BEATING THE WINTER BLUES

I love all the four seasons. Correction…I love all the four seasons but truth be told getting through winter is a wee bit more difficult. Slippery footpaths, falls, frozen windscreens, thick bulky jumpers, cough and cold make great whining starters. So I learn to fortify the mind and make a conscious decision to enjoy winter. Yes, enjoy winter amidst the frost and blustery winds.

I think most of us spend every day tending to the needs of others first, ourselves last….whether you are a young mother or someone older, as long as there is someone around for us to mind. So for a change, how about minding ourselves , body, soul and spirit, during winter?

Caring for the body is actually the easiest of the three. I can write a book about it but will limit myself to three examples here.

First if there is a bathtub, then a good warm soak is a very kind thing to do for the brow beaten body that has been on its toes 24/7. Creating a relaxing ambience is very important. A tealight, soft french music from the phone (make sure it is far away from water), a homemade lavender bath bomb and a handful of epsom salts can do wonders. I have learnt to shut the noises out of the mind and actually do nothing for minutes on end. And after that is done, nourishing the skin with lots of body lotion is a must. Not just any lotion (like the complimentary leftovers from some hotel) but the one that I chose and bought for myself. Fragrance is a very personal thing.

The winter bug is very prevalent and I believe in prevention. The importance of a nutritious diet rich in vitamins that boost the immune system coupled with regular exercise cannot be understated.

The winter damp also exacerbates the aches and pains that I had acquired from physical injuries at the gym or otherwise. I am not a fan of pills and painkillers so I root towards external herbal remedies, which take time to be effective but are less intrusive. My beloved calls such remedies, curry paste rubs and potions.

I would like to think of the soul as that part which consists of feelings and emotions. For me, feeding the soul with the things that I like to do, makes me happy.

 I find myself indoors most during the winter so it is a great time to paint, sew and to craft. It is the time to catch up with my reading and writing.

Like Marie Kondo, decluttering, organising and giving away to charity brings me much joy. Drawers are filled with neatly folded socks, kitchen cabinets are lined with attractive containers to house the utensils and even the eggs look very pretty when they sit in perspex egg boxes. 

Even my labrador knows he has to wipe his paws before he enters the house. When he hears the command, ‘Paw wipe’ he’ll lift his paw one by one for me to wipe his paws with a clean towel.

And then there is spiritual care.

Hibernating polar bears do not eat. So I find that as I use less energy during the winter, fasting off food is much easier. January is one of my fasting months, more so because it is the beginning of the year and I would like to get things in order for the year by seeking the Lord and trusting Him as I lay my plans and the plans/desires of my family and friends before Him. And He does not disappoint. Strongholds are broken miraculously and I know  the LORD God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The LORD will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right. (Psalms 84:11)

So, the verdict is I love winter just the same. I may not feel the heat from the sun but the beloved is with me and that is what matters.

Ushering in THE CHINESE NEW YEAR OF THE PIGGY 2019

I’m terribly excited about Chinese New Year 2019 because this is the year where I celebrate my favourite four-legged creature. Pigs are smart and loyal. If only I could have one as a pet!

Incidentally, this is the best age yet as I'm finally eligible to join the prestigious turtle club. It is quite a milestone because only people who have lived through several decades are automatic members without having to pay subscription.

Was it that long ago when I was a member of the unicorn club and running the rat race?

The turtle club is something else. I would like to think that the mature members are calm and secure and completely at peace with themselves. In fact, I can even hear the primordial OM sound ringing in my ears.

But happily we still recognise each other as dementia hasn’t set in yet but for the odd instance where everyone has a senior moment as in, ‘Where did I leave my car keys?

Now is the time to dye my hair purple, and not just to wear purple like Jenny Joseph suggests. I’ve done my fair bit of travelling to touristy spots so onwards to darkest Peru or to the heart of Africa. All at once, I dream that I’m running with the gazelle only to realise that I might end up as fresh kill for some predator as I’ll be moving at a much slower speed than I imagine. The spirit is willing but the body is weak. I have to mind myself now, making sure I don’t trip over that Lego block that some child had left on the floor.

I will finally have that birthday cake with so many candles. It is good that I do not have dentures because the last time my friend blew out that many candles, her false teeth flew as well.

I am still delusional though. I can look into the mirror and try out the dresses that have been in the wardrobe for the last ten years and like Tanya in Mammamia, with great confidence I’ll flick my hair and say, ‘Baby, you do good.’ Be gone, Botox, I won't ever need you.

I love this delicious sense of calm, confidence and clarity of purpose. There is certainly more disposable income to enjoy the fun things in life. There are more good stories in my jar of memories - a jar that has a screw tight lid so none will fly away.

It is all about choice. I don’t have to suddenly become defiant because I have never lived for the appraisal of others anyway nor have I been pigeonholed in convention. I can choose to sit in front of the TV all day and lament about my aches and pains (I worship the magnesium spray) or I can choose to be among friends and do the things that make me happy. I am not going to re-brand myself, instead I am a new version altogether.

Do I envy youth? No, been there, done that.

Do I succumb to the allure of  cosmetic surgery to give me a boost? No, I can hold myself against picture perfect, air-brushed images of what women should be.

It is all about having gone through so many challenges with a new sense of achievement and self worth. Those difficult circumstances did not forge the end of my world.

I will not retreat into shapeless clothes, tweed skirts or brown cardigans. The creative soul in me is outraged by the misconception that you need to dress down or wear your hair in a certain way. 

Neither will I let reading glasses with chain attached dangle over my neck. Nor will I go round dishing out unsolicited advice on parenting in particular. My only concession to my great age is sensible walking shoes.

Is there still a greasy pole to climb? 

Being at home surrounded by my hobby crafts is entirely blissful. The creaking hasn’t started yet and I take pride in saying that ‘I am a free woman’.

I enjoyed my days with my students at the university very much but  ever since I clocked out of the office for the last time, going back to work had never appealed to my new found freedom. 

                                   HAPPY DAYS WITH MY STUDENTS AT THE UNIVERSITY

                                                                       (1983 - 2010)

I saw David Attenborough’s 90^th birthday celebrations on telly and he is still in his element and as bright as a button. There is no stopping for him and already he is planning some new wildlife episodes. 

When I am 90, I want to be like him. Charming and clever still.

Now that you are a turtle, what will you evolve to in the next decade? The beloved asked.

Well, I could very well be the phoenix, rising up from the ashes with power and grandeur..... 

Just watch and see, I said.

FIRST DAY BLUES

                                                                                                            

Now that the long school vacation is over, children and teens are heading back to school. It seems like eons ago when my mother held my hand and walked me to Charleston Kindergarten, my very first foray into formal education.

And indeed it was very formal. I was six but I had a lovely blue and white uniform and white socks and white BATA canvas shoes. I learnt very quickly how to wash the shoes once a week and put a layer of chalk over them. So, the shoes were very white and clean on Mondays and quite sad looking by the end of the week.

The more well-to-do kids had several pairs of shoes and their shoes were always very presentable whatever day of the week.

My first reading book was the Man and his Pen. I enjoyed Macmillan’s children’s readers and Mother Goose rhymes and art class. I also liked a smart looking boy who sat three rows in front of me. I found out later that he was the son of the manager of Odeon cinema.

But I was terrified of being called to the front of the class to tell the time by moving the hands of a cardboard clock. I know it is daft because I knew how to tell the time. Maybe it was the fear of making a mistake with so many eyes staring at my back.

I looked forward to recess time where I could play hop scotch, tag or hide and seek and police and thieves. Simple games that involved lots of movement and left us sweaty. I can’t always trust my memory but I don’t remember using a tumbler or a lunch box. Instead my mother had packed for me Milo in a bottle with a screwtop cap . My mum had also made for me a quilted carrier to keep the Milo warm. I also had a packed lunch - rice or sweet buns, never sandwiches.

I loved studying and still do.

It’s strange to see generation after generation of tiny feet entering the hallowed halls in the quest for knowledge. It all seems very different now - heavy school bags, different curricula, different activities.

One thing remains the same: there are those who blend in happily with their new friends and surroundings and there are those who find it traumatic. And it is not always the child.

My friend Alex who works from home is one of them. Surprised to see Alex at the swimming pool the other day, I asked him whether he had taken some time out. He said he had just dropped his youngest at the school gate and with his hand on his chest, he looked downcast. It wasn’t separation anxiety. I think Alex felt the anxiety of letting-go. His baby was taking one step away from him.

He said, ‘I was really looking forward - buying the books, getting everything in order. I even assured Aoife that school would be over before she knew it and she would come home again. 

You know what? 

The moment she reached the school yard, she just waved goodbye to me, walked straight into her class and didn’t look back!’

It was another stage of fatherhood. Aoife had finally joined the ranks of full-time schoolkids. Alex didn’t feel like he had been released from prison to enjoy more me-time, well, not yet anyway. Maybe he felt that his services were no longer needed. Maybe he felt a tinge of betrayal.

Like everything else, adaptation to change takes time. However prepared we are, we can never really anticipate how we feel when the moment arrives.

In situations like this, I dislike others giving me standard responses like ‘Oh, you’ll be grand. It’s just a phase. You’ll get used to it.’ So I refrained from giving him unsolicited advice and trite comments.

Instead I just listened. What he needed was someone to talk to and probably time to adjust to change.

And he knew he had my support.

A YEAR OF THANKSGIVING

I was organising my ribbon stash - those left over bits and pieces after we have opened the Christmas presents- that I do not have the heart to throw away because they are too pretty and perhaps one day I might have use for them, when I decided to look for the cellotape to stick the loose ends together.

That is when I saw that the end of the cellotape was neatly folded over so that the next person using it would have no problem finding the end of the tape. Believe me, finding the end of the cellotape could be tricky business if you have short nails. The whole procedure could end up in frustration especially when the tape decides to split into two lengthwise.

Now, I knew I didn’t fold the end of the tape and my daughter Sonya was the last one who used it, so probably she did it. That certainly spelt focus, forward thinking and most of all consideration for the next user.  

Thinking of the whole 365 days, I can only sum it up with one word: THANKSGIVING.

In Malaysia, we have Thanksgiving night on 31 December, and I sorely miss this.

We would go to church around 9pm and after praise and worship, we would testify of what the Lord had done for us for the year. It was altogether very spontaneous and after the initial hesitation, more and more would go up to the pulpit and grab the microphone because our hearts were bursting with joy and gratitude. When the children were young, we would even bring pillows, bolsters and comforters along. Then the countdown began and we would usher in the new year.

I am thankful for my family and for the privilege of being a wife and a mother. I am thankful for my beloved because he is constant and a great support. I am especially proud of my children and my friends ask me how I have raised them to be who they are today: focussed, independent, forward thinking and considerate.

People say there is no guidebook for parenting, but I choose to differ. I rely heavily on 3 great sources: the Bible, the good practices of my parents/culture and the knowledge that I am the parent.

The Bible is the basis of love, forgiveness and discipline. It is the moral yardstick of bringing up a child to worship God and to live a life set apart from the acceptable but unhealthy practices of the world. The child knows how much he is loved even in his mother’s womb. (Psalms 139). I wouldn’t have a clue about parenting if God hadn’t given me the full proof guidelines.

I am thankful for the fact that I am born Asian. The values of respect and honour for others, especially our parents and those who are older than us, are ingrained in us from a very young age. My son Samuel would buy back supper (chilly clams - my favourite) for me when he returned home late at night or drive me to IKEA just to browse.

When I was in Dublin having lunch with my daughter Audrey, she made sure I started my meal first before she ate her first bite. (媽媽，請吃飯). Another mother who was sitting at the next table overheard what she said and jokingly chastised her daughter for not doing likewise.

I am thankful that I am not afraid to be the parent - to call a spade a spade or to address the elephant in the room. I am not afraid to set boundaries and to discipline or to let go and let the child reap the consequences of his mistakes and I will not be too quick to rescue him. Believe me, the parent feels more pain when the child suffers for his follies. I have the privilege and the authority to stand in the gap and intercede in prayer and fast so that they will grow in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man. (Job 1:5; Luke 2:52)

I am not afraid to teach even though it could be difficult when viewpoints differ.I asked my daughter the other day to videotape herself doing some winding down exercises because I wasn’t doing enough cooling off exercises after the gym and I needed to learn how. When I told her that the recording was splendid and very clear, she said, ‘I learn from the best teacher.’

 
 

I am thankful for the bountiful harvest. Everything that we planted and nurtured, blossomed and fruited. There was a great abundance of food. I pickled and froze the surplus (and that will last us till next summer) and we blessed others with our produce.

I am thankful for the many friends that I have. Friends who are caring and loyal and encouraging. Friends in different parts of the world who have touched my heart.

I am thankful for all the trips that He has given us this year - some for pleasure and some for necessity. I went home three times this year and He proved His faithfulness over and over again. Miracles happened and health was restored. Transgressions were forgiven and reconciliation occurred.

God has given us so much and He has been very faithful to us in every sense of the word. He has never failed me and in Him we have no lack. His blessings have been poured out on us, pressed down, shaken together and running over. (Luke 6:38)

Like Michael Caine in the Muppet Christmas Carol, I will sing on this last day of 2018…

‘Yes and every night will end, and every day will start

With a grateful prayer and a thankful heart…’

A LITTLE BIT OF CHARITY THIS CHRISTMAS

It was an icy cold Sunday morning and I was thankful that I had found a parking spot. It wasn’t easy to find one as the streets were busy and people were rushing here and there. I headed towards the church, head bent low against the ferocious wind and feet shuffling on the side walk as fast as I could to keep warm and to get out of the cold quickly. The thought of  colder days ahead wasn’t exactly very pleasing.

Then I heard a voice, ‘Any spare change for the homeless?’

I looked up and saw an elderly man with dishevelled hair sitting on the steps of a public building. He held out an upturned hat to me.

My head told me to move on quickly because he might not be a genuine case of someone in need of help. He could be part of a bigger syndicate, he could be an ex-murderer having served time or he could have been irresponsible in his youth (which led to his present predicament). In fact I never forgot the time when my father gave ten ringgit (2 euro) to a beggar who upon receiving the money, instantaneously headed to the nearest alcohol store to spend his new found wealth. But my heart told me he could have fallen between the cracks or was just a victim of unfortunate circumstances.

Why are there so many homeless and displaced people on the streets?

Homelessness in Ireland is an evolving social issue.

According to FocusIreland, the number of families becoming homeless had increased by 24% since July 2017. If before it was due to the pervasive impact of  the Great Famine (1845 - 1852), 20th century homelessness was associated with senior males who might have alcoholism or addiction problems.

The present day homeless population includes women and children as well. The reasons given are possibly the economic downturn coupled with the impact of reduced familial incomes, mortgage arrears and rental increases.

Having a home is a basic need that many of us take for granted. I have never been without a home. I cannot imagine what it is like to be caught in such a situation - to not know where your next bed is, to be constantly on the move and to be surrounded by fear and uncertainty.

The street lights are all up now and the stores are beautifully decorated for the season. People are busy doing last minute shopping to get all the presents to put under the tree. Chimneys are puffing smoke as fireplaces are lit. Mothers or fathers are labouring over the hearth preparing the children’s favourite meals. Even pets have their own special treats and tiny coats to keep their bodies warm.

And amidst it all,we do not see or we choose not to see the needy who are lying in our path. When a homeless person is found dead in a derelict building in Limerick, then there is public outcry and tributes start pouring in.

So I walked on and entered the church and soon the congregation started to sing. Except that I couldn’t sing.

I walked out and went to the nearest cafe and bought a takeaway meal and a cup of hot tea. Then I walked back to my car.

The elderly man was still sitting on the stairs.

I put some money into his hat and I gave him the packed meal and tea.

‘Is this for me?’ he said barely looking up.

I replied in the affirmative and decided to chat with him. Did he have children? Yes, a son who is living with his girlfriend. He had been sleeping rough for sometime now.

After that I walked back to the church for the rest of the sermon.

I know I can’t help all the homeless but just for that day, someone who could be my father or my brother, had a hot meal on the steps of a building on O’Connell street.

            Have a Blessed Christmas.

STEPPING INTO NARNIA

When I was a child I didn’t dream of visiting Disneyland. Instead I wanted to go to the land beyond the wardrobe. I wanted to go to Narnia, where it was perfectly normal for animals to talk and there was a free flow of Turkish delight. My sister had bought us a complete set of The Chronicles of Narnia and at ten they were the best books ever!

So like Lucy Pevensie, I pushed the soft folds of the clothes in my mother’s wardrobe hoping that I could go deeper and deeper beyond the back of the wardrobe so that I would feel something soft and powdery and extremely cold beneath my feet. I was hoping that I would see the lamp post and that Mr. Tumnus the faun would be waiting for me.

 C. S. Lewis had captivated children of all ages with his Narnia tales which had sold 100 million copies worldwide. As a young boy, Lewis spent much holiday time in the Mournes and Rostrevor in particular. He is reported to have written a letter to his brother saying: “That part of Rostrevor which overlooks Carlingford Lough is my idea of Narnia”

And the wonder was still there when I followed the Narnia trail in Kilbroney Park in Rostrevor, County Down and entered the magical doorway. The door has become an icon in ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ which is the first book in the series,I saw the beaver’s house, the castle Cair Paravel, the dancing lawn, the four thrones and most of all the lion Aslan himself.

The image of the door captivates me.

Whether in ancient mythology or in dreams, the door symbolizes the transition and passageway from one place to another. It stands like a divide between belief and disbelief, between cowardice and valour, between betrayal and reconciliation and between life and death.

It is the process of transition that is the most difficult. We can come out of challenges remaining unchanged or we can experience significant character development. Lucy Pervensie in her simple trusting nature embraces a new life beyond the door but the other characters did not believe her initially.

The door is both full of potential and limiting because we do not know what lies beyond. We can open the door to new knowledge, to liberty and to change. We can open the door to a new self or we can choose not to open the door.

What is it that prevents us from opening the door?

Most times it is the ego. The ego that resists change. The ego that resists being taught. The ego that resists being humbled. The ego that struggles to say I am wrong and you are right. Or we can keep the door closed to harbour a secret. We feel safe behind a closed door because we are familiar with the same old, same old.

At the end of the first book, the Pevensies asked Professor Kirke how they could return to Narnia if they wanted to. His advice was, “Indeed, don’t try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you are not looking for it.”

There is wisdom in that. It takes time for someone to be ready to open the door to something totally different. And just when you are not trying so hard, all at once everything falls into place and the transition becomes effortless.

MUCH TALK ABOUT NOTHING

I was in a confined space for 20 minutes with 2 strangers. It was a totally relaxed space and there was nothing to prevent me from listening to their conversation unless I had ear plugs on. Let’s call the two men Paddy and Ollie.

Paddy: ‘ I was driving to the stadium yesterday for the match. **** the jam was so long you couldn’t bear it in this cold! And the lads were getting hungry and were asking for Supermac’s! **** asking for chicken when the cars are choc-a-bloc! So I called my aunt and asked how she was doing. Grand she said. She was watching the match on telly. And here I was in this ****jam. By the time we reached there it was half time! Then there was this….

Ollie: My lad’s going to San Francisco this weekend for a match. Imagine, all the way there. He’s in Cork you know. Did Masters in Education there and never came back to Clare…..

And both of them went on and on and I wished I could record it all because the talk was so colourful, so random and so peppered with expletives that even your grandmother would blush. I couldn’t find any full-stops in that talk.

Was that a conversation?

It certainly wasn’t a heart to heart or a head to head conversation. At best, it was a talk, albeit an informal one, between two  people, in which news and ideas were exchanged. Paddy and Ollie probably met each other before and knew each other by sight. They were busy talking about themselves and I wonder how anyone could keep track with all the meandering of topics. Was that a dialogue?

A dialogue can mean a focused and intentional conversation - a space where those who differ may listen and speak. It can also mean a way of being - mindful and creative relating - where we set aside the need to win, so we can hear other voices and possibilities. In this respect, no, it wasn’t a dialogue.

Both were too absorbed in talking. You couldn’t get in a word erstwhile and I was actually counting the seconds when Paddy would stop talking and Ollie begin. I wouldn’t be surprised if no one was listening except me.

I am told that this is the way conversations go in pubs as well. It is no wonder when the beloved goes to a local and I ask him what did you lads talk about? He said, ‘Nothing’.

I always wonder why people talk so much and listen so little. I say listen because people hear more than they listen.

According to the dictionary, hearing is simply the act of perceiving sounds by the ear. If you are not hearing-impaired, hearing simply happens. Listening, however, is something you consciously choose to do. Listening requires concentration so that your brain processes meaning from words and sentences.

We choose to hear what we want to hear and we jump to conclusions. Then we react because we think we heard what we imagined we heard. Give me one person who listens before he speaks then a thousand who hear and babble. If only we engage more in appreciative listening, critical listening, relationship listening and discriminating listening.

And when we actually talk, make the talk worthwhile.

There is a place for small talk like being caught in a jam or going to Supermac's 
for a chicken dinner. 

 But that should not be the be all and end all of conversations. 

Certainly it is very ‘safe talk’ because you are not sharing anything substantial. 

But this is very superficial and I can’t see that as a basis for friendships. 

It’s always nice  when some one says, ‘It was a pleasure talking to you.’

I enjoy good conversation where you can walk away sharing a little of yourself and knowing a  bit more about your friend to appreciate her better.. Even if I were to be in the midst of strangers, it would be such a delight where everyone is given a chance to participate in a discusssion on things that they know or do not know.

So after a good 20 minutes, Paddy and Ollie decided to leave. And they turned to me and said,  bye, see you later.

So at least they knew I was there.