It seems a little cruel . . .

There is a bathroom next to the gym in our complex that is for handicapped people. But there is a sign on the door that says, "This door is locked. If you need the key, please come to the guard house." To get to the guard house, you would have wheel your way up the circular ramp in that area, hang a left, then another left, then another - all uphill by the way. Then after rolling for about 100+ feet, you turn right and heft your way another 30 feet further up hill, around the barrier and up to the guard house, where the window might be too high for you to see in. Once you get the key, you'd have smooth gliding back down to the bathroom, provided you made it that far.

Does this strike anyone else as a bit cruel? At the least not exactly inviting to those physically restrained.

Lazy Winter Day

The sun is going down, though we never saw a peep of it today. I know this only because the light in our house is dimming. The candles and Christmas lights we've had lit are no longer sufficient light for reading books and playing games. It's been as close to a winter day as I've ever had here - the kind of day when nothing can induce you to go outside, and everything invites you to hunker down with a good book and a cup of something warm and stay til the storm blows over.

It hasn't been a lightning storm, but an unrelenting heavy rain that has poured since this morning. I'm glad we had nothing planned other than homeschool, because the laws of physics keep me bound here - I am an object at rest. After homeschool and lunch our kids vegged out with Scooby Doo (can I just comment that as an adult, you see your favorite childhood shows in a different light. How dull were those teenage sleuths that though they solved dozens of mysteries, they always began their operations on the assumption that ghosts were real?). I indulged in one of my favorite forms of therapy - baking. I made brownies, a failed attempt at apple cranberry oatmeal muffins (never mess with a recipe you haven't tried) and baked sweet potato fries. Our living room is scattered with half a dozen board games which the kids got out. They haven't made it completely through any of them - it was like game overload. We ate the fries, they splashed in the tub, and now Ethan is conducting experiments with ice and water (specifically how long it takes ice cubes to melt in different temperatures).

So that's as close as I'll probably get to a lazy winter day. When I talked with my parents this morning, they were holed in by winter weather as well, but significantly whiter and prettier. My upside is no shoveling.

Our Christmas Tree

It is a running joke in the Brenna family that I hate Christmas tree shopping. I may have described it before, but our memories have morphed into one recurring episode: We choose to hunt for a tree on the coldest day of the year. I am underdressed as usual. My parents choose a new Christmas tree farm that promises the best trees. When we venture into the lot, we discover one tree that we all love, but my mom insists we must look around to make sure it is the right one. Then my family starts to take sadistic pleasure in my negative attitude by throwing snow at me. My mom finds a "perfect" tree at the other end of the lot, but by the time we gather everyone together to assess it, someone else is cutting it down. Defeated, we go back and cut down the first tree we found.

It probably only happened like this once or twice, but I gained such a reputation that when we flew back for Christmas in 2003 and I was in a friend's wedding, my mom said, "Ok, so we'll take the kids to get the tree while you're at the wedding," to which I replied, "You can't get the tree without me!" No one was more surprised than me at that statement.

Well, our Christmas tree outing was quite different here. I might grow to like it. Our artificial tree that we purchased in Asia 8 years ago for the bargain price of $12 finally bit the dust last year. We decided to spring (and I mean spring) for a real one. The kids were thrilled. We went to one of the nurseries on Thompson Road where trees stood in rank according to their height. Even within height (we chose a 5-6') there was quite a variation. I think we got the best of the bunch.

Erik was a bit out of sorts (and if you know Erik, you know things have to be seriously wrong for that to happen) because the tree stand we bought leaked. He drove back and got them to replace it, and now our beautiful tree is filling the front window. This is the first year in Singapore that we've had space for a tree this size! I'll post decorated tree pictures as soon as I get my camera's battery charger back from its trip to a friend's house, and after we get more lights. You can never have enough lights.

Crazy Storm

There are two situations in which I am most grateful for my car. Both of those situations occurred yesterday. The first is driving to a faraway location only to discover it is closed for renovation. You'd be surprised how often this happens. Our venue of choice this time was the Reptile Park. Normally I'm frustrated by this, but the Reptile Park was long overdue for a tune up. I'm thankful for my car, because I fool myself into believing that it didn't cost me anything to drive that far and be turned away, even if gas is $5 a gallon right now. I know that's not true, but it feels true.

We decided instead to go to IKEA. I wanted to find a Swedish Christmas tree (if you don't know what that is, google it). Where else but IKEA? Yet they disappointed me. Only real trees with sparse branches. Upon leaving IKEA, we encountered my second great-reason-to-have-a-car: torrential downpour.

We planned to drive down Jalan Bukit Merah to get to the Central Expressway. Theoretically IKEA to our house should take us about 25 minutes. After waiting at a light for 15 minutes before the CTE, I started thinking something was up. Ethan said, "Hey! Look at the flood!" Sure enough the ditch to our left was flowing with several feet of brown water. Then he said, "Hey! Look at Megan's side!" On our right, the water on the other side of the road was level with the median. The kids were thrilled, but I thought, "This might not be the best place to stay right now." Thinking that the stall probably meant deeper waters ahead, I turned the corner . . . only to find two of the four lanes completely submerged! I hadn't been there more than a minute when we were forced into one lane. The kids continued to think it was fascinating until I suggested we pray that God protect us and get us out of there. I took the next corner and realized that although I was out of the worst, I had no idea where I was.

I navigated back to familiar territory, but that meant I was downtown, nowhere near a fast street. I found myself stuck at another stop light because of a blinking light and what looked like three buses in an accident. After sitting there for 20 minutes, I took a left to what I hope was a faster way (still had to wait for the light to change 5 times). Of course to make the story more interesting, my gas light came on while waiting for the first stoplight. I know we can drive for awhile with the light on, but I wasn't sure how long my car could be running, sucking down that precious petrol, before we became another casualty of the rain.

It reminded me of driving through snowstorms in Minnesota - the same number of stalled cars and accidents, the same slight feeling of "I really shouldn't be driving in this." Yet as I drove by the 30 people long taxi queues at every store, I was still thankful for our car.

Altogether it took us an hour and a half to get home. You're hard pressed in Singapore to drive anywhere for an hour and a half. On a good day, I could be a fair bit into Malaysia with that amount of time. But to drive in one direction in Singapore for that long? Hopefully that will never happen again.

I tripped

I told Erik a few days ago that I felt like I was on a treadmill that was set just a little too fast. Do you know that feeling? Like you could sustain this for a few minutes, but eventually it's going to catch up with you and it's quite likely you'll trip, fall flat on face on the treadmill and slide off the end into a heap on the floor.

Today I think I hit that point. All week I've felt like I was just running from moment to moment, trying not to be overwhelmed by all I had to do, knowing full well I couldn't get it all done and feeling frustrated by all that I was letting go. Are my standards too high? Oh, quite often. I don't think that was the culprit this week. It was probably just the fact that I hosted about 20 people at my house for Thanksgiving and my life normally has very little margin anyway so that pushed me over the edge. Or off the end of the treadmill as it were.

I woke up this morning a full two hours later than usual, ate breakfast and went back to bed. If it weren't for the fact that I have two kids I simply can't ignore I'd spend the whole day horizontal. As it is, it looks like I just have to pick myself up and get back on that machine with a hearty "Help me Lord!" Thank God we decided not to do homeschool today!

Pasir Ris

This week marks another holiday we don't celebrate (Deepavali, or Diwali as it's also known) but which affords Erik a day off. In the afternoon we drove up to the northeast coast of Singapore to Pasir Ris, which is what they call that area. We intended to go horse back riding, but found that for $10 we only got a ride around the corral. Megan was desperate to go, so we paid for just her. Ethan in the meantime petted a horse nearby. It began as an amicable relationship, but the horse took a nasty turn all of a sudden and nipped Ethan in the stomach. By bedtime he had a large swollen bruise there. I think the chances of us getting him near a horse again soon are slim.

Megan was thrilled though with her 5 minute ride. It would be great to do riding lessons for her, but they are US$25 for 45 minutes. We'll have to think about that one.

We ventured down to the beach and poked around, then did a quick geocache. We finished our outing at Pasir Ris Central, which is a big shopping area. Thankfully it was overcast (it's getting into the rainy season now) so it was "cool."

I miss autumn

I am a cold wimp. Really, I always have been. I think living in Singapore just . . . set it free. I'd love to say it's because I don't have enough fat on me, but I think the more likely culprit is my ridiculously low blood pressure and flow. There's just not a lot of action inside my body keeping me warm. As Erik and I say, "I'm cold from the inside."

But this cold from the inside girl has been longing for some nice fall days lately. I've become so accustomed to constant weather that I am astonished to open my msnbc webpage and see that my hometown is 33 degrees right now. Granted, it's 4 in the morning there, but I don't even remember what that feels like. Right now, I want to remember.

I want to rake a pile of leaves and feel the dry stiffness of the grass as I do it, then jump in the leaves. I want to step outside and smell snow in the air. I want to huddle under a blanket at a football game with my hands wrapped around a cup of something hot. I even want to wonder at a sunset that starts before dinner.

In all my time in Singapore, this desire has been almost void, except in our first few months here when it felt strange not to have seasons. Now I feel like experiencing that would feel completely new to me.

Obsession

Here's Ethan, in the back room of my parent's basement, doing what he does best and most. We finally set this up in the summer to avoid having Legos everywhere, under couches and inside dogs.

This is Ethan's obsession. Every morning it is the first thing he does. Whenever he's instructed to spend some time alone, he finds his Legos. Not only is it what he does, it's all he talks about (as he himself admitted earlier today).

On the one hand, I'm glad to invest in this. It's sparked his creativity like nothing else. Even though he has a lot of sets, he often combines them, or challenges himself to take all the pieces of one set and make something original. But when every conversation revolves around which set he'll buy next, what level he's on in Star Wars Lego computer game, what Exo-Force character can do what, it gets a little tiring. Still, there are worse things that could occupy him so for now, this is his world.

Thursday in Vietnam

I tried not to do it, but it was really hard to keep any images or quotes from Good Morning Vietnam from running through my head as we headed off to Hanoi on Thursday afternoon (sans children who were delighted to have a whole weekend with friends). That movie's the only impression I have of Vietnam, that and the sense that if I were Vietnamese, I don't know that I would like Americans very much.

I expected something crowded, like Bangkok, but the airport was still, and the air outside smelled like a giant bowl of incense. We placed our fate, as we have done so many times now in Asia, in the hands of a stranger with a taxi, trusting that he would ferry us to our hotel by the most direct route and not swindle us. It was hard to get an idea of what we were in as we drove through the dark, seeing only a few narrow houses popping up here and there. It was strange to be driving on the right side of the road again - why can't we all just pick one side and stick with it?

At the airport we had changed some money into Vietnamese dong. We walked away with over 1,000,000 dong which made us feel quite rich until we handed over nearly 200,000 to our cab driver. Easy come, easy go.

We stayed at the Sheraton because we had lots of points that made it free. That was a blessing, but it stood in such contrast to its poor surroundings that it felt unreal. After a very warm welcome, we grabbed some room service dinner and settled in for our weekend in Hanoi.

Friday in Vietnam

Staring out our 15th story window, I couldn't see more than a mile because of the smog. Our view looked down on the InterContinental, where a steady stream of motorbikes brought workers three rows deep behind the hotel. The city woke up early, the streets dotted with pointy woven hats (they actually wear those? I thought only tourists did!) and motorbikes fighting for the roads.

Our objective for Friday was to explore the city and buy some paintings as a 10th anniversary gift to ourselves. The concierge looked dubious when we told her we planned to walk to the Old Quarter - the recommended area to see in Hanoi. She was right to have her doubts, as it was a few miles from our hotel. But along the way we were able to take in the feel of it - the buildings 4 to 5 stories high and one room wide, each a different color from the next, like it is against the law to have the same as your neighbor; the massive amounts of wiring hanging over every street; the people selling everything from kleenex to plastic bowls to snacks along the road. My personal favorite was the women carrying fruit balanced on two large flat baskets, hanging from a pole over their shoulders. A man in a pedicab hounded us to take him for a ride. He even showed us a sign that said, "The money is not the important thing. It is the pleasure of giving you a ride," or something close to that. We didn't bite - it was too interesting to take it in slowly.

Once in the Old Quarter we booked a tour to HaLong Bay for the next day, and were given assurances that we would have the "superior" tour with a comfortable, air-conditioned bus for the 3 hour ride and that our boat would have lovely lounging chairs. We also rented a motorbike from the same agency so we could look as much like locals as possible (though me clutching my Lonely Planet Vietnam in one hand while we rode might have given us away as tourists). Then, on the recommendation of our concierge, we headed to the south part of the Old Quarter to see if we could find a camera. Yes, I know, we have a wonderful camera. But that camera stopped at the Hang Ten clothing store counter at the airport in Singapore and did not continue on the journey with us. I can't tell you how many times I kicked myself during this trip because I didn't have my camera. Erik said he couldn't be mad at me for leaving it there because my self-punishment was more than enough.

No cheap cameras to be found, we gave up and went to Hang Trong street where there was rumored to be lots of good shopping. We spent the better part of the day looking at paintings, trying to decide which was best. In the end, we decided to think it over and found a place for a good cheap massage (gotta love Asia for cheap massages). Our dinner was next to a beautiful Catholic church where they were holding a wedding. Can you imagine a priest chanting in Vietnamese?

Our ride home was a little harrowing, since we weren't familiar with the one ways. Thank God for Erik's aunt and uncle who got us into geocaching this summer so that we now own a GPS. If not for that, we might still be driving around lost in Hanoi. Thanks Bill and Jan! So our GPS guided us back to the Sheraton where we watched 3:10 to Yuma, which is a good movie. I won't mention how we obtained said movie. A very full but enjoyable day in Hanoi.

Saturday in Vietnam

Erik and I ate an early breakfast at a little place we found outside our hotel called The Kitchen, which served western breakfast. We changed a little money at the desk (if you call 1,600,000 dong a little, which it kind of is), then we scooted as fast as we could down to the travel agency fearing we would miss our bus. Then we waited for 1/2 hour. The bus wasn't the luxury vehicle we imagined, and we were stuck in the back seat with a Vietnamese family for 3 hours, but seeing the Vietnamese countryside was interesting. If you've ever seen the famous picture of the little girl burning from napalm during the war, you have an idea of what it looks like - open fields broken by cement buildings, usually 3 or 4 stories high. We passed several villages before we stopped at a large store run by the children of war victims. I wondered a lot while I was there how the Vietnamese feel about Americans. There were few of us there - most foreigners were from elsewhere. Every old person made me wonder what memories were stored up in their minds.

We landed at HaLong Bay around noon and climbed aboard our ship, which did not possess the white lounge chairs we were promised. Still, we were able to enjoy the view and the breeze from the top as we navigated through "so many beautiful islands" as our guide kept reminding us, jutting out of the sea. HaLong Bay means "descending dragon bay" for reasons that aren't clear to me due to our tour guide's heavy accent. He said he was previously a college professor, now he's a tour guide, but next year he'll be a lawyer. Being a lawyer pays about the same as tour guide he said - roughly $1,000 US a month.

We docked at one larger island and took a cave tour. Then the best part, we turned around and stopped at a floating fishing village - these people live on the water all the time! - where we spent an hour sea kayaking around the islands. I love my life.

The ride back felt longer, especially since when we pulled into Hanoi we saw the bus pass our street, then proceed to drop off everyone else except a man and his son, which took more than 1/2 hour. Using our trusty GPS we found our way back to the hotel and collapsed into bed. All in all, a fascinating day. I'm glad we took the time to see something outside of the city.

Sunday in Vietnam

Our first order of business/pleasure was to enjoy the facilities at the Sheraton, which stands in sharp contrast to its surroundings. We worked out on the treadmills, then grabbed a bite at The Kitchen, despite Erik's desire to try something new. We spent the rest of the morning by the pool. I took a nap! It was glorious. Those of you who know me know that napping is not my forte.

Erik managed to find the one geocache in Hanoi so we set off on the motorbike to find it. It's hard to blend in when you have a map in one hand and a GPS unit in the other. Also the white skin gives us away. This cache was an "earth cache" where you just take a picture or answer questions. It was the crash of a B-52 bomber in the dirtiest excuse for a lake I've ever seen.

Erik got his way with lunch - we found a place whose name is escaping me, but the seats are all old rickshaws. The food was ok, but the atmosphere was fun. We had a few more items to buy - I wanted a set of bamboo serving bowls and a few gifts for family. It was sad to drop off our motorbike, but we felt enjoyed the feeling of a safer mode of transportation as we walked back to get our paintings. Back to the hotel to pick up our bags, where Erik tipped the bell boy a whopping 10,000 dong. I mention this because as much as we appreciated his help, we were exactly 10,000 dong short for our taxi ride back to the airport. I ran inside with a Sing $2 bill. I went to the first store I saw and said, "Change money?" She looked at me and said, "2?" Then handed me 20,000 dong, making it the easiest transaction ever. I did get shafted a bit on the exchange, but that's ok.

So what are my impressions of Vietnam? I was surprised by how undeveloped it was, but delighted by the many ways people still use old modes of business and transport - the women with their balanced baskets, people selling things along the road, makeshift everything. I kept trying to imagine living there, but it was hard because I'm used to seeing the whole spectrum of living standards, from "Never in my wildest dreams could I afford that" to "Lord, thank you that I don't have to live there." This was mostly all the latter.

On our way back through the airport we picked up our camera, no hard done aside from the agony of missing so many photo ops. It will just have to exist in my memory.

Singing the Praises of the Paint Man

The reason I haven't posted pictures of our new place is because I wanted to wait until it is painted. This has been a long process for me because when it comes to paint I am a psychotic, uber-particular freak about getting the perfect colors. The poor man, Jason, who owns the Jotun paint store in Holland Village here has had to bear the brunt of my psychosis (with my husband Erik a close second).

I first brought him paint samples (Pumpkin Patch, Lavender Veil, Summer Day) from the U.S. which he scanned and reproduced for me. One out of three worked. Then I went back with Pottery Barn books and new paint samples. He patiently made more. Then I brought back the 6 different liters of paint he'd already made and he spent 2 hours fiddling with them to make them just what I wanted. This man is stellar. He laughs at me because I drive down there all the way from Upper Serangoon, but what can I say? The guy is a color genius. He stared at a green he had made for the homeschool room which I wanted to look more like the green in the Pottery Barn book for some time until he declared, "I know what you need! (a Valium?) You need more red!" And voila - my perfect color.

He came over yesterday to inspect our place and give us a quote. I would happily pay him whatever he asked since he's been so helpful, but his quote was quite reasonable and he's coming in a week to paint. He commented that we have huge cracks in our walls that will need replastering. He offered not to do it to save us money, but not doing it means it will require more paint. Doing it also may help appease our landlady when she sees I've painted my bedroom Pumpkin Patch.

This kind of personal service and accommodation are somewhat rare in Asia. I guess that's a by-product of capitalism which doesn't have as much of a stranglehold here as it does elsewhere. All I know is that if someone in Singapore wants to paint, I know just the guy.

The Smell of Death

I should have acted when Ethan commented to me, "This part of the kitchen smells." He was by the toaster. Certain parts of our new kitchen have a strange smell, something like mold or dust, despite my best cleaning efforts. I dismissed it.

Tonight while Erik and I were doing the dishes, I said, "It really does smell over here." Then I discerned the source of the smell.

When we first moved in, we discovered that there were several small house geckos who already lived here. They were quite bold, too bold in fact. I decided we didn't want any squatters so I bought two gecko traps. I put one in the kitchen and one in the living room. Then I forgot about them.

Guess what - they work! I picked up the one in the kitchen tonight and saw two sets of blank, lifeless eyes peering out at me. As is my custom when I encounter small harmless critters in my house, I squealed and threw it at Erik. He said, "Ah, so this is why it smells like rotting flesh in here."

I vow to listen to Ethan the next time he says something smells.

Leaving Eden Prairie

Our last day in Eden Prairie, MN, we did a little photo shoot with Erik's family (minus Andrew, who's in Japan).