PetuniaLee

Education System UNABLE TO DELIVER the Results It Expects From Our Kids?

2012-02-01T14:42:00.000+08:00

"The [Education] minister, however, acknowledged that "we expect much more of the education system than it can deliver". It is thus important for parents, teachers, and the broader society to play a role in the education system, he stressed. (Today Online, 1st February 2012)

Post-script: SPS Sim Ann has since clarified on the Minister's behalf (and in response to the blogpost herein below) that the role of broader society is in values and character education. There was also an acknowledgment that the tuition/enrichment phenomena is of concern, as well as the gap between teaching and testing.

I know it is unfair to take a sound bite out of context but I am intrigued enough to want to seek clarification of what the above sound bite means. What is the role of broader society in the education system? Does broader society refer to the after school homeschooling parents, the private tutors and the enrichment centres? Is the above sound bite an acknowledgement that MOE cannot, by itself, deliver the results it expects from our children?

Parents expect a lot from the education system because the education system expects a lot from our children. Exams test beyond what is taught... way beyond. Exams test beyond the textbook... way beyond. So does the above soundbite mean that Singaporeans are being urged to accept that the MOE ensures the basics of education, and the enrichment centres (and after school homeschooling parents) will take care of the extra teaching to help the child get to the top? Hence, rich kids with rich parents who can pay the extra fees (or the time to engage in parent coaching) will consistently be at the top of the education heap?

If the system expects less of our children (i.e., tests don't assume that the bright ones will naturally know) then parents will expect less of the system (because no baby is born knowing, and hence we expect MOE to teach to the standards they test to). There is one easy way to reduce parental expectations of MOE. It is for MOE to take testing pressures off parents' children so that the children have time to explore the non-academic and non-competitive aspects of their development. And perhaps, in so doing, become less risk averse... more adaptable... more flexible.

Meanwhile, the MOE can get away with providing textbooks that are full of glossy pictures but thin on content (on the pretext that experiential learning happens in class). If experiential learning there is, why is nothing documented in new media like so... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhlwtHA6MSg? Or do we expect ALL students to retain a lesson after watching a Science experiment in class once? What are textbooks for if they don't even provide sufficient notes for revision?

Why are teachers all expected to write their own materials or risk having nothing to teach with? What about schools where Teachers don't produce notes or don't share their notes? How to make every school a good school when patches of quality written resources exist in some schools but not others, because such materials are not to be shared?

It is not enough to have good Teachers and good Teacher development. Teachers need educational resources to teach with. It's not enough to hire a good carpenter. He/she must have good tools to work with. If the tagline of Teach Less Learn More, which was in vogue for many years, is to be believed... independent learning on the part of primary school students is required. How to learn independently if textbooks have so little to read... and there are no additional handouts in some schools? What are children to learn independently from, when Teachers teach less in school?

Theanne's Painting

2012-01-26T13:59:00.003+08:00

I fell in love with Theanne's painting that she blogged about here. I don't know why. It spoke to me. LOUDLY. So, Theanne gave me her painting all the way from the other side of the world. A home made painting that looks like nothing else on earth. Completely original. Completely hers. Now, completely mine.

Here is a Chinese brush painting that I will be sending to Theanne tomorrow. Grandma painted it last year. I had been meaning to frame it and put it up but I never did get around to driving over to the frame shop. Theanne... I hope you like this home made painting as much as I like the one you gave me.

How Doth My Garden Grow?

2012-01-26T11:21:00.002+08:00

The garden was a disgrace for 1.5 years. Between having to teach Little Boy almost everything he needs to know to tackle PSLE, and supervising the construction of the new house, the garden has been neglected. Many plants died and others limped along. It's been 6 months since I started nursing the garden back to health.

First, I rooted new rosemary plants. I lost the 1st lot to the birds who come by and pull the cuttings out of the soil. I had to devise a way of protecting the cuttings with overhead projector transparency foils. These cuttings each had 4 leaves when the went into the soil. They've now begun to look somewhat bushy. I rooted these from a Cold Storage bag of herbs and frankly, I am amazed at the size of their leaves. They're 3 times the size of the leaves from the rosemary plants I bought from plant nurseries. Clearly, a superior strain of rosemary meant for the dining table.

I managed to get lemon thyme. They smell divine. They came home very very bald but have since exploded into a respectable mass of star-shaped green leaves. Like a spray of green fireworks in a pot.

This trough of thyme was rooted with cuttings from a bag of Cold Storage herbs. It started with 4 leaves at 2 ends of the pot. This too has exploded. Unlike the pots of thyme you buy from nurseries, this particular strain of thyme has larger leaves, tougher and wirier stems. Again, a superior strain of thyme meant for the dining table.

This brinjal plant was grown from seed. It has flowered and I think I have a baby brinjal growing on the left of the picture. I need to inspect this plant carefully for aphids every now and then. I've treated it once for a very heavy infestation with aphids clustered like mini grapes on the undersides of the leaves. It isn't difficult to get rid of aphids. I use a thick brush to paint an emulsion of oil+dishwash over the insects. They dry up and drop off soon enough. The emulsion clogs up the breathing pores of insects. Works on ants too if you paint over them.

I love lady fingers. So does The Husband. So, we're both looking forward to eating these little yummies.

I can't get over it. My lemon verbena has flowered. This has never happened before. I dunno what I did but I can't wait to see what the blooms look like.

I love salads, so these batavia salads are gonna be all eaten up as soon as they grow big enough. Yummsies!

The wild rocket salad leaves have already been eaten.

Lion Dance + Dragon Dance + Milo Dance

2012-01-25T09:07:00.001+08:00

On normal Sundays, the neighbour's house looks festive enough. 15 grandchildren and their parents drop by. The whole house reverberates with the noise of loud adult conversation and uninhibited children tearing across the lawn or bawling out loud. I am not complaining because these are happy noises made by contented people who enjoy each other's company so much that they willingly get together every Sunday. The people next door don't cook in the tiny saucepans I use nor the inconsequential baking trays. They cook in vats and cauldrons. Unlike us, they don't all eat together because there is no table big enough to seat them all. They eat in shifts of 5 people each even on normal Sundays.

I rather expected that their Chinese New Year celebrations would be quite extraordinary but I didn't quite expect a Dragon Dance PLUS a Lion Dance on the same day. Hundreds of people descended upon the house. There were so many that the kids spilled out into the street to play. Thank goodness they live in a cul de sac so there aren't too many cars whizzing past. I didn't know what noisy really was until yesterday.

The sight of the dragon flying through the air to the beat of the drums sent Milo rushing for cover under a table. When the lion appeared with its wiggling butt, Milo barked a series of challenges. Possibly, the lion was much smaller and so Milo thought he could take him on. The neighbour's 15 grandchildren wanted to show Milo off to their guests so they kept yelling his name over the fence to try and get him to come out and play. I decided that my poor dog would be greatly traumatised by all the hullabaloo so I locked him up in the backyard. This didn't stop the persistent children who at regular intervals throughout the day yelled "Milo! Milo! Milo!" Maybe if I train Milo well this year, we can send him over to do a Milo Dance next year?

Of Sque and Nail Polish

2012-01-24T10:20:00.002+08:00

The Daughter had to work on the morning of Chinese New Year's eve. She had to wait tables at the alehouse-cum-rotisserie Sque. We missed her so we decided to all drive down to Sque and eat something so that we could spend some time together as a family. It was fun. The Daughter waited on us personally and she did a good job of it too except for the part when she snapped at me for wanting to change my order. "No! You can't change your order because the chef has already started and now he's mad at me!!"

Now, what kind of service is that, Sque?

Then, The Daughter made us wait ages before she got around to answering our menu questions because she went to smile and chat with all the other guests first. "You're family, Mom." she explained. But hey... hey... hey... we pay the same amount of money to eat there too!! Hmmmmph!

Now, what kind of service is that, Sque?

But we had a good time. When she got over her initial snappishness and all the other guests were served, The Daughter found time to make conversation and say cheeky things. I tried to feed her a mouthful or 2 of our beef cheeks braised in beer. You could tell that she was tempted but with supreme force of will, she declined "Mom! I'm working!" But her eyes were salivating. I could tell.

After lunch, we took a walk to Liang Court where the funniest thing happened. A Dead Sea mud cosmetics salesman accosted me unsuccessfully. I haven't used cosmetics in ages and wasn't interested so I matched his quick movements speed for speed as we sparred briefly. He tried to give me a free sample and I deftly flipped my hand over and gave it back to him... and then I gave his hand a comforting pat or 2 "Sorry, I don't use these things." I walked on by. It's odd that these salesman always think I need cosmetics. Am I very ugly? Hmmmmmmmm... The Husband has never been accosted by cosmetics salesmen. I am more ugly than he is?

Still, The Husband must be getting on in ugliness because THIS cosmetic salesman went for him! Being a total neophyte to this business of shaking off cosmetics salesmen, The Husband had absolutely no way of defending himself. I walked far on ahead before I realized that he was still stuck at the cosmetics counter. I called him on his mobile to hear a most bewildered and slightly outraged voice plus gales of Little Boy's laughter. The cosmetics salesman had buffed one of The Husband's nails to perfection and when The Husband asked "How can I get rid of this?", the salesman said "Wait!". Then he returned with a bottle of nail polish. Of course, The Husband did not recognise the nail polish for what it was until it was well and truly painted upon his nail. "There now," said the salesman (looking very pleased with his work) "now it's even shinier!"

Meanwhile, Little Boy was doubled up with laughter. When I asked why he did nothing to rescue his Dad, Little boy gasped and wheezed and bubbled up the words "I was too busy laughing." So now, The Husband has a very festive looking fingernail. We went to comfort ourselves with some coffee and dessert in a shop next to Sque. The Daughter contrived to go on her break, and we found that we had to split the waffles 4-ways instead of 3. Still, it was a fun way to spend the afternoon.

Forgotten Puppy

2012-01-21T18:27:00.001+08:00

Post Script: Forgotten Puppy has found an owner!! Many thanks to all who helped to advertise his plight. We now have Friendly and Frightened here who need homes too.

Here's Forgotten Puppy. He's a handsome one isn't he? Right now, he looks very different from when we found him. When I first saw him, I really thought he was gonna die. I brought him home and bottle fed him with goat milk. He wheezed and coughed and vomited all that I fed him. I fed him again with diluted goat milk and then he went to sleep. As he slept, he wheezed and coughed.

When he woke up the next morning, he was still weak but he wheezed and coughed much less. After a few days, he was playing chewy ear with his brothers and sisters. This one has had it worse than his brothers and sisters. He was half their size when we found him and he didn't know how to lap milk. Come meal times, he didn't get to eat. Sunny, my friend, had to feed him separately.

Right now though, he has filled out beautifully and looks very handsome. He's still something of a roly poly but I think he'll grow up into a majestic looking one... like my Milo (Manhunt 2013, Dog Category). He's got a coat of a very special dusky brown too. I personally think he's more handsome than his bro, Fatty. Fatty is of a rather common brown.

Forgotten Puppy can now manage to get food when fed together with his brothers and sisters. Temperament wise, he is quite timid. He likes to hang out with Sunny at the construction site, following at Sunny's heels all day long like he was the loyal sidekick. So, if you want a dog that wants nothing better than to follow you around to kaypo, ya gotta take this one. And he's a toughie too. He recovered from Puppy Flu with just a bit of diluted milk!! Like all mongrels, this one will save you a bundle in vet's bills because mongrels are just more healthy than purebreds. They are less prone to genetic ailments that plague the pure bred dogs.

Readers who read this, please help to email this link to everyone you know? Those who want the puppy can call Sunny at 91088507.

Can We Move On?

2012-01-21T10:50:00.001+08:00

You know what they often say about wasting time posturing in parliament? Well, the way I see it, it's happening with the Ministerial Pay Issue. If I were the PAP, I would just listen to what WP has to say and state that the pay has already been cut, and why don't we just sit back and review a little later? No need to respond to every detail and parry and attack. Just ignore some things because it is clear that it is political posturing.

If I were WP, I would move on and focus on other things such as the MRT, housing and EDUCATION. But no, they wanna score points on the pay issue and in the process, Chen Show Mao (whom I actually like) made a comment that just doesn't cut it with me.

"Serving the country is not a sacrifice, it is a privilege." says Chen Show Mao.

He makes it sound like he would do this for free. I have no doubt he would (which is really makes him special) but I don't expect every politician to have the independent means to do this. Let's be halfway realistic instead of all idealistic. I get tired of the political wayang that goes on and on about Ministerial Pay. Pay has been cut. Let's move on.

The 10,000 Hour Rule of Practice

2012-01-14T12:15:00.001+08:00

In the almost-words of Malcolm Gladwell (who writes for the layman but references really good research studies)...

For almost a generation, psychologists around the world have been engaged in a spirited debate over a question that most of us would consider to have been settled years ago. The question is this: is there such a thing as innate talent? The obvious answer is yes. Not every hockey player born in January ends up playing at the professional level. Only some do - the innately talented ones. Achievement is talent plus preparation. The problem with this view is that the closer psychologists look at the careers of the gifted, the smaller the role innate talent seems to play and the bigger the role preparation seems to play.

Exhibit A in the talent argument is a study done in the early 1990s at Berlin's elite Academy of Music. Dr K. Anders Ericcson and colleagues divided the school's violinists into 3 groups. In the first, they put the stars. In the second, they put the merely good. In the 3rd, they put students who were unlikely to ever play professionally - the future music teachers. All the violinists were asked the same question: over the course of your entire career, ever since you picked up the violin, how many hours have you practised?

Everyone in the school started playing at 5. At that time, they practised the same amount of time a week - 2 to 3 hours. But when the students turned 8, those who would become the best violinists began to practise more than everyone else. They put in 6 hours a week by age 9... 8 hours a week by age 12... 16 hours a week by age 14. By the time these top performers got to the age of 20, they were purposefully and single-mindedly playing their instrument well over 30 hours a week. By age 20, these top violinists had gotten in 10,000 hours of practice. By contrast, the merely good students totaled 8,000 hours. Those only good enough to be music teachers totaled just over 4,000 hours.

The striking thing about Ericsson's study is that he and his colleagues couldn't FIND any "naturals", musicians who floated effortlessly to the top while practising a fraction of the time their peers did. Nor could they find any "grinds", people who worked harder than others but didn't make it to the top. Their research suggests that once a musician has ENOUGH ability to get to a top music school, the thing that distinguishes one performer from another is how hard he works. That's it. And what's more, the people at the very top don't just work harder. They work MUCH MUCH MUCH harder.

"The emerging picture from such studies is that 10,000 hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery associated with being a world-class expert - IN ANYTHING" writes the neurologist Daniel Levitin. "In study after study, of composers, basketball players, fiction writers, ice skaters, concert pianists, chess players, master criminals, and what have you, this number comes up again and again. Of course, this doesn't address why some people get more out of their practice sessions than others do. But no one has yet found a case in which true world-class expertise was accomplished in less time. It seems that it takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve true mastery.

The PSLE syllabus is now heavy on thinking SKILLS. Mental skills presuppose enough practice to develop mental HEURISTICS, or efficient approaches to problem-solving.

Take Math for example, different tuition centres have their own proprietary heuristic approaches. Some centres don't CALL them heuristics but nonetheless, their students learn ways to approach problem-solving (which are, in effect, heuristics). In these tuition centres too, they practise, practise and practise in order to achieve skills mastery and to stimulate the natural development of mental heuristics. Tutors in tuition centres mark student practices and provide individualized feedback. They provide the NECESSARY skills practice required to do well at exams in school.

So, the next time a school tells you that your child is doing poorly because he/she has NO APTITUDE since ALL the math concepts have been covered in class ALREADY, please point out that teaching conceptually is HALF the kind of teaching required to do well in exams that are heavy on thinking skills. You can only learn skills through practice and individualized feedback, which the schools have neither time nor some people say "skill" to provide. At least one Teacher confessed that he is not familiar with heuristics and had to resort to buying external resources to teach himself. See here. Also, the next time a school tells you that it is normal to set questions that cover skills that have not been practised because the good ones will NATURALLY KNOW, please point out that no baby is born naturally knowing. Those who know, actually know because they learnt and practised at their enrichment centres OR with the parents at home. It is as simple as that.

The above type of research calls into question the raison d'étre of streaming into Gifted, Express and Normal. The Gifted get better because they get more practice and are taught more things, which students in Express could well be able to master too. And I have heard of at least one secondary school who gets great results with Normal stream because they do the Express stream syllabus with the Normal stream. And the kids get it. Who are we to judge what a child's brain can or cannot absorb? Why don't textbooks document mental heuristics in the same manner as books by tuition centres do? See http://www.onsponge.com/ and http://www.scienceheuristics.com.sg/. Why do I have to buy these resources to cover skills tested in exams?

There are non-GEP students who do way better than some GEP. I'm willing to bet that invariably, these are students with access to the kind of skills practice (that help the development of mental heuristics) that schools don't have the resources for, but are quite happy to test at world class standards. The result is that enrichment has become a MUST.

Elecampane

2012-01-10T17:52:00.001+08:00

It's been a week since I came down with Puppy Flu. The fever and chills went away early enough but what was left was a wracking cough caused my a flooded larynx. My vocal cords were drenched in phlegm and I coughed up never ending gobs of sticky mucus every 15 minutes. I couldn't talk. The vocal cords can't work too well when immersed in phlegmy fluid.

So today, I went to see the doctor. At least I tried to. I brought the children to the polyclinic for their dental appointment and took for myself a queue number for my flooded larynx. There were still FIFTY people in front of me when the children's teeth had been scaled and polished. I applied to the registrar to cancel my queue number and went across the road to the Chinese Medical Hall to purchase $1/= of elecampane flowers. As I drove home, I had to clear phlegm three times in 5 minutes. The children thought I was gonna die from the paroxysms of coughing.

It took all of 10 minutes to brew a cup of elecampane tea... 20 minutes later, I have NO MORE phlegm. This thing cost me $1/= and I didn't have to queue to see the doctor.

Raider of the Fruit Basket

2012-01-09T10:56:00.001+08:00

I begin to have territorial stirrings. The fruit basket is deep within my home... a good 10m from the row of trees behind my backyard. Who would have thought that squirrels would have the gumption to penetrate deep into the house to raid the fruit basket? But there it is... a tiny squirrel, the size of Mr Bean's teddy bear. I was sitting scarcely 6m away but it obviously considered me harmless. "Pouf! That one there... she runs too slow... nothing to be afraid of!!" said the squirrel to his friend.

To be sure the huge fruit basket we have (filled with oranges, bananas, apples and pears) must have seemed to the squirrel all bathed in the golden glow of fruity goodness.The squirrel must have been mesmerized and completely helpless to resist the Pull of the Fruits. I'm not sure what to do now. I don't mind sharing a fruit or 2... but what if this mammal drops fleas in my home... or sips from our water pot... or worse, brings its whole family to have breakfast here every morning.

How ah?

Doctors: To See or Not To See

2012-01-07T16:23:00.001+08:00

It isn't that I don't like doctors... but they haven't been very effective lately. The Husband's toenail infection went through a month's worth of doctors' visits, same clinic. It promptly got well after I administered this dark green mash of balsam leaves, and bound it as a compress over night to his toe. The Husband's nose allergies joust with the doctors' anti-histamines and win a trophy each time. They retreat, backing away, intimidated by a hot brew of thyme tea. Years ago, The Husband's liver gave trouble. His skin turned yellow. His eyes were orange. Doctors didn't know what was wrong. No alcohol. No prior liver infection of the sexual nor digestive type. Only a bit of slush in the gall bladder, they said. In the end, it was milk thistle that saved the day. The Husband's haemorrhoids were very uncomfortable. It looked like some cutting and sewing would be needed in a very uncomfortable place. In the end, butcher's broom capsules saved the day. Then, there was a wart, caused by a virus, on his finger. The doctor's cream burnt a hole all around the wart but the hard lump was still there and still viral. We sent it packing with a mashed garlic poultice administered to the lump. When he had conjunctivitis, we used the doctor's eye drops... faithfully for 3 days. The eye got worse. After 2 days of green tea eye washes, we licked the conjunctivitis good and silly. The gynaecologist gave me general anaesthesia to go poke about inside my womb, only to declare that he didn't know what was wrong with me, and why I was bleeding so much every month. I confess that I don't know either but I did notice that if I take too much garlic or ginger that month, I would be a leaking blood faucet that month. I still dunno why but the point is... the doctor doesn't either.

For years, I've prevented flus at home with 5 judicious drops of very diluted tea tree oil up each nostril whenever anyone feels even a bit of an itch in the nose. I've cured myself of yeast infections with rosemary essential oil. I've also gotten rid of body odour and dandruff with rosemary essential oil.

This time, the Puppy Flu got me good. The last time I was sick this must have been 10 years ago? I didn't wanna see a doctor because I know that the doctor will just say it's a viral flu and needs to run its course. He'll say that he can't do anything about it except give me paracetomol and an anti-histamine... and all manner of lozenges that I won't eat.

So, I stayed home and nursed it with echinacea which had gotten rid of Little Boy's sniffles within 24 hours, twice.... and which has been found to have anti-viral properties. I'm much better now but I have no voice. Well-meaning people ask me to see a doctor but I'm pretty sure he'll just give more anti-inflammatory medication so I dun wanna go. Instead, I think I'll go off to Eu Yan Sang and get a packet of those herbs that come with wasp/bee in it like here. I felt really ill this time. I did wanna see the doctor to make the discomfort go away, but I just KNOW the doctor will say that there is nothing much he can do to make the flu go away, or my voice come back.

The problem is, doctors are trained to NOT believe in God's medicines. They would be much more effective if they believed otherwise. Then at least, I would have a doctor to see, rather than have to lie in bed to give instructions via sign language to husband and children on how to take care of me. It's not very fair is it? When the others are sick, they lie in bed and get everything done for them. Towels, compresses, tinctures and teas... all manner of nourishing soups. All ready when they wake. And I KNOW when they wake because I pop in often enough. When I am sick, I need to co-ordinate my own bedside care... and no one knows I am awake because everyone has disappeared, and I have to Psssssst people for a while before anyone appears. If I were about to die, they would never make it in time to see me go. And since everyone is so disgusted with my Puppy Flu, I have been made, this time, to feel like I have leprosy by all except the dear Daughter and Grandma. Women are SUCH nicer people than men. Don't even get me started on the nourishing soup. I fell ill on marketing day so there was nothing in the fridge to cook. Everyone else ate out. I ate nothing.

Soooooooooooobbbb!

I feel a bit sore about that... and that doctors always tell me they don't know or can't do anything. I don't really wanna be a MOM. I wanna get myself MOMMED.

Lee Hsien Loong: My Proustian Nun

2012-01-07T14:31:00.000+08:00

My hazy memory recalls a passage by Marcel Proust that has defined for me till now, true service to the world. The book itself has disappeared into the far corners of this new house's ample storage space, but the spirit of Proust's words blaze forth in my mind.

Proust wrote about the nun, curt and busy, who manages her domain with efficiency year in and year out. She is not one to dissolve into excesses of emotion nor easily overcome by charitable urges of the MOMENT. Those are for the easy dilettantes who see misery once in a while and do good once in a while, and feel good once in a while. The nun it is who sees misery everyday and identifies spots where the need is great and bends limited time and resources thereto. She has no resources to feel sympathy because all her resources are bent towards DOING something about misery. Don't expect any fawning. Her charity and her kindnesses are DECISIONS made having considered the sum total of the difference she can make to others... and how important this difference is to her.

In short, the Proustian nun is a TECHNOCRAT.

However, the Proustian nun's DECISIONS are made with feeling and committed to with discipline and forethought. They aren't impulses of the moment. I am sure that Lee Hsien Loong FELT for Singaporeans. He felt enough to want to come home and make a difference. He felt enough to donate his salary to charity. But just like the Proustian nun would have, he convened a committee to review Ministerial salaries... looked at the numbers and now will be following through with discipline after much forethought.

Seriously, you think technocrats can't feel? All humans can feel. I have met MPs who truly FEEL for people. There are others who don't. I remember one who used to be a friend UNTIL she became an MP and became so insufferably snooty that well... I decided I didn't wanna be her friend anymore. I don't think she missed me. I certainly didn't miss her. Such people will examine themselves and WALK away from government now that the pay ain't quite so chi-chi. We will wave them a gentle goodbye and keep our counsel of who and what they are.

I like Lee Hsien Loong, my Proustian nun.

Puppy Flu

2012-01-05T22:11:00.004+08:00

We found a 4th puppy. We called him Forgotten Puppy. He was very very small, very very weak, breathed in wheeezes and had a scar running along its back like someone had bitten him badly before. I thought he wouldn't last so I brought him home to make his last days comfortable, and let him go slowly into the night with some happy memories of warmth and dryness. I gave him a warm bath (blew dry the fur) and bottle fed it with some puppy milk from a carton. He drank greedily and then promptly threw up on me. I cleaned up the puppy, diluted more milk and bottle fed him again. He seemed to hold down the diluted milk better.

Then I let him sleep in a box on a pile of shredded newspaper, thinking he would be dead the next morning.

Amazingly, Forgotten Puppy made it. He lost his wheeze, and can now play catch and chewy ear with his brothers and sisters. I, however, developed a wheeze. I came down with fever and body chills. I threw up. I couldn't eat anything for 2 days. Today, I could only take a few mouthfuls.

The Husband is disgusted with me for having caught a flu from a dog. I didn't think it was possible. Next time, I will wear a mask when I nurse a sick dog. That is, IF The Husband allows me to bring home sick strays again.

Mongrel Puppies Need a Home

2011-12-26T18:13:00.002+08:00

Fatty Puppy

Friendly Puppy

Frightened Puppy

Here is a BIG BIG thank you to all those who helped to advertise the puppies' plight. They have all found owners now.

These puppies are now being fostered at a construction site. Fatty Puppy loves to eat. He has a very placid, calm temperament and clearly prefers to be lying down and observing than running around. Friendly Puppy looks the most dominant of all. She is unafraid and readily approaches strangers to check them out. The funny thing though is that she is the runt of the litter - smallest in size of all the 3. This one has spunk and spirit. Or maybe she's just stupid, and has no notion of danger. Friendly Puppy may be more suited to a family with some dog experience. Frightened Puppy is not a dominant female even though she is bigger sized than her brother and sister. She is anxious and easily frightened but is quite affectionate when she knows you will be nice to her.

Do help me spread the word to rehome these puppies. Just email this link to all whom you think will be able to provide a loving good home. Otherwise, they will almost certainly have to be put down. If you want the puppies, please leave me a contact in the comments section. I won't publish your comment so you need not worry about privacy.

Sque

2011-12-23T18:21:00.002+08:00

The Daughter found a waitressing job at Sque, Clarke Quay. She loves it 'cos the people she works with are nice to her (seriously, I haven't yet met anyone who isn't nice to my gentle daughter) plus, she can get up close and personal to yummy food. Unfortunately, she doesn't get to eat the food. WE got to eat it instead. because we went there to check it out. The food is quite well made, and the service is good, as long as you're sitting in The Daughter's section. The Daughter smiles a lot you see. Of course, I am biased.

Anyway, back to the food.

I was very pleased with the bone marrow. My last experience with bone marrow was at The Disgruntled Chef, and I came away very disgruntled because I was served a huge bone with a small crevice containing about a teaspoon of bone marrow. Shared between 2 people, that was half a teaspoon each. See previous blog post here. As you can see, the bone marrow at Sque came in bones that had wide valleys, and was augmented with bits and pieces of other savoury stuff. It was nice but a bit jelak because it was quite greasy. Clearly, the chef at Sque is not disgruntled and was very generous.

I really really loved the caesar salad. I've had many caesar salads in my life and this was one of the best. Little Boy loved his sausages. There were FIVE on the plate - 3 flavours. One kind was spicy hot. All were good. As far as ambience goes, we were there at lunch. There was a laid back sense to the place and I loved being able to look at the pretty boats and colourful shops on the other side of the Singapore River.

Maybe I am biased. The Daughter works there you see.

A's Little Boy

2011-12-22T21:00:00.002+08:00

AL is a Daddy I met on the kiasuparents forum. He made contact with me asking for the audio recordings of the chinese compositions that had helped Little Boy achieve some competence in Chinese. He seemed like a very lost Daddy, and in his own understated way, he was overwrought with worry for his son. One thing lead to another and I found myself face to face with AL's son, who whilst here ostensibly to learn from Little Boy how to do Chinese compositions, had somehow contrived to entice my son to go and play. AL's son reminded me so much of Little Boy back when he was really little. Playful. Dreamy. Careless.

AL himself seemed a little despondent. His son's grades were poor. AL feared for his son. "It is not that I have hang-ups about Normal Stream. I don't want him to end up in a school where he may be subject in his adolescent years to unhealthy teen influences." AL looked through the China compos and said that he would probably not use them. "They're too difficult. My son will never be able to manage. He can't even read his textbook, which is way easier than this" AL said. I could not explain to him why I thought he was wrong. I knew he was wrong because I know motivation. If you possess the right motivation techniques, you can help your child to persevere towards impossible goals. But I could not explain.

So I offered to show AL.

AL came by again with his son. I first worked directly with his son whilst AL observed from an armchair. As he observed, he took notes. Once in a while, I would interrupt myself to point out to AL specific techniques that I was using. Next, I phased myself out and phased in AL to work directly with his own son. It was my turn to observe. I next gave AL feedback on his own behaviors that were either discouraging, or not actively helping his son's motivation levels. Then we did a sum-up. Meanwhile, AL's son was kept busy on his task of memorizing his very first China Compo.

We started work at 11am and by 3pm, AL's son had completed half the composition. This took into account a fair amount of interruption and a nice lunch break. What AL had deemed impossible for his son was already half done. And AL took away with him a nice set of motivation techniques for close one-to-one coaching that I had modeled for him.

I feel good about what I did today. I think I made a difference to the lives of one man and the boy he loves so much that he quit his job to see him through Primary 5 and 6.

He Cares for My Insignificant Wants and Needs

2011-12-21T18:07:00.003+08:00

I am part of a bible study group during the school year. It's forms part of the International Bible Study Fellowship. Within the framework of this fellowship, each group generates a list of prayer items and we pray for each other every week. It has always been difficult for me to give my group specific items from my life to pray for. I was shy. See, some of my wants are so trivial... others are so intimate that I just cannot let others know what I am praying for. Also, I don't think I pray enough. I tend to rely on my own strength too much.

So, when my BSF group leader calls me up every week to get my prayer requests, I will proffer some generic item that does not embarrass me, nor reveals the extent of some of the pain or fear I feel inside. Judging from the kind of prayer requests that were generated, I guess I was not the only one to feel that way.

This year, my group is very special. We have broken for the holidays and will integrate new study groups next year. For all intents and purposes, my 2011 bible study fellowship group is no more BUT it still is. 2 ladies in particular have volunteered to collate prayer requests through email, and each week, I still receive prayer items from the group to pray for. This time, though, the prayer requests reach into intimate regions of the others' lives that were not revealed during the year. Somehow, via email, people venture to share more and deeply too.

But I have not made any prayer requests of my own via email.

Now that I read of others real needs and wants, I am even more hesitant to reveal my own. Others pray for dying family members. I am thankful that I only need to pray for Little Boy's flu and The Husband's conjunctivitis. Others pray for being able to rent a small flat at subsidised rates. I am praying for guidance on how to buy a property overseas. Others pray for straying husbands and wayward children. I am praying for The Husband to come home early for dinner more often, and for The Daughter to find a good husband who will love her and protect her.

In the midst of others' agony, I cannot bring myself to share my insignificant woes. I do not know how it would make the others feel. In fact, in the midst of others' very real and deep pain, all my wants melt away into fervent prayers of thanksgiving to God for somehow blessing me with so much.... and please, please, please... don't stop. I fervently pray that I will not forget that He is behind all this.

In truth, I have had more pain in my life than many others, more pain than I want to dwell on. Yet, it is no excuse to taunt others with the blessings he has given me in recent years. And then my prayer needs just completely dried up. Already, I wasn't praying enough... and I began to pray even less.

Then I picked up a book entitled WHEN FAMILIES PRAY, by Cheri Fuller. As I read the book, I felt very encouraged to pray again. I learnt to pray BLESSings into every individual's life. B for Body. L for Labour. E for Emotions. S for Social. S for Spiritual. Then, I learnt that God answers prayer even before one has prayed. A last minute prayer works! Because God has set in motion the answer to our prayer even before we know to pray.

That was what He did for me yesterday. I had stupidly scheduled a mammogram and a PAP smear back to back in the morning, forgetting that I had also scheduled for lights to be installed at Grandma's apartment. I couldn't be in 2 places at the same time. I desperately prayed for help. Somehow, it turned out that He made the guy come late. Phew!!

This morning, I went out to buy soil. Driving home, I looked at the sky and groaned. It looked like rain. Somehow, God prompted me to pray for good weather. I giggled. Seriously, I did. I was happy that He cared for my teeny weeny insignificant need. The weather held out till I had finished gardening. I planted rocket salad, dill, nasturtiums, chamomile, lemon bergamot, nettle. I repotted the rosemary. I treated the brinjals and lady's finger for aphids. God had told me that the weather would hold for as long as I needed. So, I took my time.

He cares for LITTLE needs too.

Almond Meal Bread

2011-12-19T16:11:00.001+08:00

Here is my 3rd attempt at making low carb bread using a mix of almond meal/flour. I used 100g of almond meal and 300g of white flour so it was still pretty carby. Blurting came by and I gave her half the loaf, which she walloped for lunch thinking it was low carb. She felt sleepy after. Sorry Ting!

It was quite a yummy bread. I cut bits of fresh rosemary into it and the whole loaf smelled like Provence. Hmmmmmmmmmm!!

When Ting Ting left, I made another bread. This time, with 200g of flour and 200g of almond meal. It is denser but still very bready. I am so relieved. I haven't had bread in 2 weeks because the earlier 2 attempts didn't look anything like bread and I just couldn't bring myself to eat them. I love bread. I miss bread. I look forwards to having toast tomorrow morning! Phew!!

HappyCall Roast Chicken

2011-12-18T11:35:00.004+08:00

Our family loves roast chickens. The problem with roasting chickens is the mess that it makes in one's oven. In the past, making a good roast chicken was an involved affair. I blended spices in olive oil and froze it into blocks. The chicken's skin had to be gently detached from the meat with a blunt knife so as to be able to insert small pieces of frozen olive oil under the skin. This added layer of olive oil bubbled through the skin and one would have marvellously crackly skin with very very juicy meat. The chickens roasted this way were so juicy that when carved whilst hot, juices would spurt out.

But all that oil also meant an ultra dirty oven.

Now that I have a new oven, I am loathe to dirty it. I tried roasting inside a glass roasting pan with cover. Juicy but not crispy. The children did not like it one bit. As a result, we haven't had roast chicken in a while because the thought of a dirty oven is a real put off, even though I did buy a self-cleaning oven.

I managed to roast a chicken in the HappyCall today. There was no need to insert frozen olive oil under the skin. I placed the oil-and-spice blend on the pan and the chicken on top. I turned the fire up high until I could hear the sound of frying and see steam escape from the HappyCall vent. Then I brought the fire down low for 20 minutes. Flip over the pan and turn the fire up again. Then, bring the fire down low for another 20 minutes.

Voila! A roast chicken with some bits of crispy skin. It wasn't as crispy as when oven roasted but it was crispy enough to offset the convenience of not having to wash the oven. And it was very juicy even though I hadn't inserted extra oil under the skin. The combination of steam and fry cooking that takes place inside the HappyCall pan does absolute wonders for retaining the flavours of food.

Another Bird

2011-12-16T14:10:00.005+08:00

This is the 3rd pigeon to fly into our house. This one allowed itself to be caught and gently held in Little Boy's hand. I wanted to make pigeon soup but decided that this was too small a pigeon to be worth the trouble of offending my son.

I think the high ceilings confuse them into thinking that this might be a cavern with nice roosting spots. This is one half of a young couple. Both are small birds (therefore young?). Possibly newly married in search for a nesting site. Both birds flew in. One flew out and one flew up the stairwell and explored my master bedroom. Do pigeons mate for life?

Almond Milk & Brown Rice

2011-12-15T15:53:00.009+08:00

Ever since I read Ting's blogpost on a low carb diet, I've been exploring the benefits of nuts and unrefined grains. It really is a measure of how much influence other bloggers have over my life that I would move to act in new directions, try new things, eat new foods and adapt my lifestyle just because of a single blogpost.

Nuts and unrefined grains contain phytic acid. Over consumption of phytic acid leads to inability to absorb important minerals such as iron, magnesium and zinc. Cooking reduces phytic acid somewhat, but soaking is better... and sprouting even better. I have not got around to sprouting anything yet but I have learnt to soak.

Almond milk was the first thing I made. I soaked 500g of almonds overnight, threw away the water and rinsed well. Then I added 1.2 litres of water to 250g of nuts and pulsed it in the blender. Once the nuts were in small pieces, I set the blender full blast. Then, I strained it through a cloth (those thin cotton square cloths for folding into nappies work beautifully). You can add dates before you blend the nuts for that hint of sweetness. We all like almond milk without flavour enhancers though. Little Boy nodded his head and said that it was as good as cow's milk. You can see a video of how to make almond milk here. I collected a whole mound of almond pulp which I mixed with some honey and bananas. Then I laid the paste out onto the food dehydrator sheets to dry. They dried into nice crackers with a hint of sweet and a whiff of banana. I learnt that from this lady here. All that fibre gave my intestines a good sweep, I think. The pulp also dries out nicely into almond flour. I'll try and make bread tomorrow with almond flour.

The next thing I learnt was to soak brown rice. This is done with non-chlorinated water for 22 hours. I used small bottles of mineral water. After 22 hours of soaking, bubbles appear in the water, indicating that some degree of fermentation has taken place. I give 50% of that water to my plants and reserve the other 50% in the fridge as beneficial bacterial culture for soaking the next batch of brown rice. These bacteria eat the phytic acid. Soaking also makes the brown rice much easier to cook. It can be cooked like normal white jasmine rice but with less water.

Typical Asian Parents

2011-12-13T13:03:00.002+08:00

I feel so guilty now!!

Sinfonia's Hen Eggs

2011-12-12T12:58:00.004+08:00

Little Boy was very serious about his temporary chore of collecting eggs. He would throw on a coat and go out to the chicken house every morning after brushing his teeth. The eggs are HUGE. The photo above has one large egg surrounded by even larger eggs. Look at how small the teaspoon is next to the egg. The eggs are soooooooo fresh that they were still warm when I cooked 'em. The photo below shows how orange the yolks are. They're the most delicious eggs I've ever tasted. I'm thinking of getting The Husband to build me a chicken house.

The Salmon Ponds

2011-12-12T07:52:00.008+08:00

The Trout Ponds

The Fisherman's Shack

Inside the Fisherman's Shack

The River Plenty

Wild Dandelions (a powerful detox herb) by the River Plenty

Australia had no salmon nor trout before the British arrived to colonise it. We made our way to THE place along the Plenty River which incubated the very first salmon and trout eggs that had made it alive across the mighty oceans from England to Australia. It took a few attempts before people figured how to pack the salmon in living moss and ice well enough to survive the trip. We were very amused by the name of the river running next to The Salmon Ponds. It was called River Plenty. Clearly, the early colonists were down to earth people who called a spade a spade. If a river was full of fish, just call it Plenty. It leaves one wondering though... what happened at Break Me Neck Hill? And were there really pirates at Pirates' Bay? Or are there?

Strangely though, The Salmon Ponds is a trout hatchery. The salmon that were released into the Plenty River didn't come back nor did they reproduce in the wild. Salmon breed in fresh water mountain rivers and then migrate to the ocean to live, coming back to the place of their birth to reproduce. But the salmon didn't come back. As such, salmon didn't really take hold in the rivers of Tasmania. However, the smaller batch of trout eggs were raised and when released, they multiplied and colonised Australia's rivers and streams.

We really enjoyed The Salmon Ponds. The sun shone gloriously and the spring flowers were out in force. I had been everywhere looking for dandelion puffs and only found them here, because everywhere else that I had looked, it was too early for puffs. The lawn was carpeted with flowers. There were those with white petals and yellow eyes. There were others with yellow petals and green eyes. Then there were the bright yellow dandelions. It made you wanna lie down and roll on the lawn because everything smelled so sweet. There were a few touch and feel museums situated at various parts of the park, and these were very nicely presented. I really liked the fishing shack in the picture above. They named it "The Sanctuary", which just underlines the whole attitude to fishing - it's a healthful activity where one drinks in the sun and breathes in the wind... in a place where troubles can't get you.

To end a wonderful morning, we went to the crêpes restaurant on the premises. The crêpes were really good, especially the ham-egg-cheese one... and we had a great burger. I normally don't go near burgers... but this one actually tasted good.

Tasmanian Devils

2011-12-11T15:12:00.002+08:00

It seems that the Tasmanian Devil is vastly misunderstood. This park ranger treats them like teddy bears, and the little creatures talk to him in much the same way that Milo talks to us. It turns out that this park ranger helped to hand raise these Tasmanian Devils and they recognise his scent. However, he has to make sure that he uses exactly the same shampoo and body wash. Else, his little Devils won't recognise him, and may attack. That is a scary thought because the Tasmanian Devil generates the strongest bite per unit body mass of any mammal. This surpasses even a lion's bite. It is this powerful bite that helps it to take down wallabies 3 to 4 times larger than itself.

Still, despite its strong jaws, the Tasmanian Devil prefers to scavenge rather than hunt. They're the vacuum cleaners of the Tasmanian bushland. Whilst they fight each other a lot, they don't kill each other (unlike humans). However, they will eat another Tassie Devil found dead in the bush, because meat is meat, and it is their job to scavenge.

We later observed it feeding on a piece of wallaby meat with a large bone in it. The little fur ball ate the bone like it was keropok. The park ranger had some dead yellow chicks in the food bucket. To the Tassie Devil, that must have been soft and creamy ice cream. It is said that when people go missing in the bush without a trace, they could have been cleaned up by the Tassie Devil after they had collapsed and died. The Tassie Devil eats everything... bones and all...

It's Spring You See...

2011-12-09T18:22:00.004+08:00

The effects of spring on animals is one of nature's greatest mysteries I think. Something in the changing of the seasons turn animals into absolute *** maniacs. Insects joined in pairs landed on my arm. Colourful lorikeets necked each other and frisked about from branch to branch like they were main characters in a Bollyhood movie starring coconut trees. We saw wallabies do it. Kangaroos too and a couple of horses.

It really is no big deal all this animal porn.

I only REALLY objected when we got acquainted with a very friendly 12 month old sheep dog. We had stopped by the road to examine some hay bales. One doesn't get to see hay bales up close and personal in Singapore so we stopped by to ooh and aah. The dog drove up in the back of a truck with an 81 year old sheep farmer at the wheel. The dog was chained to the back of the truck so The Daughter climbed on to play with him. But doggie didn't wanna play. He had other things on his mind. Our well-mannered daughter said nothing when she realized what Doggie wanted but she firmly gripped him at his throat and pushed him away. None of us said anything because we weren't sure if Mr 81 Year Old would be offended. As a result of our silence, clueless Little Boy clambered on the truck when we were all deep in conversation with Mr 81 Year Old. Before he knew it, Doggie had gripped Little Boy from the back and proceeded to hump Little Boy's woolen sweater with great gusto.

Doggie's grip was very very strong indeed. Someone had to go and grip the dog's throat again and save Little Boy, who was still clueless until we all got into the car and started yelling our indignation and shock.

Then someone remarked that the dog might have tried something with the sheep!! To which someone else asked what would result. Why... a sheep dog, of course.

Singularly Favoured

2011-12-09T08:38:00.002+08:00

As much as Miss Mao loathed Little Boy, she adored The Daughter. More than once, The Daughter woke in the middle of the night to see Miss Mao settled comfortably on a pillow nearby contemplating her sleeping face. This spooked The Daughter so much that Little Boy was soundly scolded for not closing the door properly.

None of us knew however, the extent of Miss Mao's adoration until the day before we left. Miss Mao had laid a little tribute at the door to The Daughter's room. It was a little bird, the size of half my hand. It lay so still we thought that it was dead. We ran to get Sinfonia, who assured us that the bird might still be alive.

Somehow, Miss Mao had caught the bird gently enough in her jaws that no damage had been inflicted, and then Miss Mao had contrived to bring the living bird as a gift to The Daughter. At the door to The Daughter's room, Miss Mao lay near Little Bird, mesmerizing it with her golden-eyed gaze. Little Bird lay there, unable to move.

The Daughter cupped the little thing in her palms and settled it in a flower pot far out of Miss Mao's reach. It took a while for Little Bird to recover and fly off into the bushes where I managed to get a photo. Even then, Miss Mao bounded into the bushes and stalked the bird for another 15 minutes. We could only watch helplessly as hunter hunted prey. Fat cat Miss Mao hunting was a creature of deadly speed, precision and elegance. We had no idea she could run so fast or leap so high or strike like lightning.

Happily, Little Bird got away.

When it was all over, The Daughter realized that she had forgotten to thank Miss Mao for her little love gift. It is no small gesture when a cat brings a human a still living prey. Even more interesting was that Miss Mao brought The Daughter the WHOLE bird. Sometimes, cats bring a thigh or a head or some innards to share. Miss Mao's gesture that spoke of love, and her willingness to share the best and freshest of what she could offer.

How does The Daughter do it? How does she charm all these animals? The sheep come rushing when they see her. They will jostle each other to be able to get themselves up closest to her. Very often, when she is in the sheep's paddock she is hemmed in on all four sides by woolly bodies. Our Milo clearly loves her most. And now she has gone and charmed the Queen Mother, Miss Mao.

Next to such obvious favour, Little Boy feels quite bad because his relationship with Miss Mao is very poor indeed. And I am jealous too because hey... Miss Mao comes to ME in the mornings to get some extra helpings of Friskas. So why didn't I get a gift?! Hmmmmmmph!!

The Miss Mao Moment

2011-12-07T06:46:00.004+08:00

Miss Mao doesn't like Little Boy and she makes her antipathy very clear. They started off on the wrong foot, you see. Miss Mao is friendly but strictly on her own terms. Miss Mao doesn't GET cuddled, SHE comes and cuddles you. If you're lucky, she'll come and settle on your lap whilst you sit at the sofa to read. But if you presume to touch her in a way she dislikes she'll get up, give her ample bottom a good shake and sway off with as much dignified portliness as The Royal Garfield himself. And you are NEVER NEVER NEVER rough with Miss Mao.

Miss Mao expects respect and she gets it.

Anyway, Little Boy is the clumsy affectionate sort. When he saw Miss Mao, he thumped across the wooden floor with heavy boy steps to try and hug her. Miss Mao gave him a cold look and swayed off like the best of them Queen Mothers when faced with rude and uncouth serfs of strange provenance.

Hug me? You presume to hug me? Don't you know who I am?

Oh well... Little Boy shrugged his shoulders and then went off to play with the sheep and steal eggs from the chickens. A few days later, Miss Mao peered through the gap of the door at Little Boy reading in his bed. The Daughter and I observed her from the corridor when all of a sudden, the door slammed shut and poor Miss Mao leapt four paws in the air, her fur standing on end. When she landed, she shook her head to clear it and then recovered the shreds of her dignified self, and went to wash herself on the step leading down to the dining room. Little Boy was of course very sorry. He hadn't realized that Miss Mao would get offended. Our Milo of course wouldn't have got offended. Milo would have sat outside the door and whined until we opened it for him. Don't expect Miss Mao to do that though.

But Miss Mao never forgave him. She never went near Little Boy again and when Little Boy tried to mend bridges, he was rewarded with 2 bites, a scratch and a few hisses. Little Boy was somewhat sad to be likewise ostracised, and he confided in me. I didn't think much of it until this morning.

The Daughter sat on the carpet hoping that Miss Mao would come by to cuddle her. Miss Mao did because The Daughter moves gently and talks softly, and has a talent for figuring out where animals like to be scratched. Little Boy, seeing an opportunity for a detente of sorts, stepped forward and reached out a hand. Miss Mao gave a low meow and gave him The Look... then she sauntered off. The Daughter translated the meow... "You again!?"

Port Arthur: Australia's Convict Past and Present

2011-12-06T18:33:00.004+08:00

If there is one thing about Australians that I have noticed, it is that they are independent minded and egalitarian. Once, I talked to an Australian academic who bluntly told me that it didn't matter that Singapore produced top of the top academic results, Australians just didn't wanna be like anybody else but themselves.

Not till yesterday did I realise why this country, settled by the British, is so un-British in the way it embraces life. Skilled trades are respected in this country. Snobbishness is not. And the notion of classes just does not cut it here. Here too, men are respected for their ruggedness and ability to live with nature. And women here are no shrinking violets.

Australians live with the painful memory of convict transportation. Many of the people who settled in Australia were from the classes of Britain hemmed in by extreme poverty. Mothers of children stole in order to feed their little ones. Fathers too stole to keep their families alive. Mothers prostituted themselves. Fathers and Mothers drank away their stress and were arrested for drunkenness. For these transgressins, they were transported to the other side of the world... unwillingly... and made to work for free in timber and quarry industries (sometimes in chains). These were people who knew exactly what it felt like to be the under class. As time passed, the strongest in mind and spirit gained their liberty and in their new continent with fertile soil and large open spaces, many ex-convicts prospered lawfully. Since a man could earn a good living through hard work, there really was no more need to steal. Some ex-convicts produced grandchildren and great grandchildren who rose to sit in courts of law as judges. Other ex-convicts reimbursed those that they stole from to expiate a sin that they had no choice but to commit because the underclass was cut off from every opportunity in life.

It has thus been seared into the Australian cultural psyche that all men are equal. No underclass for Australians thank you very much!!

The idyllic paysage in the photo above is that of Port Arthur, former penal colony wherein men were whipped with the cat o' nine tails. The cat o' nine tails inflicts far more damage with every stroke than a cane. It was also in this place where psychological torture was used that rendered many convicts insane. Things got so bad that an insane asylum had to be built on the premises. It is a place haunted by great cruelty... a place that has seen complete human degradation... a place where death was a welcome release.

So much historical pain leaves something in the soul of a country, and it is possible that the most admirable aspect of the Australian psyche is the result of this pain. Australians don't follow the crowd. They don't care. The unconscious memory of their own pain conquered gave them the confidence to do what THEY thought right. In a world where the USA was in ascendance, the Australians did what they wanted, never for a moment following the US lead slavishly. Today, Australia is alone amongst all Western countries to be relatively unscathed by the global financial meltdown.

What a Woman!!

2011-12-05T17:31:00.004+08:00

When Sinfonia first recounted to me the escapades of her sheep, I smiled correctly and nodded empathetically. For a city dweller, this is all very theoretical you know. Sheep got out of paddock and shepherdess herds sheep back in paddock. Anybody who has read Heidi can understand that... or THINK they do.

Until your children come in to dinner yelling that Hornblower has gotten out.

Well... we tiptoed over to tell Mr Sinfonia, who shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something about ... normal... Hornblower does it all the time... nothing to worry about. After about 20 minutes, we got worried that Hornblower would escape again. so we went over and talked to Mrs Sinfonia, who strode across the hall, out to the garden and surveyed her domain. The next thing I knew, dear Hornblower was again standing outside the fence and Sinfonia was trying to lift this oversized woollen pillow with eyes all by herself. Sinfonia calls Hornblower a lamb. I can tell you that Hornblower looks NOTHING like a lamb. It is very big, and if anybody tells you sheep are white, they are lying. This one had a tail caked with some brown pasty substance... which also stained its legs. In short, there she was, this slender Chinese woman wrestling with a big and dirty sheep-lamb.

The Daughter came and helped to squash the sheep through a hole in the fence.

Then, Sinfonia disappears for a while and comes back carrying an IRON GATE. She strode across the field like some sort of medieval warrior Queen and positioned the gate in front of the offending hole. Then she disappeared again and came back carrying a WOODEN TRELLIS. By that time, my jaw was well and truly on the floor. By the time she, The Husband, The Daughter and Little Boy were hammering fence to ground in the half light of the Tasmanian dusk, I had fled. I was half afraid that she might next stride across the paddock with an entire roof. I could hardly believe that this was the same woman who played classical piano so well the night before that I almost rudely went out to ask her not to stop playing.. and who meekly opens up a packet of cheese for her husband when asked... and who makes fine jewelry... and who cooks like a dream.

Now, if you ask me if we saw many of the most famous sights in Tasmania, such as Swansea, Launceston and Cradle Mountain, I'll say "No"... but if I had a special holiday, I'll say "Yes". Not many people go on holiday to chase sheep you know and listen to the liquid notes of the piano played live deep into the night. I really think Sinfonia is an amazing woman. Singapore lost a precious Daughter when she decided to leave for Tasmania.

Elderflower Cordial

2011-12-04T18:18:00.003+08:00

This image was sourced from here.

I've an elderberry plant in my garden that has never flowered. I dunno if it ever will. My job, I guess, is to keep the plant alive in case it does flower. Meanwhile, at the gourmet organic foods store down the road from Sinfonia's place, I found bottles of elderflower cordial made by these people. Hot or cold, it makes for a marvellous drink.

Internet lore documents the elderflower as a remedy for anything from flu to sinusitis and freckles. I simply like the way it tastes and if it has health benefits, then why not? 2 tablespoons of elderflower cordial in a mug of hot water and a squeeze of lemon made the sun come out on the miserably rainy morning at the Hobart market. I passed the cup to The Husband and was peeved when it came back empty. I had to buy another cup, plus 8 bottles of the cordial from the very same people who supplied to the gourmet organic foods store near Sinfonia's place. Then, this morning, Little Boy accidentally made a cold elderflower drink instead. It was just as good, if not better.

Then I remembered that Open Kitchen Concept had blogged about elderflower syrup here... and I am so very pleased that I'll be able to get it at Ikea in Singapore. It's a drink I don't ever intend to do without.

Grandvewe Sheep Farm

2011-12-03T19:10:00.005+08:00

Just down the road there is a sheep's farm. It sells lambs and sheep's cheese. The sheep are milked at about 3.30pm so if you make it there at that time, you'll get to see how the sheep line up. The "milkmaids" put a portion of sheep pellets inside each of the stalls. The sheep enter to get at the food and wave their butts at the milkmaids. Pop and pop... the milk pumps go on and out the milk comes flowing.

The milk is later pasteurised and cheese cultures are added. They curdle nicely inside the cheese moulds and then are cured for a time. Then, people like us taste the cheese, fall in love and buy 'em.

On the Way to Antarctica

2011-12-03T07:16:00.007+08:00

From Sinfonia's kitchen window, one can see Bruny Island in the distance, separated from the main island by a stretch of blue water. When we got to Bruny Island, The Husband, with one of his rare flashes of pithiness, said "Australia is a continent at one corner of the world. Tasmania is an island at one corner of Australia. Bruny Island is an island at the corner of Tasmania." It seemed to me that we were at the edge of the world... and if you look carefully, you can actually find a place on the Tasmanian map marked "Edge of the World".

The waters around Bruny Island are cold and pristine. Oysters grow there in great abundance. All ya gotta do is pick 'em off the rocks, shuck em and eat 'em... that is, if you own one of the beachfront properties on Bruny Island, with a jetty. Since we don't own such a property, we stopped by an oyster shack and carted home 12 oysters for AUD12.

From Bruny Island, we took a boat out to try and catch sight of whales, dolphins and seals. There were plenty of wild seals to see. They looked lovely in the water, frisking about... flipping into the air and turning somersaults, dancing in elegant pairs of Mikhail Baryshnikovs. We saw a baby humpback whale too. There were flocks of sea birds - cormorants, gulls, albatrosses and eagles soaring above the clear blue water riding on the crisp cold air currents that blow from the South Pole. It is an invigorating air, clean, pure... and 2000 km away is the Antarctica. The ocean is large and whilst Bruny Island is the same size as Singapore, it only has 550 people living there. So, everyone seems to know everyone else. We would spy a lone boat in the distance and it would invariably be a friend of the boat captain, Robert. I gather that it is the social custom here to drive up and say hello.

We met an oyster diver, a couple of fishing boats and one bright red boat on its way to the Antarctica. I'm sorry for the misleading title of this post. WE didn''t actually make it to the Antarctica, though for a fee, such trips can be organised.

Sinfonia's Villa/Farm/Cottage

2011-12-01T14:22:00.013+08:00

I am not sure what to call Sinfonia's place. So, let's just say it is a cross between a farm ('cos it has hens and ducks that lay HUGE eggs, sheep that give wool, garlic sprouts with garlic bulbs, apple trees...), a villa 'cos it has these stunning views of hills and ocean (which calm the spirit and settle the mind), and a cottage ('cos on the inside it has every convenience we've come to remember fondly from all our cottage stays in almost every Western country we have travelled in).

It's always special to finally visit a place that one has only read about. You wander around the property with the same sense of wonder that you feel when you visit Chenonceau after reading about Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de Medicis... or when you visit Milan having read about Ludovico Sforza. For 2 years I've been following Sinfonia's warm tales of animals and life as it should be lived... where people exist in community, not competition... where the quest for economic growth is secondary to the preservation of nature and lifestyles... where people live close to Mother Earth and in harmony with it.

Where shoppers have nothing to buy because Mother Earth provides everything.

The eggs produced by Sinfonia's hens are HUGE. I've never seen larger eggs nor yolks that are so firm it actually takes effort to beat them into an omelette. Down the road, is a cheese farm, one of the 4 sheep's milk cheese farm in Australia. Ever tried sheep''s milk ice cream?

Sinfonia and her husband are so very warm and hospitable. This is the first time in any family holiday that I have not had to cook in our little cottage kitchen. Sinfonia cooks in half the time I need and her food is so good that my kids wolf everything down in silence. This night, we had barbeque... cooked by Mr Sinfonia, and much appreciated by Little Boy, our little carnivore. Check out Sindonia's home stay here - http://mysinfonia.blogspot.com/p/home-stay-tasmanian-country-experience.html.

Poor Little Boy

2011-11-27T09:25:00.006+08:00

When I look at Little Boy, I lament the loss of a childhood. My only consolation is that I left him pretty much alone in lower primary to be a child. I gave him no enrichment classes at all. I didn't even send him for the Gifted Education Programme (GEP) screening because I thought GEP would be too much hard work for a child. I kinda figured that as he got older, school will just get more and more challenging, and so he had better indulge in being a child earlier than later.

So, Little Boy spent the early years of his primary school catching grasshoppers in a forbidden school field, harvesting caterpillars off our orange tree for sale, tending to his moss culture etc... He had very average grades indeed. But well, the PSLE is coming up next year and I can't let him waffle along anymore. This year, 2011, has been a high stress year. The stress began last year when we realized that he was scoring in the 90s for every subject but Chinese. So began the Memorize-Recite Chinese project, which lead on to the current Memorize-Write Chinese project.

I think I begin to understand how Mothers in China must have felt when it came time to bind their daughters' feet. Foot binding was a custom practised in well-to-do families in China up until the last century. Mothers would break the bones of the arch and toes on their daughters' feet and bind the foot in long swathes of cloth to prevent it from growing out. See photos here. In that particular cultural context, women with bound feet were much honoured. As a result, Mothers who loved their daughters and wanted to give them a good future, made sure that they inflicted all the pain necessary to buy that future. It was a world where women were chattel. They had no education. They could hold no jobs. Their only hope was to marry well. Women with bound feet married well. Some Mauritanian women still inflict terrible pain on their daughters today.

These seem such a strange and barbaric customs no?

Am I doing anything different to Little Boy though? We evolve in a cultural context that prizes academic achievement. Little Boy has to compete with children who have been attending enrichment/tuition classes since Primary One. He has to compete with children whose parents paid large sums of money to train their children to do well in the Gifted Education Programme screening tests. He has to compete with all these kids and be better so that he can pip them all and get into his first choice secondary school.

As a result, 2011 stands out as the year where we covered 4 years worth of Chinese, and 2 years worth of content in the other subjects. Through it all, Little Boy has been nothing but co-operative. To bring him up to speed in Math material his school tested but had not yet taught, I passed him books that he read and then practised with. To bring him up to speed in Science, I bought Science guidebooks and he spent hours researching independently on the internet. Then, he did practice exams till they came out of his ears... and he marked the exams himself too. At one point, he wrote one Chinese composition every day. And all this was done whilst we also did impossible things with Chinese (like Memorize-Recite and more recently Memorize-Write). When I told someone (so completely bilingual that she can do real time translation) that he could write out a 2100 word Chinese composition from memory after 2 days of practice and study, she was very very surprised, and I felt very very guilty. I didn't know it was that difficult a thing to do. For the sake of a better future, I am breaking the toes and arch of my son's spirit and imprisoning it in long swathes of suffocating love.

Today is Sunday. On Sundays, Little Boy never does any schoolwork. Sunday is play day. It has always been. But we are leaving on a long holiday soon, to which we will bring no books. So, I convinced Little Boy that he should work today. He agreed. This morning, it was painful to look at his face and see his disappointment when he was reminded that whilst today might be Sunday, he still needed to write out his 2100 character Chinese composition again.

Ohhhhh... I am sorely tempted to ditch that silly compo and let my son play. Should I? Oh should I?

Reaching the Tipping Point for Chinese: Part 6

2011-11-25T12:35:00.006+08:00

Last year, in Nov-Dec 2010, Little Boy had to work all day on a single Chinese model composition (written by 12 year olds in China) in order to be able to read it fluently to me, and explain all the words. Last week, in Nov 2011, Little Boy could process and fluently read FOUR Chinese model compositions in 4.5 hours.

It occurred to me that instead of doing more of the same thing, I could perhaps introduce writing into his process of learning Chinese in order to stimulate even deeper learning and better recall, leading to enhanced literacy. I decided early this week to stop asking him to READ 4 Chinese compositions a day. We are pushing our Potato Chinese experiment even further. Little Boy now has to memorize and recite ONE WHOLE composition at a stretch... and not only that, he has to WRITE out ONE whole composition from memory.

Like last year, I really dunno where this will end up. I am hoping that we will end up with another quantum leap in true competence in Chinese. This goal looks as impossible to us as last year's goal to memorize and recite one whole composition. However, we did achieve what we set out to do last year (with excellent results) and chances are, this year's goal won't be impossible either (but I still dunno about the results).

We've been working on the same 2100 character/pictogram (approximately) Chinese composition over the past 4 days. He successfully wrote out the whole composition for the first time yesterday with mistakes. He wrote out the whole composition for the second time today, and we think he will have to write out the whole composition another 5 times to be sure that the learning is deeply anchored. Meanwhile, on a daily basis, he has to learn to fluently read ONE new composition.

I popped over to Grandma's earlier today to get her opinion on whether this would help him learn. Grandma stated (rather smugly too) that that was how she was taught when she was young, that Chinese pictograms (like people's faces) need to be committed to memory... and learning to write well required writing practice in drawing the characters (like you had to learn to draw people's faces)... and that given the intricate connection between sound and picture (i.e., the same sound means different things if the picture is different), you absolutely had to read, recite and write all at one go from memory so that you could learn and retain the intricate connections between meaning, sound and picture.

Grandma then said that back in the 1960s, this was how she herself taught Chinese to her students. Later though, in the late 1970s, there was a huge resistance from people who were largely English educated to teaching via memorizing. Memory work is for dumb people. It is boring. We should be teaching students to analyze, not memorize. Therein lies the problem. To learn to write in English, you MEMORIZE your 26 characters of the alphabet (see... you still have to memorize even in English), and then you use them to represent sounds. Sounds then convey meaning. The process of making words in English is to compose them from only 26 sounds. These sounds can be easily broken down and analyzed, and powers of analysis can put them back together again.

To be literate in Chinese, you need to memorize at least 2000 characters. Each character has it's own face. Different faces have the same sound. Sound and meaning are intertwined, and whilst some analysis is possible, it is not easy. Ya just gotta remember the character like you remember every face you have met since childhood. Have you tried remembering people's faces by analyzing them? Possible, but not the fastest way to recall them.

I'm not sure, perhaps Chinese is a language you can only truly master when you memorize more than analyze. After all, Dr Lee Wei Ling (Mr Lee Kuan Yew's daughter) freely admits that she spent half her time in secondary school memorizing Chinese classics. PhD candidates from China that I met some years ago also shared that they did a lot of text memorizing, and once, 2 or 3 of them even had a good time reciting to each other, beloved bits of literary texts that every child in China would have to know. These are all highly educated people, and that was how they learnt Chinese. Grandma herself possesses high levels of competence in Chinese and that was how she learnt Chinese too. Do I want Little Boy to possess enough Chinese to be on par with such highly educated people... or do I want him to be only as literate as a Chinese street hawker? Certainly, if it is possible, I want him to be well educated in the Chinese language.

So, who are English educated people like me to judge that one should not teach Chinese through memory work? Seriously, I am not hung up about any method of learning. I refuse to judge METHODS. I want results. Period. If memory work produces Chinese literati like Grandma, PhD candidates and Dr Lee Wei Ling, then it produces lasting results and inculcates a love for the Chinese classics.

So, that is the method we will muck about with, and see what happens.

High Carb Dangers

2011-11-25T08:58:00.008+08:00

For the better part of my life, I didn't like carbs. I ate few carbs and did not have a sweet tooth. In the past 2 years, I've developed a strange craving for carbs like durians, pasta and rice, where before I shunned them because I didn't like the taste. The more carbs I eat, the more I want to eat. The USA Food Pyramid depicts carbs as healthful energy food that one should consume the most of. So, you can imagine my surprise to find that when I was finally eating healthily, I was actually feeling worse.

I felt hungry every morning but after wolfing down my 2 pieces of toast and jam, I would feel tired again. By noon, I would again be famished, and would chow down one bowl of rice instead of the half bowl that I used to, plus the usual servings of vegetables and meat. And I had this thing for root beer too!! I had to have it at dinner every night. Before bed, I would crave a bowl of cornflakes, a chocolate bun, a croissant or a slice of chocolate cake. As I indulged my cravings, my weight inched up and my waistline inched out. Clothes that I had worn for 20 years had to be pushed to the back of the wardrobe. I bought new bermudas with some allowance and walked through my day like a frump. I even decided to never wear high heels against because I reasoned that my feet could no longer support my weight.

Then I read Blurting's post here.

Since then, I've had a banana/apple/pear and some almonds/pistachios in the morning with my tea (sans sugar nor milk). For lunch, a slice of ham and an avocado... or an egg with an apple... or a banana with more almonds. I hope you get the idea. I eat a little protein and a piece of fresh fruit that contains slow releasing sugars. This diet prevents insulin spikes in my bloodstream. When we ingest refined sugars, glucose enters the bloodstream quickly and causes a spike in levels of insulin. Insulin in turn stimulates the conversion of glucose into fat for storage in cells. In other words, insulin leaches all the glucose out of your bloodstream and plonks them onto your waistline as fat. When this happens, your glucose levels drop and you feel tired. This explains why after a large meal of rice or wheat pasta, I feel so tired I can't keep my eyes open.

My new diet of fruit, nuts, meat and vegetables starved my body of glucose. This forced my body to make a metabolic transition to burning fat and protein for energy. The transition itself was unpleasant. I had a low grade headache for about one day, and then developed a thirst that wouldn't go away no matter how much I drank. And my breath smelled bad because of the ketones (the byproduct of burning fat as fuel). I had to keep drinking water to clear these ketones out of my bloodstream.

I continued to ate protein and fat regularly in the form of nuts and meat. I drenched my vegetables in olive oil. I cut out sugar completely (no cakes, no jam, no sweet drinks). It has been a week. I feel a great deal more energetic. It's no trouble keeping awake after meals, and I fit into my old shorts again. From now on, I am gonna be real careful with what I put into my mouth. The cravings have gone quite away. Burning fat and protein has blunted the edge of my hunger. I no longer feel famished after every 4 hours and must eat something. I eat because it is time to, not because I have an uncontrollable urge to eat a horse. Best of all, I can stare down a chocolate cake. Once in a while I indulge in sweets but I try to re-establish a healthful routine immediately after so that my body knows it has to continue to burn fat and protein.

I really like this diet. Whenever I am hungry, I eat 5 nuts. This gives protein and fat, and is not easy to digest so I never feel hungry. More of this and I might be able to go back to the 43kg I used to weigh? I am keeping my fingers crossed.

I read somewhere that our bodies are not built for a high carb diet. In the wild, hunter gatherer humans ate mostly meat and complex carbohydrates. So... that is what Petunia will eat too.

Fruits Paradise

2011-11-23T15:09:00.006+08:00

More than even the French, the Japanese have an eye for the aesthetic at mealtimes. At our ryokan in Japan, we ate art at every dinner when we tucked into our kaiseki meals. Bite-sized morsels of fresh shrimp and fish were served on porcelain and clay plates and decorated with rosemary flowers or dried maple leaves. The whole meal had to have a theme, and the cook would match decoration with food, sometimes to the theme of obscure Japanese poetry or to co-ordinate with the ancient painting in the alcove which is changed every season. Actually, one doesn't quite TUCK INTO a Japanese kaiseki meal. That would be very disrespectful to the chef. One needs to interact with the meal like it were an installation art piece. Ask questions. See connections. Understand the meaning behind the presentation.

Wow! That is what I call civilization.

The Chinese in China have completely lost this. Centuries of dishonest feudalism had the entire populace starving. They would have eaten the dried maple leaf instead of using it to decorate. Then, another century of civil unrest followed. After, there was the Cultural Revolution where books were burnt and scholars sent away to work as farm hands. Today, some of the worst excesses happen in China... some of the worst crimes against humanity take place in China. A pity. I am told by people who know the Chinese classics that once upon a time in China there was a level of decorum and civilization, that far surpassed much that there is today. Food for average folks in Japan is often beautifully presented. Food for average folks in China tends to be served in a sort of gravy hodge-podge. If you want nicely presented food, ya gotta make sure ya can afford it like here (and even then, there clearly isn't the same level of artistry as when you sit down to a Japanese kaiseki meal). Even in the smallest tucked away boutiques in Japan, the premises are clean. We ate the best tasting steamed dumplings in the world in premises where the floor looked like it hadn't been cleaned in more than decade. I won't even tell you what the kitchen looked like. If the dumplings weren't steaming hot, I would have feared for my tummy.

Anyway, when the Japanese folks decide to interpret French desserts, they go one better. The tarts on display at Fruits Paradise looked so perfect that they didn't look real. They tasted every bit as good as they looked. The fruits were fresh and sweet. The cream was light and not too sweet. I had a floral tea to go with it that came in a simple teapot and a transparent teacup. And of course, I had really good company to go with that tart and tea set.

Fruits Paradise belongs to the publicly listed company Japan Foods Holdings, which also happens to own many other Japanese restaurants pitched at different market segments, offering a variety of different Japanese foods. I've noticed that their restaurants are often crowded. I think I won't just buy their tarts. I'll go buy their stocks too.

Reliable Contractor 3: Kim Huat Electric

2011-11-23T14:26:00.003+08:00

The man who owns Kim Huat Electric is called Cliff. He looks thin and dried out, has teeth stained by years of smoking, and hands that shake when he holds a pen. I am told that this is the result of having been electrocuted innumerable times in his long career. He used to run a largish company and did very large jobs. One day however, a main contractor did not pay him his electrician's fees amounting to 6 figures. Things were bad for a few years (whilst he recovered from the big financial dent) and the experience made him selective of clients and business partners. To weather the possible lean times, he keeps his operations small - 2 employees only. Strangely, Cliff's hands don't shake when he is working with his wires.

Cliff is taciturn and unfailingly polite. I suppose he is the sort that believes that if there is nothing important to say, then don't say anything. He has a long time Thai employee who, had he grown up with all the opportunities Singaporeans generally have enjoyed in the last 2 decades, would probably be highly educated. I say so because this Thai fellow's children are DOCTORS, thanks to a father who found employment in Singapore. The children's intelligence and good work ethic must have come from him. When a very hardworking and intelligent man does a blue collar job, you can be sure that it'll be a job well done.

I saw Cliff and his team work through all of 10 months, and not once did I find anything amiss. He has both an eye and a head for detail. No other specialist contractor that I worked with could remember all the details I had briefed. Cliff remembered so well that he recalled things that I had forgotten. He would say something and when I checked my own minutes and drawings, I found that he was right.

Cliff's number is 96250250.

Reliable Contractors 2: MetalWorld

2011-11-22T01:42:00.003+08:00

I've used Metal World for my iron grilles for as long as I remember, in every house I've lived in and even in houses meant for rental. I had found their prices very reasonable in the past, and their workmanship quite good.

Yes... I know it is absolute kitsch these days to have iron grilles but Mom-in-Law believes in them. Actually, this is one of the few things we agree on. Iron grilles do deter break-ins, and they work without false alarms. They deter everyone including yourself when you've forgotten to bring your keys. There is no question of breaking a window and climbing in there. I have iron grilles at the windows that are most vulnerable to break-ins. In other less vulnerable areas, I use a mixture of Milo (my rabid-looking dog) and discreet iron spikes that prevent access to the 2nd and 3rd storeys of the house.

I used 2 suppliers for my grilles. Next to the one from hell, MetalWorld looked like an absolute angel. The other un-nameable supplier had rude Indian workers who snooped about my house. They cracked my tiles, stained my walls and the quality of both grilles themselves and installation of grilles was really quite awful. BUT, they were about 60% cheaper than MetalWorld. I would use them again ONLY for rough and simple work such as sidewalk railings etc... not for fine wrought iron work one needs around the house.

MetalWorld has 2 teams of installers. Both teams are headed by Singaporeans/Malaysians who've been upwards of 15 years with the company. They are quiet and serious, with sure hands and good mastery of the electric drill. The holes they made in my floor were clean and crisp. The pieces of grilles that were delivered had been nicely smoothed down. In contrast, the supplier from hell cut and welded flowers and leaves on site. This created a lot of disturbance for us, and the whole piece was much marred by blobs of welded metal at the joints.

I liked it also that MetalWorld had a professional draughtsman to produce mock-ups of each piece of window for me to sign off. The other supplier from hell had to bring what they had done 3 times back to the factory to render the design I wanted, because I was upset at the blobs of welded steel that had appeared all over the piece.

MetalWorld's salesperson, William (Mobile: 81392242), showed me designs from his iPAD, though to tell the truth, I would have preferred a hard copy file that I could flip. I wasn't comfortable handling his iPAD and I didn't know where his photos were and how they were organized. William is chatty and free with his advice on what designs would look good. This was helpful since I have not much taste (nor interest) in thinking through issues of design. In the end though, I went for an old design that did not cost much, which I've used for at least 10 years. It cost less and I really still love it till today.

George is the Operations Head. He manages the teams of installers. George tends to be rather taciturn but he knows his stuff... and so do his installers, who are friendly, discreet and clean up scrupulously after themselves. Again, when they've left, you would hardly know they had been there if not for the window grilles they left in place.

Reliable Contractors 1: Elite Deco Pte Ltd

2011-11-21T03:07:00.004+08:00

In the course of building my house, I have had to work with many many specialist contractors. Some of them have driven me up the wall but once in a while there was a company that was reasonable in pricing (without me having to haggle), delivered high quality installations and even after the money had been paid up, they would return to fix problems without fuss. I thought that I would do a series of posts on such gems so that people looking for services (and unsure whom to engage) can be aware of some of these good, though small companies.

This is Elite Deco Pte Ltd's website: http://www.elitedeco.com.sg/index.shtml

Elite did all my aluminium composite panel external roofs. I had hoped to give the job to The Panda but he could not provide a method statement that was clear enough for me to know that he knew what he was doing, and that he had the right specialist for the job. Also, I didn't like his time frame of 3 months given that he had only one welder to weld the steel beams and columns that would form the roof support (and I was not sure that this welder of his had the proper certifications).

Elite Deco did everything in 2 weeks. The sales fellow who came by was quiet and serious. He quickly explained to me where he would put the columns and how the roof would slope. I asked him to clarify how some specific parts of the roof would be constructed and he made me a quick sketch. By the time I met Elite Deco, I had already developed a sense of the market pricing and so I confirmed without haggling. There was no irritating sales spin.

Elite Deco then swooped in with 2 certified welders (Malaysians) and a largish team of unskilled Indian workers who were closely supervised by the 2 certified welders. This is important. Another company I had hired (to install my window grilles) had no control over their unskilled Indian workers at all. These turned out to be insolent and careless. One of these workers walked into every one of my bedrooms like a VIP because he was curious how we lived (we were already living here by then). Another worker in that team made it his life's mission to terrorise Milo. I was so angry that I went up to him and said "If I catch you frightening my dog one more time, I will let him loose and I will command him to BITE you." It's cruel to provoke a tied-up dog who cannot defend itself. Not surprisingly, with such workers and ill-supervised, the same iron grille installations had to be redone 3 times, and even then, the workmanship was very poor. It was a nightmare!!

Elite Deco however, kept their unskilled workers on a tight leash. The 2 welders in charge of them made them clean up the worksite properly, repaint stains properly. When the whole team left, you would have not known that they had ever been there if not for a new roof structure that had magically grown up in a space of 1 day. I was very worried about a spot on the roof that I thought might pool with water and become a mosquito hazard. I was really impressed when one of the welders whipped out his iPhone and said "I knew you would ask this question, so here is a photo of what it looks like up there to assure you that there is no pooling water".

The wet kitchen developed a leak last weak. I sent an sms to Elite. Someone came yesterday to fix the leak. Polite and no fuss. Done and gone in 10 minutes. Milo didn't even have time to get revved up into a barking fury. So if you ever need patio roofing solutions, get in touch with Ken at 91002001.

Daddy Come Drink With Me

2011-11-19T16:01:00.003+08:00

This was Little Boy and his Dad. Drinking buddies.

Guns

2011-11-18T07:47:00.006+08:00

It's quite funny how boys seem to be born with the knowledge of guns. When he as 2 and half, I was going through the letters of the alphabet using plastic alphabet shapes. I picked up the F and explained knowledgeably "This is an F". Little Boy shook his head and explained concisely "Gun". As he grew, his gun lore just grew and grew.

Little Boy can give you a lecture on the History of Guns. He tried to give me that lecture once. The very first guns evolved from cannons, and they were long tubes where people rammed in gunpowder, tamped in a bullet and then lit the wick to light the gunpowder. Later, people created guns with mechanisms for igniting the propellant (gunpowder). There were a few ignition devices. The matchlock was a burning string....blah blah blah...snore... The flintlock was... blah... blah... blah... snore... hmmm... I wonder whether my chilli con carne is done.

The boy down the road has a different angle on gun lore. He makes guns. This boy goes onto the internet to look up the different models of guns, and then he'll devise a way to make it using white paper and scotch tape. He is the sole arms supplier to every one of the 15 children next door, who need these guns to kill each other every Sunday afternoon. He came by to deliver Little Boy's gun yesterday. I am very impressed. Even I felt like Angeline Jolie as I stood by the staircase pointing it at The Husband.

Little Boy REALLY likes guns. We've done a variety of different sports - badminton, table tennis, swimming, jogging, yoga... and none ignited any passion whatsoever. In fact, he couldn't WAIT to get rid of yoga. On a whim, I signed him up for shooting classes 5 minutes away from where we stay. Man! That was it. Little Boy is quiet and subdued in his show of enthousiasm. However, I can tell that he loves to shoot because he gets ready to go for shooting class one and a half hours before. One time, I forgot to bring him to class and since then, he has made sure to remind me that he has shooting class the day before. Then, when I told him that yoga would help to improve his balance, stability and muscle control, he makes sure he wakes up early on SUNDAY to tag along with his Dad to yoga class.

That's how I know my son is in love with shooting.

Chilli Con Carne

2011-11-18T07:36:00.002+08:00

Chilli con carne has always been something of an exotic food. We've never had it before but Ting's steaming hot bowl of chilli con carne looked so good that I had to try and make it. Little Boy did a taste test this morning. His verdict was that there was too much vegetable and no meat.

"But... but... but... there is one kilo of ground beef in there, my love!" He looked at me and said "Then why can't I taste the meat? Either, you make a dish with a lot of vegetables, like ratatouille... or you make a proper meat dish. It's not good to disguise vegetables with meat."

You know what I think. He just wants to be able to clearly distinguish veggie from meat so that he knows which dish NOT to take at dinner. The chilli con carne has everything all mushed together and that makes it difficult for him to pick out the carrot bits.

Reaching the Tipping Point for Chinese: Part 5

2011-11-17T15:11:00.006+08:00

Petunia's Chinese Boot Camp has started again. Little Boy wakes up at 5.45am, jogs for 15 minutes, bathes, eats and starts work at 7am. This year, things are going MUCH faster. Last year in Nov 2010, Little Boy spent 7 hours a day to learn ONE Chinese model composition well enough to read it through fluently, without looking constipated.

This year... today... now... this week, guess what!! Little Boy can process FOUR Chinese model compositions by 11.30am every morning. He listens to it ONCE. He pops over to Grandma's side of the house and gets all the new Chinese characters explained ONCE THROUGH. He comes back home and can already read the whole FOUR compositions fluently to me AND explain all the words that I don't know.

Increasingly, I am beginning to feel very stupid. We both started out very incompetent in the language and even more incompetent at learning a language written in pictograms, and tonal in nature. There are homophones aplenty in Chinese. The same word, with the same tone can mean vastly different things depending on how it is written and the context (i.e., the other words around it). When he reads to me, I often confuse one word with another that sounds similar but is written differently. You see, I can't write Chinese. Next, I also confuse one word with another that sounds similar because my spoken Chinese is so rudimentary that I simply cannot decipher meaning from the context of all the other spoken Chinese words.

Little Boy, however, has accumulated a large store of Chinese characters. He can recognise them quickly. He is more sensitive to the small differences in shape and design of the characters he sees for the first time. He has also accumulated enough contextual knowledge to guess the meanings of some words. Things are going so MUCH faster for him that I feel quite inadequate. He often has to slow down and explain words twice or thrice before I fully understand. And being a child, he is impatient, and so he rolls his eyes at me and says "Mom, I JUST read it to you."

But Mom, like the slow child that Little Boy WAS needs a few repetitions to get it. I might have to butt out altogether of Little Boy's Chinese because I might start to slow him down. When a kite properly takes flight, you can't follow it into the air.

It amuses me to see that even in learning Chinese, the rich get richer. The more he knows, the faster he learns. The faster he learns, the more he knows. And the gap between Little Boy (rich in Chinese) and I (the pauper) gets wider and wider. This is no different than the more money you have, the more you can invest. The more you can invest, the more money you have working for you. Thus, the more money you make.

Parents who want to see a picture of the 1000 China Compositions Compendium can click here.

Milo's Food Belt

2011-11-16T12:39:00.008+08:00

Grandma and Grandpa have moved in next door. Slightly more than half the ground floor of our house has been structured into a self-sufficient apartment for the two old folks. They have a small kitchen (which is STILL 2.5 times the size of the kitchens in the show flats I visited here), a bedroom (equivalent to twice the size of the showflat bedrooms) and a living (just a little larger than showflat bedrooms).

This arrangement has worked out great for everyone. There have so far been no disagreements about untidy living spaces, unwashed dishes and tubes of Super Glue next to the eggs in the fridge. There have also been no disagreements about the bad effects of the microwave oven, cookies that won't keep outside of the fridge and unhealthy levels of neat freakness.

They manage their household and I manage mine. Phew!!

However, the happiest fellow in this arrangement must be Milo because he gets way more food than he used to get. He starts the morning at 5.45am at our back door begging scraps from the kids' breakfast. At 6.30 am, he wags his tail politely at Grandma's back door whilst she is having toast and jam. A little later, he makes his way to Grandpa's breakfast which he takes in THEIR living room. Still later, he puts on his gentleman's manners and waits for scraps from MY breakfast on the patio.

After that, it's the lunch round, which he makes sure he does before the dinner round. And THEN, there are night snacks in BOTH households because my growing kids are always hungry, and the old folks can't eat too much at a time, so they eat often.

And I haven't yet mentioned Milo's OWN food that he gets twice a day at 7am and 7pm.

Dishonest Show Flats

2011-11-15T09:51:00.006+08:00

Many showflats have mushroomed in our neighbourhood. When we take our long walks on weekends, The Husband and I drop in on the new ones (as part of our walk). It has been more than 10 years since the last housing boom, and it struck me that showflats these days border on dishonest advertising, and when developers build such show flats, they are implying promises that they cannot keep.

It doesn't matter whether the property is a 3500 sq ft townhouse, 1500 sq ft penthouse or 650 sq ft shoebox, the showflats don't have walls where walls should be. Gauze curtains are used to represent walls. Wooden decking is used where empty air would be in the real flat, and the boundary between air space and flat space is denoted by gauze curtains. Worse still, they actually put FURNITURE on the wooden decks where air should be. The whole set-up is attractive because light and air flow freely from one space to another. If you settle in a bit and visualize what the apartment would really look like if air is air and wall is wall, you're in for a nasty shock. This kind of dishonesty really irritates me as much as it intrigues Open Kitchen Concept here. It doesn't help that the agents walking us around smiled widely and assured us that others have bought these flats because they were more SPACIOUS than the ones down the road.

When I compared the floor area, both developments had flats of the same size. I don't get it... how can you sell a flat for its spaciousness when it clearly is not spacious? It's like trying to sell lemons by saying they're sweet.

There is also the trick of reducing practical space (kitchen and utility) so that show spaces (living and dining) look bigger and better. Let me tell you what the reality of life in such apartments will be. You will have to dry your clothes in the living room, and prepare food in your dining room. Clutter will accumulate on the floor and in the corners. Your real flat will look NOTHING like the showflat because one doesn't have space for the ugly details of real living - like underwear and garlic presses.

I was mildly interested in a townhouse with rooftop terrace and basement. It was supposed to have 3300 sq ft of built-in area. I asked for the floor area minus rooftop terrace and basement. The sales man told me that such numbers weren't available. When I snorted contemptuously and pressed for the numbers, it turned out that the true liveable space in that townhouse was all of 1500sq ft ONLY. The liveable space in my old HDB flat was 2000 sq ft.

Lies. All lies. They give out thick brochures featuring idyllic families doing lifestyle things with not a piece of panty in sight. I looked puzzled at one such brochure and asked, "Are you selling a house? Or a lifestyle?" The fellow said "Both". The problem though is that when you actually get the house, you won't get the same lifestyle as what the glossy pictures promise. Why? Because to get such a lifestyle, you need enough space to store your unmentionables.

Some people buy the property for rental. I have my doubts even there. Shoebox flats will be a dime a dozen soon enough. The discerning tenant would rather go for an older and larger flat instead.

You Sneaky Mom!

2011-11-11T08:36:00.001+08:00

Snakes Galore

2011-11-06T13:05:00.004+08:00

Back in the penthouse, I shared my garden with 3 sunbirds who were small chirpy and cheerful... and they only ate fruits - mulberries and curry berries. Now, I have to share my garden with flocks of pigeons, mynahs and sparrows who have taken a fancy to my Mediterranean herbs. They had completely uprooted my thyme... trimmed my rosemary... decapitated my sage... pecked my Japanese bamboo to shreds.

There is bird shit all over.

The Husband was so smart. He went to buy me these plastic snakes and the birds have all stayed away, except for one mynah (whom I shall devise a way to trap and eat). How does roast mynah sound to you?

Ghostly Light

2011-11-03T18:33:00.003+08:00

At bedtime, Little Boy and I were chatting in the dark when we noted a bluish glow from one of the ceiling lights. It had a ghostly ethereal quality to it. It was really really spooky because it looked like some mist was gonna flow out that and form a ghostly figure right at the foot of the bed.

I jumped up and switched on the room lights. Then I switched them off again.

We went to get reinforcements. The Husband was forcibly brought in to stand vigil under the light just in case a misty figure DID begin to form in the room and point its finger at us to tell us... well... whatever it wanted to say. The Husband was intrigued.

Then, Little Boy slapped his thigh. "Mom! It's the rat light!!" Oh boy... what a relief. I had installed fluorescent lights above the ceiling boards and under the roof to scare away any rats that might decide to make a nest under the roof. Every now and again, we switch on the rat lights to flood all the under roof areas with white light. My friend L taught me this cheap pest control trick.

Well, when the rat lights are on whilst the bedroom lights are dark, the white light escapes through the tiny openings that bring electrical wires into the bedroom to power the bedroom lights. This light infuses our ceiling light fixtures with a ghostly blue glow. But they're only rat lights.

Phew!

The Titanic Experience

2011-11-01T08:44:00.015+08:00

Just to be contrary, Little Boy is forbidden from studying during exams. So, we found time to visit the ArtScience Museum's newest exhibition on the Titanic. It was a strictly NO PHOTOGRAPHY exhibition so I'm gonna have to try my best at painting the experience in words.

I have concluded that the Curator of the ArtScience Museum is a creative genius and an accomplished artist. An artist elicits an emotional response through his/her skill at communicating deep meaning. You cannot walk through the Titanic Exhibition without feeling emotion. I am not talking about just one emotion like for example, grief (after all, it was a tragedy). I am talking about the kind of emotional experience such as one gets when watching The Phantom of the Opera. There is joy and humour... there is awe... excitement... suspense... fear and deep grief.

When you enter, you're given a ticket with a name on it. I was 3rd class passenger Mrs Alma Paullson, travelling with children. Little Boy was Mr Julius Van der Planke, travelling with wife and children. We took the tickets and looked up at the bow of the huge ship sticking out of the wall. Right then and there, you understood how passengers would have felt when they walked along the quayside and caught sight of the behemoth - the world's largest and most luxurious ship.

Then, we walked up a ramp and viewed some exhibits and explanations of the engineering marvel that was the ship. With every explanation, we were bombarded again and again, with the ominous assurance that this was an UNSINKABLE ship. Because I know that the Titanic DID sink, I was kept on a knife's edge, like a woman with highly developed intuition who knows something is wrong but cannot argue with these knowledgeable and confident engineers. You know how you sometimes feel when someone you don't trust, tells you "Trust me".

Then we walked into a perfumed corridor, richly carpeted and hung with elegant wall lamps. Doors to to the first class cabins lined each side of the corridor. I walked through it with a sense of marvel... how lucky I am to be experiencing such luxury. If you've ever been to a 5 star resort in Bali (when home is an HDB flat) you will know what I mean.

Then we saw the insides of a first class cabin as it would have looked, all new, to a passenger. The feeling of being thoroughly spoilt by opulent creature comforts was compounded by learning that each first class ticket cost the equivalent of AU$64,000. Indeed, the 2 best suites were sold at AU$112,000 per ticket. Even Little Boy got lost in the world of extravagance. He said that it was a very nice hotel room. In the same hall as the first class cabin, we saw taps with marble splashbacks and sinks. The first class cabins had private baths and tap mixers for hot and cold water. Then we moved out of the cabin and looked at photos of the gymnasium, the Smoking Room (men only), the Reading Room (women only), the Palm Court (an indoor outdoor space with trellises and palm trees, serving tea and cakes). The chinaware from 1st, 2nd and 3rd class were displayed for all to see. There was ambient music and even a menu detailing the dishes served. It felt like a walk through the shady courtyard of the Raffles Hotel in Singapore.

Then we turned a corner and entered the boiler room. Of a sudden, we were enveloped in the red glare of the burning hot coals that were burnt to boil the steam that powered the ship. Pictures of the Black Gang appeared on the walls with their names. The Black Gang was the crew that shovelled coal into the furnaces. We were deep in the bowels of the ship.

From the boiler room, we stepped onto the ship's deck. It was a very dark night and somehow, the curators had managed to give one the illusory sense of walking down a very very long deck and when you looked over the railings, your gaze was met with an endless night and a hundred million twinkling stars. I had never thought twinkling stars could ever look evil. The air was still on that deck, and all sound muffled. If you've been up on the ski slopes alone and afraid in the muffled silence, where every scream is absorbed by thick blankets of snow, then you will recognise the feeling again when you stand in the middle of that deck.

And then, we came face to face with The Iceberg and the words of a woman who had had a strong intuition that the ship was doomed. It is reported that Mrs Esther Hart had said to her husband when he made her board the ship "I feel worse than ever before. This ship will never reach the other side of the Atlantic". Next, in the solemn cold darkness, you can reach out your hand and feel the iceberg. In the same hall, we found more belongings that had been brought back from the depths. A pair of boots in soft leather... a chain... a wallet... a piece of paper printed with a travel itinerary. There were photos and more photos... and stories of people who had perished. In that dark endless night, you could almost hear their haunted screams.

And just when I thought I had reached the end of the exhibit, I came upon a wall of names. These saved... those perished. With a sense of reluctant eagerness, we pulled out the Boarding Passes that had been given to us at the start of the exhibition and searched our names on the wall. We had both perished. In that moment of learning our deaths, I thought that this must be what it feels like to have an out of body experience, where you've died and your spirit floats aloft to read the wall and discover its own corporeal demise.

And then when you turn the next corner, your out of body experience continues as you hover 1 foot off the ground to look at ocean sand beneath your feet and see the remains of plates, of wreckage... of chandeliers and the twisted forms of wrought iron benches. I was surprised to learn that an archaeological dive trip down to the Titanic takes 15 hours. It takes 2.5 hours just to get deep enough to see the wreck... and another 2.5 hours to come up to the surface. And again, just when I thought the exhibition had ended, the Curators brought me home to Singapore. I walked straight into a large wall depicting Singapore's streets as they were in the year 1912, and I saw newspapers and letters and condolences ... and the outpouring of grief and sympathy that was Singapore's response to the sinking of the Titanic.

That, finally, was the end.

Little Boy agreed that it was a magnificent exhibition but he has a suggestion for the ArtScience Museum. The Curators should try to replicate the ship's rocking motion on the high seas.

Little Boy's very comment itself speaks well of what the Curators have done. ONLY when the exhibits have been able to bring visitors almost there somewhere... would one feel that the rocking motion is missing. If it had been any other museum, we wouldn't have expected the rocking motion only to be startled to find it not there.

Check out this link for what I have just described... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8a4tlZXNvU&feature=related

The Hairy Crab Experience

2011-10-30T15:15:00.011+08:00

The above picture from here.

Every year, at around this time, the newspapers devote much space to the epicurean delights of the Shanghai Hairy Crab. For years, I have been wanting to get around to tasting one but the thought came and then season was over, and I had to banish the thought for another year. This year, however, it so happened that The Husband was not nice to me enough that he proposed to make amends in the form of a Shanghai Hairy Crab lunch. To be polite, we invited Little Boy along who blinked twice at us and said "Crab... hmmm... and a hairy one? No thanks Mom. I'll have the baked rice you made last night."

Fine. Suit yourself.

The intriguing meal began with the reverent delivery by a charming (and very pretty) waitress, of a cutting implement that looked like a cross between a scissors and an ear digger. The Husband and I examined the thing wonderingly. The crabs arrived in a bamboo basket in a rich shade of vermilion red. Someone had obligingly detached the top shell from the bottom and I lifted it off to expose a rich orange roe that tasted like a cross between foie gras and butter. That was the high point because after the 2 teaspoons of crab roe went into my mouth, the rest of the meal was very hard work.

The crabs are the size of my palm (sans fingers) and the flesh was well ensconced between the layers of cartilage (like a mille-feuille in crustacean form) - big fat fingers... slivers of white flesh and layers of crab cartilage. One had to use the ear digger part of the scissors to scratch out the flesh from in between those layers of cartilage. I scratched and I scratched and I scratched until unbidden to the mind came a vision of a hen scratching the earth for whatever it is hens eat. Anyway, since the crab was there and I was too, there was nothing to do but try and eat it. I had to because it was The Husband's expensive way of making amends (each crab cost $58), and it would be most impolite to diss the experience.

It was only when The Husband's eyes met mine in exasperated one-ness over a tiny crab claw that we both giggled and said "It's an experience we don't regret BUT we will never do it again". Then the both of us began to behave like delinquent teenagers poking and scratching and snorting fun at our own valiant efforts to get crab meat outta the shell. The sedate family of four sitting opposite us gave us some curious stares. "How can 2 people have so much fun waving pairs of mutant scissors at each other" they must've thought.

It was a good thing that the restaurant's waitresses were absolute virtuosos at dismantling the crab. Else, I think I would have had to spend another hour eating that thing. I don't get it... because the way the newspapers describe the experience, it's almost like culinary porn. To me, it was just a lotta scratching and some creamy roe.

The experience ended on a minty note. A bowl of water with lemon in it was brought it... and a tube of what looked like toothpaste. We dipped our fingers into the bowl and lathered our hands with some mint toothpaste. This was supposed to get rid of the smell from our fingers. I didn't know that... else I would not have used it. You see, for $116 for a few miserable mouthfuls of flesh and roe, I fully intended to smell my hands all the way home just to get more crab for my money.

Learning Chinese: The Potato Way

2011-10-28T08:31:00.007+08:00

I am not ashamed to admit that I am a Potato Parent. I am not pleased to admit it... but I am not ashamed. See... I didn't get to choose how I was educated. Unlike many in Singapore, I was never given the opportunity to learn Chinese. I spent the better part of my childhood outside of Singapore. So, I learnt French instead.

My children have to learn Chinese. I am fully supportive of this. If the government decided to move away from bilingual education and people had the choice to take or not to take Chinese, I would still opt for my kids to take Chinese.

But Potato Children like mine find it really difficult to excel in the Chinese language because they do not evolve in a Chinese reading milieu. In the past 10 months, I have experimented with some Potato Methods for Learning Chinese and my son has made progress. In this post I would like to share some things I discovered about the process of learning Chinese - and why Potato Children like mine find the language almost impossible to master... and what parents can do to make the impossible possible.

Under-Developed Cognitive Infrastructure

When I first arrived in Europe, I found Caucasian faces impossible to decipher. My friends, who had been staying there for years, could differentiate the German look from the Italian look from the French look almost immediately. I even found it effortful to differentiate one person's face from another's. Some years later, my Caucasian friends complained to me that all Asian faces looked the same to them.

After 1 year in Europe, I no longer had problems differentiating Caucasian faces. Indeed, I too could pick up the subtle elements of style and expression that allowed me to identify someone as Italian. The sheer volume of exposure to Caucasian faces stimulated my brain to develop the necessary subconscious cognitive infrastructure to (1) differentiate Caucasian faces (2) retain Caucasian faces with details and (3) recall whole Caucasian faces.

A baby who evolves in a Chinese literate family, meets in the natural course of living and breathing, enough Chinese characters to develop this subconscious cognitive infrastructure for fast and easy (1) character differentiation, (2) character retention and (3) character recall. These babies grow up into adults who believe that Chinese is easier to learn than Malay. This sounds incredible to Potato Parents, so if you don't believe me... click here.

This learning is subconscious.

Up until Dec 2010, Little Boy relied on the conscious learning of the Chinese language only. His Grandma assigned assessment books and he spent hours learning his ting xie. He worked hardest at Chinese and it was still his worst subject. This conscious learning was getting him nowhere. I had to help him activate his subconscious learning processes.

I took a risk. I adapted my own experience with face recognition to Little Boy's endeavour to learn Chinese. In my adaptation, I did three things differently from what parents of potato children normally do.

(1) I exposed him to material containing at least 50% of new and strange Chinese characters

(2) I did not require him to fully master (read, recall and write) the words he was exposed to.

(3) I threw away all the assessment books.

This was because I had decided to look BEYOND obvious and tangible deliverables such as the ability to write words and get high marks for ting xie. I focused instead on the unseen aspects of developing a cognitive infrastructure for (1) fast and intuitive processing, (2) efficient organizing and retrieving of Chinese characters. I didn't care if he flunked ting xie. I was focused on building the unseen, not acing the seen.

Let's now look at each of these 2 in turn.

(A) Processing Chinese Characters

Do you remember the dial-up internet connection of old? Not much data could go through because there was not enough bandwidth. Little Boy's mental pathways for processing new Chinese characters were so narrow that they were like dial-up internet. Not surprisingly, he had to spend up to 2 hours to master one miserable list of ting xie (and he promptly forgot half the list the next day).

Now, visualize in your mind's eye a small stream that allows only a trickle of water to pass. Compare your small stream with the Thames. Then, ask yourself "How am I going to get this stream to be deep and wide enough to move the same volume of water as the Thames"? Nature does it with forces of erosion. High volumes of water exert frictional forces on stream beds and banks as it passes through to dig a channel deep and wide. The higher the volume of water, the greater the speed of flow, the higher the rate of erosion.

I had very little time left because Little Boy was in end-P4 (and PSLE was coming up too soon) when I started messing with his language cognitions. I needed maximum erosion rates to dig a mental pathway large enough that Little Boy would not look constipated every time he had to read Chinese. I exposed Little Boy to daily stimulus from Chinese texts. I made audio-recordings and he memorized the text as he listened and read. Every new Chinese character fed through his brain hit against the narrow walls of his mental pathways, and made them wider and deeper.

For maximum benefit, I required him to memorize and recite in short chunks. This pumped the same material through his brain again and again until the material could easily go in one end (eyes and ears) and come out the other (mouth). To confirm, I made him read the material to me without the recordings. This is the equivalent of pumping the same water again and again through the same stream until you're pretty sure some erosion has taken place.

Today, 10 months later, Little Boy spends as little as 20 minutes (compared to 2 hours twice a week last year) to learn 1 chapter of ting xie. His mental pathways for processing Chinese characters has become very much deeper and wider. The speed of learning has improved.

But, does he forget? We will next examine organization and recall of Chinese characters.

(B) Organization and Recall of Chinese Characters

I visualized Little Boy's brain as a room with insufficient storage cabinets. Chinese characters, after having made the long journey through narrow passageways tumbled helter-skelter into this room. Once they got there, they promptly got lost.

I was sure the characters he had learnt were there in his brain somewhere, but since he had not developed the cognitive infrastructure for organizing and retrieving Chinese characters, he couldn't find them when he needed them. He could not remember.

I took another calculated risk here. I exposed him daily to new Chinese model compositions that contained about 400 words that he had never encountered before. I made sure that he learnt these texts well enough to be able to read them fluently to me at the end of the day. This meant that he was cramming a new lot of 400 words every day into his brain.

I gambled on the adaptability of the human brain. If you stuff enough stuff in a short time inside there, the brain naturally and unconsciously decides to build more storage cabinets for better organisation. It's a bit like a housewife who realizes that she has so much to store away that she absolutely must get the carpenter in to build more cabinets.... and because she already knows what she needs to store away since everything is lying there, the cabinets are better designed for the material she needs to store.

I did not require him to write the words. I did not require him to recite the WHOLE compo at a go. I absolutely did not care if what he had just learnt disappeared from conscious memory the day after. I focused on cramming new words and more new words into his brain to stimulate the development of more and better storage capacity for Chinese characters.

By January 2011, he didn't have to revise his ting xie for 2 hours twice a week anymore to remember only half the characters. He spent a single 20 minute study session on his ting xie and that was all. Studying Chinese became faster and easier. And that was when Little Boy began to feel good about the subject.

Conclusion

Hence, Potato Parents please don't despair. Our children CAN excel in Chinese. We just have to be aware that we cannot go about it in the same way that Rice Parents do. We are unable to read them Chinese books in bed. We are incapable of speaking to them in Chinese. But our own ignorance can be easily compensated by modern technology.

Audio digital recordings of model Chinese compositions helped Little Boy to develop the cognitive infrastructure that made processing, organizing and retrieving Chinese characters as easy as if he were a Rice Child. There is no reason for Potato Parents to sit back and accept that it is impossible for their own children to learn Chinese excellently well. With some knowledge of how the subconscious brain works... and a computer with speakers, Potato Parents like you and I can help their Potato Children.

So, Potato Parents arise. Wrap your arms around your children and lift them up towards competence in Chinese. If your children are in Primary 1 then time is on your side. You don't have to pump up to 400 new words through your child's brain daily, like I did. Set less stressful targets for you and your child.

But DO note that if you are a Potato Parent, you need to help your Potato Child build the cognitive infrastructure for learning Chinese that Rice Children develop naturally because of their home environment. Ignore the grades for a while and lay off the writing.

It was painful to memorise compos but it was pain of a shorter duration compared to the long pain that we went through from P1 to P4, trudging through short lists of words and never quite mastering them. We felt like losers then. We don't feel like losers now. In addition, Little Boy is now able to analyze the structure of strange and new characters he encounters and GUESS how they are pronounced and what they mean. Till now, this was a skill that only Grandma and The Husband possessed because both grew up in homes where people spoke and read ONLY Chinese. Best of all, Chinese has become much easier and faster to learn.

Potato Parents who intend to use this method should also read my posts on

(1) Motivating the Child to Memorize, Recite and Read Back

(2) Reaching the Tipping Point in Chinese Part 6

(3) Reaching the Tipping Point in Chinese Part 5

(4) Reaching the Tipping Point in Chinese Part 4

(5) Reaching the Tipping Point in Chinese Part 3

(6) Reaching the Tipping Point in Chinese Part 2

(7) Reaching the Tipping Point in Chinese Part 1

Happy Call Roasted Garlic and Bacon Potato

2011-10-27T17:05:00.004+08:00

Ingredients (for 75mm HappyCall Pan or 5 people)

8 or 9 medium sized Holland potatoes

200g of back bacon

2 bulbs of garlic (sliced thinly)

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Steps

1. Mix everything together in pan.

2. Place HappyCall on gas stove at low-medium heat for 10 minutes.

3. Flip pan over and cook another 10 minutes.

4. Open pan and turn the potato pieces over with spatula.

5. Repeat steps 2 & 3 for 5 minutes each.

Timing is indicative. I didn't keep track. Should be about there. Hee!

HappyCall Banana Cake

2011-10-23T11:43:00.005+08:00

75mm VERSUS 55mm HappyCall Frying Pans

Banana Cake Baked in the 75mm HappyCall Frying Pan

Very Very Moist Banana Cake

I made a banana cake today with the HappyCall Frying Pan. It was a breeze. I didn't even have to oil the pan because the cake had butter in it. I was quite pleased with the results. The banana cake achieved a moistness that I have never been able to achieve in a convection oven. Possibly because all the steam stays as much as possible inside the cooking cavity.

It cooked for 15 minutes on low-medium heat, then I flipped it open, unmoulded the cake, closed it and then flipped it over to brown the top. Cooking time is normally 40 minutes and the whole oven heats up. This one sat on the stove top for 20 minutes and there was very little heat loss to the surroundings. I would say that both HappyCall pans have lived up to their promise.

Tonight, we will try roasted potatoes with garlic.

HappyCall Frying Pan

2011-10-22T15:43:00.005+08:00

I have a new kitchen toy. I'm not one who is into kitchen toys but this one has many advantages that appealed to Stingy Petunia. Firstly, it reduces cooking time (and therefore, saves gas). Secondly, it promised a cleaner kitchen after frying (and therefore, saves work). And both these advantages may be purchased for the pretty sum $45/=. Now, these pans retail on the internet for between $65 to $115. Don't get ripped off okay. I only paid $45 because The Husband went to a Seoul equivalent of NTUC Fairprice and got them for me.

"Them" is because I have 2. One deep pan and one medium pan. The deep pan (75mm deep) is for baking cakes. The medium pan (55mm deep) is for frying steaks.

The Family likes thick and juicy tenderloin steaks well done. Now, if a steak is thick and you pan fry it, the middle either tends to be raw and bloody OR the top and bottom of the steak tends to get burnt OR the steak gets really dry (which is a waste of a tenderloin cut). I devised a way of pan frying our steaks in a wok on super high heat for half a minute each... and then bunging them into the toaster oven for 10 minutes. This method gave me juicy and pink steaks on the inside, with nicely browned tops and bottoms.

With the HappyCall Frying Pan, I save on the toaster oven step altogether. I pop the 5 steaks into the HappyCall with a bit of oil and cook on high heat for 4 minutes on one side. Flip the pan over. Cook another 3 minutes on the other. The steak comes out nicely browned on top and bottom with the most wonderful pink colour right through the middle as you can see from the picture above. And there were NO fumes... NO oil splattering out of the wok (which ALWAYS used to happen when we had steak... I had to clean the whole countertop PLUS the floor). A bit of oily water dripped out as I was flipping the pan but that was easy to mop up with a kitchen sponge.

I'm ripening bananas for a banana cake using the 75mm pan on the gas stove. I'll post pics soon if successful. I'm quite excited because the conventional oven gives off a lot of heat. This is not energy efficient cooking. If I can bake cakes on the stove in half the time it takes to bake them in the oven and with little heat loss to the environment, then I will be reducing my carbon footprint.

I like that.

Stung By a Bee

2011-10-21T10:19:00.002+08:00

Never garden in your pyjamas.

It was a fine morning and I set out to trim the frangipani of its rusty leaves. Rust is a fungal growth on frangipani leaves that presents itself as reddish powdery spots or patches. It doesn't kill the tree but can be very unsightly. I was lazy and did nothing when there were only few spots, and then the whole tree turned rusty. And the rust spread to the other frangipanis too. The condition is easily treated with a spray of 1 tablespoon of evaporated milk in 1 litre of water every morning for 1 month. But first, one had to trim away badly rusted leaves.

So, there I was, trimming away the badly infected leaves (and having a good chat with my neighbour about a complacent MOE who loved to trot out stats to disprove personal experience and feedback) ... when a bee got inside my pyjamas and couldn't get out. So it stung me someplace rather tender. It was a good thing that I felt the initial pinprick of the sting and was able to locate the fat bee under the pyjamas cloth, and pull out the whole bee with its stinger before much toxin had been injected. Still... it began to hurt.

Happily, I am still at an age where I can still take the stairs 2 by 2. A quick google scared me silly. There is this condition called "anaphylaxis" wherein your whole body sorta puffs up from itchy welts... and then your lungs puff up and you can't breathe and then you DIE.

I didn't wanna die.

The Daughter googled too (in between giggles) and in her enthousiasm tried to administer antihistamine directly to the sting spot. I kept telling her that antihistamines had to be EATEN. But by that time, she was all done with grinding a capsule of LemSip and was gonna smear the powder on the sting. It was all rather exciting because I didn't wanna die and I thought she was wrong and she thought she was right and meanwhile the sting HURT.

Anyway, things calmed down after a bit and we decided to use some bicarbonate of soda mixed with water. Little Boy proffered this suggestion because he had read somewhere that bee sting venom is acidic and one could use an alkaline paste to neutralize its effects. It helped quite a bit to reduce the sting... but shortly after, it turned ITCHY. Maybe I should have used bleach on my b***.

I read with dismay after more googling that the sting would itch for FIVE days. I sure as anything wasn't gonna wait FIVE days for the sting to stop itching because by then I would have scratched away all flesh. So I prayed, and the itch went away the day after. See... prayer works!!

Little Boy Plays with Fire

2011-10-20T10:42:00.008+08:00

This post is written for little kiddies who like Science (and their Daddies and Mommies). Little Boy was scared to death of the box of matches. It was a sort of fascinated scared. The sort of experience that gives you a frisson at the nape of your neck. So, the whole family gathered to watch Little Boy play with fire. Of course, we had to make sure we chose a spot with nothing flammable too near by.

Little Boy's first successful attempt at lighting the candle. It was uproariously funny because no one could understand why the match stick would not light even after 5 or 6 successive strikes. We concluded that Little Boy has limp fingers that needed training.

The small and precious flame was then gingerly placed into a container with some water and 2 small coins. This, Little Boy managed to do really well.

A glass jar was placed over the candle with an edge balanced gently upon a coin. This creates a small gap that allows water to move in and out of the jar.

Since the jar was sealed by water at its opening, no air could enter. The flame slowly went out.

Why?

If you do this experiment at home, you will notice that something happens to the water.

What happens to the water?

The Many Faces of Milo

2011-10-19T13:38:00.010+08:00

Defender of the Home and Hearth

The Perfect Gentleman at Breakfast

Manhunt 2011 (Dog Category)

Scooby Doo

The Evil Golden Eye

A Little to the Left Please... Up... Up... Ohhhhhhhh! Feels good!

This Lap Still Fits Mom... See!

Prosperous Kitchen

2011-10-19T12:50:00.007+08:00

On the 3rd floor of the Sembawang Shopping Centre is a Cantonese restaurant called "Prosperous Kitchen". For some reason, there are never too many people inside. It's entire facade has incomprehensible scribblings in Chinese. For a long time, I didn't know how to refer to this restaurant because I can't read Chinese and the English translation of its name is written so small it looks like a footnote.

But I could not refuse Little Boy's soulful eyes when he requested to try the Dongbo Pork. Little Boy likes meat and he had been eyeing that big poster featuring this meaty dish for quite a while.

We were all amazed at how good the food was. The Dongbo Pork was melt-in-the-mouth soft without being too fatty. The fried mee swa was perfectly al dente with generous toppings of HUGE scallops and thick slices of fish. How do you get mee swa to be al dente anyway? Then there was red yeast chicken which was succulent and full of umami flavour.

And all it cost was $60/= for four of us to stuff ourselves silly because on weekends, there is a 30% discount. I was really pleased to find a yummy Chinese restaurant serving well-made food with prices that are easy on the pocket. This kind of quality is normally priced at $50/pax downtown. This place is EXCELLENT value for money if you don't mind the kitschy decor... and in contrast to some places a bit further down the road that serves badly made Western fare for $25/pax.

Chef Icon's Trovana Chocolate Cake

2011-10-17T13:18:00.004+08:00

This is Chef Icon's Trovana Chocolate Cake. I had my very first bite of it at the zoo where a friend had had it prepared for her husband's surprise party. Looking at the non-descript appearance, I thought immediately of the calories and so I asked to share my piece with The Husband. Well... The Husband was busy talking to some people and before I knew it, I had stuffed my face with all of it, and was looking around for more.

2 weeks ago, we had The Husband's friends over for dinner. I made The Husband drive all the way down to the one and only outlet that Chef Icon has at Neil Road for the Trovana Chocolate Cake I had ordered. I deliberately fed my guests a lot of other food. The first course was ratatouille, followed by a mushroom quiche, and then a beef stew, lots of garlic bread and some foie gras. The predictable result of all this was that no one had much space left for the Trovana Chocolate Cake.

Which was wonderful because more was left for Petunia... except that The Daughter's discerning chocolate palate (she who only ingests Grand Crus Chocolates) had also told her that she was on to a good thing. So, we ended up sharing... rather unwillingly. Like we had to, not that we wanted to.

Since the end of that cake, I have been yearning for another bite. Finally, last night, I couldn't take it anymore. I called and ordered one 500g cake for this morning. When I arrived, I looked in dismay at how small the 500g cake looked and so I carted 2 cakes home. I will try freezing one to see if it freezes well. If it does, I will next order 4... and freeze 3 because Neil Road is too far away to drop by too often.

Friends who stay in India fly in, order the cake and bring it home by hand to their families. That is how good this cake is.

Hunting Trophies

2011-10-17T07:38:00.005+08:00

When living in France, I used to be fascinated by the hunting trophies that hung down off the walls of living rooms. You know, those deer with antlers... wild boar. They hang down off the walls, usually from above the fireplace and stare emptily at you with their glass eyes. People in rural France have long depended on hunting game to supplement their diet. At some points in history, eating wild game was all that kept peasant families alive.

Well... at home, we're collecting trophies too. And Milo eats them with relish. In addition to eating like a human, Milo also eats like a bat. A few weeks ago, we hunted and killed more than 100 mosquitoes by hand. A friend who had just toured my new house and was excited and raving about its beauty, suddenly slumped her shoulders and looked at me with eyes brimming with pity, when I told her about our feat. "Gee... I don't envy you" she said.

Sigh! By now, I have come to accept this as part of being close to nature. Where we stay is as close to kampong as one can get in Singapore, so I suppose we just gotta live with these tiny bloodsuckers. Variously, we have collected a sonic device that confuses the mosquitoes with sonar... a mosquito trap that emits warmth and carbon dioxide... quite a number of odourless Baygon thingamajigs... and plentiful stores of mosquito coils. If we close the doors shortly before dusk, we have no problems because those mosquitoes that do get into the house are confused by a cacophony of sound and chemical distractions. Some days, we wake up in the mornings to see a light dusting of mosquitoes on the tiled floor.

Us humans haven't been bitten in quite a while.

Milo however, was beginning to look anaemic. He stays outside in the backyard where sound and chemicals are dispersed. Despite allocating to his sole use the carbon dioxide mosquito trap and burning two mosquito coils each night for him alone, I've noticed how mosquitoes settle onto his fur to feast. So, after 2 days of rains, the family headed out to hunt mosquitoes by hand. With 2 mosquito coils burning, we were hugely successful. The mosquitoes were groggy. A few of them were so full of Milo's blood that they could not fly. I am not exaggerating. I caught a few that hopped along the tiled floor carrying their heavy stomachs. For a while, I thought they were fleas. Many hid in plain sight on the chocolate brown walls so all we had to do was to play slap slap on the walls. Milo's job was to lick up the carcasses, his own blood and all. Clearly, he thought them delicious.

When it comes to hunting, males take things very seriously. The Husband was deadly quiet... intense and focused. He alone accounted for more than 50% of what was exterminated. And like those French fathers I knew from my youth, he was most assiduous in collecting his trophies for display. Milo wasn't allowed to eat his kills. Oh no! Instead, much of it went onto the various mosquito coil plates. And if there was any blood in the mosquito at all, that would be properly smeared on the plate for all to see.

I am so sorry that this is SUCH a disgusting post.

Breakfast With Milo

2011-10-11T08:00:00.003+08:00

Milo is the perfect gentleman when he takes food from my hand. He does that so very very gently that you would think that I was made of cotton wool. We didn't have to teach him that. He somehow instinctively knew that I very much disliked the feel of his teeth of my bare skin and he made sure that I never had to experience it.

When he was little, he was so clumsy that he tripped over his own feet, and one of his favourite things was to run and jump into my lap. When he got bigger, that jump would knock all the wind out of me. He managed to figure out that his clumsy ways caused me discomfort and so he stopped doing that altogether. These days, he treats me very gently.

He is such a big dog with such a loud voice and such huge jaws that you wouldn't expect him to be able to take a piece of toast from the tips of your fingers without you even feeling his breath. But he can. Slowly and gently, he opens his powerful jaws just a millimeter and picks up the tip of the morsel I hold out for him. It's a bit like watching Conan the Barbarian doing embroidery.

With Toffee around, Milo was a different dog. He was rough with my hands and he seemed like he didn't care that I didn't like his teeth. Maybe he was in a hurry to wolf down the morsel before I took it away and gave it to Toffee? I dunno. But he's back to being Milo the Gentle again. We had a leisurely breakfast this morning on the patio with him sitting in his Good Boy Position. First a bite for me, then a bite for him. All was peace and calm. He was relaxed and I was relaxed.

I am so glad we rehomed Toffee. Like Fry said, much better to have ONE happy dog, than TWO unhappy ones.

Bye Bye Toffee

2011-10-10T19:45:00.002+08:00

I seriously didn't know that two dogs would be so much like two toddlers. It was reliving my children's childhood all over again. I remember how miserable The Daughter was, and how she much resented Little Boy.

Milo bit Toffee FOUR times (that we know about). He probably bit her more times than that (which we weren't around to see). Her left ear tip bled. The base of her right ear bled too. And then Milo chomped on her snout and put a hole just behind her nose. Unfortunately, it was at that exact moment when her tongue was hanging out, and that chomp on the snout impaled Toffee's tongue on her own teeth. She screamed so piteously that we all took turns to yell at Milo, and then we brought Toffee into the safety of the house.

To be sure, Milo looked sorry. I don't think he meant to bite so hard but he did, and he tried to do it quite a few times more... except that I barked a short warning to warn him off just in time. Toffee began to fear him. And Milo began to look depressed for being scolded so often. You could tell from his eyes that he thought we didn't love him anymore. Milo has been quiet and withdrawn, eyes looking pleadingly at me, begging to know if we loved Toffee more or him still. He was so jealous that once, when I was dangling Toffee's chew toy by my side about to hand it to Toffee, Milo came and gently but deftly took it away. I looked in his eyes and saw an uncertainty that made my heart ache.

Milo's jealousy threw a pall over our entire home. Every time I stepped into the yard. I had to kiss his nose and say something nice to him... and then Toffee would come running to be petted too. And when I examined Milo's neck, there were uncountable scratches from Toffee's baby teeth. Toffee wasn't an angel herself.

So, we decided to rehome Toffee. After all, we're everything to Milo, and he is too old to bond with anyone else. Milo loves us and only us. Toffee at 3 months will forget us soon enough. The Daughter put up an advert on the SPCA website and in one day, a Police Officer from the K-9 unit called up and asked for her. I drove to his flat to check him out. I know he will be a good owner because he explained to me how to cook for dogs. Dogs need to eat vegetables and fruits too, you know. Kibbles alone is not a balanced diet, said he.

When Milo realised that Toffee was gone, he turned frisky again. He came with his ball to invite us to play and he ran circles all around the yard. And he smiled again. You know how a dog smiles? With mouth slightly open and tongue hanging out a bit? He smiled again. It's good to have Milo happy again. Whatever might be said of Toffee and how charming she is, we still love our big wimpy dog more.

A Metric for Teaching Effectiveness

2011-10-08T12:21:00.001+08:00

I was thrilled at the recent announcements by MOE to review some parts of the educational system. I started a thread in the kiasuparents' forum and jubilated about the small progress made in the dialogue between Singaporeans and their MOE. Some other forummer threw a bit of cold water on my optimism here.

Clearly, this Someone has the mindset that MOE will forever be the loser vis-a-vis private tuition (with regards to teaching effectiveness). For me, it seemed odd that anyone would characterize any part of the Singapore government as "loser". As far as my experience tells me, it is a government that actually succeeds in doing what it set out to do, and delivers world class efficiency and effectiveness in a way that puts many a private company to shame.

So why is the MOE losing ground to the tuition centres?

I came to the conclusion (rightly or wrongly) that MOE is in denial. If we don't acknowledge the presence of a competitor, maybe it'll go away. Meanwhile, the statistics show that we're still doing a great job as educators. And because MOE can't or won't see the tuition industry as its competitor, it isn't doing anything to beat the competition. In my opinion, there are so many brains in MOE that if it only decided to, it could regain lost ground very quickly. However, ignoring the issue allows the problem to get bigger.

Meanwhile, career educators at MOE don't suffer for losing ground to a competitor, at least not in the way that jobs in private sector organisations would suffer if a company lost enough competitive ground. Children in Singapore are legally bound to go to school. Yet, someone must bear the costs of the lost ground. Parents and children do. We MUST turn to tuition (or parent coaching or pay $40 a book) to help kids pass exams. The society as a whole will pay the costs. If MOE's quality and effectiveness at teaching loses out to the tuition centres, then children of parents with means and money to buy tuition stand a higher chance of success in school.

Anecdotally, my sensing tells me that we have a world-class syllabus that is heavy on thinking skills but teaching methods and infrastructure have not kept up. Of course, there are uncountable other problems such as teacher turnover... teacher quality... inconsistent quality of Principals etc... but let's cut through all these distractions and look straight at the problem. There is a discrepancy between HOW our children are being taught and WHAT our kids have to do to perform at school. There has been a breakthrough in the development of a syllabus that includes high level thinking skills. However, a similar breakthrough in the development of teaching techniques (and materials) effective for this new syllabus, has not happened.

Thinking skills like cooking skills or gardening skills, need consistent practice and feedback. Someone used to tell me that one goes to university to hone thinking skills, not learn content. In essence, university style teaching methods need to be adapted for our primary schools if we are to teach thinking skills effectively. The one-to-one small group feedback on how to think and write becomes essential. Primary school is no longer about learning content anymore. However, there aren't enough teachers to go around, so classes are just as large as before. This precludes any attempt to teaching thinking skills effectively. There simply is not enough resources to give frequent practice and feedback.

It devolves to the parents and the tuition industry to fill this gap.

One possible solution to reverse this trend is to develop a metric that will allow some visibility into the relative effectiveness of Teachers' Teaching VERSUS Tutor Teaching. If, for example, it were possible to determine that tuition accounted for 20% of 1000 students' exam results and Teacher's teaching accounted for 80% of the exam results, then all the naysayers (like me) would have to shut up. The numbers would show that parents who spend tons of money on tuition are just wasting money. IF, however, the numbers show that tuition accounts for 80% of 1000 students' exam results and Teacher's teaching accounted for only 20%, then these numbers alone would motivate career educators to devise ways to improve their metric. In this way, we could harness a ground swell of innovation relating to teaching methods. What gets measured, gets done.

We have a syllabus like no other in the world but our teaching methods have stayed quite conventional indeed. And unless we have numbers to show otherwise, educators will always be pointing fingers at kiasu parents, and parents will point fingers back at educators ... and in the ether of words, words and words... no one will ever be the wiser. And meanwhile, the MOE has decided to forge ahead with character development. Now, imagine a situation where parents and tutors shoulder the larger part of the teaching load whilst schools do more and more character development.

Having some numbers to statistically model the extent of MOE’s dependence on private tutors to help children perform at school, would be helpful, I think. Still, who am I to say? One can only sincerely make a suggestion from the heart, and blog about it. And wait. If others disagree, they may have good reason. After all, Petunia does not hold the monopoly on wisdom. So one waits. If Petunia is right, the blogpost is right here and 10 years down, when matters have reached an untenable state, then I would have the satisfaction of knowing I was right and somewhat clairvoyant. Equally, 10 years down the road, someone could point to this blogpost (perhaps Petunia herself would) and note that Petunia wrote utter nonsense.

In any case, if we wait long enough, time usually gives some answers even without numbers nor metrics to help.

You Will BOTH Learn Respect

2011-10-06T18:00:00.002+08:00

Okay... I don't care what the internet says about dogs fighting it out. One dog bit the other this morning and blood was drawn. It dripped all over the front porch. So, regardless of what is natural to dogs, mine are going to learn house rules. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, should be using teeth on anything but food.

"Do I bite you?" I asked both of them darn dawgs. "Now, if I don't bite you, then you don't bite each other... and you don't bite anyone else. Understand?" Of course, both of them looked at me and wagged their tails slightly whilst cocking their heads to the side, puzzled.

But well... it's the end of the day, and they're starting to get what I mean. I managed to catch Toffee taking a good bite out of Milo. I've seen her do that before. She takes a nice mouthful and runs off like some cheeky monkey. She LOVES Milo's enraged response. This time though, I was ready 'cos I was waiting for her to provoke Milo. Like lightning, my cane flashed out and bit Toffee's bum. Milo looked at me and wondered if he had done anything wrong because he, I suppose, was contemplating some retaliatory action. So both ran. I followed them to the back and glared at both whilst both settled into a curl and looked subdued.

When The Daughter got home, she started off another fight. She had Toffee on her lap, whilst Milo nuzzled her hair... and the spunky puppy reached up and took a nice nip at his throat. We bit her again on the butt. She got the message that we intend that she respect Milo. Then, at dinner, I fed them both together. Milo finished first and was rushing for Toffee's bowl. He got bitten instead.

They're careful now not to jaw each other, at least in my presence. Jawing is not acceptable in my house, and since our house is a haven of peace and tranquillity, I will not allow my dogs to eat each other, even though they're naturally dog-eat-dog. In this house, we will learn to give way... sit politely when food comes... and never ever snatch food or attention. And when dogs fight, I will bite both with my cane.

This is a trick that every Mommy knows. If the kids fight, we punish BOTH.

We Do Not Have An Equal Opportunity Educational System: Part II

2011-10-06T09:54:00.004+08:00

Yesterday's papers contained a fair bit of news about how Singapore compares with other countries in its success at helping students from poor socio-economic backgrounds succeed. This is good news but I am inclined to think that the numbers do not give a full picture of the reality on the ground today.

These statistics are lag indicators. They do not reflect nascent phenomena. This means that if something started 4 to 5 years ago (e.g., the Teach Less and Learn More strategy), these numbers won't yet reflect the reality that people like me are living right now.

From my own personal experience, when The Daughter took her PSLE 7 years ago, the system was still not so hugely dependent on parents nor on tuition teachers. The Daughter is in a top class in a top JC. She is in the same class as students who hail from neighbourhood primary schools and not a few of her classmates live still in HDB 4-room flats. Up to 7 years ago, the system worked fine. What happened between 7 years ago and now, is anybody's guess.

What I am sure of is that I am living a PSLE reality today where Little Boy is tested on material he is not taught... where he does not get access through his school to the high quality materials he needs to learn independently (I have to buy material that costs $40 a book)... The PSLE reality today is skills heavy. Yet, the type of teaching does not provide enough skills practice. As a result, parents and private tutors have to come in strongly to support the school's teaching. This greatly disadvantages students from poor homes.

For Little Boy's cohort today to make its way into the type of statistics reported in yesterday's papers, it is likely take a few more years. We should not be waiting for a lag indicator to tell us something is wrong. We should be looking at some lead indicators instead.

Getting Along

2011-10-05T14:45:00.008+08:00

There was a playfight this morning shortly after the sun rose. It looked so fun for both of them that it made The Husband smile. Then Toffee must have bitten a little too hard because Milo bared his fangs at her and in a split second's face-off, Toffee broke his gaze and retreated to examine her toenails like some rebuffed courtesan.

She is gradually learning her place I suppose.

I've learnt to slow down my movements, hold my head high and my shoulders back... and refrain from babytalking Toffee. The Idiot's Guide to Knowing Your Dog informs me that babytalking in a high pitched voice communicates fear in dog language. A fearful dog always gives out high pitched sounds. I certainly don't wanna appear fearful in front of 2 sets of sharp teeth.

This morning, I gave both of them lessons on (1) sitting calmly whilst waiting to be fed and (2) keeping their paws outside the room. Since Milo learnt his lessons better, he received more dog treats... and in his Big Male Dog head, he must have thought that right and good because he has since stopped trying to lord it over Toffee. Milo was really a good boy today. You could have put him in a suit and he would've looked like Jeeves the Butler. He was that dignified and controlled. I fed Milo so many treats that I think Toffee kinda rolled her eyes a little before she flopped down on her belly with a sigh that said "I give up. Can't compete with Teacher's Pet." Or maybe she was saying "Adoi! What a suck-up!!"

After school, the 2 of them went off companionably to the back of the house to lie down and sleep next to each other. To stop Toffee from coming inside the house, Milo lies at the back kitchen door, moving only when I come so that I need not step over him. I learnt that from the Idiot's Guide to Knowing Your Dog too. Unless you want the dog to turn aggressive, never miss an opportunity to let him know that you're high status so I stand there and stare at him until he gets up. Low status dogs give way to high status ones. Since I am the Alpha Bitch, he needs to get up and give way to me or else, he will get the idea that he is Alpha Male.

I also learnt today to growl an instruction only once, and then look him in the eye till he obeys. Don't repeat an order, says the book. Dogs don't like nagging more than kids do. Problem is, this doesn't work with Toffee because she doesn't look at me enough. She has plenty else to look at. Flying insects, birds, ants on the floor, fluttering leaves, flower petals... and the occasional butterfly. As much as Milo looked like Jeeves today, Toffee looked like Bambi with a skinny legs and sharp face. Just paint some white spots on her back and voila... you've got yourself a baby deer with sharp teeth. Ewwww... a travesty of nature!!

Playfighting

2011-10-04T20:39:00.005+08:00

Milo is such a giant with such a loud bark that we worried for Toffee at first. A few times, he frightened Toffee so badly that she rolled right around and exposed her tummy and screamed. This usually happens when she wanders into his "room". Somehow, he has designated for himself the step outside the back door as his space. There is a cosy covered patio there surrounded by wall on 3 sides and an iron gate on the fourth. I suppose Milo feels safe there. It's his own bachelor's pad I guess.

Toffee has taken over the front porch. She sprawls out there legs akimbo and sleeps the sleep of a baby. I've put out a fleece blacket so that she has something warm to lie upon on cold nights, that I can easily wash and sterilise in the clothes dryer. And Toffee has pretty much taken Milo's Paddington Bear for herself. She hugs Paddington with one paw and then puts her head on it. I don't suppose Milo could object without making himself look like a sissy. Paddington got all wet today because it rained but she is still snuggling up to it. Bleah!!

Lately though, the two have been playing rather rough with each other and whilst Milo has been taught since young to jaw gently, Toffee has no such compunctions. We were dismayed when we saw her grab a nice mouthful of fur and hold on tight. We told her off but she kept on doing it.

We muzzled her.

Then, we googled a little and Google informed us that playfighting is normal, and that dogs will tell each other when biting is too hard... and this way, they learn what NOT to do. Gee... I hope that Google is right 'cos those little teeth can deliver a nice hard nip if we're not careful.

I can't help it but I have flashbacks to when my kids were small and Little Boy went at his sister with his fists. I wonder if throwing Milo away in the same way that I threw The Daughter away here... would make Toffee appreciate Milo more. Hmmmmm?

Meet Toffee

2011-10-02T12:40:00.006+08:00

Here's Toffee. We got her to be Milo's helper in guarding house. Under a most interesting tacit agreement that they both worked out all by themselves, SHE sleeps out front and HE sleeps at the back. When a car passes by, and she's all by herself, she'll give a few puny barks, and you'll hear a frenzied pitter-patter of paws. Milo will appear out front in a huff and pace in protective circles around the patio. Then, when he is satisfied that all is well, he'll go and sniff her to see if she is alright.

We need to respect the relative seniority of Milo. We need to greet him first and pat his head, and THEN pick up Toffee. Else, Milo will growl at her and then use his head to push her away from us. He grabbed her (with his teeth) last evening when we fed Toffee. We had actually fed him his meal earlier, and we thought that that was that. Surely he would remember having been fed first? Next, we prepared Toffee's minced beef rice and placed it in front of her. She rushed to eat. Milo gave a roar of rage, picked her up by the scruff of her neck and flung her away from the bowl. She rolled off in a heap and sat there shaking her head and crying in pain. There was no blood but it must have been a heavy pinch. So now, we prepare both bowls at one time, and we give Milo his food a split second before we give Toffee hers.

Every now and again, Milo turns Toffee over on her back so that her tummy is exposed. He will sniff her all over, and especially at the nether regions before he struts off again to do his I-am-a-big-male-dog stuff. He'll even growl at Toffee if she presumes to come inside the house, because those are house rules.

All in all, she seems to have settled in fine. Toffee is a whole lot more easy than Milo. Milo was a wilfull puppy who obeyed the cane and it took a while to teach him that I am the Alpha Bitch. He likes still to test the limits of my authority. He is a stubborn dog. Toffee responds to a firm "No", and is already turning over on her back whenever I scratch her gently under the chin. It is a relief to have a nice docile dog.

Water: The Stuff of Life

2011-09-29T08:00:00.006+08:00

Once I realized how much water the airconditioners draw out of the air every night in our room, I itched to collect it somehow. It is completely pure water you know. Pure distilled water. Distilled water from the stores cost a bundle and when you use the Karcher steamer as much as we do, then it is a very costly recurrent expense.

So, when we built the new house, I got The Panda to route the airconditioner water discharge to convenient places for easy water collection. The children's airconditioners route into the service toilet at the back of the house. The master bedroom airconditioner routes into the rooftop garden just outside the room. We collect enough water to feed the steamer and to mop the whole house everyday. Any leftovers go to the plants or into the washing machine.

You can see from the photos that the water is crystal clear. It isn't drinkable however because drinking pure distilled water leaches important minerals out of our bodies and make us ill after some time. Still, it is enough water to keep water bills down. There are so many airconditioners in Singapore. Much of the water condensed out of the air is discharged into sewage pipes. What a waste!! If you consider that in one night 3 aircons produce enough water to mop approx 4500sq ft of real estate, with left over to spare for steamer and plants, then think of all the clean water that is poured into the sewage pipes. Aircon discharge should mandatorily be put into the rainwater collection system don't you think? But well... since no one has thought of that, Petunia has decided not to let that water go to waste.

Waste not. Want not.

We've other methods of reusing water too. There is NO bathtub in the house. Everyone showers. We stand over a pail as we wash and let the bathwater collect. This is enough to flush the toilets. I also made sure that the toilet bowl was right next to the shower area.

Of course, when guests come, all these ugly pails are kept out of sight. Shhhhhhh!

Reviewing the System of Assessing Schools

2011-09-25T13:45:00.014+08:00

Not too long ago, I wrote a petition to the Education Minister. See here. Around that time, hundreds (or maybe thousands) of other parents also wrote in to give their views to the Education Minister. Some initiatives on Facebook even went viral. Then, nothing happened for a few months...

Till yesterday.

The MOE has unveiled plans to set up a Character & Citizenship Unit, an extra rudder to reposition the attention of educators on character building. Also, the MOE will review the manner in which schools are assessed. There were few details but I understood that the crux of this review would be to (1) reduce inter-school competition and, (2) free up Teachers' time from doing all the administrative work required to apply and qualify for MOE awards, just so that they could get more funding for school activities.

At present, teaching is inadequate in many schools. Little Boy's Chinese Language Teacher does not provide model compositions, nor any substantial materials on tackling Chinese Oral. I don't see any attempt to TEACH Chinese compo writing because I don't see any notes, glossary lists nor model compositions. Worse still, compo writing is a skill. It can only be learnt through skills practice, and it is not often that the Teacher requires Little Boy to do Chinese compos for practice. It seemed to me that the CL Teacher's role was to teach to the CL textbook (wherein the language used is way easier than what Little Boy has to write to even pass his compo writing tests)... mark and grade for gap diagnosis. It was then up to parents to analyze the gaps and then to - see my valiant efforts here (1) source for adequate learning materials (since the school textbooks are useless - see blogpost here), (2) source for external teaching professionals or (3) attend parent workshops to learn how to teach.

So, I was bitterly amused when I read in today's papers that parents nowadays have to resort to paying hundreds of dollars to learn how to teach their children. Of course, no one disputes that parents need to be partners in a child's education. But any partnership can turn exploitative if one is not careful. The way I see it, whilst schools were busy chasing MOE awards, deploying and promoting teaching talent adept at the tasks of refining school processes and writing award application reports... the schools forgot to teach, and they looked to their parent partners and gave over to the parent partners more and more of the teaching load. Desperate parents with full-time jobs turned to the tuition industry. Desperate parents without fulltime jobs went to class to learn how to teach.

Schools partner parents. Whilst schools used Teacher time to chase awards... parent partners are left to do the teaching? Hopefully, in reviewing the way schools are assessed, schools will begin to deploy teacher time to teaching, and no more award chasing.

Now, it is untrue to say that all schools don't teach adequately. I have seen Chongfu Primary's excellent resources (1cm thick just for CL Oral alone). I have seen another 1cm stack from Qihua Primary. I have seen model Chinese compositions from Nanyang Primary School - 54 different ones. I need to activate personal relationships or pay for these materials. And I have been told NOT to share them in order to respect the copyright of the schools. And I won't share them for fear that these very same people will refuse in future to further share their resources with me.

I have become a sort of educational material drug addict waiting for my next fix of needed educational materials, and afraid they won't come... even if I had the money to buy them. I'm not selfish, but I WILL NOT share the materials I have because I WON'T RISK offending my supplier.

This makes salient another disadvantage of the MOE awards and assessment system. Schools try to outcompete each other. School developed materials are sometimes marked Confidential (Not to Be Shared). This is terrible because when textbooks are useless, the children need something else to learn from. A bright and motivated child in a school that DOES NOT develop any educational aids cannot do well.

Little Boy has a mother who goes to great lengths to procure high quality materials. Else, Little Boy too would fail too, even though he has more than the average aptitude for scholastic achievement. How much talent are we wasting across the nation... children whose parents have not the resources (time and money) to procure such materials.

Clearly, the cut-throat competition for funding (tied to MOE awards) has resulted in what management speak terms "Sub-Unit Optimisation causing Whole Unit Sub-Optimisation". This is another way of saying that when your liver competes with and outperforms your stomach, your whole person experiences the discomfort of heartburn. When the different components of a whole organisation compete instead of collaborate, then the whole organisation can underperform. Can you imagine if every Police Division competed with each other to solve crime? If info were needed from another Police Division to solve crime in this one, and the other denied access to such info to win over the first... how effective would the whole Police Force be at solving crime?

The way I see it, it is absolutely WONDERFUL that someone in MOE put his/her finger on a high leverage point of change - review the way schools are assessed so as to (1) reduce inter-school competition and (2) free up Teachers' time. Press this one button, and MANY things will happen. No one but someone really smart, very insightful and very familiar with MOE would have been able to find this point of high leverage. The challenge now is to press this button right, so that the right behaviors are incentivised and at the right dosage too... 'cos it wouldn't do to NOT have any competition at all.

All in all, I feel listened to... and heard. My very first attempt at giving feedback coherently, cogently and passionately to the government has been a largely positive one. MOE got in touch with me, talked to me and still keeps in touch. And this only goes to show that our government is sincere about understanding the needs of the commonfolk.

However, I still worry. I am worried that Teachers have got a taste of how good it feels to divest their teaching responsibilities onto parent shoulders... and that this habit will be hard to break? What the MOE unveiled in this year's MOE Work Plan Seminar is a good plan. But the implementation is still what counts.

I do wonder too... if it would be a good idea to have an MOE online freeware resource. Teachers upload the materials they write. MOE pays them a little extra for each download. Those who write good and excellent materials will get more rewards because the market is discerning and word of mouth is powerful and quick to respond to changes. In this way, the useless textbooks can be altogether retired (because most of them look like chick lit magazines anyway - glossy pictures and little content) and the whole educational materials resources system is responsive to exam requirements. Also, Teachers don't need to resign to make more money as private assessment book writers... and private tutors. More importantly, bright students across the nation have EQUAL access to high quality educational resources. The problem of unequal access to high quality teaching and learning resources is important to fix. Else, there will be talent wastage. Bright and hardworking children like Little Boy (without parents or parents with resources) will fail like my son did before I intervened... and the nation will see more and more talent wastage.

Just an idea.

Reaching the Tipping Point for Chinese: Part 4

2011-09-24T21:24:00.007+08:00

Little Boy memorized his very first Chinese composition last year in Nov-Dec 2010. We are now September 2011. It has been 10 months. The start was most onerous indeed. To describe the first 25 compo memorizations as long and hard toil, is perhaps an understatement. He could not recognize more than half the words in each compo. The compos were taken from a compendium of 1000 Best Compositions from the equivalent of China's PSLE. They were at least 3 to 4 years above his reading level then. Grandma read them into a digital audio file and Little Boy plugged in the speakers and listened and followed and memorized and recited to me.

The very first week, he spent 7 hours a day reciting these compos. I sat near him. I worked near him. It was, for me, like nursing a querulous sick child back to health. You stay there by his side so that he has the strength to carry on, and to not give up on a task that looked impossible to him. There was nothing I could do for him because I am illiterate in Chinese. It was a bit like watching your child battle critical illness and not be able to do anything but hold his hand and stay nearby.

From reciting others' works, he moved on to writing his own. We were thrilled that he could score 34/40 for a piece of compo homework. But those 3 pages meant 6 hours of sustained effort. Under the timed conditions of 50 minutes in the exam, he failed his compo at the mid-year exams. However, he did very well for his Comprehension because all the reading and recitation had improved his word recognition immensely. Thanks to the recitation, he scored wonderfully for Oral reading because he was expressive and he could recognise all the words in the text. Overall, he managed to do well enough to avoid being asked to attend supplementary classes. Even though he had failed his compo, I convinced him that it was still a triumph to be celebrated.

"It isn't where you start. It's where you end up" I said. And if he continued to work at that pace, I swore by Mommy's Honour that he would end up somewhere nice in December of 2012, after the PSLE.

During the June hols 2011 of this year, he wrote one composition everyday for 3 weeks. At the same time, he read 2 model compositions each day. I had hired a tutor round about then who was a rich source of EXCELLENT model compositions written by students from a certain Top School. He learnt to highlight "yummy expressions" and use them. In the first 2 weeks, I allowed him to refer to any material he wanted. In the 3rd week, he did timed trials of 50 minutes. Again, it was a frustrating effort because it seemed that he could never complete within the time. Meanwhile, his poor tuition teacher marked his compos ad nauseum.

As CA2 (the tests in 3rd quarter of the year) neared, he got closer and closer to the 50 mins time target... until 1 week before the test, he barely managed to write 2 pages in 50 minutes, replete with "yummy expressions". He scored 28/40 in his Chinese compo test. One strategy we used was to choose chunks that could be generally used in almost any compo, and to memorize them for regurgitation. This saved time and helped him to make it to 2 pages in 50 mins.

He devoured his tutor's Chinese model compositions with an appetite so voracious that he quickly exhausted the stack of model compositions provided by his tuition teacher (because his school teacher provided none at all). There were 54 in all. By now, the file is all tatty and worn from having been well-thumbed through and referred to every time he wrote a compo. In general, he did 2 kinds of compo practices. In the first, he focused on learning and using new expressions. He did these compos in about 2 to 3 hours... checking and copying. In the second kind of compo practice, he focused on speed.

We gave up on reading for pleasure. It was too slow. Not intense enough, and couldn't give us the quick wins we were starving for. Strangely too, Little Boy was frustrated with reading for pleasure. Learning Chinese was such a painful process that I absolutely had to help him to mastery quickly so that he could at least feel a sense of achievement (and I suppose he was impatient for the same reason?). Hungry for more model compositions but pressed for time on all sides (because we still had to find time for Math, English and Science, which thankfully, Little Boy seems to grasp quickly and requires perhaps only 1 or 2 exam practices before exams).

Pressed for time, we turned to the less challenging compositions published in Singapore and sold at Popular bookstore. Grandma recorded 49 of these and Little Boy read them all, and knew them well enough to add these to his store of reference materials to use for compo practices.

That makes 25 + 54 + 49 model compositions that Little Boy had come to know like the back of his hand. He had to read, re-read, write and re-write again and again and again. That was the only way to commit the Chinese characters to long term memory. What's this about making learning Chinese fun? It ain't fun. It's plain hard work like practising scales on the piano.

We had again run out of model compos to read. I was searching about for compos and had settled for one printed in Singapore for secondary school students. Little Boy complained that it was boring. He went to dig out the Compendium of 1000 compos that we had worked on in Nov-Dec last year, and said "Mom, I like these. They're easier and more interesting to read."

It was only then that it dawned on me how much he had learnt.

What had seemed to him impossibly difficult last year, to read and understand, had now become interesting and easy. Wow! He had actually gotten good enough to have fun with the language. I sat back... pensive and wistful and quietly jubilant. And then Little Boy decided that he didn't need a tutor anymore either. He said that he could pass stuff to Grandma to mark, and the rest would be his own hard work.

And then my heart swelled with pride. My boy seemed like a man already.

According to Amy Chua, the Tiger Mother, you only begin to enjoy something when you get good at it. To get good at something, you need to put in the grunt work. I dunno if that is true of everything, 'cos Petunia enjoys many things that she's no good at, but it is certainly true of learning the Chinese language. I wonder if it is a uniquely Chinese philosophy towards learning in general... and that this philosophy is so fully integrated in the codification of the Chinese language that you just gotta grunt through the pain before you get to the joy. But you know, the joy is sweet... oh-so-sweet because Little Boy feels so much more at ease in the language now. Little Boy does not dislike Chinese anymore because he has actually become rather good at it. He enjoys creative writing in Chinese, though not as much as English.

So what's this about learning Chinese the fun way? There isn't one. It's plain hard work. You memorize. You recite. You regurgitate. You do that again and again until you get good enough to do your own thing. That was the way Grandma was taught (says she) and I will tell ya... she's really good at Chinese.

This process is not for the faint-hearted. You need the heart of a lion cub and the love of a lioness. It is really not easy to stay focused on memorizing essays for 7 hours at a stretch. The child cannot do it alone. More often than not, I had to stay near just to provide the moral support that kept him from teetering over the precipice of Giving Up.

The Mad Dash

2011-09-21T18:19:00.006+08:00

When we first moved in, Milo was wary of the main gate. It's this lumbering thing that rolls itself aside when the car needs to go out... and Milo stayed far away from our cars too. But familiarity breeds contempt. It wasn't long before Milo lost all fear of both metallic beasts, and dashed out for a frolic in the copse of trees nearby.

There is a biggish patch of grass and jungle just 200m from our house, and Milo being the smart fellow he is, knows that it is Dog Heaven. Some of our neighbours grow fruit trees and vegetables there because it seems that the earth around our place is quite fertile. We have papaya trees and all sorts of gourd plants and lady's fingers, which I don't dare to pluck because a short squat neighbour planted himself in front of me whilst I was admiring the plants, and announced that they belonged to him.

He smiled. But I could still feel the bristle. So I retreated back up to my 2nd storey roof garden to admire my own lady finger and brinjal plants in pots. Now back to Milo.

Sometime last week, Milo waited till the big gate had almost closed before he dashed outside and made a beeline for the copse of trees and patch of grass. He had a good time yelling at a stray dog who retreated and came back with 3 other dogs. Fear gripped my heart. I mentally saw our Milo lying there with his throat ripped out whilst the gang of 4 bloodied dogs slipped away into the darkness of the jungle patch.

I tried my best to explain to Milo, my big wimpy dog, who eats pistachios and carrots, that those are Mafia Dogs who will kill him, eat him and then gnaw at his bones. But he just hung his tongue out and me and panted, thrilled that he had gotten his way and had had a forbidden frolic.

On Monday this week, he dashed out even before The Husband's car had stretched itself for its morning run. The Husband, The Daughter and Little Boy managed to get him back before the Gang of 4 saw him. Later that morning, as I reached for my bag, Milo dashed out front and skipped about me. You know how little children skip as they alternate between one foot and the other. Milo was doing that but he looked really silly because he has four feet. I took one look at his happy face and knew exactly what he was planning to do. So I tied him up.

We decided to tie him up every morning. The first day we did that, he was most indignant. The idiot COULD NOT BELIEVE we were doing that to him. He launched into a symphony of howls and plaintive squeals. "Mooooooooom! You caaaaan't be doing this to meeeeeeee! Pleeeeeeeez! Moooooooom! Trust me! I will be safe!Pleeeeeez Mom, let me gooooooooooo!"

Milo is 2+ years. That is about 15 or 16 in human years. He is a teenager alright, and we are like the typical mom, putting constraints on him so that he would stay safe... and he doesn't like that.

I knew the ways and means to get through human adolescence with little stress. But dog adolescence is beyond my ken. Milo gets on my nerves.

Home Made Crêpes

2011-09-11T15:46:00.004+08:00

We love crêpes. Our favourite crêperie was Marché at Somerset. The banana and mascarpone crêpe kept me awake at nights. There is also a crêperie at the Raffles City Mall that does a tiramisu crêpe to die for. But these crêppy things are rather expensive. So, when I saw a crêpe pan on sale at Isetan last year, I jumped at it.

12 months on, I am using the crêpe pan for the first time and it works like a charm. Perfectly non stick... perfectly induction cooker friendly ... and it turns out perfect crêpes. It even comes with a wooden thing to spread the batter around the pan so I feel very much like a professional crêpe cook like those I watch with fascination in Marché.

The GRC System Hurts the PAP's Future the Most

2011-09-07T20:34:00.005+08:00

I've been mulling over the hue and cry over the GRC electoral system since Singapore's latest General Elections a while back. Previously, I cared not a whit about GRC or no GRC. The PAP was in power and that seemed quite alright to me. One never really thought about the possibility that the PAP would NOT return to power. It seemed like something of an undesirable impossibility.

Of course, there was much anti-PAP invective on the internet. Outrageous rumours and unbelievable accusations, and much of the time, one treats it as just so much noise. But the 2011 General Election made me sit up and realise one thing. If the PAP does not do away with the GRC system, popular support for the PAP will slowly erode. For whatever reason the GRC was put in, its long term effects are most harmful to the PAP.

With the GRC system, new MPs are screened by party elders and parachuted into GRCs anchored by seasoned party elders. To get voted in, there is no need for these new MPs to build relationships with the people they will be serving. Apart from the Minister standing in my ward, I knew none of the other MPs. I wouldn't recognise many of my MPs if I passed them in a restaurant because I don't know what they look like.

This said, in this day and age of social media, not knowing what they look like is less important than not knowing how they think, what they value and what they stand for. After all, the blogger Petunialee tries her best to keep her image off the internet but many blog readers know what she likes (Milo), values (frugal living) and believes in (God). At least, to some extent, they do. Petunialee has no face recognition value but at least some people have resonated enough with her thoughts and values to become fast friends with her only because of her blog.

I don't need to know what my MP looks like but I do need to know what kind of person he/she is... and what his/her values are... and what his/her motivations are... and how much courage he/she has... Gee... I know Gerald Giam better than I know 95% of the PAP MPs. Gerald wrote a book. I know how he thinks and what his motivations are. If he had stood in my ward, I would have given him my vote simply because I know him better than my PAP MPs.

What kind of people ARE my PAP MPs? Gosh, save for one Minister... I don't know. Only the PAP party elders know. The PAP party elders are themselves convinced of the moral calibre and rock solid values of their newbies because they did all the interviewing. The PAP interviewer has built a relationship with his/her candidate, not me. To me, my PAP MPs are strangers.

I voted strangers into my ward, and then when they make a boo-boo, I am wont to judge them harshly. They have had no emotional bank account with me to draw upon. Imagine if EVERY single PAP MP had face recognition, thought familiarity and values resonance with the people? This forms a considerable mass of social capital that would buffer the PAP against criticism. If we didn't know who our MPs were before we voted them, it is far easier to judge them harshly for phone texting during the national anthem, or for insulting the vast majority of the population by intimating that we "do not have dignity" because we don't earn as much as a some other people.

We did not really choose these strange PAP MPs for who they are. We picked them because they came with the PAP set lunch. Hence, we have no qualms in shooting them down. Conversely if we had known them (face recognition, thought familiarity and values resonance) and we had really chosen them for themselves, then we would be more willing to make excuses for them, if only because the human psyche hates to admit that it had made a wrong choice.

There will be detractors, but there would also be more supporters to speak up against the detractors IF we had known our MPs better before we voted them in.

Right now, only the bigwig MP in my ward has face recognition, thought familiarity and values resonance with me. If all the other 5 people on the same poster had the same face recognition, thought familiarity and values resonance as Mr BigWig PAP MP, then the PAP's collective social capital in my ward would be multiplied by 6 in my ward alone. If every PAP unknown in every ward were forced to earn face recognition, thought familiarity and values resonance with the people, PAP's collective social capital would be multiplied by as many PAP MPs as there are now unknowns. Right now, the electorate has tenuous ties to the PAP via one or two bigwig PAP MPs in each ward only. This is pauper's social capital.

The PAP deserves better.

Of course, the electorate may well think and decide that the fellow who thinks poor people lack dignity, should not be voted in because he lacks "values resonance" with the populace. But is that wrong? The way I see it, the GRC system functions like overprotective parenting. We're so afraid to let our kids/MPs take the hard knocks that we shield them so much that they never learn (political) wisdom.

If PAP MPs have the calibre, they will learn through their baptism of fire. If they perish in the fire then we know that weak links have been removed from the country's leadership. And since our country is of primary importance, removing the weak links may seem cruel but is necessary. But if politically shielded and politically sheltered and politically pampered, even the PAP MPs with the best calibre will be denied the opportunity to learn and grow strong. I love my children and because I love them, I allow them to face the music and grow through life's lessons. If the PAP really cares for its MPs' calibre then it should allow its MPs the chance to face the music and grow through political lessons.

PAP MPs deserve better.

Umpteen years ago, when TV was the all new media, Richard Nixon debated with John F. Kennedy on TV. Nixon did not master the media. On TV, he appeared belligerent and thuggish. So Kennedy carried the day. Since then, it has become accepted that politicians must know how to speak well. Speak well = politician's core competency, because speaking well = communicating well.

The social media is all about writing however. I love Khaw Boon Wan. I read his writings. I respect him enough to mentally cheer him for once saying "Hey! I am trying my best here to calm the housing market. The media should get its facts right." In my heart, I said "Yeah!! You silly newspaper! If you can't help that poor man lead, at least don't make it difficult for him!!" I read him so I felt for him.

Khaw Boon Wan is not frivolous and he writes to influence. Leaders like Lee Kuan Yew spoke to influence. Leaders of today, like Khaw Boon Wan, need to know how to WRITE I do believe that PAP MPs can do more if they mastered the skills of influencing through writing personally, personably, seriously and sincerely (and sometimes, humorously).

In effect, with the advent of the social media, a deaf-mute with ideas and his/her heart in the right place would gain a following.

Sleeping Dog

2011-09-03T12:06:00.005+08:00

I can't help but feel that there is something wrong when an entire family is so besotted with how Milo sleeps at night. The Daughter was dismayed at the size of the mosquitoes and she fretted over the number of mosquito bumps on Milo's pelt. I had lit mosquito coils at the patio and the back kitchen but The Daughter still grabbed Milo and sprayed citronella all over him. I don't think Milo appreciated how he changed from pungent and macho boy dog odour to herbal fragrance. Then I noticed how Milo had the good sense to park himself next to the mosquito coils, resulting in almost no mosquito bumps the next morning. My observations stopped there.

See... the dog can look after himself just fine.

2 weeks ago, The Husband and The Daughter sneaked out onto the 2nd storey roof garden, which has a glass skylight on its floor, that looks down upon the patio. They wanted to see whether Milo could hear small noises in the night. They tapped gently on the glass and were extraordinarily happy to note that Milo's ears perked up and he lifted his head to scan his domain.

Last week however, The Husband made comment at breakfast that when Milo is in deep sleep, he is quite oblivious to his surroundings. I asked him how he knew and he confessed that he had woken up in the middle of the night to do a bit of Milo watching from behind the big glass panes of our main door. Earlier this week, I was treated to a blow by blow account (also at breakfast) of Milo's nightmare the night before. Then yesterday, the whole family tiptoed quietly from skylight to main door and back again giggling and nudging each other, marvelling at how Milo had placed a proprietary paw around Paddington Bear (Milo's teddy bear) and leaned his head against the said bear's tummy.

We spend entirely too much time watching one mongrel dog sleep.

Apple Tart

2011-09-01T16:11:00.002+08:00

I tried out a new apple tart recipe. It's lighter than the earlier version of Petunia's Apple Pie. I stopped making the earlier version because the kids fell sick everytime they indulged. This one is healthier because it has less sugar and less butter.

Groggy Mosquitoes

2011-08-30T21:15:00.006+08:00

After a day of rains, starving mosquitoes swarm out of the jungle patch nearby. On the mosquito buffet table, I must be some sort of popular dish. Everyone else gets one or 2 bites. I get 9. The itch lasts for days and it feels so goooooooooooood to scratch them that I scratch till sores form and my nails have flecks of blood.

I learnt to close the windows at 5pm. Mosquito coils are lit at strategic spots to dissuade the hungry beasts out for blood, from entering the house. The few that do enter the house become quickly disorientated by the odourless chemical diffused into the air by the electronic Baygon plugs I placed in every room.

There were more than the usual numbers of mosquitoes this evening because it had rained all day. The Husband's sharp eyes saw mosquitoes fall out the air onto the tiled floor in his study. He saw mosquitoes flutter around me but I was not bitten. He plucked another 2 mosquitoes out the air and slapped one against the wall.

I wonder how these anti-mosquito wall plugs work. The mosquitoes can smell me but can't find me. They look like they're drunk.

Fond Memories of the HDB Flat

2011-08-22T18:22:00.012+08:00

The Study

The Master Bedroom

The Living Room

The Dining Room

The Guest Bathroom

It's funny how the human heart forms attachments. Till today, I regret the sale of my HDB flat. Me... the Petunia who thinks herself hard-headed and unemotional and rational about financial investing.

As a young couple, we bought a 7-room HDB because we thought it would maintain its value better even as flats become ever smaller. We hadn't much money to furnish it, so we put in cheap iron grilles that flaked rust after some months, until we learnt how to apply rust conversion primer. The floor was covered with vinyl sheets. Some years later, with savings in the bank, we overlaid wood laminate on it to create a woody, rustic feel. And we kept furniture to a minimum so that we would have less to clean, and one could simply drag a mop up and down the room without meeting any furniture. The children learnt to walk on a soft and bouncy vinyl floor. And when we laid wood laminate on it, it was yet another low cost and low maintenance option to renovating.

But till today I think of that flat with an ache in my heart because it no longer is mine. I sold it for mercenary profit and it still feels like I had sold a piece of my soul.

You see, it was a really nice place. All the rooms were large and well-ventilated. Every room had generous windows and the monsoons breezed through it at all times of the year. I had a corridor along which I could grow a small herb garden and dry my clothes on days where it rained nonstop.

It was a nice place to stay. It really was.

But that's not all, I guess. There really is something unexplainable about how the human heart forms attachments. The Husband has given me many gifts throughout the years. There have been expensive watches, and handbags, and diamonds. Yet, the thing that I took care to wrap in layers of tissue and masking tape (personally, not trusting the packers and movers to do it for me) ... was a shiny seashell he had picked up on a beach on one of his trips overseas 10 years into our marriage. It was such a pretty shell that it shone resplendent on the sand, and made him think how I would thrill at its beauty the way he did. And he brought it home across half the world - for me. He brought home other gifts too, but I forget what they are. I think I like this shell so much because it represents a moment shared in spirit even though we were half a world apart. I was pleased that after 10 years of marriage, he found a shell and thought immediately of me.

And maybe I like that HDB flat so much because we shared so many joys there. The birth of our children... their toddlerhood... the many little joys that make up life and living.

Getting Used to a Big House

2011-08-21T19:28:00.002+08:00

It seemed like a good idea to get a big house, with spacious rooms and generous windows. When I awoke after the first night and opened my eyes a slit, I noted that the other wall was perhaps a mile off, and the ceiling had disappeared into the clouds. I felt like Garfield in the Tale of 2 Kitties, waking up to stare upwards at the canopy of drapes that hung over his bed.

But we're a family so used to getting in each other's way that it feels oddly lonely and impersonal to have so much space to myself. The children are in their rooms. The Husband is making eyes at his computer and I sit alone in a huge room contemplating the mile off wall and the ceiling lost in clouds. And so it is that I trot across the landing to The Daughter's room and sit on her bed to feel the cosiness of her rather smaller room... of a somewhat more manageable size. And then I went to persuade The Husband bring his laptop over to come sit by me in companionable silence, on our bamboo day bed. And then I offered to Little Boy my wide expanse of bedroom floor to conduct his chemistry experiments.

There are insects too. The patch of jungle about 500m away was an attractive green lung. It really is nice to see greenery out the windows. But this little patch of green sends out armies of mosquitoes. Many are the deadly Aedes mosquitoes which bite at dawn and at dusk. I sustained 9 itchy welts which I scratched into open wounds on the first night we sat out at the patio to play Uno Stacko. Mosquito coils are now lit at 6pm and placed at the main entrances to the house. Mosquito coils are very effective but they represent an extra daily chore. Bees and wasps fly in and out of the house. We leave them alone because there is so much air space that they don't bother us.

And then of course, I've had to crack my head to reduce the helper's workload... make cleaning more efficient... automate some chores... and nag at everyone to be less piggy in their daily habits. It is rather a good thing that the children are grown and don't make as much of a mess as toddlers do.

Still, I am rather ambivalent about this house. I'm proud that I've actually built it (and it has proven to be a worthwhile investment already) but I still think my old 7-room HDB flat was a nice, manageable and spacious dwelling. I didn't quite like the penthouse as much because it really had less liveable space than the jumbo HDB... and now, in this house, I kinda have too much liveable space.

I guess I will get used to it in time to come. I'm just old and resistant to change.

Cliff, My Arch Enemy

2011-08-19T13:00:00.003+08:00

Mom likes this dog. He's called Cliff. I disliked him from the moment he licked my nose from across the fence. I gave him a good telling off with my teeth bared and growls from deep inside my chest. I wouldn't have minded Cliff very much if Mom didn't like him quite so much. Mom feeds him MY treats and Mom pats his head, and this Cliff fellow is SUCH a suck up. He smiles at my Mom and wags his tail like he was the only one who knew how to wag tails. Come on, I wag mine good too you know.

I need to keep a close watch on Mom and him to make sure that MY Mom doesn't pat him or talk to him or feed him MY yummies. Mom is completely undiscerning when it comes to dogs. She absolutely can't tell a good dog from a bad. So long as the doggy wags its tail and licks her hand, Mom goes nuts and feeds the dirty beggar every scrap from the dining table and the fridge. That leaves me with no scraps at all!! That Cliff is a no good dog I will tell ya!!

It's good thing that I have taught him a lesson or 2 about what's mine. He stays away from MY fence now... and MY Mom.

The Move (Experienced by Milo)

2011-08-18T09:23:00.005+08:00

Oh man! I am so sleepy! I haven't been sleeping well at all because my whole life has been turned upside down by my pack of humans.

I should have known something was up when a skinny stranger whose teeth shone from his dark face smiled at me and waved a paw. Never trust people with glowing teeth. He stood in Mom's study room (which doubles up as my refuge from lightning and intruders because there is no place safer than under Mom's study table) and started taking things and putting them into boxes. And then he broke apart Mom's study table and made the whole thing disappear.

I ought not have contented myself with barking at Mr Shining Fangs. I should have rushed in there to bite him to the death because he left and came back with his whole pack (all with shining fangs) who then took away everything one by one. There wasn't even a book shelf left in Mom's study for me to hide behind. And then, Dad took me out for a walk. It wasn't a nice walk because I had a hunch that something terrible was about to happen. Sure enough, when I got home, they had made off with my kennel!!

I was upset!! Very upset!! And then everyone disappeared for hours and hours. I had 2 bowls of water... but Dog Shall Not Live By Water Alone. When Mom came looking for me, she actually looked happy. It was the worse day of my life and the woman looked and behaved like it was my wedding day. She took me for a ride in the car and we came to this Place of No Privacy.

My patio used to have 4 walls and I felt safe in there. Now, my patio has no walls at all. Humongous trucks pass by and rumble threats at me. Masses of humans walk in front of my patio and stare at me. And there is this long long alley by the side of the house which is dark but if I want some food scraps, I gotta run down it to get to the back of the house where the kitchen is. I hate that dark alley.

AND... I have to guard this whole place by myself at night. That's no joke ok. There's the front door and the back door and I am one dog... and I like my sleep. When I settle into the front patio, I hear noises at the back and so I trot over there. When I settle into the back patio, I hear noises out front and I trot over there. How's a dog to get any sleep this way?

Thankfully, Mom lets me sleep behind her chair in the study during the day. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Dining & Kitchen

2011-08-17T10:47:00.004+08:00

Kitchen

Dining

Dining Cum Kitchen

Here is the kitchen and dining area. I wanted the kitchen to last at least 30 years. There is no way that European style all wood kitchens can last that long without warping or rotting, especially in this very high humidity and very wet kitchen and dining areas. I stubbornly eschewed the fashion of the day and insisted on a brick and tile countertop base.

The tiler's eyes widened when he realized what I intended. He said "Madam, it will look very ugly. We haven't built something like this for 20 years." I was quite surprised but it must be true because my Mom's kitchen was built 30 years ago and my own first kitchen was created 20 years ago. Mom's kitchen is still going strong, and she has only had to change the wooden doors.

Seriously, I had no idea what the end result was gonna look like. But between an robust ugly kitchen and a wimpy stylish kitchen, I absolutely made up my mind for robust. So... if you're looking for something out of style magazine made of sleek lines and expensive artistic kitchen utensils, that's not my kitchen.

My kitchen is one where a hodge podge of unassorted plates are stacked out to air dry before the next use. Note also the wooden chopping board that is 15 years old and cannot be mistaken for style by any stretch of the imagination. The countertop is 750mm deep instead of the usual 600mm deep. This means I can stack a mini fridge for dried medicinal herbs on the countertop and still have space left over for food preparation. I tell you, this kitchen is a pleasure to work in compared to my old kitchen which was cramped and full of wood.

The countertop extends outwards into a tongue that is 1.5m by 1.1m. This space doubles up as the dining area for when we dine en famille. Further down the space is a sort of library like corner which holds an 8-seater dining table. This table doubles up as my study table. When guests come, we will eat here.

Study Cum Dining

After the Labour Pains

2011-08-14T21:06:00.006+08:00

It seems to me like a miracle that I am actually living in the new house. I look around me and remember what this was like when it was raw concrete and without a roof. I remember how I looked at the outlines of the rooms on the floor and thought the rooms too small. I remember the trials and tribulations with waterproofing, and my anxiety over budget over runs, and my ghastly fears of having created a monstrosity of the sort you read about in the papers.

A big eyesore in a landscape of discreet and tasteful dwellings.

The rooms are way bigger than I expected them to be right up till the curtains and wooden cabinets were installed. The waterproofing seems to be holding up very well. This beige and olive green house with dark chocolate walls is not so opulent as to be an eyesore. It is a little odd because I have no sense of style... but it is plain enough and discreet enough to be in sober taste. Think a woman in white blouse and brown skirt, with flat pumps.

The happy consequences of lazy shopping has ensured a continuity over all 3 floors of the house. Since the same floor tile is laid on the floor, spaces seem to flow into each other... through the living, up the staircase, across the landing and into the rooms. The same kind of wall lamp hangs outside and inside the house. The same colour of lights (different shapes) hang in living and dining. There is only a single colour on the walls. I cannot visualize how colours and textures match so it is so much easier to just be the same right through. It may be boring but it works for me.

And I did do what I promised myself to do - decorate the spaces with nothingness so that empty air speaks for itself. Odd way of decorating a home but it sure saves a lotta money!!

Durian Mania

2011-08-08T20:52:00.004+08:00

I've come late to the appreciation of durians. I know. This seems so weird for a Singaporean. My parents were nuts about durians and they MADE me eat them. I hated the way the smell clung to my hands and I hated my own breath and I hated the burps that always came after a durian binge.

Since last year, I've had inexplicable cravings for durians at certain times of the month, much like a pregnancy craving... or like how some people crave chocolate. I snoop around those cheapo stalls that sell durians at $10 for 3 boxes and then I buy up 6 promising to share with my parents'-in-law. To be fair to me, I do share with them. I give them 1 box and wallop the other 5. Some days, the durians are dry and bland. On other days, they're sweet and creamy (a cross between roquefort and camembert but sweet)... and they practically fight to get into my mouth. I keep buying those cheap durians because once in a while I hit the jackpot and get a whole lot of yummilicious ice cream without the cold.

Just for fun, I fed some to Milo. Milo is crazy about durians. When you appear with one seed of durian, he skips about like he's gonna be going for walkies, but it's just durian you know. Once or twice, I fed him the bland sort that I didn't want to eat only to be looked at reproachfully. I could almost hear Milo say "What sorta owner ARE you? How can you feed your pet, durian of such inferior quality?" But after I tell him to take it or leave it, he takes it.

The Husband is more than glad at my newfound appreciation for durians because for many years of our marriage I wouldn't let him eat any. I hated even more kissing a fellow with durian breath and burp. Yuck!

The Husband held a durian party for his colleagues and he came home with something called Cat Mountain King. There was a lot of it. He kept mum about the goodies and I discovered them as I snooped about the fridge for breakfast. Sniff! Sniff! Sniff! There is durian in here! My heart beat faster and when I saw the box of creamy delights, I let out a squeal that drew a curious stare from my domestic helper. One normally doesn't wake up before breakfast. Well, that day, I was well awake before my durian breakfast I tell ya!!

I ate so much that I felt sick and couldn't eat another meal till the next day. I am still thinking of that Cat Mountain King. I'm gonna go get me another pile before durian season is over. Om nom nom nom nom! Oh yeah!!

Waterproofing Your Bathroom

2011-08-07T19:45:00.011+08:00

I designed my bathrooms to wear well. I put in an under the counter sink because the joints between countertop sinks and the countertop is often sealed with silicon which looks great for about one month before black mould starts to grow on it and under it. This is difficult to clean off without damaging the silicon seal. See a picture of silicon mould below. Where possible, I tried NOT to have any exposed silicon at all. My under counter basin has silicon sealant hidden under the granite slab. When it turns black, as I know it will, I can't see it.

Silicon Mould

I also made sure that in every shower cubicle, where water would hit the walls, the waterproofing membrane was applied to a height of 1.8m. This prevents water from soaking through the porous bricks and making spots of damp on the other side of the wall. On either side of some bathrooms are bedrooms. It wouldn't do to have damp spots appear on the walls there... nor would it do to have the backs of the built-in cabinets get wet and become termite heaven. See a picture of the high upturn below. Waterproofing membranes are liquid when applied but dry into a plastic membrane that keeps water inside the bathroom.

The High Upturn at Shower Areas

The windows at some bathrooms are large and come down the wall far enough to reach my chest. The window sill doubles up as a toiletries shelf. BUT, whenever we shower, the window sill will get wet. So, I made very sure that even the window sill was painted with waterproofing membrane so that water would not seep through to the outer wall and turn the pristine cream coloured external walls mouldy and damp. I made sure that the waterproofing went right up the sides of the window frame by 2 tiles.

The Window Sill In Shower Cubicle

Floors need waterproofing certainly, and it is important to make sure that the membrane reaches about 300mm up the sides of the wall so that when water ponds in your bathroom it doesn't seep over the waterproofing membrane on the floor into the brick walls. I call this the low upturn and it is applied in every other part of the bathroom except the shower cubicle (which has the high upturn). See below.

The Low Upturn

Any pipes that stick out of the floor need to be shaved to be level with the floor so that the waterproofing can be painted across the floor and right onto the sides of the pipe to ensure a single solid plastic membrane between floor and pipe. This prevents the water from seeping into the joints between the pipe and the floor.

Lastly, do make sure that your construction contract specifies that the waterproofing will be applied by a specialist contractor, i.e., someone whose job it is to apply waterproofing day in and day out. Also, it helps to pop by twice a day to take pictures of the process. This way, if the contractor quickly covers up with tiles, you have photo evidence to show that waterproofing was not yet properly done, and therefore you have reason to demand that the tiles be lifted and that place retiled.

Embargo Bear Bile

2011-08-07T05:00:00.000+08:00

Read this article here. Please, never take bear bile.

SAF Yacht Club

2011-07-31T20:15:00.006+08:00

The SAF Yacht Club has some beach side facilities in Sembawang, just a 5 minute drive from our place. The thing about Sembawang beaches is that they're mostly deserted. The restaurant at the SAF Yacht Club overlooks the beach and few know that it's a really nice place to chill out (and that is open to non-members like us). It isn't as chic as some beach eateries in the east of Singapore but I think its serenity more than makes up for its lack of style. It's hard to find anywhere in Singapore where you can sit by the beach to smell salt air instead of salt bodies.

We've all been working so hard that I thought the beach might bring some zen balance back into our lives. Previously, the food was nothing to shout about but this time our tastebuds really applauded the choice of dining... and the portions were so large that we had to bring food home.

Little Boy's carbonara was creamy and full of umami flavour. I had oxtail stew and The Daughter, a beef goulash. A full-bodied and robust beef goulash to shame the one I once had in a forgettable restaurant at Rochester Park, that was big on style but small on taste and portions. The Daughter's plate of beef goulash was half the price and double the portion.

The menu has Asian favourites and Western delights. The Western food reminds me of Hainanese Western cuisine i.e., Western food made by Hainanese chefs who trained in the kitchens of English Ma'ams. The salad came with Thousand Island dressing which is really not done in any aspire-to-be-chic restaurant these days (where salads are tossed in vinaigrette). A modern Western trained chef will probably hang himself if required to serve Thousand Island dressing with salad. The tea came in a pot that I remember from the 1970s staying at the Seaview Hotel in the East. No one serves tea in pots like that these days so it felt like the 1970s all over again.

Would I go back? Yes! Everyone likes a bit of nostalgia now and again... and with the yummy food, quiet surroundings and some moments back in time, I would go back.

To Ghost or Not to Ghost

2011-07-24T20:30:00.006+08:00

We all agreed that it was an idea that would only ever occur to little boys. Little Boy waved the 2m long bamboo rod (that we had trimmed from our bamboo plants) over the tall wall (that separates our compound from the area behind it which holds the water tank). Guards patrol that area a few times a day and especially in the dead of the night.

Little Boy thought that it might be fun to drape a white bedsheet over a small ball topped with a wig of long hair, and dangle it over our wall... and then wait around to see how the guards would respond when they made their way around the water tanks with their torches, in the deep of the night.

The Daughter and I thought it was a marvellous idea, and we thought we might do it on the last night of our stay here in our penthouse. The Husband guffawed heartily and joined in the merriment of our naughtiness. Then he realized that we were quite keen to embark on this hare-brained scheme.

And he forbade it. Some of the guards aren't exactly young you see. There's one shaped like 2 Santa Clauses in one man. Quite conceivably, they might have heart problems and a scare like that could very well cause a fatal myocardial infarction. The Husband speaks from experience (no... not with myocardial infaction)having once been so badly scared by one of my pranks that he leapt half a metre into the air, and gave off a deep blood-curdling yell that was halfway between a bellow and a scream.

You see, The Husband often works late and he likes to thread his way up the stairs in the dark to conserve electricity. This was simply asking for trouble because it wasn't long before his crazy wife devised a prank. I stood at the top of the staircase in my nightgown and let my long chestnut brown hair trail over my face. And I waited quietly as he hummed his way up the steps.

It was a fright he never forgot, and he told me to NEVER do that to him again because one could very well die from the shock. And since I do love The Husband very much, I've never done it again. And I also agree that we should not do it to the guards. It wouldn't do to scare 2 Santa Clauses worth of one man into a heap...

Not So Ugly House After All

2011-07-24T14:46:00.008+08:00

Now that the house is taking shape, part of the awful suspense is over. At the very least, I don't find my own house ugly anymore. It must be said though, that I am easy to please. It is hard for me to conceptualize and imagine fancy designs so the plain colours and straight lines are pleasing to my eye.

I suppose this is just as well because The Husband and I almost quarrelled over the colour of the walls. He had gone to site at dusk and thought he observed a sort of bright yellow on all the walls... and he wasn't happy at all. I kept explaining that I had chosen a sort of evaporated milk colour, at most as dark only as condensed milk but he could not shake off the sense of what he had observed in the half dark. He was not happy but had no time to go in the day to disconfirm his worst fears.

So, I brought along The Daughter to bear witness that I had not put Sunflower Yellow on the walls of house. The Husband wants a plain house in neutral colours, which is really what I am capable of anyway. I now find that I have built a plain and simple house which calms my spirit and allows me to breathe easy (well ventilated) and see well (plenty of sunlight) and if I can ensure that family members keep away their considerable clutter, it will be a house decorated with nothingness.

That's a really cheap way of making a statement because given the trend towards shoebox apartments, nothingness could well become the new statement of luxurious living eh? At least, that is one way to rationalize my decision to stop worrying about the house... shopping for the house... spending time on the house.

You see... I've had it up to here with this house. I have been doing everything that I dislike for months and months. I have had to match colours, and choose textures, and inspect works, and run after deadlines, and shop, and spend money, and I've been anxious and frustrated and irritated and afraid. I can't wait to lie on my bed inside that house, hug my pillow and know that it is all over.

A Whirlwind

2011-07-15T21:17:00.003+08:00

I got to the worksite at 2.30 pm and did not get to leave till after 6.30 pm. I had no idea where all that time went.

The site was a whirl of activity. The tilers were laying tiles in bathrooms and staircase. The head tiler was making good progress on one huge wall. One of the 2 kitchen floors was being jack-hammered into some semblance of smoothness in preparation for tiles. Someone drilled something in the bomb shelter and the dust clouds choked me and left a layer of gray on my face. The electricians were placing finishing touches to their work.

2 quarrelsome workers worked on the ceiling boards. I'm not pleased with this pair. They're even better looking than Mr Scrawny and his 6-pack abdomen but they talk too much and work less fast. When you're waiting to move into a house, looks and talk aren't as important as fast and accurate work. You don't really want eye candy to work on your house.

Wrought iron grilles came in on the shoulders of 3 men, who drilled and cut and soldered and hacked. Doors came in and were being stained by a quiet and careful man who examined each brush stroke like he were Van Gogh.

The carpenter came in and installed some louvres. I love my carpenter. He is a tall and dignified man with a round face and eyes that look like they belong to a toddler. You know, toddlers have these black sparkling eyes that look like dew drops? Well... my carpenter's eyes are like that. What is wonderful about Freddie Liang of Jit Fa (S) Pte Ltd is that his workmanship is excellent and his sense of professionalism is very well developed. He talks straight and walks straight and does what he says he will do. And he wields a screwdriver like a magic wand.

Before I knew it, it was 6.30pm.

Oooooh... Bodies!

2011-07-14T21:31:00.008+08:00

There is a fat fellow who is at the moment tiling the staircase at my new house. Staircases are not easy to tile because the edge of the tile that meets the edge of the step needs to be ground to a round edge, else people walking up the stairs might cut their shins on the sharp edge of the tile. Tiles are hard to cut. You need a diamond edged cutter. They're even harder to grind. You need a diamond sand panel affixed onto a machine that spins the panel around at high speed. You need a steady eye, a steady hand and laser-focused concentration to achieve a consistently rounded edge.

Mr Fat Fellow at work ties a towel about his head, doffs his shirt, and shuffles about in bermudas. Rolls of fat jiggle as he walks, and his man boobs look like feasts for hungry breast fed babies. Beads of perspiration sparkle off this ensemble of bare flesh topped with towel. After days of observation, I now know what the towel is for. It prevents the beads of perspiration from flowing into his eyes as he holds the diamond sand panel to the edge of the tile.

I tell you, this guy tiles beautifully. That staircase of mine has more rounded curves than a woman. I really like Mr Fat Fellow and always greet him loudly when I go by so that he can hear me above the whirr of his diamond sand panel.

One day though, I went by the worksite a little later than usual. Mr Fat Fellow was all dressed and ready to go home. I wondered who this portly man with glasses was. He kinda looked like my dad. Very dad-like. Then I realized that this was the very same fellow who normally looks like every breast fed baby's idea of a good feed.

There is another fellow who works on my ceiling. When I first met him, he looked rather scrawny. He had on a loose t-shirt and when he smiled, his teeth were horribly stained with goodness knows what. He was a fast and silent worker. Then one day, I looked up at the roof and saw a man in jeans and no shirt. Sitting atop those jeans was a 6-pack stomach that I thought only exists in magazines. And the whole morsel was marinated in glistening sweat.

Whoa! Mr ManHunt 2011 had dropped by my house! As my eyes travelled up from stomach to face, I realized that it was Mr Scrawny. He was not smiling then (so you can't see his bad teeth) and he looked down at me with the smouldering intensity of... of... of... Tay Ping Hui in C.L.I.F.? It was hard not to stare at his abdomen. I don't usually get a chance to examine a 6-pack abdomen, and it was quite fascinating. It was all I could do to stop myself from grabbing a stick and giving it a good poke.

I never ever looked at Mr Scrawny again without imagining what he looked like without his shirt. Good thing he doesn't come around anymore.

For anyone who is thinking of going into building construction, please dun be a tiler because tiling works your hands and the rest of your body turns to flab. Think seriously about being a ceiling board installer because you gotta work every muscle in your body to balance and climb, and so you end up looking lean and mean and you know... just whoa!

The Sunbird's Larder

2011-07-12T17:39:00.003+08:00

There is a sunbird around my place that has struck gold in the form of my constantly fruiting curry tree. Most people know that curry leaves add a distinctive flavour to curries, but few have eaten its berries. I used to wrap the clusters up with plastic bags and pick the berries for my father-in-law. The old man loves it. Lately though, I have been too busy being a bitch (see post before this one) to be a gardener.

The sunbird concerned is very large. Much larger than the run of the mill sunbird... you know, the lowly sort of sky denizen that has no privileged access to curry berries on penthouse roofs. This bird is so fat that I am amazed that it flies. And it gets bigger everyday.

Curry berries taste really good I tell ya. There is spice that goes up your nose and a burst of sweetness that fills your mouth. But seeing the size of that bird, I am staying away from curry berries forever. That is fattening food.

I have been observing this bird's comings and goings for many weeks, too lazy to step out there and wrap the clusters up. It is a very discerning bird. It picks the berries that are just ripened... still firm but bursting with flavour. They get that way when they turn a rich purple black. With an expert twist, Little Sunbird snaps the berry off the tree and holds it with its beak open wide and then in a toss of its head, the large berry disappears down its seemingly small throat.

One less berry for me and father-in-law.

Being Bitchy

2011-07-08T08:55:00.002+08:00

I huddled miserably between the bedsheets 2 nights ago, cringing at the memory of the words I had said to some men that morning. There they were trying to resolve a problem on site of a staircase railing that did not run parallel to the steps. You know... a group of men, with their rumbling voices discussing an issue in a language I only half understand, and talking to each other above my head (since I am only short enough to see clearly up their nostrils when I look up at them). My small and squeaky voice made no dent on the hard shell of their rumbling conversation.

Words fell over each other in the interior monologue inside my head. "Gosh! I have NO idea what they're saying, and they don't seem to care what I think." And before I knew it, words formed in my throat and exploded into their midst like a torpedo, shattering the shell of their rumbling conversation held something like 300mm above my head.

"Just because I am a WOMAN does not mean that you don't have to listen to me. I am talking now and I expect you all to listen." I declared with a level stare at each in turn.

3 out of 4 men looked at me, shocked and embarrassed by my outburst. One said "I was listening to you all along." One said "No, no... we don't mean that. The third man's mouth popped open. The Husband, the fourth in the party, looked amused and waiting. Then I said, "I don't care what is done as long as the result is (1) the slope of the staircase railing runs parallel to the slope of the staircase, and (2) each staircase step is of exactly the same height.

You know how guys are. They're loud and their voices go boom-boom, and a woman's softer tones are lost in their sound waves. Normally, I would reach out to pat an arm or a shoulder to get their attention but I was feeling crabby. You would too if the bottom of your staircase where railings meet step, looks like the sharp pointed corner of a triangle, and you weren't sure whether this could be fixed in time to ensure that you can move in before you have to vacate your penthouse.

So... I huddled in bed miserably and sought solace from The Husband's approving eyes. "I'm a bitch huh?" I said, actually fishing for the comment "No, you're not. You're a sweet and gentle thing, and I love you and protect you." Instead, The Husband said "You were just being you. And that is good. A mother must know how to protect hers and her own."

But every woman wants to be a princess of sorts, where you spend your days looking gracious and kind and elegant. One would like to believe that soft power can bring results. The reality though, is that women have to look soft and BE tough, else the world will deal her kids and her family a bad hand. Sometimes, one just has to be a bitch/tigress/lioness... but this dark persona is just not something one wants to admit, even if the mirror shows her existence.

The good thing about The Husband is his acceptance of me, warts and all. And when the staircase railings were properly installed, he said "Good job, my wife. It is good to make your point heard when you have a good point." But well, I still wish I weren't so bitchy.

Rats Vs... This

2011-06-26T14:23:00.004+08:00

We have a dog.

We chose a puppy that we thought would grow up into a toughie. Except that we got THIS instead. THIS likes to dose indoors on a soft rug I bought specifically for the purpose. THIS likes to sit on women's laps and get his tummy scratched. THIS whines and howls piteously twice a week at bath time from behind a foam-covered snout. To hear him at bath time, one would think Petunia runs an animal torture house. One must never make the mistake of looking THIS in the eye at bath time because the look of utter forlorn-ness will turn your heart into melting ice-cream. THIS also eats carrots, pistachios and celery sticks because I do.

WHERE is the toughie I had wanted to guard the new house?

The question becomes salient because I have learnt that there have been sightings of rats at the new house. When work started at our site, I saw rat cages. On one occasion, I saw a baby rat in one of the cages. In the past months, there have been no rats at the worksite. I am told that the digging had disturbed a nest, but now the rats have fled the noise and the digging and the never ending pours of concrete.

But I have no doubt that the neighbourhood has rats. About 10 houses up the road, there is a square of shophouses with restaurants. Where there is food, there are rats, and 10 houses down from those restaurants, is Pet's House.

I was worried enough to borrow a book entitled "Rats" by Robert Sullivan. Now, my worry has turned to horror. Rats can chew through concrete and steel plates. They are only deterred by concrete mixed with broken glass and steel wool. Possibly because these cut their gums. In 6 hours, a dominant male rat can mate with 20 females. Here, the Husband turned to me and proclaimed his new found respect for rats. Each female produces 10 pups after 21 weeks. Immediately after giving birth, a female rat can get pregnant again. The ignorant critters have never heard of condoms nor The Pill. In summary, one pair of rats has the potential of 15,000 descendants in ONE year.

Rats can grow to a foot long, and in packs, have been known to attack humans and kill babies. On Rikers Island, a New York City dump, rats killed and ate farm pigs. They even devoured the dogs meant to kill them. However, scientists have noted that they would rather starve than eat raw carrots.

And all I have is THIS carrot eating dog to protect my house against rats.

Who is The Panda?

2011-06-24T10:43:00.005+08:00

The Panda's name is Weston Liew and Grandpa Panda is called Joseph Liew. Here are the two handsome Pandas. Yeah... I know... they look like brothers right? But no... they're Dad and Boy. Dad is on the left and Boy is on the right. Don't underestimate The Boy. He calls the shots.

The company name is Metropole Builders Pte Ltd and if you wanna engage them, you really should check out whether they are BCA registered (i.e., whether they are a licensed builder). They are at present licensed and are likely to be in future, but building a house is a very very costly endeavour, and so every individual should do his own thorough checks.

I interviewed one contractor last year who was not himself a licensed builder but was able to bid for my contract through his friend's company. I did not much like that for 2 reasons. Firstly, who actually would be legally liable when things go wrong? The contractor or his licensed builder friend? Secondly, is there something wrong with the contractor if he cannot get the BCA license? So I picked Metropole Builders instead... because they were licensed.

The main contractor is only as good as his sub-contractors are. So far, I have watched how Metropole's sub-contractors work.

The electrician (called Cliff) is careful and meticulous. He doesn't like to be taken advantage of and can be somewhat sensitive if he thinks people are trying to wrangle unfair freebies from him. But if you treat him fairly and respectfully, he is a wonderful... wonderful, very warm fellow who does a good job. I suppose that in his line of work, many people try to pull fast ones on the trades people, and that's what makes Cliff wary of house owners and their quest for freebies. And yes... he is a licensed electrician.

Metropole's plumbing sub-contractor (sorry, dunno name) sends a well tanned skinny person with a ready smile and a lot of enthousiasm for his work. He was competent enough to point out discrepancies in the architect's drawings and was most meticulous in measuring exactly where the pipes should come out in a bathroom. This has to be done before placing sinks and shower screens and all, and hence, it is somewhat more difficult because there are no reference points. I liked him enough that I bought him tea and buns.

Metropole's waterproofing people were real pros. They are authorised applicators of Quickseal, a well-established brand of waterproofing products. And I really liked the aluminium windows guy because he sounded a few alerts that prevented me from making bad decisions about my windows.

I was also quite impressed with the tilers. Such STRAIGHT lines!!

Joseph (Grandpa Panda) is at site every day. Some days, he tarries very long to supervise works that are a little complex. Other days, he pops in and out a few times in a day. Muthu is there all the time to make sure the team works seriously and well. Weston (The Panda) comes by about twice a day (like me). He is the one I turn to when I am unsure what to do. The Panda will patiently explain things to me and take time to produce solutions to my concerns.

For example, I was worried that the rain water down pipes would provide convenient nesting places for rats. The old house had a colony of rats that have fled or been exterminated by all the digging and building going on on my plot. It was Weston (The Panda) who very patiently helped me think through a solution and implement it. He is a trained civil engineer from NTU. You won't find many contractors with that kind of qualifications.

This said, I do feel that it is important to personally supervise the site as well. No matter how good the contractor, things slip between the cracks. I go to site twice a day and alert The Panda to things that I see. Sometimes, people forget. Other times, the owner just wants things done a certain way to be very kiasu. Unless you communicate yourself, the contractor won't know. Weston (The Panda) is easy to talk to, as long as you treat him with respect and give him his dignity.

But all men and boys are like that. Even Little Boy responds well when treated with respect.

The Panda's number is 81112332.

About Waterproofing Flat Roofs and Bathrooms

2011-06-23T18:35:00.005+08:00

I made a veritable nuisance of myself to The Panda over waterproofing. Thanks to the various roof leaks at the penthouse, Petunia was determined that there would be NO leaks at the new house. Dry is comfortable and wet is not.

There are 2 flat roofs at the new house. The thing about flat roofs is that they are cast in concrete, and whilst concrete would stop tanks and such, water just about thumbs its nose at it and seeps to wherever it wants to go. I was determined to make both roofs entirely impermeable to water.

Typically, flat roofs are waterproofed with liquid membranes. These membranes come in liquid form and when painted on thick upon the slab, they harden into a membrane that is impermeable to water. Once applied, it is very important NOT to tear the membrane with shoes, boots, pails and whatnot. Else, it becomes a plastic bag with a multiple holes.

I gave The Panda much grief over the waterproofing... I did. First, I went into a flap about the extra foam insulation layer that The Panda had very kindly wanted to include as part of my waterproofing system. These are hard foam panels that are laid on top of the membrane together with some other layers of thingies that altogether make your floor look like a hamburger before you slosh on the sauce (i.e., the cement screed).

I was afraid that the foam, having different heat expansion properties than tiles, would cause the tiles to expand so much that they would pop up. Then, I was afraid that tiles sitting atop such foam panels would crack if I placed heavy pots and trellises on it. So much for The Panda wanting to be generous above and beyond the contract specifications. I wasn't at all grateful.

Next, I made some noise when I noted that the wall across from my shower head was not treated with the liquid membrane. It isn't normal practice but I wanted it done because I was sure that the children would splash water all the way there when they shower. After Little Boy showers, you would think a tsunami had gone just through the bathroom. All that is missing are fish gasping for breath on the bathroom floor. Just about everything gets wet. Even though it wasn't normal practice, The Panda did it for me.

Then, I noted that a little wall that would get wet around those parts had not been completely built and therefore might not be waterproofed. I raised another stink. The Panda said that it would be done in due course, when it was time to raise that wall.

After that, I flapped like hen when I noticed that the cloth laid over the waterproofing membrane covered only part of the roof. There was quite a good reason for that and The Panda patiently explained. Later, I screeched like a parrot when I caught some of the workers traipsing all over the membrane trying to get some other works done. The Panda gave the workers a nice talking to via Muthu the site supervisor.

Indeed, it makes no sense for The Panda to do a poor job on the waterproofing because it comes with a 1o year warranty. If water seeps through, he would have to incur even more costs in repair. Hence, we both agreed that it was better to be somewhat a kiasu flappy hen than have to deal with leaks later. The Panda was a paragon of patience right through all my flappiness. I think Petunia the Flappy Hen will roast a relative for The Panda's favourite snack - roast chicken.

About Metal Roofs

2011-06-23T10:22:00.004+08:00

There is something about the sight of dampness on the ceiling that sends my blood pressure soaring. We had spots of roof leaks in various parts of the penthouse and they caused me no end of worry. Of course, the management committee fixed every spot because it is responsible for all roof leaks in penthouses. But it was a hassle still.

There is something third world-ish and forlorn about staying in a place that lets water in when it rains. Think a beggar dressed in rags crouching by a straw bed in the squalor of an abandoned buddhist temple with a hole in the roof and water dripping through. One cannot feel safe and warm when the roof threatens to pour a deluge. Maybe that is why cavemen lodged in caves, where the roof is as thick and strong as the whole mountain cradling the cave to its bosom.

It was for this reason that I requested for a industrial metal roof with double density heat insulation and an added cement board layer. The new house is much cooler than my penthouse on hot days. Metal roofs come in a few designs. The Klip-Lok design is what is commonly seen in the HDB industrial estates. It is also the most robust and leak proof of all the roof profiles... and is the cheapest. See picture here.

The very reason that makes the Klip-Lok is ugly is the very reason that it is robust against leaks. The seams (i.e., the ridges) are double interlocked and therefore offer added protection against leaks. But because they are double interlocked, they are also thicker. Roof workers can stand on these thick seams without fear of damaging the roof, and over time the double interlocking joints these Klip-Lok roofs wear better. When I did my research on roofs, a reputable roofing specialist explained that Select Seam (the most popular metal roof for residential houses) tends to spring some leaks after 5 years because the seams overlap only once, instead of twice. See picture here.

So how does Klip-Lok compare to tiled roofs? My clerk-of-works explained that tiled roofs tend to get brittle over the years, and when you send workers up there to do maintenance on whatever... the tiles can crack. Also, each tile is smaller than each sheet of metal roof. There are thus more joints. These joints are not sealed. A tiled roof works by channelling the flow of water from one tile to the next so that water does not drop through. However, if the roof pitch is too gentle, the flow of water moves downwards across tiles slowly and could overflow into the gaps between the tiles and leak into your house. I was told that a tiled roof should not be less than 30 degrees in pitch, whilst a metal roof can be pitched at 7 degrees only. It seems too, that in Australia, Klip-Lok is used often for residential properties. The notion that the Klip-Lok roof is a cheap factory roof seems to be a cultural bias specific to Singapore.

I'm trying to comfort myself with the thought that it's not WHAT you wear baby, it's HOW you wear it. I am hoping that my house can wear the Klip-Lok in a manner that would make it look good.

Hope!!

Where are Property Prices Heading?

2011-06-23T06:28:00.009+08:00

There was a time when the property market was in the doldrums and Wee Cho Yaw was buying up land parcels like they were chocolates and at exorbitant prices too (for that time). I had an inkling back then that he probably knew something that the general populace did not know. On hindsight, I think that this something might be the relaxation of immigration rules, leading to the flood of immigration that has fuelled the rising property prices and caused many Singaporeans much grief.

It was likely not a state secret even at that time, but the general populace (like you and I) generally doesn't recognise policy until it sits next to him in the MRT... and by then, it is too late to make an investment decision.

People like us see trees and miss the forest. People like Wee Cho Yaw see the forest so very clearly that they don't have to look at the trees. They can see trends develop before they develop. Partly, they see the terrain from a privileged perspective because they are way up there. Partly, they are used to looking for trends because seeing trends is how they make money.

Well... it seems that newly released land parcels aren't attracting the attention of property developers. For some reason, the big players have stopped buying. They're also rushing construction schedules so as to be able to get their units to market early. Are they afraid that if launched too late, prices may have dropped? AND Jackie Chan, who being an actor nothwithstanding, is a very savvy property investor. Well... Jackie Chan just sold a property for a tidy profit.

So, I'm thinking that property prices will be heading south in the next 2 years. The neighbour has been dangling his property for sale at something of an exorbitant price (for this time). He hasn't quite put it on the market. He has talked to me, looking quite casual about it... and he has talked to both The Panda and Grandpa Panda. But I wouldn't buy even if I could afford his exorbitant price.

Something tells me that the winds are changing. HDB regulations have widened the gap between HDB flats and private apartments. This effectively dries up demand from potential HDB upgraders. This takes away a great deal of demand for private properties. The flood of immigrants has slowed. This takes away even more demand. There are some concerns about China's economy. US fundamentals stay weak and the quantitative easing procedures don't seem to bring any real solution.

I really think it is time to sell, not buy. But well... let time tell if I am right.