, I consider that sometimes, God makes me carry crosses for others. They sin towards me. They hurt me. I bear the cross of their sins, in the same way that Jesus bore the cross for my sins. Since I am autistic, I often do, say things or hurt people without meaning to. I am grateful that they too bear the pain I inflict on them, without hurting me back. They bear the cross for my wrong doing.

Together, as we all go through life, and you bear my cross and I bear yours, we all then arrive at a place of love for each other, which is definitely a better and happier place than one filled with a whirlwind of revenge and anger.

I am grateful to all those whom I have hurt (and who did not hurt me back). They have borne without complaint, the cross of my sins towards them. There are many such people whom I have hurt, and who did not take their revenge on me. In turn, I also think God would be pleased that I willingly, and without rancour, bear the cross of other people's sins visited upon me.

All the physical and mental abuse I suffered as a child, I bear that as a cross for my mother. I am not doing it for her. I do it because God wants me to. All the emotional abuse I suffered from my mother-in-law, I bear that as a cross for her. Again, this is what pleases God.

Of course, it is unfair. Nobody said it is fair. To our human minds, what goes around should come around. Why do I have to bear 5 decades of pain and suffering whilst my abusers live good lives to a ripe old age? I don't know. At this point, I am past caring. I only know that it was God's will, and I submit to it. If Jesus could do it along the Via Dolorosa, then it gives me strength to submit as well.

As I step forwards into the future, working to inject God's love into families and alleviate the emotional pain of children, I am also first to admit that God has blessed me as richly, as my crosses were hard to bear, and I am grateful. 

To stumble under the weight of 2 very heavy crosses was my privilege.

Looking back, I am glad that I chose to bear the 2 crosses like Jesus did. It was hard and at times, it felt like God had forsaken me. I am glad that I did not live my life in a whirl of vengeance and bitterness because that would have poisoned the love I have with The Husband. That would have poisoned my children's growing up years. I did not pass my pain and suffering onto them. Only my own blood was spilled along with my sweat and my tears. The clean, crisp and refreshing joy that now pulses within my family, has washed away the blood, sweat and tears.

There is now, only love... and God's glory.

Milo Has Left Us

 Milo has gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds.

He left us on Tuesday, 10 November 2020. Before that, he had been on 5 months of antibiotics. The problems started on his paws. First, a tumorous growth appeared on one paw. Milo gnawed at it and the wounds he self-inflicted, became infected. We covered him with antibiotics which helped, but then, he would gnaw at the growth again. So, we removed the growth via surgery and covered him with even more antibiotics. 

Then, the other 3 paws developed tumours. We operated on those as well, and did a biopsy. There was no evidence of cancer. So, we simply gave him even more antibiotics.

He was still recovering from surgery, when 50+ growths popped up all over his body. He looked like he had been bitten by giant mosquitoes. One by one the growths would burst open, and we would smell rotting flesh. We had to squeeze out the pus, one growth at a time 4 times a day, and clean it out with antiseptic. Else, flies would come buzzing, waiting to lay maggots onto his wounds.

Milo did not complain. He could not speak, so he could not tell us how much it hurt. He always smiled and still wagged his tail. When I came home, he would still clamour for cuddles from me. Then, in a space of 3 days, Milo degenerated very fast. He refused to eat and when he asked to go out into the garden to look out the front gate at his favourite view, his hind legss trembled from the effort. Then, I thought to myself, "Those sores cannot be painless. They burst open. Blood and pus leaked out. How can they not be painful?"

The vet came to the house. The whole family sat around Milo's head whilst the vet injected a drug into his hind leg. Milo passed with us all around him, stroking and petting him. He first fell asleep, and then snored, and then there was nothing. We wrapped him up in his favourite cat blankets.

I was not in the mood to do anything on Tuesday, 10 November 2020.

Up till the last, he still had that baby-ish look. Up till the last, he insisted to be right next to me when I ate dinner. Since he could not go to the dining table, we set up a foldable table next to his mat and ate there, with him. Then, he smiled. It was as if he understood that we were doing this to pamper him.

The Daughter took more than her fair share of Milo's care. She took him to the vet. She helped M clean his sores. She sat on the floor working on reports, keeping him company. She even foot Milo's vet bills.

He was a good dog, Milo. He guarded our house. He scolded me when I scolded my children. He made our food taste better simply because he enjoyed eating so much. He made us all feel loved.

 

Fermentation Crock

Inspired by liziqi HERE and dianxi xiaoge HERE, I decided to get a fermentation crock to make my own pickled vegetables. I have also been influenced by M, whose family makes pickled vegetables regularly in Myanmar. 

The air tight seal in these fermentation crocks is ensured by a moat of water around the lid. I had never dared to use these jars because I feared that mosquitoes would breed in that moat. Now, I have figured out a workaround. I use a strong brine solution instead, for the moat. 

The moat of water prevents oxygen from getting in (which is important in anaerobic fermentation). The same moat of water allows fermentation gases to escape. It is a really ingenious design. I am so impressed by the wisdom handed down to us from ancient Chinese cultures. How did people figure out this design!?

The Husband never liked my pickled vegetables. So, I was alone in eating them. This time, with guidance from liziqi and dianxi xiao ge, I hope that my pickles will taste better. The Husband agrees to eat this lot because of the probiotics. 

Why Children Say "I Dunno"?

 

Sony WH-1000XM4

I received these noise cancelling earphones as a gift. These are Active Noise Cancelling earphones. They use sound matching technology to identify nearby ambient sound, such as the hum of helicopters flying overhead or the constant rumble of traffic coming from the road. Then, they emit sound waves to neutralise these disturbing soundwaves, introducing stillness and calm into my world. 

These phones are most effective in places where the overall sound and volume remain constant. 

I had never experienced such technology before. Hence, I did not know I needed it. Now, I cannot do without it. It is possible to experience the quiet and the calm that characterised April 2020's circuit breaker. The house next door is being re-built. The construction noise is unrelenting. On Friday, all the noise was giving me a headache. It was impossible to even nap to get rid of the pain. 

I popped the earphones on. The world went silent. I slept the sleep of an infant, waking refreshed and rested. 

At home, we are all noise sensitive. The Daughter and The Husband are even more affected by noise than I am. So, with my bluetooth Active Noise Cancelling earphones on, I can walk everywhere and hear my music without disturbing others in my family.

Pistachio: The Palace Concubine

Our Pistachio is not just a dog. He is a diva dog. I realised it on the day some friends came by for lunch. My friends and I had not seen each other in years. So, none of the visitors noticed the small poodle at their feet. Pistachio did his best to charm them, greet them, get their attention. No one even looked down at him. We were busy catching up on each others' lives.

Pistachio got mad. Oh! He was so mad!

He started yelling at my guests rudely. I imagine he was calling them all manner of rude names and asking them questions like, "Do you know who I am?! I am Pistachio Donald Trump Lee! How dare you come to my home and not greet me!?"

I was shocked at my dog's behaviour. So, I shooed him upstairs to shut him up. I thought little of it. Pistachio, apparently, was mortally insulted. M said that he was sad and moody for the rest of the day. The next morning, I had quite forgotten about shooing him upstairs. 

As Pistachio was coming up the stairs, I called out to him. He looked at me, ran past me to drink from his water bowl. I was surprised but thought that he was too thirsty. So, I waited for him to finish drinking. When done, Pistachio ran past me downstairs without giving me a second look.

I felt snubbed. I thought, "Nah! It cannot be. Dogs don't know how to snub."

I was busy. So, I went off to do my chores. Later in the morning, Pistachio was getting his blow-dry after his bath. I held out my arms to him. Normally, he will come and jump into my arms to get cuddled. This time, he wriggled his way out of M's arms, ran past me to drink water again! Then, he stood at a distance and gave me a level stare, before wriggling back into M's arms for the rest of his blow-dry.

Aiyo... for sure, that was a snub! So, I had to sit on the floor and ask forgiveness for all of us snubbing him the day before. Fortunately for me, Pistachio deigned to forgive me.

This morning, it was raining. Pistachio was not allowed outside. Angry, he placed a nice piece of angry poop on the kitchen floor. M smacked his butt 3 times. For the whole morning, Pistachio would not go near her.

I wonder if Pistachio is some reincarnation of a misbehaving Chinese palace concubine from an ancient past.

Chong Pang Love Affair

My Chong Pang love affair continues. There was a hiatus of a few months because of Covid19. This week, as long as I get there before the crowds do, I can have a nice bowl of tauhuey and a teh si kosong, whilst reading a book, or typing a report.

The problem with going too early is that the shops aren't open. So, if I want to buy something from the shops, I have to go back again. So, there is only a small window of optimum time to get in and get out. From 7.15 am to 8.15 am, I can have my tauhuey and do my shopping.

Today's haul was 2 choppers, and a sharpening stone. If not for Liziqi, I would not have bought a chopper. Since everything and anything about Liziqi is cool, and these choppers look vaguely like hers, I bought TWO for $32. These 2 knives would probably cost $320 in Takashimaya. Yesterday, I came home with a $10 quilt for M.

I have 7 years more to enjoy Chong Pang Market in the mornings, and I am going to make the most of these 7 years. In 2028, the market will move into a 4 storey air-conditioned complex. I can't see how they are going to do that whilst preserving the down to earth flavours of the original Chong Pang Market.

So, my Chong Pang love affair continues unabated. That is the sign of a good relationship you know: a relationship that can weather storms. Me and my market, we have weathered the Covid19 storm. Our relationship has matured into one of familiarity. No one winks at me. No one tries to touch my hand. In fact, no one even notices I am there. When there are many people, it is easy to disappear and not get noticed.

Now, I shall wait till the vaccine comes out, and when that time comes, I will contrive (somehow) to make the boss of my favourite hawker stall sit down and tell me his life story. I mean, someone must document these stories, right? For posterity? It has all gotta be done before 2028, before the market disappears forever from the face of this earth.

The market is a social world all on its own. In that world, the boss of my favourite hawker stall stands head and shoulders above others. The other workers call him the golden dragon.

Wah! Maybe if I can be like Liziqi, someone will call me a golden phoenix!

Look! The chopper even has sexy Chinese calligraphy on it. So pretty!

This one does not look as good but it is smaller and lighter.

Cognac Black Chicken

Back in the days when I was hypothyroid, I collected 6 bottles of cognac to make cognac black chicken. Cognac is expensive when not duty free. So, we always bought them at the duty free shop in the airport. They were precious. So, I saved them for when I felt really very weak. Even then, I would make enough just for me.

Now, my health is back. The bottles are still there. I decided to make a tonic soup for the whole family with one whole bottle of cognac. It is a simple recipe.

1 packet of 10 Herb Tonic Soup from Hock Hua.

2 black chickens

5 ribs

 

Looking Incompetent

This post is a continuation from Achievement vs A Good Life.

A long time ago, when The Daughter was 3 yrs old, I bought 2 identical sets of plaster photo frames. The sets came with plaster of Paris in powdered form, a mould of a photo frame, a set of paints, and a paintbrush. The Daughter and I did everything together up until the painting. 

I painted my photo frame.

She painted hers.

Naturally, my painting was vastly better than hers. She wailed and cried. It was such a tragedy that it took an hour or more to calm her down. Henceforth, she refused to paint.

That day, I learnt that in order to grow confidence in my children, I had to lose to them. So, I did. As my children grew through the primary school years, I put in a lot of effort into showing them that they were smarter and better than I. When they got into secondary school, they really surpassed me in almost everything. The Daughter painted better. The Son wrote better. Both counted better and had a whole lot more people skills than I did.

So, I relaxed.

The last thing I expected was that my young adult children, on the cusp of stepping into their own full lives, would compare themselves with me and The Husband, and feel pressure! If I had been wiser, I would have planned for it. Unfortunately, I was not wise enough. So, this thing has come out of nowhere to hit me in the face.

I feel a bit disappointed and sorry. I worked hard as a parent in the past 20+ years to set my children on a good trajectory. This feeling of pressure will:

- make them too anxious to do their best (at worst)

- push them into ungodly decisions (at worst-er)

- make them miserable (at best)

None of these 3 outcomes are acceptable to me. I have not yet figured my way out of my problem. I am still trying solutions. I will keep you posted if any of the solutions work.

Achievement VS A Good Life

I learnt something new in parenting yesterday.

Knowing what I know, and doing what I do, my children have both internalised high expectations of themselves. They expect much of themselves, and reach towards the stars... except that, when you are a child, the stars seem nearer and more reachable. A child's world is small. The ceiling on which we have painted fluorescent stars is no more than 3m off the ground.

Now, both are adult children. Both now look at me and The Husband, and think: "I need to at least get to where my parents are."

To my eyes, my children are about as accomplished as children can get in this day and age. If I am not pleased with them, nor proud of them, then I am an unreasonable and abusive mother. 

The Daughter had a strong start in the workforce. The Son will be going to Cambridge. So, it was to my great surprise that I discovered that both felt weighed down by the stress of having to fill our shoes: The Husband's and mine. They worried that they would never achieve what we have achieved, much less surpass us.

It took me a few days to get my head wrapped around this novel idea: that The Husband and I are hard acts to follow, and my children feared they would never be able to match up, much less surpass.

The idea was novel because of 3 reasons:

(1) We never thought of ourselves as hard acts to follow.

(2) We never thought that we would ourselves represent our children's impossible goals.

(3)  Our children already surpass both of us at the same age.

I always took for granted that ...

长江后浪推前浪

... and I expected my children to be better than The Husband and me. I expected it with the same naturalness as expecting the sun to rise the next day, or that when I breathe in, there will be oxygen coming into my lungs.

I still think my children are better people than we are in almost every way. To start with, The Husband and I are each very lopsided in our strengths and weaknesses profile. He excels at Math. I excel in the Humanities. He is good with people. I am not. I am good with herbs and children. He is not. In almost every way you can think of, The Husband and I are polar opposites of each other. I made sure that my children were less lopsided. 

Also, compared to our peers, The Husband and I are really not very successful at all. 

Yet, I begin now to understand that the stress of what LOOKS like an impossible goal will destroy my children. They will be impatient for success and perhaps, make ungodly decisions as they go through life. They will have performance anxiety and fail at critical moments to make it, when they would have made it, if they were relaxed and chill, and having fun.

So, as a mother, I examined my own heart. What do I really want for my children?

I am not sure myself what is success. I remember reading about a very beautiful woman who rejected every rich suitor to marry someone far less wealthy because she did not want the pressures of rich in-laws. I applauded her wisdom because I was then living with a NOT AT ALL wealthy in-law who gave me as much pressure as if she were dripping in jewels. What must life be like with a wealthy in-law, I wondered.

With frugal living and wise investment, this beautiful young woman courted by many, matured into a beautiful old woman lauded for her financial savvy and prudence. She had many children, and a loving husband. Is that success?

Then, there was the story of an old cobbler, who donated millions to orphanages when he died. He had spent a lifetime bent over old shoes, repairing them. He spent little on himself, saving up all his money for orphans. Is that success?

Then, there was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who lived a life in front of the Kings and Queens of Europe. He died penniless and was buried in a mass grave. He left us reams of music to enjoy through the ages. Is that success?

Then, there was also Vincent Van Gogh, the madman and posthumous genius. Is that success?

How about Jackie Chan, kung fu superstar with money flowing out his ears, but who almost never saw his wife and who fathered an illegitimate child whom he did not acknowledge nor ever looked after. Is that success?

How about Sun Yan Sen, the father of an entire country, who had a penchant for teenage girls, and seduced up to 4 that we know of. Is that success?

So, I don't know what is success. In school, success is good grades. In life, success is so much more. Even in school, we know that to measure a child only on his grades or PSLE t-score is wrong. In life, how to measure success? I don't know. I really don't.

Then, am I a success? Autistic? Have trouble making eye contact? Freeze often in mid-conversation with someone, not sure what to say that is not offensive, or that can make that person like me more. Spent 30 years stupidly allowing a mother-in-law to abuse me. Spent 30 years without money to call my own.

Since I don't know what is success, I am going to wish Life upon my children. That their lives be full of experiences, of learning, of joy, of love and of enough. I wish for them only enough money that they have to earn it, and experience the joy thereof. I wish for them only enough love that they can have the joy of giving love, to get more love. I wish for them peace, and safety. I wish for them enough food that they can have the joy of eating because they are sometimes hungry. I wish for them a comfortable old age, good health and plenty of young ones to care for them. I wish for them a lifelong partner and love of their life, with whom to share all of the above.

I wish them not too much and not too little of everything that makes life sweet. I wish them a hint of bitterness and sourness in life because without these, you don't understand how life is sweet. 

That should be a life well lived. Is that success?

Bedding Affairs Tencel Bed Linen

The new quilt and fitted sheet set was a hit with The Husband. The sheets feel like silk but are not. They are made of wood but feel like silk. The white band of Black-eyed Susans dancing from one side of the bed to another are a nice compromise in a bedroom The Husband and I share. He does not like a surfeit of flowers, and I dislike the sombre and masculine colours that he prefers.

Check out Bedding Affairs HERE.