Crabby Old Woman

I received this in the mail from Kathy. It's a poem about an old woman. I'm not yet a geriatric but I think it encapsulates well the feelings of an old person.

Sometimes we tend to dismiss old people as having little or no worth. We're impatient with them. We don't have time for them. They slow us down. We forget they've once been young. They've eaten more salt than we have rice. They have their own self-worth. They're aren't bags of left-overs to be tossed to the cats.

Be careful how we treat old people. Because that is how our offspring may treat us when we're wrinkled and bent. As the bible says, do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Treat old people with respect. That's not just an Asian value. It should be a universal value.

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SOME GREAT WORDS OF WISDOM FROM LISA MORISON - well worth a read and reflection.

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near
Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that
copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you're looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
"I do wish you'd try!"

Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not,
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of ten
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she'll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
That I promised to keep

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
And a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me
To see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman
And nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigour depart,
There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living
Life over again.

I think of the years
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer . . . see ME!!

Angiogram

A blah! week since last Friday when mum was warded for unstable angina. She was discharged the next day. She has a heart condition brought on by hypertension, diabetes and high cholesterol.

Took her to UMMC for a doctor's appointment yesterday and scheduled an angiogram in March. Here's some info on what an angiogram is all about. I've reproduced it here.

A coronary angiogram (or arteriogram) is an x-ray of the arteries located on the surface of the heart (the coronary arteries). It helps the physician to see if any of those arteries are blocked, usually by fatty plaque. If so, the patient An angiogram is an imaging test used to visualize the size, shape and location of blood vessels.may be diagnosed with coronary artery disease (CAD).

A coronary angiogram is often conducted along with other catheter–based tests as part of cardiac catheterization, which also includes measuring blood pressure, taking samples for blood tests, and a left ventriculogram.

During an angiogram, the physician injects a special dye (contrast medium) into the coronary arteries. To do that, the physician inserts a thin tube (catheter) through a blood vessel, usually in the upper thigh, and guides it all the way up to the heart. Once the catheter is in place, the physician can inject the dye through the catheter and into the coronary arteries. Then the x–ray can be taken.

Although the physician typically numbs the area where he or she inserts the catheter, the patient is awake for the entire procedure. The patient receives a mild sedative before the procedure and does not ordinarily feel the movement of the catheter within the blood vessels.Balloon angioplasty and stenting are procedures to increase blood flow through a narrowed artery.

Depending on what the angiogram shows, the physician may recommend treatments such as medication, a catheter-based procedure (e.g., balloon angioplasty, coronary stenting) or surgery (e.g., bypass surgery).

Here's a very detailed explanation on what happens during and after the angiogram.

We'll get a clear picture when the angiogram's done. Are there blockages in the arteries? If so, how many? She's a likely candidate for heart attack but she says her heart is okay. I hope her optimism is rewarded.

P/S : I know this sounds so clinical and cold but I'm not in the mood to write something emotional.

Ode to Sunset

This is a poem I wrote for a Creative Writing Workshop by Prof. Archie Markham. It was organized by the British Council in 2000.

ODE TO SUNSET
Lydia Teh

Orb in flaming copper hue,
so gingerly, so gently flowed
down hill.

Blue twill navy frill,
a patchwork stitched with skill,
orange, red, yellow,
purled in silky boundary,
a many coloured tapestry.

Seamless it moved
hues changed, texture bent,
silvery grey tinged fringe,
off and on they meandered
new designs they stitched

Inky net fell quietly
the girdled masterpiece within,
patterns, hues all obscured
nuances, shapes all eclipsed.

Desperate Housewife

Coincidence can be downright weird. I just had a good dose of it.

See, I had sat down to write about me being a Desperate Housewife. That I'm not like any of the glamourous DHs on the drama series but if I had to choose one of them whom I resemble the most (not in terms of looks, okay, so don't flame me), I'd say it's Susan.

Then on a whim, I decided to check out their website, just to make sure I get all their names correct. So I logged on to their website and hey, there's a quiz on "Which Housewife are You?" I took the quiz and guess what's the verdict?

"Lydia is the Susan of Desperate Housewives."

"You always mean well but somehow things don't always work out as you'd planned. It doesn't matter. You take your tumbles with good grace and always come out smiling. But try to remember you're the grown-up in your family."

I took the quiz a second time with a slight variation in quiz questions and guess what? I'm still Susan.

This is really weird. I'd thought that I was like Susan because she was a writer and the most likable of all the DHs. I was always rooting for her.

Anyway, back to my original intent of writing this. I'm not like :

Bree because she's too neat and obssessed with housework and perfect cuisines.
Gabrielle because she's a devious slut.
Lynette because she's too confrontational and ambitious (but I can identify with the chaos with four kids).
Susan because she's a single mom and too dependent on her daughter (but she's a writer and she's nice and so am I).
Edie because she's not married, how can she be a housewife? Anyway, she's sluttier than Gabrielle though she has some other redeeming qualities.

If I have to choose which DH I am, I'd be a composite of Lynette and Susan.

Drama series aside, I really am a desperate housewife. The normal, unglamourous, clad in t-shirt-and-shorts type. What am I desperate for? In no particular order, I'm :

Desperate for money.
Desperate for a clean house.
Desperate for a get-away.
Desperate for a manicured garden.
Desperate for the kids to grow up.
Desperate for a movie which doesn't feature Robin Williams.
Desperate for hubby to walk in the door and say, "Honey, I'm home" and give me a peck on the cheek.
Desperate to write that best-seller.

With that last bit of desperation there, I'm out of this blog. For now.

Steaming Eggs

I don't usually cook rice in a rice-cooker. I steam them in a double boiler as I don't like to use one big pot which can cook up to 12 cups rice, to cook a measly 2.5 cups.

Recently my mother-in-law gave me a used rice-cooker. It's an old National model with a squat body and a stainless steel cover. I figured I might as well regress in my use of kitchen appliances as modern ones have let me down. I've scratched two non-stick rice cookers so badly that I dared not use them anymore for safety reasons.

Using an electric rice-cooker has its advantage. I can steam food on top of the rice. Steamed egg was on the menu for dinner today. So I cracked two eggs into a stainless steel plate, added in some hot water (just read somewhere that cold water makes the egg mixture froth) and salt. When the button popped up signifying that the rice was cooked, I quickly put the egg mixture on top of the rice. If I dawdle, the egg will not be done perfectly.

The steamed egg turned out beautifully. It had the smooth consistency of tau-foo-fah. Mmm... mmm... But it wasn't flawless. There were yellow specks of egg yolks. I should've beaten it more thoroughly.

Steaming egg in a rice cooker is the way to go. If steaming it in a wok, one has to keep the fire on low-to-medium. If the temperature becomes too hot, it curdles up the egg and makes it look like sandpaper.

Don't ask me for measurement. For everyday dishes, my cooking uses the agak-agak (approximate) method. If you're a novice, you may like to try out this recipe I found at Recipezaar. You may want to cut out the garnishing if you'd rather keep it simple.

Steamed egg

2 eggs, beaten
150 ml water
salt
1 pinch white pepper powder
1 teaspoon oil
1 teaspoon garlic, peeled and chopped
1 teaspoon spring onions, chopped
2 teaspoons soya sauce
1 tablespoon water
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon tomatoes, chopped (to garnish)
1 teaspoon spring onions, chopped (green portion only, to garnish)

Method :

1. Beat eggs, one at a time, in a bowl.
2. Add water, salt and white pepper powder.
3. Pour into a serving bowl- preferably, stainless steel or ceramic.
4. Steam for 8 minutes.
5. Now heat oil in a pan.
6. Add garlic and spring onion.
7. Stir-fry for a few minutes till the raw smell of garlic is gone.
8. Remove from heat and put on the steamed egg.
9. Put soya sauce in a bowl.
10. Add water and sugar to the soya sauce and mix well.
11. Pour this mixture over the steamed egg.
12. Add a tsp.
13. of chopped tomato and a tsp.
14. of the green portion of the spring onions as a garnish and serve immediately.

If you have some crab sticks in your fridge, slice some into the egg mixture. Not only does it lend colour to the dish but it tastes yummy too.

Mystery of the Vanishing Entry

I posted a new entry last Saturday. It just disappeared into thin air. It wasn't on my blog at all. How did that happen? Just this morning, it was there. Even the link that I had put in the Category entry wasn't there.

Any cyber-sleuths out there who can solve this mystery?

Love Letters

I've got plenty of love letters. Don't you just envy me? I've got an entire Milo tin of them. They're in my pantry, waiting to be transferred into a cookie jar for guests who come a-calling during Chinese New Year. People who live in this part of the world know that these fan-shaped, crispy, sweet wafers are also called kuih kapit. But Love Letters sound nicer. At least folks who have never got a real love letter in their lives, can boast that they've got plenty of love letters and they get to eat them too.

February 14 is round the corner. It's just another day for hubby and me. We don't celebrate it, not when we were courting, not now. But many couples will be in a flurry, wording the perfect prose or poem to express their love. For those who are words-challenged, it doesn't matter that they can't pen a love letter to save their lives. The florists, confectioners and gift vendors are there to make life easy for them, for a price of course.

Happy Chinese New Year.

The Dogged Cobbler’s Story

The Star, 27 Jan 2006

For once, the talkative Eh Poh Nim is rendered almost speechless by the cobbler’s touching tale.

EH Poh Nim is at the sidewalk cobbler’s to repair her sneakers. While she waits for the man to repair her shoes, she notices a little sign that says, “Dogged Cobbler”, resting against the wall.

“That’s a strange name for a cobbler,” she remarks.

“I’ll tell you my story. Then you won’t think the name strange,” the man says as he glues back the sole which had come loose.

“I once worked in a pet shop as a dogsbody, running around doing menial tasks. My boss was a good friend of mine until an incident threw our friendship to the dogs.

“I was carrying some Dalmatian puppies in my car when I stopped to pick up a custom-made doghouse from the carpenter. When I came back, I found that the puppies had been dognapped.

“My friend fired me although it wasn’t my fault. I had locked the car before I went off and was gone for only 10 minutes.

“Later, I found out why he reacted that way. He had fallen for my girlfriend and was looking for an excuse to get rid of me. And that woman dumped me for that dog-faced baboon!

“I tell you, Miss, for six months, I led a dog’s life. I didn’t work. Just hung around the house watching TV and reading newspapers. My room was a doghole.

“One day my mother gave me a small bundle of papers. She said, ‘I know you’ve been hurt, son, but it’s time to move on. Do you know what these papers are? They’re pawnshop receipts. I’ve pawned all my jewellery and there’s nothing left to pawn. Where do you think money for food and rent comes from? We’re dog poor and you don’t even know it.’

“She said, ‘You’ll have to pull yourself together if we’re going to have a dog’s chance of survival. Would you rather I go out and work? It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. Don’t cower like a frightened puppy at the slightest threat. Give yourself a chance. Every dog has his day, you’ll see.’

“I stared at my mother. She suddenly looked so old and frail. I felt so ashamed of myself. I went out that day to look for a job and I came across a cobbler mending his shoes right here.”

“You mean at this very spot?” Eh Poh Nim asks.

He nods his head. “As luck would have it, the Indonesian guy was going back to his country for good. He wanted to sell off his business dog-cheap. The next day I returned with a small deposit for him and he taught me the ropes. A week later, using money borrowed from my cousin, I paid him in full.

“On my first day of work, I returned home dog-tired. But for the first time in a long while, I had a good night’s sleep. So here I am today, the Dogged Cobbler. I chose this name to remind myself that I have to be persistent in order to succeed. One day I’m going to have my own shoe-repair shop.”

The Dogged Cobbler puts down Eh Poh Nim’s repaired sneakers in front of her.

“There you go, Miss. They’re as good as new now.”

Eh Poh Nim inspects her shoes and nods her head in approval at the handiwork.

“I hope you achieve your dream soon.” She pays him with some dog-eared dollar bills.

“Thank you. Gong Xi Fa Cai to you, Miss.”

“ I hope the dog year will be prosperous for the Dogged Cobbler. Bye!”

The Three Little Pigs' Edible Houses

Once there were three little pigs. They went off to the forest to build their own homes.

The first pig met a man carrying doughnuts. He bought the doughnuts and built a house with them. Along came the wolf.

Knock-knock.

Who's there, said the pig.

It's the wolf. Open the door!

No, no, not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin, said the pig.

Then I shall huff and I shall puff and I shall eat your house up, said the wolf.

And he huffed and he puffed and he gobbled up the doughnut house AND the little pig.

The second pig met a man carrying papayas. He bought the papayas and built a house with them. Along came the wolf.

Knock-knock.

Who's there, said the pig.

It's the wolf. Open the door!

No, no, not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin, said the pig.

Then I shall huff and I shall puff and I shall eat your house up, said the wolf.

And he huffed and he puffed and he gobbled up the papaya house AND the little pig.

The third pig met a man carrying durians. He bought the durians and built a house with them. Along came the wolf.

Knock-knock.

Who's there, said the pig.

It's the wolf. Open the door!

No, no, not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin, said the pig.

Then I shall huff and I shall puff and I shall eat your house up, said the wolf.

And he huffed and he puffed and he tried to eat up all the durians but the thorns on the durians hurt him so much that he shouted, Yikes! Help! and he ran all the way back home.

And the third little pig was safe.

THE END.

This is a new version of THE THREE LITTLE PIGS. I have two other wacky versions. Will post them up another day.