A brain divided

It is humbling to realise that one can no longer multi-task as in the days of yore. All I had to do was prepare Sunday brunch for 7 adults. Sure there were more than a couple of dishes and I did have to keep an eye on the BBQ as well as the oven. In the olden days I could have done it, all the while nursing a babby from my titty and doing a load of laundry. Not anymore.
I stepped away from the kitchen for 'just a minute' and, upon my return, I was greeted with the shrill beep of the smoke alarm. My frittata was fried alright. Burned to a cinder under the broiler. To add insult to injury, I burned two fingers trying to remove the cremated offerings from the oven.
The thing is that I found it all kind of amusing. I left the burnt stuff on the serving platter on the counter for all to see. In another time, I would have sat myself down on the bathroom floor and wailed, not so much at the loss of frittata but at the loss of self. It's coming up to my ten year anniversary of the car accident that did my head in. I guess time does heal.

Joy

I had forgotton what it was like. The wild-eyed enthusiasm of a 3-yr old can't be beaten. All the questions. No sooner has one been answered than another one follows. Non-stop it was, last night. Non stop. I'm not complaining. I'm still in awe. Completely guileless, perfectly innocent, not yet ruined by TV, school or adults, the little fellow took me on a walk around my own house, examining the masks. Who is that? Where is it from? Is it heavy? Could I carry it? Can I touch it?
We did the tour three times. On the final tour, another Auntie accompanied us. He shared his newfound information with her. "This one is a King. See his crown."
We ended the evening over cheesecake, or, rather, me watching him put it away like noone's business. All is right with the world.

Visitors

My mother always referred to them as 'visitors'. You know, anyone outside the family who came to visit. Well, on Thursday I'm having Visitors. What makes this lot particularly un-appealing is their rotten 3-year old boy. The family is lovely, even the little lad -quite lovely. His 11-month old sister - lovely. It's just that there haven't been any small kids in our house in years, and this child has crazy ADDH, and we have a pool. Add to that the fact that he, by his father's admission, is the pickiest eater in the universe and that dinner, for him, can take up to 2 hours with his parents pleading with him to take just one bite. I cringe in anticipation.
Yet, being my mother's daughter, I will try to prepare an assortment of food for the wee lad and cater to his tastes, all the while, fixing fabulous grilled lamb cutlets and filet mignon for the adults in the party. And, of course, I should keep the eyes in the back of my head fixed on the pool.

Oh, and before they ever set foot on my doorstep, there's the cleaning to be done. Got to go. Bye!

Fall

It's beginning to feel a lot like Fall. I wear a jacket all day and my little ankles are cold. I'll soon be hauling out the panty hose. I hate how my feet smell after wearing those. But what's a girl to do? I also need a haircut and, ahem, a color enhancement. Ever so slight, of course.
Being the cheap skate that I am, it's L'Oreal or the other one. All for less than 10 smackers.
Seeing as I have come down from my ivory tower and abandoned my stylist of 15 years, Peter, for the generic who-so-ever-is-available at the local Vietnamese salon, I will waltz in after work one of these evenings. There's one guy barber who actually gives a crap. I find myself asking,"Are you done yet." I don't ask out loud. He seems to be meticulous with the scissors, and he doesn't engage in conversation with the stylist next to him as some of the ladies usually do, which I find intensely annoying. It's not the fact that these conversations are all in Cantonese, it is that I don't feel as if my hair has their full attention. If I say anything, will their razor suddenly slip? Still, what do I expect for $12?

The foot

The foot isin't broken. While It wasn't able to bear weight for a few days, it allowed my middle-aged body to gain weight. Curses! Of course, I wear it none-too-proudly, like a girdle. Now that I can almost fasten my walking shoe - the real pain is in the still-raw abrasion on top of the foot - I am determined to go back to walking the streets surrounding my office building.
Apparently, in an effort to make me more productive at work (okay, just plain productive) I am supposed to be on the lookout for 'something positive' that I have never seen. Iam supposed to appreciate my surroundings. I've been walking the same streets, the only things that are not constant are the new batch of fellow humans with whom I share the sidewalk. I tend to avoid my fellow humans. I fear eye contact. I fear being approached, being asked for anything. Don't ask me for directions, that is, unless you want to end up in Timbukto.
Soon the leaves will be falling, I guess that will be something new...

Just call me Igor

Yesterday, a part of my desk that is not 'securely fastened' fell on my bare foot. I was on the phone at the time so I had to stifle my scream. There was a bloody abrasion on the top of my foot. I'm sure that area has a particular name, I just don't know what it is.
I walked around the office like Igor in Young Frankenstein for the rest of the day.
Today is another matter. I can't put the bloody thing on the floor. It won't bear my weight. I have resorted to hopping on my left and then balancing by putting my right heel on the ground. It's a bit tricky and were it not for the current purplish color of the darn thing I wouldn't have made a doctor's appointment for this evening. All expeditions away from my desk have been cut to the minimum. I've had my lunch delivered to my desk, my green tea heated up. I am a lazy git! My tummy is swelling up from inactivity. I'll probably gain a few pounds from lack of exercise.

Bad Feng Shui

A woman came in this morning with a voice that could peel paint. I'm used to the shrill tones of Cantonese, one of the ugliest languages on the ear. But, here arrived this 5 foot-nothing-in- stillettos, speaking Mandarin at a mile a minute, gesticulating wildly, hair all askew. Ugly, I tell you. Just plain ugly. I know how to count to ten and say all of three words in mandarin. One didn't have to be able to speak the language to know that this woman was just a little 'off'.
After she made her second exit (Oh, yes, she came back.) I hoped that would be the last of her.
I am still wondering if I should be waving sage fronds around the office to get rid of her negative energy...

Another day at the grindstone

There's nothing worse than finding a grown man lying prostrate at your feet in gratitude. He was trying to thank us for helping him with his case. It involved a young fiancee and a none-too-helpful consular officer in the nether regions of the globe. Anyway, I would have thought that finding someone thanking us at that level would have been gratifying. On the contrary, it was horrifying.
"Please stop, please get up..." We ended up begging him. It was uncomfortable watching him cry and behave in this manner.