Good Fences Good Neighbours? (The Fence Part 2)

We haven't even attempted to put up the fence yet. It's been one thing after another and somehow, none of us have been able to settle on a weekend. Marathons for Jay, travel for me, health reasons for Mr. Madbrit, and on top of it all, the weather has been dismal for outdoor activity.

But this story isn't about my fence.

Steven's home is coming along nicely:- for Steven. You will recall Steven decided to build his home in my backyard. Well, not literally, but about as close as someone could and not actually be in my back garden. The foundation was laid, the frames went up, sheet rock placed and right now they are putting on the roof. I've learned something about Steven. The man likes things large. Remember he put in those cattle farm posts? Well, those things dwarf in comparison to the monstrosity he's erecting. Through the sparse, sad trees that are standing, this mammoth structure looms, visible form every window facing what was once lush vegetation.

But again this story isn't about the eyesore from my window.

Let's get to the tale. Steven is, to put it plainly, paranoid in the extreme. He has stuck no trespassing signs all across the back fence, separating his property from all of us on J*** Drive. There they are, as proliferate as campaign posters from rival parties plastering every spare surface. It leaves one in no doubt Steven is not up for visitors. Even our pushy, presumptuous neighborhood Avon Lady will have reason to pause and perhaps lament the lack of capitalistic opportunity from within Steven's mighty door. He has shown no interest in befriending his new neighbors and has in fact treated every approach of a friendly inquiry or conversation with wariness and suspicion. He is also extremely territorial. This is evident in the way he meticulously combed the property line, pointing out to each of us every brick or paver that strayed onto his property. So, how can all this paranoia not translate into potential drama, which, for the last 6 years, has been the essence that has fed and satisfied the residents of J*** Drive?

Enter stage left Coo Coo John. He goes by various other names: Crotchety Old Man, Orange Man, The Nut in the Corner House; you get the drift. John is a nightmare. He was medically discharged from the military because of his mental instability. He then moved into our neighborhood and made it his life's ambition to harass and annoy every neighbor possible. John thrives on bullying. He stalks his "prey", discovers what sets them off and proceeds to taunt them every time an opportunity presents itself. John walks his dogs on other peoples property never picking up the presents it leaves behind, bottle of beer in hand and a gun in a holster on his hip. He shoots fireworks, aiming at the roofs of the neighborhood homes, rides his scooter, again beer in hand and gun on him, all around the subdivision and engages in taunts and trespassing whenever he can. In other words, a thoroughly unpleasant boor. We've all had run ins with John and we've mostly learned to ignore him or call the police if we can't.

Back to Steven's fence. I am sure you know where this is going. Those no trespassing signs flapping innocently in the wind are tantamount to the proverbial red cape. In this instance the bull is our neighborhood troglodyte. Coo Coo John was handed Steven's trigger on a platter and ran with it. He bent Steven's fence to where he could had easy access, and proceeded to trespass onto Steven's property at every given opportunity. And just to make sure Steven knew he's been there, he leaves cigarette butts and empty beer bottles scattered around. As related to me by my neighbors, when asked, they fervently pointed Steven to Coo Coo John's doorstep where words were exchanged much to their delight. The predictable result of this heated exchange was Coo Coo stepping up his trespassing campaign and taking great delight in provoking Steven.

As for the rest of us neighbors, it's showtime. We've stocked up on the popcorn, brought out our deck chairs and have sat back waiting for this exhilarating drama to unfold. There is no love lost for either party and honestly, if one gets carted off to jail for doing the other in, there won't be a tear shed from the lot of us.

As for the saying, Good fences make good neighbors, well, not in my neighborhood. Fences seem to have some magical ability to create discord to a ludicrous degree where we live. And right now, we're loving every minute of it.

Lightly Steamed With A Drizzle of Olive Oil

The emergency buzzer honks and flashes like a panicked and demented goose caught up in a string of flashing Christmas lights. Startled, everyone at the front desk jumps, looks up and Ike makes the move. It's the panic button for the Men's Steam Room. Ike's sprinting as fast as he can but we wish he'd go faster. The noise is horrible and anyway, there might be a patron in there having a heart attack.

It finally stops. Oh thank the Lord it finally stops! That alarm has to be experienced to fully comprehend just how incredibly abrasive, obnoxious and startling it can be. It doesn't take long for Ike to return to the front desk. And he looks peeved. It takes a lot for Ike to look peeved.

"Is everything alright in there?" we inquire.
"No emergency." Ike says.
"Accidentally pressed?" we ask.
"Not at all. He had a reason for pressing it." Ike replies.
"Well?"
Ike sighs. He proceeds to tell us. He got to the steam room as fast as he could, opens the door and peers into the moist, foggy haze. In there is a little man, naked, and sitting, completely relaxed. Ike asks if he's okay.
"Oh I'm fine." the man replied.
Ike asked if he was the one who pressed the emergency knob.
He admits it was him.
"What's the problem sir?"
"No problem at all. I was just summoning someone from the front desk to adjust the steam room's thermostat. It's not warm enough."
REALLY?? ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME??? Summoning us, his little minions put here to exclusively do his bidding!! At this point, my imagination would have me grab the obnoxious imbecile, drag him to the shiny red knob and bang his head against it, pointing out that the bleeding he was now experiencing from his open wound constitutes an emergency. Raising the temperature does not! Yes, you are all quite familiar with my anger issues by now.

I don't know what went through Ike's more gentle mind though, but he pointed out that the knob was for emergency purposes only. (YOU THINK??!) But knowing Ike, he was far too nice about it.

I looked at Kat, the lovely young lady who worked with us and told her to let the patron know in a polite but firm tone that he is never to do that again and if he had any trouble, then he was welcome to come and see me.

The steam rooms at our Fitness Center! There is a love hate relationship with them. The patrons love them and the staff hate them! There has been more drama, controversy and complaints centered around those two rooms than anything else in the facility. Who could imagine the contention, ruckus and embroilment two little muggy spaces would spawn. Who would imagine the quirky, bizarre patrons we would encounter.


There is a retired Colonel we call Colonel Grapefruit. He loves the steam room. Very much so. During the room's daily morning clean, Colonel Grapefruit would walk in naked except for a tiny towel around his middle and hover less than a foot away at the unfortunate staff person who is inevitably on his knees, scrubbing. Colonel Grapefruit will always pleasantly ask when the steam was coming back on. So, you ask, what's so bad about that? Well he wasn't called Colonel Grapefruit for nothing. The poor person cleaning is usually at eye level with the Colonel's um, how can I put this delicately.... "twin boys" which are playing peek-a-boo from under the minute towel. And they are, I have been assured, the size of the above named fruit. Cleaning time has been changed several times to avoid the Colonel and his wares, but it seems the good Colonel has no fixed time except mid morning and more often than not, he is there with his dainty towel, jovial attitude and his capacious man-parts proudly dangling away.

The ladies on staff don't have it any easier.

When I first started working here and was a lowly but happy towel folder, I cleaned the ladies steam room. I enjoyed the task as it was my quiet time and I was left to myself. Most of the time. One day I found some green, slimy strips scattered around the room. I couldn't make out what they were. Then one morning, I happened to be in the locker room when this woman breezes by with two bowls and a bag, heading for the steam room. Curious, I took a quick peak at the bowls. One was empty and the other had seaweed strips in it. Seaweed? DING!!! LIGHT BULB moment!! My mind is flashing just like the Christmas goose emergency buzzer at the front desk. Only without the sound (Oh, thank the Lord!!!).

"Ma'am!" I say. "Are you going into the steam room?"
"Yes, dear."
"Ma'am, you can't take your seaweed in there."
"Why not?" she asks.
I read and pointed to our Spa Regulations, posted on the door of the steam room. Reg #4: Personal grooming is prohibited. This includes but is not limited to shaving, hair removing creams, ointments and oils for any purpose.
"This is seaweed. It isn't an oil." she countered.
"It's for personal grooming." I said firmly. I was on shaky ground, but I had to try. I had no clue what she used the seaweed for, but whatever it was, it was clogging up our drains.
"Well, I do massage my body with it." she admitted (HUH?? Personally, I'd prefer to eat the stuff with some raw fish, but to each their own.)
"I'm sorry Ma'am. No seaweed."
She mumbled something about me being unreasonable but shuffled back to the locker room to put her goodies away.

We've also had the occasion where complaints were made about ladies deciding to get intimate with each other. I can only imagine how disconcerting witnessing that can be!

Jamie had a moment where she responded to the Christmas goose emergency buzzer. It turned out to be a woman, stark naked, rubbing herself with olive oil with one hand and pushing the emergency knob with the other. Jamie asked if she was alright and she looked at Jamie like she was half witted.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just trying to raise the temperature with this button." (Who's the half wit now??)
Jamie, with the patience of a saint, explained what the big, red knob was actually for and then addressed the olive oil situation. The lady was not pleased. Tough, babe! We are not The Rachel Ray Show where you are the steamed meat being basted with extra virgin olive oil! Trust me lady, all the olive oil in the world, extra virgin or otherwise, is not going to turn your mutton into tender lamb!!!

No "Tale of The Sweltering Saunas" would be complete without a mention of the rather plump, young marine who tore off our Under Repairs sign and turned on the steam. I asked her if she realized the sign said Under Repairs. Bless her heart. She rudely and dismissively told me that of course she saw it. But too bad because she had to and was going to use it anyway. It turns out she was 5 pounds overweight for bi-annual weigh-in which was taking place in 2 hours. I'm afraid I wasn't very gracious. I rather condescendingly told her that it was just a steam room and not a miracle chamber and she should have thought about her weight issues 6 months ago. I then told her that if she tried to turn the steam room again, I was going to call security.

In all honesty, none of us on staff would weep one bit if those moist, muggy chambers were to be taken away and turned into something else (more lockers come to mind). However, the patrons enjoy it, especially after a hard workout. It provides relief from muscle tension and stiff joints, supposedly improves blood circulation and aids lymph detoxification. And, no matter responsible or inconsiderate, it is there for the benefit of the patron, as is the rest of the facility.

So, bring on the boors and the weirdos. They make for an interesting tale. But more importantly, they are the meat and material for my future bestseller!

You will get a copy of it won't you?

The Fence: Part 1

"What do you think they're doing?", I asked my neighbor as both of us stood in our back gardens. She was looking over her 4 foot fence and I was standing on my unfenced property.

We were looking at the property behind us. The woods that once was; thick, lush, beautiful. Alas, that is no longer the case. About a month or so ago, the owner of the woods came through and decided he was going to clear part of it and build himself a home there. He then proceeded to mow down about a 10 foot clearing between our properties and put up some massive fence posts. Beyond the posts he left about 5 to 6 feet of trees and then a big clearing where he will build whatever he intends to build.

"Don't really know." said my neighbor. We started speculating. Some of the other neighbors think it might be cattle. That is unlikely as we are zoned as residential. But whatever it is he's doing, it's certainly not adding to the beauty of what it once was. My neighbor and I made the usual tut tut noises about what the world was coming to that people could rip away nature with so little thought and then we left it.



Over the next week or so, we watched sadly as more trees were mowed down. Then one Sunday morning, I look out and saw a new fence. My neighbor's 4 foot fence was now a 6 foot fence. Curious, I went and asked why. "We're not comfortable with strangers and workers being able to see us in our pool." she said. "Plus you now have people walking their dogs back there. So much more traffic since he cleared that path."

She was right. Random people were now using that path to walk their dogs through the woods. I love dogs, but I do not love their owners, especially when they leave little presents on my property for me to clear up. This was getting ridiculous. And the thought of the workers back there and neither Mr. Madbrit nor I home during the day when the construction work begins: all this was rather worrying.

So I broached the subject with Mr. Madbrit. "Honey, I know we said we would never put up a fence, but I've changed my mind." The Hubby was not as sold as I was on the idea. We talked about cost for materials, labor and priced it. He was right about it being ridiculously high. The material itself was reasonable. The labor on the other hand... But I've worked myself into a frenzy by now. I've convinced myself that we will have every irresponsible dog owner let Little Woof Woof use my garden as it's "dumping ground". The construction workers will be using our property for their lunch and potty breaks and since neither of us are home during the day, the house will be pretty vulnerable. No, I wasn't liking this at all.

"I'll ask around for recommendations for fencers", I told Mr. Madbrit. Someone at work will know of someone. With that thought, the next day, I went to work and asked the first person I saw, my boss Jay.

"Why do you want to put up a fence?" he asked. I told him the situation. "Do it yourself. Far far cheaper." he says. I shook my head. Neither myself nor Mr. Madbrit would ever be mistaken for Bob the Builder. I told Jay this. But by now, Jay had that gleam in his eye. An idea was forming in his head and I could see him churning thoughts through his mind. I began to get a little worried. He predictably ignored what I said.

"How big is your property?" he asked. I told him. "Let's go and see it now.". And the next thing I know, I'm driving Jay back to the house and he's trampling through the woods hmming and hawing at what he sees. He's not pleased. He's disgusted for us. "We'll get the fence up. You, me, Mr. Madbrit. It can be done in a day or so." he says with full conviction. "You can't be living with all that stuff going on behind you. You'll need your privacy."

Okay, wait a minute now. Didn't I just tell you that we were not handy with tools?? Jay waves the protest away. He's a man on a mission now. He's already taken mental measurements and started hammering the posts into the ground. Jay is like a rip tide. There's no point fighting it. Just best to go along with it until you're released. So we head back to work, I give him the measurements and he gives me what I will need to get for the material. I then call Mr. Madbrit and break the news to him. Bless him, he knows better than to fight this one. We agree that although we won't enjoy the work, it was a necessary evil and the money saved would be substantial. Plus, by all accounts, whatever we do, the workmanship will be far superior to what we'll get with a hired crew.

And so it stands, this week, hopefully we'll be able to get some material ordered. Have the stuff delivered by next week and the following weekend or the one after, we'll roll up our sleeves and go for it. And when we're done, we'll have the best fence money can buy and the sense of achievement will be gratifying.

If I keep telling this to myself often enough, I'll actually believe it.

Succumbing to Temptation

We parted so suddenly. It had to happen. How I loved you! All the more because you and I should never have crossed paths, my lips should never have tasted your sweet delights! You are forbidden, I knew and yet I indulged. Oh it was wonderful, that short, amazing time I had you where I didn't have a thought for anything else but you!

But it was wrong, it was sinful, with every taste, I felt shame and pain! So I walked away from the temptation. It was the hardest thing to do. I couldn't deal with guilt I felt. Then you left and I pined.

I thought about you all the time; how could I not? You were my guilty pleasure and my comfort. I knew it was wrong, but I longed for you. For my sanity, I had to forget. I turned to work, to exercise and to focusing on my health. Oh, I became healthy, I lost weight, I took care of myself, I became a normal person again, no longer obsessing over the forbidden fruit. I became happy, and I thought about you less and less.

And then you returned. Suddenly you were here, in front of me looking as delicious as always! I tried to ignore you. I tried very hard. I went out of my way to avoid you so that I wouldn't have to think about you. But that day in the break room at work, when you showed up, I knew it was a lost cause. I didn't even fight the temptation! It was so wrong but I no longer cared. Like an addict, all I could think about was the taste, that moment when my lips wrapped themselves around you. Just once, I told myself. Just once.

You were as I remembered, sweet, so so sweet, so smooth, tingling all my senses! I knew then that I couldn't stop at just once. Oh, I knew how weak I was when it came to you. I knew now that I had lost the battle again.

I gave in. I picked up the phone, text my friend Sandy and asked her how much a case of you would cost. Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies!
"Thanks so much for the order," said Sandy. "but what the hell are you going to do with a case of thin mints???" she questioned.

Eat them, my friend. Eat them all!

Happiness Is.......

What is happiness?

I guess it's different for everyone. For some, happiness seems to come easily. They are the blessed souls that seem to have a positive outlook on everything. Very little gets them down, and if it did, they seem to bounce back very quickly. They are to be envied. For most others, it's a little harder. They are the "can't see the woods for the trees" type, focused on the now with laser intensity. But they too, once they relax themselves, get to that happy place relatively quickly.

For some folks, happiness is in a bottle or two of vodka or whatever their drink of choice is. Sober, life seems so overwhelming, I suppose. I wouldn't know. The only thing that happens to me when I drink a lot is that I get queasy or really sleepy. I drink occasionally and even then I nurse my drink. But I do get the chance to observe the mood changes around me when others drink. Some get silly, others mean, some depressed. But we're talking about the happy ones. I guess they are the ones that eventually end up as alcoholics. Escapism.

Then there are those who need medication to reach happiness. I rather cruelly but jokingly refer to that as the chemical lobotomy happiness. I can do that because that's me. I suffer depression and I'm not ashamed to admit I need help getting to my happy place. Although there are some emotional issues, a lot of it has to do with the body's chemical imbalance. One little pill once or twice a day and I can see beyond the irrationality of the dark oppressive emotional thoughts and feelings and instead analyze logically where and what the issues are. I am hoping this is a temporary thing. A hormonal imbalance or whatnot, but I'm okay with medication for the long term if that's what it takes.

So, where does one find happiness? I guess if I can find the universal fit all answer, I'd be rich beyond my wildest dreams.

Parents will tell you they find happiness in their children. In the innocence of their little baby as it sleeps, their lovely daughter as she plays with the pets without a care in the world, the son as he grows from a boy into a man. Happiness and pride. Teachers will tell you they get true and deep happiness when they come across that one gem amongst the kids they teach; the one that, with careful nurturing and guidance can go on to make a difference in the world. They also say that of their old students returning to visit after going off to the next step of their lives, remembering the teachers and their contribution towards the current success they enjoy. Again, happiness and pride.

You have ugly people though. There are those that find pleasure and happiness at the expense of others. They are no better than thieves, knowing their actions would cause unimaginable hurt, whether physical or mental, and not giving a damn. Stealing, if you will, the joy and peace of another to feed their own egos. They are the ones that vindictively choose to place themselves in a position to ruin a career, split a family, sabotage a friend, cause irreparable harm, all for the sake of their selfish desires, poisonous pride and toxic happiness. I firmly believe that eventually justice catches up with them. Those are the people I have no guilt about when feeling schadenfreude. A certain Bus comes to mind.....

Happiness can also be found in the simple things in life: a good book, a new or tried and tested recipe, The smell of a fresh peach, that day in autumn when you first realize that the air is crisp and mother nature has burst forth gloriously with her vibrant golds, reds and oranges, a run on the beach.

But for me, today, right now, happiness is found in my amazing and incomparable husband, my Fur Children and my dearest and closest friend, all of whom have given me so much; really so much more than I dare to deserve.

However, my true euphoric happiness today came from winning those gorgeous designer shoes at a dirt cheap price on Ebay! Hence, if I am to be believed, Ebay is the source of true happiness!

I'm sure my seller will take that to the bank!

Y'ain't From Around Here, Are You?

Y'aint from around here, are you?" I hear this a lot.

Apparently I'm not. Apparently I have an accent. I'm a transplanted Anglo-Chinese with what can be deemed as an RP accent. According to Wikipedia: Received Pronunciation (RP), also called the Queen's (or King's) English and BBC English, is the accent of Standard English in England. I don't hear it at all. But then again, we never hear our own speech patterns now do we? To me I sound normal. To everyone around me, that isn't so much the case. I have been assured ad nauseum that I do indeed have an accent. Most folk are pleasant about it. Some not so much. But then again, that seems to be part of the sociological makeup of society isn't it? Gotta have the good and the bad.

The good folk aren't that interesting in this particular tale of mine. Mostly a conversation carries on a few minutes before the person I'm talking to, rather self-consciously asks "Are you from England/Australia/New Zealand?" Take your pick. Technically, the answer to all three is "No, I'm from none of the above." Technically, I'm supposedly from Malaysia. My parents both assured me I was made and produced there, hence earning myself citizenship with no effort whatsoever on my part. Mother on the other hand... well, that's not part of this tale. But I was also registered at the British High Commission because Daddy is British. Therefore I also have British Citizenship (again with no effort on my part). Hah, my gentle reader, I feel you thinking, "You are English then!" Nope, no I am not. I am half British. British is not automatically English. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland consist of 4 countries: England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Daddy is Welsh which makes me Welsh too.

Side note here. It is considered extremely impolite to assume all British are English. Just saying. It's tantamount to calling all Americans Yankees. Here in the South, I could get shot then have my teeth kicked in for saying such a shocking thing.

So, back to the conversation. I mostly say Britain (because of the accent) and my charming acquaintance will nod happily and say "Yes, I detected the accent. You know, I (or my husband, mother, grandad, Uncle Jim) was in England once...." The small talk then takes it own predictable turn. It ends up being a nice, harmless conversation.

You also have the gushers. After a few words, the grab your hand and say "Oh My God!! Like you totally have this accent! Like, it's so cool, y'know? Is it like English then, cause that's just so hot!!!" When I answer in the affirmative, I get another gush of "SHUT UP!!! Get outa here!! Like totally say something!!!" So I oblige, I say "Something" and am usually greeted with peals of laughter followed by "You are just soooo cute I could eat you! You totally rock!!" Did you understand that? Don't worry, it took me awhile to figure it out too! Bless them! Nice people, they really are.

Then you have the just bizarre. While helping out a gentleman at work one day, he suddenly asked me if he detected a Korean accent. Korean?? Seriously? I didn't realise my 4 hour layover in Seoul while flying from L.A. to Hong Kong allowed me to absorb the speech patterns of an average Korean. "Oh goody!!" I thought to myself, my inner imp doing it's happy jig, "Now I get to play!!!"
My co-workers have gone quiet and started subtly eavesdropping. Oh how well they know me!
"Wow!" I say, sounding suitably impressed, "How perceptive of you. I can assure you no one else has ever detected it."
He smiles smugly at me. "I'm very gifted when it comes to catching accents," he boasts. "I can hear yours distinctly. "Which part of Korea?" he presses further.
My nosy co-workers have dropped all pretenses of not listening and are waiting for this train-wreck to happen.
"Oh, the northern part, " I say grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You know, that little city called Pyongyang, located just by the Taedong River. It really is a little farther north than most Americans are familiar with. Beautiful place. Our people are so friendly there."
Co-workers have started to snort and choke. They obviously know their geography better than Mr. Gifted.
Oblivious, he beams at me, "Yes, know it well. Such wonderful people. The women are gorgeous!" he says, terribly proud of his ability to identify Korean accents, his geographical knowledge of Northern Asia and apparently just as confident of his devastating charm and magnetism. He's turned on his 1,000 watt smile now. This is getting embarrassing. For him. My co-workers are no longer bothering to hold back anything. They've all gone and hidden in the back room where I could hear the most awful grunts and chokes and guffaws. Time to put an end to this.
"I'm sure they are. Will this be all sir?" I don't give him a chance to answer. "Enjoy your workout then. " I say as I turn my back to him and answer the phone.

There was also a time when I called up the car dealership in California to inquire about a recall. At the most random of moments, the rep breaks out with, "You're from Texas aren't you? I love Texas. Which part you from?"
Rather taken aback I fell back into my evil mode. "The British part!" I say with conviction. "It's in the north (I love being from the north if you haven't already spotted a trend!), specifically in the Hill Country in a little town called Pecan Springs. Lovely place there." Yes, there is hill country in Texas. No there is no Pecan Springs except in the wonderful fictitious world of Susan Whittig Albert's China Bayles Mysteries. This satisfied the man and we were back on track to the rather boring recall issue.

And then there are the just plain rude. There was this one guy who overheard me speaking to my friend at a stock car race (I embrace all forms of American culture! It was a fun night!!!). "Hey lady!" he bellows, "You got an English accent dontcha?"
"I've been told I have." I answer.
"Awww!," he says "I'm sooo sorry. Must be tough!" he grins idiotically.
"Oh sweetheart," I coo at him, batting my eyes. "Don't feel sorry for me. I've learn to deal with it. You save your sympathy for yourself. See, to I can change my accent in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, when you wake up tomorrow, you'll still be an idiot and there is no cure for dumbass."
My friends were sensible enough to grab me by the arm and drag me away before anything else happened. I love my friends!

You also have the folks that just barge in boorishly while you're in the middle of a conversation with someone else to state authoritatively that I have an accent. This irritates me no end. Why do you have to interrupt my conversation with this earth shattering piece of information. Gosh, if I wasn't told RIGHT THAT MOMENT, I guess the world will jolt off it's axis and Armageddon will be set in motion. I handle this one with very little grace, I'm sad to say. I look at the offending person from head to toe to head again, look them square in the eye and say in a clear, distinct, school teacher tone that carries through the whole room, "Sir/Ma'am, I don't have an accent. I have a speech impediment and for your information, in polite society we do not go around pointing out peoples' handicaps. It would behoove you to refrain from doing so in the future because others may not be as restrained as myself." For the full effect, I then toss my head, march off and leave the boor standing there. What he does after that, I don't particularly care.

I don't mention accents anymore. I know how old it can get. There's a German lady at the Commissary, an Indian girl and a Scottish lady at the Walmart where I shop. We've crossed paths numerous time over the last 2 years. None of us has breathed a word about accents. We hear it, we digest it and we move on. It isn't the accent that defines these people, it's their kindness, their work ethics, their smile and their sunny nature that make them who they are.

And I'm positive they're as sick as I am of being told that we ain't from around here.

Vent over.

The Unfilial Daughter

"Gee! You've been avoiding me haven't you?"
"No Ma, I haven't. I've been really busy." I mumble, embarrassed.The truth is I have been avoiding Mother.
"Too busy for your parents?" Did I just just hear that hint of a sinister tone in her voice? I'd better step up my game.
"Of course not, Ma! Perish the thought! I've just been swamped at work having to learn so much about the new position. So much to absorb! But I was going to call this weekend when I could dedicate more time to talking!"
"You always say that." Apparently I do. Oh God, I am praying, please don't let her use THAT word! Please!
"You know, Carol Lee's daughter calls her everyday. The most filial of daughters. No wonder Carol is so proud!"
Crap, crap, CRAP!!! Not only did she bring up Carol Lee's offspring who are, she would have me believe, perfection incarnated; the Chinese poster children, she also used THAT word!

Filial. A word firmly entrenched in the vocabulary of every Asian mother to ever walk this earth. Nothing trumps filial! It's meaning, according to the dictionary is: "of, relating to, or befitting a son or daughter. As in filial obedience" In Chinese Hokkien it is "Oo cheng". In Malay the word is "berbaktian". In Japanese it is "oyakoko". The one thing an Asian mother wants above all else is a filial offspring. Yes, to be a doctor, an engineer, a lawyer, a financier, all these are highly desirable for the boast-factor, but to be filial tops it all.

Take Carol Lee's youngest daughter Masie. Masie Lee, a 35 years old Harvard graduate is an in-house consultant to one of the biggest financial firms in the world. For her job Masie travels regularly between London, New York and Hong Kong and owns homes in each of the cities. Carol(and Carol's maid) go along twice a year for an all expense paid trip so Masie can spend time with her mother. She dotes on Carol if my mother is to be believed. Then there's Anabelle, Maisie's older sister; she read law in Oxford, earned herself a first (class degree) and is now one of the foremost solicitors in London. She is happily married to a successful Dermatologist in private practice and their 4 beautiful children are all on their way to becoming clones of their perfect parents. Annabelle and the grandkids visit Carol in San Francisco 3 times a year, again according to mother. And we have Daniel, Carol Lee's middle child. He's a physician and a Commander in the Navy, a decorated war hero and a published author. His homeport is San Diego and he visits his mother every opportunity he has. Carol Lee has it all! Beautiful, successful children and every one of them filial. Are you ready to puke yet, dearest reader? If you are, join me. I have a spare bucket!

There's no comparison. No wonder my mother feels cheated with her lot. Two average daughters leading average lives halfway round the world and visiting once every year or two. And to add insult to injury, I, her eldest, staunchly refuses to have children. How much more unfilial can I get? It is a sore subject with my mother, a source of embarrassment and frustration when each of her friends call to announce their daughter or daughter-in-law just popped out another bundle of joy. These women are popping out kids with alarming regularity. Rather viciously, I think of that tennis ball machine my Uncle S.K. a professional tennis player, uses for practice. Pop, thwack! Pop, thwack!. Pop, thwack, ad infinitum. With each new pop there follows a thwack. The tennis racket hitting that ball symbolizes another nail I hammer into my long suffering mother's heart. Cruel, cruel, unfilial daughter that I am. What had she done to deserve this?! My sister, albeit unintentionally, finally took pity on mother and produced the longed for grandson (yes! Sis was very clever. She had a boy and boys are prized in Chinese culture!), And just like that, I have become forever indebted to my sister!

My childless state is not my only failure. Alas, I have not quite reached the depths of my unfilialness. Which brings me full circle; right back to the call (remember, the call from mother that started this ramble). Carol Lee's daughter calls everyday. Allegedly. I don't. My utter lack of concern for my parents and their well being was pretty obvious by the infrequency of my calls. I can't deny this particular failing. I am guilty as charged. I can hear my gentle readers thinking to themselves, "why not just give her a quick call everyday? Your filial status will improve and that can't be a bad thing?" Yes, I know this. But I can't bring myself to do it. "Why?" my gentle readers ask. "Perhaps you are a trifle unfilial after all." they admonish. Yes perhaps I am. See, much as I love talking to my mother, I really don't want to hear about the likes of Carol Lee, her perfectly filial offspring and their fertility status. I have enough self esteem issues, I don't need any more. And the irony? It is their absolute filialness that is making me unfilial.

But back to the conversation. "Yes Ma. I know Annabelle and Masie call everyday They're doing so well, I hear. Mrs Lee is very blessed."
My mother sniffs dismissively. "Daniel is anyway." she says. And with those three words, my interest is peaked, my attention captured; trapped! I am listening attentively now. "The girls?" I urge her.
"Well" she says and her voice takes on the conspiratorial tone, "Annabelle and Philip are heading for a divorce. Ann calls Carol everyday (Aha! Annabelle is the culprit!) and Carol is beside herself. You know how this will look, a divorce in that family! Hah! It's unheard of. But Carol says, Ann is being so stubborn. What do you expect from a lawyer? They're always so hard headed and can never see it from another's point of view. Poor Carol! And as if that wasn't enough, Masie! Masie!"
"What about Masie?" I ask breathlessly. This keeps getting better!
"She's pregnant!"
"Oooh, Carol must be thrilled" I say cautiously. I sense another pop and thwack moment soon!
"Thrilled? THRILLED?? Have you gone mad, darling?! She's not married!!! The shame this will bring on the family!"
"Oh my!" I say.
"Yes, I am lost for words too!" says Mother as she gushes on, "And that's not all. That stupid, selfish girl refuses to name the baby's father! How could she do this to Carol?!"
"Oh Ma, that's too bad." I say. No pop and thwack! Not this time! A reprieve!!!
"Yes, yes it is. I thank God everyday for my two sensible daughters and their wonderful husbands and my perfect grandson!" she tells me. "I am a very lucky woman aren't I? Such filial children!"

Absolutely Ma!, Sis and I are such filial children! Well for now anyway.