Talk of the Town

Tropical Storm

2007-04-26T13:03:00.000+07:00

A long week of heat so intense; almost wrong
A human could bake if left out for too long
We hid in our houses, cool shops and our cars
We'd order 'just ice', but it'd melt, at the bars
The flowers showed signs of thirst and fatigue
I swear I heard screams of, 'I'm HOT!' from a tree
If you smelled roasted chicken, it didn't mean food
It ment a poor hen was locked out of her koop
All of that changed when on Wednesday at five
I thought I heard thunder, and looked to the sky
The dark clouds were rolling as the thunder drew near
And I realized just what was happening here
The sky was so beautiful, and the wind was so warm.

The weather was changing! We were in for a storm!

All in a Day's Work

2007-04-22T22:10:00.000+07:00

Well, it sure looks like someone's been collecting used cans!

This was one truck Damon and I didn't mind being stuck behind in traffic - it was hilarious.

Full Circle

2007-04-16T11:54:00.000+07:00

I received the letters 'g, u, l, h and a' in a package from my DEAR friend Genny. After fumbling around for a bit - and reviving my flare for scrabble - I discovered that they spelled the word 'laugh'. I loved them! They made me smile every time I glanced at them: a warm reminder of a true friend, and a command that when carried out correctly, truly is the best medicine. The letters took center stage in our house:

Until: on Friday afternoon, I noticed something a bit odd. The letters no longer spelled out 'laugh', but simply 'ha'. No longer an inspirational artistic message - the letter's rearrangement and clear loss left much to be desired. The word 'ha' hardly inspires me at all.

And so, Damon was immediately blamed: 'Very funny hunny.'

But it wasn't him! That left only one culprit. The obvious culprit, but at the same time, one who surely would have informed me if something had been broken? The maid. A very sweet lady named Pi-guy who doesn't speak a word of English, let alone read it - and I of course STILL don't speak enough Thai to allow open lines of communication between us.

But wouldn't she have told me if something had been broken during the course of her labours? Even if she couldn't read it, and had no idea what it was, she wouldn't throw a broken piece of my belongings away, would she?

She would. The funny (sorry for the pun) thing about the incident is that she put the two unbroken letters back on the shelf spelling the very sound one makes when laughing. And so, it was not a total loss.

The following Monday, Pi-Guy came bearing gifts.

Yes, those are mountain goats made out of wicker. A very sweet thought. A sweet thought. And since that is what counts, I guess I can live with a heard of wicker mountain goats on my shelf.

Now, the remarkable part of this story lies in this: Every time I pass by the mountain goats, I laugh. And was that not the point in the first place?

Animal Rescue Thai Style

2007-04-13T20:28:00.000+07:00

One morning two weeks ago as I fluffed pillows, straightened out piles of magazines and preformed other housewifely duties the television played faintly in the back ground. I caught glimpses here and there as I walked by, of a show called 'Animal Rescue'. One of the animals being rescued was a poisonous snake. He had found his way into a old people's care taking home in Australia, and the Animal Rescuers were humanely removing him and taking him far from civilization to a place where he could live out his days the way nature had intended for him and all snake-kind. They said things like, 'There you are Mr. Snake, you're all right now buddy'.

Three days later a long, green snake appeared in my dining room. He was doing everything you would imagine a snake would do: slithering, hissing and striking his head out in an obvious effort to bite the nearest attacker.

'ANIMALS!' My first job was to clear out all four legged and furry creatures lest one of them mistake the unwelcomed guest for a play thing.

Meahwhile, said snake slithered UP the wall, and found a resting place above a doorway - using a curtian rod to support it's lengthy body. The hissing continued. I held an umbrella in front of me, and once it was just me and the snake in the house, I began assesing the situation.

I called my husband who advised me to grab a long pole, and slide the snake out the door. After an 'Ummm, ok?' and a vain attempt, I was back on the phone: 'I can't really do that hun, uhhhmmmm.'

In the end, I took a few photos and emailed them to my concerned husband. He told me to stay calm and keep my eye on the snake. He would have some of the Thai guys in the office look and the pics and then call me back.

Less than a minute later the phone rang:

'Don't touch the sanke! It's poisonous! Don't go near it!' And so, I waited - and the snake waited. He hissed...a lot.

Damon's Thai work mates called the Thai version of Animal Rescue, and I felt relieved that this whole senario was going to end happily. The snake would be carted off in a box and taken to a mountian where he could settle down, raise a few baby snakes and live happily ever after - and even better, neither I nor any of the members of my zoo had been struck by venom and sentanced to snake-induced death.

It didn't happen quite as I'd imagined it. There were no happy looking people wearing matching cotton, navy blue Animal Rescue uniforms and safari hats. There was no special snake catching device. No box with holes in the lid. It was just a guy with no front teeth asking if I had bamboo?

As it turns out, I do have bamboo - the long sticks I was going to use to make a trellace for my snow peas. Anyhow, I stood on a chair with my umbrella and watched as Snake Guy beat the snake to death with my gardening equiptment. It was sad. I wanted him to call the snake 'buddy'. I was hoping that he'd trap the snake in a snake-friendly box, wipe the sweat from his brow and say: 'Nother one of God's good creatures saved. Best be gettin on to the next rescue. You have a nice day Mam.'

But, I guess life isn't always like it is on TV. And besides, my snake rescue guy was pretty brave. That was one big snake.

Stella Finds a Mate

2007-04-12T18:23:00.000+07:00

Roxy the Destroyer

2007-04-11T11:40:00.000+07:00

There was no hiding for Roxy. Guilt - or at least mud - was all over her face. The crime scene was easy to track down - she unknowingly carried half a dozen pieces of it in her fur. A tennis ball was found - buried in the dirt behind a bush of Blue Star flowers. I was able to look past her cuteness for a second or two, and she got her 'No!!! Bad dog.' I wish I could look this adorable when I mess up! Perhaps I'll carry a bit of dirt and some flower petals around with me from on - you never know...

Rainy Day Photos - I love tropical rain showers!

2007-04-09T12:22:00.000+07:00

Some House Photos

2007-04-09T12:15:00.000+07:00

Some House Photos - to make Karma smile!

2007-04-09T12:04:00.000+07:00

For Goodness' Sake!

2007-04-08T00:18:00.001+07:00

I received a comment on one of my previous posts - the one called ' But I'm Still Smiling' -that makes me feel like an important blogger with cutting edge ideas and a warrior for freedom of speech. To dissapoint you, I am actually a bratty girl who used to complain a lot about Thailand and misses EVERYTHING about Abbotsford, including the curry smells. Why this person is so offended is beyond me? I didn't say ANYTHING bad about curry at all! I love curry! I eat it all the time! I made it for dinner on Thursday! I like to think that my Grandma makes the best curry in the world! One of my best friends from highschool's last name was curry! (ok, it was spelled with an 'ie', but still).

Never the less, someone with a desire to be offended must have typed 'curry abbotsford caucasion' into google and stumbled upon my blog. This was the comment:

'Anonymous said...
Just as certain streets in Abbotsford smell like curry....I really don't appreciate that comment. Streets in Abbotsford smell like curry because east Indians live in Abbotsford and they eat curry. As you probably know, east Indians also live in the more wealthier neighborhoods as well. They make more money than most people and they have nicer homes and cars. They pay taxes just like everyone else. They are sure as hell allowed to make whatever they want to eat, no matter how strong the smell. Alot of caucasians complain about the smell of curry, but why is it that theirs just as many caucasians running to east indian restaurants as there are east indians for some butter chicken or samosas? Stop making such racist remarks.'

What?! Taxes? Make more money? Nicer homes? Cars? What is going on here!?

I admit, the 'But I'm Still Smiling' post is not one that I am proud of. It was full of whining and complaining about my life in Thailand. I know I should have kept that all to myself. BUT, for the love of all things holy, I did not say anything bad about curry or East Indians for that matter! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

First of all - there are streets in Abbotsford that smell like curry; I should know! I lived there for almost 20 years, and used to walk my dog daily. But I never said there was anything wrong with it!

The funny thing about this whole load of hogwash, is that if anonymous had actually read the blog, he/she would have seen that I compared the streets that smell like curry to the streets here in Thailand that smell like hamburgers. A whole load of foreigners (myself included!) are bringing their traditions from their homelands to Thailand, just like there are a lot of East Indians in Abbotsford! I love samosas! I love curry! I love East Indians!

How ridiculous that anonymous took offense and told me to stop making racist remarks. I wasn't complaining about the smell of curry! I read and re-read the post - it just doesn't suggest that at all.

Anyhoo, anonymous obviously failed to read the rest of the blog. Haaaaa! I am sorry, I just can't believe that someone actually took the time to write a paragraph about East Indians, curry and racist remarks.

And, if you are going to respond to some one's thoughts, why not leave your name?

I will tread very carefully from now on, so as not to offend anyone. Except, just to even things out a bit, I'll leave you with this bit of information: Abbotsford Airport smells like Varenike during the MCC sale. Anyone offended? : )

We're In!

2007-03-12T21:07:00.000+07:00

This photo (labeled cute, scary, weird, frightening, funny) is of Felix saying: 'Hooray!'

We've moved into our new abode. So far - apart from a severe case of PMS (way-da hang in there Damon- tee hee hee!)- everything has gone swell.

I love our new house - it's really open and bright. We've got a big yard/garden, and the neighborhood is lovely. Even through the dark, thundering clouds of female hormone imbalance, I saw blue sky: that's how much better it is here!

On Sunday, we stopped by the church that is run by the Canadians, and bumped into a load of people from Abbotsford (my hometown). I really was shocked. Happy-shocked. I couldn't believe it! It's such an awe-inspiring answer to prayer that I don't even know what to think about it. It's pretty unbelievable.

Five minutes from my house in Thailand lies a mini-Abbotsford.

I have spent so many years living as far away from Abbotsford as I could (not because I didn't like it, just because all the action seemed to be happening 'someplace else') and now, just when I become so homesick that I start to loose little bits of me here and there, I find Abbotsford in Bang Saen, Chonburi, Thailand. Next week, a group of people from my old highschool (MEI - woohoo!) will be coming to town as English teachers and orphanage carers.

This is certainly not a coincidence; I mean, come on. I am brought back to reality and life by the realization that the whole 'His eye is on the sparrow' thing is true! If you believe in miracles, you can tell your friends that you know of at least one.

Only Two More Sleeps!!!!!!!

2007-02-28T23:53:00.000+07:00

This is what the inside of our house looks like right now. CHAOS!! Hrrrrrmmmmm: too bad animals can't do chores. And yes, the white dog does have unaturally pink hair. More on that later.

Jennifer!

2007-02-27T18:28:00.000+07:00

Jennifer left a comment on one of my 'I hate it here' posts about getting a Canadian tatoo. I did it last July 1st, and you are so right - it's fab to be able to wear the Maple Leaf with pride everywhere I go!

I also want to thank Jen for her prayers; they mean a lot.

Well, that was my ten minute break - back to the packing!!!!!!

The Latest and Greatest

2007-02-24T20:34:00.000+07:00

Why is there a photo of a cow at the beginning of this post? I'll tell you why: Because we are mooooooooving and I am utterly excited.

We found a house in a town (beautiful, fishing village) about an hour's drive North of where we are right now (the smelly armpit of Thailand). We will be closer to Bangkok, closer to Damon's work and still live beside the sea.

We found a little village within the town (yes, it's a town! Not a city!!!!) with pretty houses, flowers in the gardens, picket fences, a communal swimming pool and tennis courts! The rent will be half of what we pay now, and the new town lacks in the very thing that has made me so sick in/of Pattaya: Rampant and Blatant Prostitution.

The miraculous part of the whole thing is that only a ten minute drive from our house, there is a home for orphaned or abandoned boys living with HIV and just around the corner from that, a church. When my cousins were here for a visit, they introduced me to the couple who run the orphanage and church - THEY ARE FROM MY HOMETOWN IN CANADA!!!!!!!!!!!!

We move in on March the 2cd, and I rest secure and feel gratefulness without measure because I am so well taken care of - even in Thailand, He finds me!

Visitors From a Far Away Land

2007-02-21T13:02:00.000+07:00

Until now, I have failed to mention that my DEAR cousin Ang, her husband Mike and their two kiddies Maddy and Patrick came for a visit in January. They left Alberta where the temperature was -30ish and flew into Bangkok where it was +30!

It was SO GREAT to have them here. Ang is more like a sister to me than a cousin - she flew out five days before the rest of her troops so that we could have some time together. That was so special. We got in trouble at the spa for talking too much! But that's what gals do best, isn't it??

Seeing Angela for the first time in ages along with the opportunity to speak English with a female turned me into a non-stop talk machine. Damon had no idea that I had so many opinions and ideas floating around in my head! He's never really seen me with one of my girlfriends before (how sad is that?!), and it had been so long since I had one sat right next to me.... I think I frightened him a bit! No, I take that back - he loved seeing me so giddy!

Mike and Ang's kids are the most well-behaved humans I have ever laid eyes upon. They actually say, 'OK' if they are told 'No' every single time. They make up games and play together, and are equally happy to read or play alone. I didn't see them bicker ONCE! Anyhow, Ang and Mike must write a how-to book on parenting.

Mike and Damon had never actually met (apart from once when Mike was asleep on a couch and Damon was dizzy from two weeks of 'Meet the fiance's family') and they got on like a house on fire. In fact, sometimes we would have to drag them from their 'guy's hang-out' in the back yard and into the house with us so that we could all visit together. It was so great, though, to see them get along so well. Made me really happy.

OK! And so, I'll finish with some pictures. A good-looking bunch, eh?

But I'm Still Smiling!

2007-02-17T14:37:00.000+07:00

Every thing's great. My life's great. My husband is absolutely wonderful. I love my friends and have the best family in the world. I am healthy and young.

BUT. I hate Thailand. I hate it! LOATHE it! There isn't one thing I like about it. In fact, the only times I can stand the thought of spending another ten minutes in this joke of a country is when I am standing or sitting inside of something that reminds me of SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN THAILAND.

I guess it's nice for a holiday. So, don't let me deter you from that. But all of the expats whom I have met that actually enjoy life here have my undying respect - though perhaps a little part of me thinks they must be crazy.

Unless you are an ugly, overweight man with no personality - Thailand offers no more than cheap clothing that falls apart after three washes, food poisoning at every corner and a police force that hands out tickets to people who look rich - for looking rich.

It is embarrassing that the expats who live here are trying to re-create the homes they left behind. But I am guilty of the same. Just as certain streets in Abbotsford smell like curry, certain streets here smell like hamburgers on the grill. If we all like our own homes so much, what the heck are we doing here?

I suppose it's circumstance for the most part. People are beckoned to Thailand like a horse with a carrot dangling overhead. 'Nice beaches, constant sunshine, good money, cheap shopping.....' and before we know it, work contracts have been signed and suddenly life becomes very, well; surreal.

I was hoping for REAL.

I am told that I will get past this stage. I worry that when I do it will be the fault of insanity. My mind and soul giving up. Me, walking around like all of the other happy expats around here.

Well, at least I can laugh about it. AND, I do see a light at the end of the tunnel. We will get out of here someday! There is hope! There is a future! He knows His plans for me....

Faith and hope are hard to find on really hot days.

Valentine's Day

2007-02-14T08:53:00.000+07:00

My most hilarious Valentine's Day experience happened inside an All Day's Shop in Netley Abbey, UK.

In the days leading up to my first Valentine's Day spent abroad, I decided to make my way down to the local shop and purchase Valentines cards for my friends and family; I had no idea that British citizens don't share the same enthusiasm as Canadians d0 when it comes to the 14th day of the 2cd month.

I searched the card section first, then the magazines and lastly, made my way to the front counter. The only Valentines day cards I could find were the big, single greeting card type.

'Ummm, excuse me?'

'How may I help you?'

'Do you have boxes of valentine's day cards?'

Blank look.

'You know those boxes you can buy with those little, assorted cards?'

Nothing.

'...that you give out to all your friends in elementary school?'

The people in line behind me seemed as confused as the clerk. 'You mean you need more than one Valentine's Day card?'

'Uh, ummm, yes? Like a pack of 10 or 20?' I could tell that there was something wrong, but I couldn't quite pin-point it. Sheepishly, I exited the shop and walked home.

Later that evening, I discovered that it is absolutely unheard of to had out a Valentine card to anyone other than your true love or perhaps a secret crush. Ahhhhhhh, so that's why everyone in All Days was giving me such funny looks. No, I did not have a list of ten to twenty guys to whom I wanted to share my love.

There are so many things to learn in this world; so many different cultures, different ideas! Well, at least one thing is shared between the UK and Canada - (and even Thailand) : Valentines Day involves chocolate, flowers, hearts and romance....speaking of which, my Valentine is on his way home - gotta run!

Damon and Leah Clean Up at the Valentines Salsa Night (and I'm not talking brooms)

2007-02-12T11:22:00.000+07:00

On Saturday night, Damon and I got all dressed up and went Salsa dancing. Well, I did the dancing while Damon did what he always does at these sorts of events. He watches from his perch at the bar and tries not to tap his toes to the beat as he and his buddies make fun of all of the male dancers.

The simple fact that he comes with me to my Salsa dancing nights is fantastic enough - I won't push him on the dancing...yet.

It was a charity event held in our favorite lounge/bar/restaurant ( http://www.cuveeloungebar.com/ ) by a friend of ours, and was a huge success - both for the charity organization and for Damon and I who swept up at the raffle prize giveaway.

As we arrived that evening, the first thing we noticed was the enormous marble table piled high with raffle prizes. There was wine, kitchen ware, sunglasses, gift certificates - and all proceeds from tickets purchased were going to help to buy a home for abandoned children. We simply had to buy a couple of tickets, it would be rude not to. At ten past nine, they started the raffel draw, and so began our journey into the spotlight.

It was embarrassing. We kept winning, and winning, and winning, and winning. Of course, with each winning draw, Damon pushed me to the front, so as not to draw attention to himself, and I humbly (though bursting with excitement on the inside) accepted each raffle prize like I was winning as Oscar:

'Oh! Thank you! I really don't deserve this! Thanks so much for all your hard work at this event, and thank you all for helping the children...'

People started shouting out things like: 'Hey! Check her ticket!' and 'That's not right! You should let someone else take the prize!' And I pretended to consider it, I really did; but there was no way someone else was going home with my piece of Japanese Cloisonne. I had number 06A - the absolutely fabulous decorative dish was mine. As was the bottle of wine, the champagne, the silk table cloth, the k-swiss sunglasses, the handmade crystal wine glass charms, two gift certificates for restaurants in town, the manicure and the bottle of sake. Well, ok, not mine...ours.

After the raffle, as the evening wore on; one by one, people began to forgive us. There were lineups of nosy guests eager to catch a glimpse of our bounty and ask questions like, 'So how did it feel to keep going up to the front?' and 'Are you excited?'

And so, we went home satisfied. New friends and new merchandise. And the kids will get a new home! Apart from our wedding, I think that was the most successful night of my life.

What's Happening to Me?

2007-02-05T20:53:00.000+07:00

What was I just saying about not having any more animals?

Well, this one doesn't really count since he'll most likely be dead by morning.

Damon had just arrived home from work, and was upstairs having a shower when Stella came meowing inside. It was a strange meow - it sounded muffled - sort of like her mouth was full....

'Stella? Stells? What's up?' I walked over, heard some squeaking and then: 'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! DAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!'

You would have thought that he'd be relieved to discover that it was only a baby bird, and not an ax murderer who had entered our kitchen in the jaws of our cat and caused me to scream. But as it turned out, he was less than impressed after having tripped in the bathtub on his frantic sprint to my aid, and I am now forbidden to make any noise that may signal fear unless I am being attacked or if Damon's team looses a football game.

Stella hadn't injured the little guy at all, and there is no way I could 'Throw it into the bush' as Damon so brashly suggested.

So, he's in a little box at the front door (the bird, not Damon), and I have spent the last half hour prowling the grounds for bugs of any sort to keep his tummy full. This is quite a feat for me, as I even ants bring me to my knees in squeem. Nevertheless, I have a small Tupperware container that has been carefully (and bravely) filled with worms, and my little patient opens his mouth eagerly every time I open his box and dangle protein oven his mouth with a pair of tweezers.

It's not easy being a bird mom. After reading up online about 'The Do's and Don't's of Baby Bird Rescue' I am wondering if I really am cut out for this sort of thing? How the heck am I going to find enough worms to feed him every hour? Unless he starts eating things like Corn Flakes and Tunafish Sandwiches, I really don't see how this is going to work.

On the internet, I am advised to call my local animal rescue shelter immediatly. After a few minutes of contemplation I realized something that immediatly sent alarm bells off in my head: I AM THE LOCAL ANIMAL SHELTER. Oh boy.

The Cold Bug Bites

2007-02-02T19:10:00.000+07:00

Ugh! A cold! A cold?! I always thought catching a cold had somthing to do with winter, but apparently I have been mislead.

I found a cold bug out here in Thailand, and have been experiencing the strange phenomen of blowing my nose and coughing while watching tourists walk around in bathing suits, swimming and eating ice cream.

The exciting part? I have Hello Kitty Kleenexs.

Tomorrow, Damon and I are going to look at a house. We are hoping to move to a different town within the month. Yay!!!! I shall report back on this regard as soon as the descion has been made.

Oh, and don't worry, you can't catch a cold through a blog.

Felix My Cat

2007-01-30T11:10:00.000+07:00

In October, Stella the Siamese had three little kittens. The two girls have found homes with our friends, and we held onto Felix.

Our household is now so full of animals that I fear I may be substituting furry creatures for children. Anyhow, animal collecting has ceased until furthur notice, and I totally refuse to take on any more. Unless, of course, they're just too cute- I can't say no to cute.

The Old Becomes New

2007-01-24T19:27:00.000+07:00

In 1995 I became the keeper of a hotmail account. My very first email address. I didn't really understand what the big 'whoop-dee-doo' was all about, but at the urging of my then boyfriend, I reluctantly allowed him to sign me up:

'OK, so, your address is leahreimer@hotmail.com.'

'What?! You used my real name? I can't believe this, I really can't believe this! That is so dangerous. Now anyone will be able to find me - do you know what kind of people are out there? Prowling around on the Interfere -'

'Internet.'

'-whatever. The internet. Why didn't you ask me first?'

'No one is going to be able to find you. It's just your name! Relax, come and see how it works!'

'Forget it! I hate it already!'

Eventually I warmed up to the newfangled idea of being able to send messages to friends and family with the simple click of a button named send, and have proceeded to create dozens of email addresses over the past eleven years.

I really can't resist opening new email addresses. There's Yahoo, Hotmail and dozens of other remote email service providers. The most exciting part of it all? It's free! And you can come up with all sorts of different names.

I've moved on from using my real name - not for security reasons - but simply because leahsmith just seems so, well, boring. I've stopped harassing my communicative acquaintances about my new addresses, and somehow manage to check all available addresses in order to keep in contact with everyone I've handed them out to. I can almost gage length of friendships and loyalty by looking into which person writes to which address.

But you know what? I think it's time for a different type of 'change of address'. The time has come for me to revert to the communicative measure of old. To the true, time-taking and heartfelt art of LETTER WRITING. Sure, there may be drawbacks such as a change in news by the time the letter reaches it's readee and the fact that even I cannot read my own printing; but I truly feel like I need to make that proper connection.

SO. Let the letter-writing begin. Let's get that information on the paper, and stamps on those envelopes! I'll still stick with my email (s), but I've vowed to take it all one step further. Funny to think that in 1995, I thought it was a step backward!

Uh-oh. What's next? A spiral perm and slouch socks? No way. I'd never take things that far.

Will You Still Be Here?

2007-01-23T11:09:00.000+07:00

Well, a prodigal blogger has returned. The fact that there are those of you who actually worried and wondered where I'd gone is just the sweetest and most kind thing EVER.

I spent the end of November and most of December hiding behind the 'If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all' rule. I mean, come on - who wants to read about someones bad attitude?

Or, to stick up for myself........ maybe my attitude wasn't as bad as it was realistic. But, I've found ways around it all, and it would seem - I can write my blog again without throwing fits about the way things work here in Thailand.

It's funny -I was all hyped up to write a post on Sunday, but on Saturday night a waitress at a bar we were watching a soccer game at pointed to me as I ate a sandwich and laughed saying, 'Pompui! Ha! Tee Tee hee haa ha!'. (translation - FAT). So, anyway - it's Tuesday now, and I've cooled down.

I thought I'd add a picture of Damon and I, and as soon as it's loaded, I am going to check up on all of my blogging buddies. Yay! A cup of coffee and some fine reading - what more could a girl (woman?!) want on a warm and cloudy Tuesday morning?

Do You Believe in Magic?

2006-11-30T13:48:00.000+07:00

OK, my friend Perla sent me a link to an ecard today. In it, a Wizard claims he can read your mind. Shockingly, his claims seem to be true, as I tried numerous times to outsmart him - to no avail. Whinney Wizard can read my mind. BUT HOW?!

I found a site ECARDTRICKS that has a bunch of online tricks (for free). Try them out! How?! HOW?! HOOOOWWWW?!

Anyhow, I am sure there is a simple explanation along the lines of human psychology or something......but how can some computer program be correct so consistently when working with the mind? I even tried to trick it, and change my mind at the last minute.....it still caught me!

Zoiks!

A BIG HUGE THANKYOU

2006-11-28T19:23:00.000+07:00

Thank you gals so much for all your comments on that last post. Sorry for being such a spoiled brat! I have been inspired by your sweetness. I promise to make the most of my time here from now on. Thanks again!!!

The Trouble with Paradise

2006-11-27T12:04:00.000+07:00

Two weeks of hellish heat, tourist-packed streets and dirt would be just fine. I could do that.

Two weeks of being misunderstood by everyone from the doctor to the landlord to the lady who is ringing my groceries through at the checkout counter. Sure! I could manage! Two weeks of being looked at as wealthy and greedy...yep, it'd be tough - but I could make it through.

Two weeks of watching dogs get beaten and die of neglect on the side of the road and just be left there? No, I couldn't even stand that for a day, but at least I wouldn't have to see it everyday.

Two weeks of driving on roads with people who don't seem to mind being killed and thrown through windshields and off motor bikes. Two weeks of corrupt policemen. Yes. Two weeks - if I made it out alive - would be do-able.

Well, it's been a year and a half. Most people only come here for their two week holidays. A year and a half later, the beach and palm trees somehow do not make up for the culture here that I can barely stand.

Made Me Laugh:

2006-11-17T19:16:00.000+07:00

I think we're in a bad spell of whether.

Photo Shoot

2006-11-16T19:11:00.000+07:00

One of the things I want to offer on my little online shop is my original greeting card line.

It's confusing - to say the least - to do the whole copywrite thing...but I am getting there. I love taking photos, and I love 'animal personality' - so I'm making greeting cards out of photos of our thousands of pets.

Basically, it is their way to pay for: one scratched up leather couch, two walls of ripped off wallpaper, a chewed up table leg, two dozen pair of my underwear and the countless hours I spend hoovering and scrubbing in order to keep order and cleanliness.

Here are the kittens - during their part of the shoot - on a well-deserved break. Stella (mom cat) was so good - she just sat in her bed waiting for me to take the photos. The pictures are so cute I cannot believe it.

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Coolest Bug Ever

2006-11-14T18:57:00.000+07:00

Found this on an outside wall this afternoon! It was just a little smaller than a penny.

Kittens

2006-11-13T22:28:00.000+07:00

CAUTION: this video footage contains three kittens, a dog, a cat, a brief shot of my foot and leg and wildly enticing commentary by yours truly. May not be the most exciting thing you'll do today.

Awww! Well, I think they're cute. (the kittens, not my toes)

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Some of the Things I Saw Today

2006-11-12T21:56:00.000+07:00

Someone's home

Can you imagine?!

The ocean through my rose colored glasses

Our Super Duper Security Guards

My Neighbor's Flowers

The Kittens! (still can't tell if they're boys or girls!)

It's The Bee's Knees (I hope)

2006-11-10T11:47:00.000+07:00

For just about a month now, plans have been in the making for my very own ONLINE SHOP! Yes, that's right, I have joined the ranks of e-commerce shop owners, and I will be selling (only fabulous stuff) online!

I admit that I have no knowledge whatsoever about pay pal, designing e-shops, photographing products and even how the heck I am supposed to find customers.

In fact, what has me the most nervous is trusting postal services. How am I going to promise people that they will receive their purchase within 14 working days? I can't!! Should I train pigeons to deliver the goods? Should I hand deliver them? Or should I relax and hope for the best?

Anyhow, I've called it The Bees Knees. It's not up and running yet (am sort of stuck in the - 'ok, I've signed up: now what do I do?!' stage).

Look! Here's one of my necklaces:

Anyhow, I'll just keep trying to comprehend it all, and perhaps...SOON, The Bee's Knees Online Shop will be up and running. I am very excited. What fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ANY advice is more than welcome : )

Loy Krathong

2006-11-07T09:57:00.000+07:00

Loy Krathong.

I admit, it's a nice little concept: craft a krathong out of banana leaves, incense and candles - make a wish and float out to sea...if your candle remains burning as the krathong floats out of site - your wish will come true!! (like I said, a nice concept). The other option is to purchase a paper or plastic lantern, light it's wick, and send it up into the night sky.

A Krathong

Hustle and Bustle. (pardon the fuzziness of picture)

The Loy Krathong Festival, which takes place during the full moon every November, brings out the kind of hustle and bustle that Christmas time does in the western world. There are street merchants selling Krathongs by the thousands, there is food everywhere, fireworks going off left right and center and people are happy.

I was happy too, kind of.

The first of many fireworks to go off directly above my head.

Let's just say that pessimistic worriers and chaotic fireworks displays aren't known to mix as well as birthday cakes and balloons. I am a worrier. Perhaps the problem lies within my intense and somewhat dramatic imagination. From my deckchair on the beach (hiding beneath my towel so as to avoid the falling ash and molten plastic) I kept watch - worrying all the while. Damon, intent on lighting a lantern, and watching it float up into the sky, joined the crowds in the sand - right in line with the bangers and fireworks that people were shooting off.

Where else in the world are fireworks of this magnitude set up beside deck chairs and beach bars? It's kind of thing that makes people say, 'You've gotta love Thailand.'. But not people like me.

It was like a battle field. The worst of it came when I threw an empty water bottle at a man who was standing three feet away with a child that was not yet two years old. Had I not been so frightened, I would have recorded the episode on our (BRAND NEW!!) camera. This man, armed with a tube of fire works, squatted down beside his son, and lit the fuse.

Fireworks shot from the cannon, nearly missing innocent bystanders who were letting their lanters and krathongs go (but that kind of thing was completely normal by this point - I was beyond worrying about that). And then the man (the stupid, stupid man) HANDS THE FIREWORK TUBE THINGY TO THE BABY. The baby is now holding a tube of live fireworks that are shooting out in every direction as he leans, as he sits down, as he picks his nose, as he turns to look for his mother....(which was in my direction)...And so I said something like, 'NO!! !!!!! Stupid maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!' And threw the plastic water bottle at them in an effort to save myself from death by firework. I still don't think he understood what the problem was.

Anyhow, while Damon and the rest of the gang thought it was 'just hilarious' that there are absolutely no laws regarding fireworks, I spent the entire night keeping diligent watch over our group - and anyone else who came within 500 feet of us.

A brief moment of happiness was had when Damon finally found success (after numerous comical attempts), and his lantern went floating up into the sky. There was no stopping him after that - I think we had close to ten wishes that night.

I almost didn't post this video because of my ANNOYING voice! In my defense: it was so loud there, my whoo-hoos were a mixture of fear, joy and relief that I had not died yet, AND it was rather exciting to see Damon finally get a lantern up........

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Carlos, our freind's son with his mini Krathong.

I liked this one!

More chaos:

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Watching the World

2006-11-04T10:32:00.000+07:00

Before we moved to Thailand, the only television Damon and I watched was football (soccer) games and the occasional DVD. Now that we've moved to Thailand, where our life is so different from the one we left behind, we've found ourselves clinging to certain British and American television shows - as if the actors are our friends, and the story lines somehow affect our day to day lives.

Both of us have our favorites - our 'must see's. Damon rushes home every Monday night sprinting around the house upon arrival; getting himself ready for The Ultimate Fighter. He loves it. Both of us are WAY too into the Amazing Race - we have even signed up to participate in the Asia Amazing Race Online. (Come on! There are 2,000 U.S. Dollars up for grabs - did I mention that there's something that costs exactly 2,000 U.S. Dollars that we are saving up for???).

And then there are my shows:

Ahhhhhhhh, the love and joy I feel when I hear the theme song for Midsummer Murders comes on. The intrigue, the mystery, the 'Col. Mustard in the Library' type situations all set in the beautiful and idyllic county of Midsummer in England.

CSI Miami, New York and Las Vegas: please don't spoil the happy place I have found by reminding me that the Investigators on CSI are actors, and that the show is not actually REAL.

House: Hugh Laurie and his American accent. Comedy mixed with near death experiences. It's just so addictive.

And finally.... my ALL TIME, BEST, NUMBER ONE, FAVORITE television show: Doc Martin. During the Doc Martin hour, I crawl into the TV and become a part of the daily lives of the villagers of Port Isaac in Cornwall. I laugh my head off, and I cannot get enough of the local gossip. How sad is that? I feel like if I walked up to Martin Clunes, I could say, 'Hi Doc.' And he would answer, 'Hello Leah.'

Mosquitoes and Deep Thoughts

2006-11-03T15:37:00.000+07:00

If war and disease are a direct result of humanity's sinfulness and greed, then I would like to know WHO or WHAT committed the sin that brought mosquitoes into this world.

There is no way they could have been present in the garden of Eden before the whole forbidden fruit thing; show me a human who doesn't have an 'un peaceful' thought when wandering around a mosquito-filled garden. No sir-ee, that place was mosquito-less, I tell you.

As I type, my legs play host to seven active bites ('active' indicates bites which have occurred recently enough to cause me to stop typing and make little x's with my fingernails upon every bump that itches), and more yesterday and the day before bites than I care to count.

There is not 'mosquito season' here in Thailand. Nobody has told these insects to take a couple of months off - to re group - seeing as that's what all the other mosquitoes WORLD WIDE do. But no, as far as Thai Mosquitoes are aware, anytime is blood sucking time.

We spend most evenings either high on bug killing spray (which we shoot by the gallons at every single mozzie that is stupid enough to go expose itself) or leaping through the house in an effort to eliminate their army with our fly-and-insect-killing-electric-tennis-racket things.

And the buzzing they do around your ears at night? My anger-pot is bubbling over even writing about it.

What if Eve had spent a day enclosed in a house full of mosquitoes the day before she took the fruit? What if God had said, 'Mosquitoes are Satan's couriers - he wants to let them buzz around the earth,to collect blood from the humans...if you take the fruit that will be offered to you tomorrow, I will unleash mosquitoes upon human kind.'.

I wonder if she would have taken the fruit after all? I honestly don't think she would have. THAT is how annoying mosquitoes are: History would have been re-written had they shown up a day early.

Shopping Day

2006-11-02T17:29:00.000+07:00

Questions: What's more annoying than being pushed to the side by two lady boys giggling and holding up bras against each other's chests?

Answer: the fact that my backside is TOO BIG for any of the cute, frilly pink underwear that is on sale for 19 Baht each. Even the large is too small. I cannot tell you how disturbing it is to see sexy women's lingerie small enough to fit a ten year old girl (or a full grown Thai woman).

Today I experienced what I like to call 'Shopper's Rage'. We've all heard of road rage, and the feeling I get when experiencing shopper's rage lies somewhere between being cut off on the freeway, and being stuck behind someone who likes to do five under the speed limit when you are late for work.

I get this because of two things: the sizes and the staring.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I get stared at while at the grocery store. Really. I've spoken to other foreign women, and they have all experienced it as well. Thai women stare. Just STARE at me - then my shopping cart - then me again. Last week, two shop assistants actually started looking through the items in my cart and laughing - lucky for them it was one of my happy days.

I think what's going on is this: most Thais buy their food in meal-sized portions daily, whereas I try to get all of my shopping done once a week. I buy bottled water, and ridiculous amounts of cat and dog food (remember I have millions of animals, PLUS I feed street dogs). All of these bulky items nearly fill my buggy and so.....once I have the veggies, breads and meats piled on top, it must look tho them like I am doing the daily shop for 40 families.

So, between the staring and the fact that I cannot even fit into a pair of LARGE WOMEN'S UNDERPANTS, my nerves were on edge today.

And then I think of all the people that live in my hometown of Abbotsford who come from different countries. And I feel sympathy and shame for having laughed at their oddities (which I now view as differences) in the past. It's not easy being a foreigner, and it must not be easy for the Thais to accept us either.

Somehow, we get paid more than they do (even in their home country), we live in nice houses and can afford to do and buy things that most of them can't.

Fine. I can't expect an entire nation to change it's minimum wage and clothing sizes to suit my needs - I'll be fine with this one pair of underwear I own (OK, exaggeration - but still...). But I really am tempted to walk around with a sign written in Thai that says, 'If you can read this, you've been staring too long'.

Or maybe, I can just smile. That always feels better anyway.

Enneagram: not to be confused with Mammogram

2006-11-01T15:59:00.000+07:00

I found a very cool personality test yesterday.

I guess because I spend so much time buried deep in my thoughts, I have always been interested in psychology and...well, basically: whether or not I am normal.

The results are a great tool. For the person who took the test - ie. show you how to get past any dynamics that are holding you back; and also for loved ones - ie. as far as understanding how your mind works. I think it's great for spouses.

Click here: Enneagram to take the test!

I am Type 4.

18 Fun Uses for a Pumpkin

2006-10-31T10:40:00.000+07:00

It's Pumpkin Time! I have compiled a list - the self explanatory ideas in pictures - and the recipes and more detailed ideas in the form of links.

Pumpkin Fudge

Pumpkin Potpourri

Floating Pumpkin Candles

Pumpkin Fondue

Pumpkin Pancakes

Pumpkin Biscuits

Ring Toss

Pumpkin Soap

Veggie head pumpkin: toothpicks and vegetables!

Pumpkin Vase

Pumpkin Turkey

Pumpkin Centerpiece

Pumpkin Boat

Pumpkin City

Pumpkin Cooler

Pumpkin Candleholders

Black Painted Pumpkins

Votive Pumpkins

Murder Mystery

2006-10-30T14:51:00.000+07:00

It was a night filled with florescent pink, tacky clothing and Abba. I was a kid during the 1980's, so I never had a chance to express myself in true 80's fashion. Until Saturday, that is. Lacking in a hair crimper (was so sure I had one!!) I opted for curling iron induced ringlets. It was a great evening. I loosened up after the initial school-teacher-like feelings I had and enjoyed re-living the eighties immensely. Damon took over as leader (THANK YOU HONEEEEEEEY!), and I had an excuse to walk around for three hours 'pretending' to be a girl named Dizzy Bimbo.

Damon and I were ex husband and wife.

Stuart and Nut were the murderers! Stuart read for Nut as well as himself (the whole English, Thai thing!). It was really sweet.

Just some of the group.

Joe and Perla.

Damon (his hair!!!!!!!)

Me. The Dumb Blonde.

Murder in Thailand!!

2006-10-27T22:50:00.000+07:00

I love parties. I love planning parties. And so....I throw parties.

This weekend, it is a murder mystery. It's funny (yes, hysterical!) how I don't have many buddies to call during the week, but come Saturday night, I've a list of, 'I wanna be there's' who I know will reply to my RSVP with, 'ATTENDING'.

I can do party games, pinatas and treasure hunts, but this - THE MURDER MYSTERY - is making my nerves come to life. I don't get it. I've heard of murder mysteries, and I think I've even taken part in one, but the idea of hosting, HOSTING, one has me scared. Sure, I've read and re-read the 'party planner guide'; but leading this is going to take more than creativity...I've got to be in charge....it even looks like I'm going to have to be a bit bossy. This scares me.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Ask anyone who really knows me: I become a doormat in the face of fear.

BUT, the house is all set up, and my costume is a gorgeous black dress and dangling beaded earrings. At least I have that.

Being the female that I am, I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than things like: 'how will I do my hair?'' and 'should I wear blue or purple eye shadow?'.

I guess tomorrow evening will tell whether this party planner is up for the job. I'll post pictures of the event and maybe even divulge in it's success (or lack of) online.

Wish me luck; for tomorrow I shall play host to murder extraordinaire. It's set in the 80's. Perhaps I'll crimp my hair?

Borrowed Time

2006-10-26T10:09:00.000+07:00

I thought I'd do one of those quizzes on Blogthings to add to my sidebar. Searching through the list, I found 'What part of Fall are you?'. I LOVE fall, so I took the quiz. Expecting something cozy and sweet, I was alarmed by the result:

You Are Changing Leaves

Pretty, but soon dead.

What Part of Fall Are You?

Ummmm. I certianly hope not. Though, I did answer all the questions truthfully. Really? SOON DEAD?! Hmmmmmmm, must get onto that list of things to do before I die. Yikers!

How Cute is This??

2006-10-25T18:36:00.000+07:00

Maybe it's just because I'm the 'mamma'? But I think it's adorable. Ever since Stella gave birth to the kittens, Roxy has been frantically trying to mother them. Stells is surprisingly lenient, and seems to enjoy her built in babysitter.

I caught Roxy in the act this evening:

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Have a Baby?

2006-10-25T10:58:00.000+07:00

Even though I am the only person in the world who does not have a baby,

I found this site:

http://www.totsites.com/

It is so cute! You can make a website for your baby or toddler. Great way to show them off to friends and family.

Attempt Number 347

2006-10-23T13:21:00.000+07:00

This is about as far as I can get into plant growth before I start to panic. Oh man, there's green. What am I supposed to do now? What happens next?

I found this idea on the Martha Stewart website. It came with vague instructions - which led me to believe that most people know instinctively what must be done with the little brown seeds once they actually start to push through the soil with green.

I was hoping that I'd have a week or so before I'd have to deal with the 'next step' in vegetable growing. It seems to me, that gardening is something that should come naturally to a female human being. Over the course of a year, I have killed thousands of vegetable plants, an extensive wildflower collection and even a fern. The blame for the death of my transplanted alovera plants lies with the dogs - but who knows how long they would have lasted under my care? The mystery lives on.

How do I get to this stage?

I want to be the woman in the picture. Who is she? How did she get the seeds to turn into plants? Moreover, how did she get food grow on them?

Time will tell how successful this next attempt at growing a vegetable garden will be. I will not be defeated. There will be tomatoes and cauliflower!

Three Little Kittens

2006-10-23T12:40:00.000+07:00

Saturday evening. Damon and I have decided to stay in and order take-away. Mexican! (yup, you can get Mexican take-away in Thailand...it really is a small world after all). Three or four bites into my fajita, I am accosted by Stella, and it becomes apparent that for now, eating is out of the question.

'MAAAOOOOWWW! MAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAWAOAOOOOO.' She stares at me with bulging eyes.

Damon and I break out into 'OK team, let's do this!' mode. My suddenly pale and sweating husband reveals that 'he is not too good with this sort of thing', meaning that the whole insides coming out part of the natal experience is going to be too much for him. Flashbacks of Roxy's five puppies and all the sacks and placenta thingys and blood and guts.....come to my mind. Eating is DEFINITELY over for me; fajitas are dumped into the rubbish bin, I sweep nausea aside and Stella follows me as I lead her to the 'birthing area'.

Thinking that once she'd found her place, she'd rather be left alone - or at least that's what all the articles I read claimed - I say, 'OK Lella. I'll come back and see you in a minute. Good girl.'

I exit the room and next thing I know, I have an evil looking Siamese cat at my feet. Her meows are angry, and she leads me back into the room with her. In the end, she insists that I sit right beside the birth box keeping one hand inside the box with her at all times. Any subtle attempts to leave the room result in Stella screaming and crawling across rooms and hallways to find me, begging me to come back.

My heart melts and my pride bubbles over. Ha! OK all you cat experts out there, my cat wants me with her. At one point in her labour, I feel better about myself than I ever have in my entire life. I have never been this needed. No one has ever needed ME! ME!!!! Klutzy, scatterbrained me. The fact that it is a cat and not a human doesn't even phase me. I relish in the moment. Must be a glimpse into what being a mommy is like. Whew. Beautiful.

My most glorious moment is seemingly Stella's worst. She writhes around in her little nest of blankets. My 'Good girl Stella's are countered by Damon's 'how is she?'s being called out from his place far away from the inevitable eekyness.

Soon, the hilarious interactions that normally take place between human beings in moments of panic set in. Damon, unable to not be a part of the birth, suddenly appears at the door. He has morphed before my eyes into a veterinarian, and is full of 'do this's and 'no, put her here's. I am annoyed. 'I know, Damon.' This, in turn, annoys him: 'I'm just saying that she needs space.'

'OK, fine.' I dramatically get up and stomp to the other side of the room. Stella meows me to come back. 'See? She wants me there.'

We annoy each other for a few more minutes and Damon leaves and says to 'just call me when you see a head popping out.'.

'OK!!! I see a head!' Damon rushes back inside, but it is a false alarm. This happens three times. Oops.

'Just let her do what she has to do. Stop interfering.'

And so, I do. Suddenly, a head really does pop out, and Stella walks over to the litter tray. I try my best not to interfere. Kitten number one falls into a pile of kitty litter, and is immediately encased in clay. 'Oh no! Oh my goodness!' Should I interfere now? When can I interfere? This was not in any of the articles!

'DAMAAAAAAAWWWNNN!' He bursts into the room.

'What the...Get her out of there! Pick her up!!! What are you doing?!'

I do what he says and I realize that I don't have a clue what I am doing. There is no explanation! How could I let her give birth in a litter tray?

Damon is the angel of life and brings in a bowl of water and some towels. 'OK, now, get that clay off of the kitten. Is it breathing? Here, rub it like this.'

The next two kittens are born just in time for me to figure out the difference between 'good interfering' and 'bad interfering'; they are born onto a towel. They are not immediately encased in clay.

After it is all done, we laugh. I apologize for the whole litter tray thing. Damon tells me I did a good job. And we have kittens. Three of them! Then we go to bed.

This is the Chaos in My Neighborhood, in My Neighborhood, in My Neighborhood, Oh! .....

2006-10-22T11:27:00.000+07:00

Damon and I figured out how to use the 'newfangled' video thingy on our camera! This was us yesterday:

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Walking Bob

2006-10-20T22:40:00.000+07:00

It's Friday night and 'No Friends Leah' decided to take Bobby Dazzler for a walk. My dear husband is at a work party and I still haven't found a way to make my own friends here - (is that not the saddest thing you have ever heard??).

Anyhow, Bob - you can read all about him here: Mean Mr. Spade Meets Bobby Dazzler and here Bobby Dazzler: Integrating the Outcast - was found fur-less and half dead on a beach in a place called the Sanctuary of Truth, and has grown all of his fur back; he's been a Smith since December, 2005 and is now very much alive.

This is Bob:

I used to let him roam the neighborhood on his own. Thailand plays host to countless amounts of street wandering canines, and Bob knew the routine like the back of his paw. Trouble started when he realized that his regular meals and constant love and affection from his stay-at-home mom gave him an edge that scared the other street wanderers.

Who was this confident and well-fed guy? He was Bob, and he decided he owned the neighborhood. There were fights and attempted bites (did I mention that Bob has no teeth?). So, due to his constant cries at the gate, his 'pleeeeeeease let me out's, I stuck a lead on him, and Bob and I wandered into the night for his first EVER walkies.

The neighborhood strays (whom I feed, pet and water) came running out from their places of refuge when they saw that the 'treat lady' was coming. And then they saw Bob. Fear took over, and I watched countless strays roll onto their backs in submission. There were tails between legs and whimpers from all corners of my view. Bob had definitely been peeing on fence posts and mailboxes. Prior to his house arrest, my toothless mutt had been king of the road.

From his end of the lead, Bobby cried. He wailed. I'd imagine that from his point of view this was the epitome of humiliation: being walked on a lead by his 'mommy' was pretty much the most degrading thing that could have happened on this warm and breezy Friday night.

It only took seconds before the rest of the gang knew they were safe. There was leaping and yelping and wagging of tails and Bob trotted on, wailing and angry.

I have never seen him run into the house so quickly. Our walkies is over, and Bobby Dazzler lies defeated in a corner under the table.

HEIDI EPP DOES EUROPE

2006-10-20T17:30:00.000+07:00

I have just finished reading Heidi Epp's latest posts on her blog. I have decided that she needs to become a travel writer!

Honestly, if you have a couple of minutes to spare, go to her blog and read all about her big trip to Europe. Hilarious.

(oh, and the friend 'Leah' with whom she travelled is not me!) Although you could probably have figured that out from the pictures...just clarifying.

I stole this picture from her blog - but I know she'll forgive me:

W.O.F.

2006-10-20T16:30:00.000+07:00

Two years ago, my dear friend Genny Loewen invited me to the Women of Faith Conference in Vancouver, B.C., Canada. To be honest, I thought it was going to be a typical and annoying service. I expected to be preached at and listen to sob stories and how 'God helped people through things'. But you know what? It wasn't like that at all. It made a huge impact on me, and I wish so much that I could go again this year.

I sat and listened. I laughed a lot and sometimes even cried into Genny's supply of Kleenexes. I ate a hot dog. I even sang along with the bands. I realized that most of the women there were just like me.

For any of you out there who are interested in what the God of hope and love wants to show you, go! It's not 'lame' or 'boring'; it's really, really good.

I got this write-up off of the Website:

WOMEN OF FAITH WEBSITE

It’s two days, 10½ hours. It’s refreshment, reality without reproach, and relationships. So what does that mean?

Refreshment – Imagine getting together with your closest girlfriends for a weekend. Think of the laughter you’d share, the tears you’d shed, the FUN you’d have. Now multiply that by 10,000 or so. You’re starting to get the idea.

Reality without Reproach – We’re not perfect. We don’t expect you to be perfect, either. Our speakers are real women who share stories from their real lives. We’re here to encourage women, not to condemn anyone. Even those who have never set foot in a church feel comfortable at our conferences. You can check your mask at the door. You’re welcome just as you are.

Relationships – Connecting with God and with each other. At Women of Faith we believe that God loves you – no matter what your situation in life may be. We also believe that He wants a personal relationship with you. Through our conferences, more than 150,000 women have indicated decisions to start or renew that relationship. Relationships with each other are important, too. At a Women of Faith conference you’ll have the chance to connect with other women – even if you go there alone!

Over the course of the conference, you’ll have the opportunity to: Renew your spirit with messages of hope and humor from the Women of Faith speaker team. Recharge your spiritual batteries with drama that tickles your funny bone and touches your heart (at the same time!). Rejoice with music from top Christian music artists. Reconnect with God and each other as the WOF worship team leads an arena full of women in praise to God. Revitalize your life with resources that will help keep the conference experience alive all year. Relax in the comforting knowledge that God loves you – right where you are.

Images from Our Habitat (lovingly known as Smithsville)

2006-10-17T14:11:00.000+07:00

Just in case we forget where we are.

Remember those vines I was going on about? They shocked me and started flowering.

Very nice indeed.

Mom, Dad and baby at our front door. (and more vines)

More vines. Our house is going to be all green one day.

Stella looking angry even though she has her very own buffet area which is served as many times as she can meow 'I'm hungry' a day.

I once blogged about the fact that our house resembles an elementary school classroom; do you see what I mean?

Kittens in the Forecast

2006-10-16T19:22:00.000+07:00

Once again, 'strange animal lady' (moi) is eagerly awaiting the arrival of more furry friends.

Stella, the Siamese, is pregnant.

I do feel a bit guilty for allowing my feline to add to the already overflowing animal population here in Thailand, but at the same time I ask myself: why doesn't the world need a few more Siamese kittens?

And then, in an effort to communicate her frustration at not being allowed outside during these last few pre natal days, Stella scratches the leather couch with her claws. No amount of cute can make me say 'awwwwwww' at this point, and the thought of a handful of claw-bearing creatures roaming around my house suddenly makes me panic.

It seems I have forgotten the devastation five pups left only months ago.

Stella leaps - as high as a pregnant kitty can leap - at my 'NO!!!! BAD STELLA!!', and I watch her swollen belly swing from side to side as she lands feet first on the hard tile floor. Then she vocalizes her sorry with a plethora of 'meows' and hops into my lap where she instantly rolls onto her back revealing eight pink nipples and a belly the size of a dozen bananas.

I can see not-quite-born-yet kittens rolling around in her stomach; Stella's tail twitches with discomfort. I try to count: one, two, three....I would place my bets on three.

And so, kittens are in the forecast. Once again at the Smith household, it's looks like it's going to be raining cats and dogs. I can't wait. (leather couches shall be covered, and litter trays shall be the ONLY OPTION). Let the games begin!

TRAVEL!!

2006-10-14T17:18:00.000+07:00

Perhaps am the last to know?

On the off chance that there is someone out there who hasn't heard:

ZOOM AIRLINES has got unbelievably cheap fares for trans-Atlantic flights. Hooray! Too bad this doesn't affect Thailand, but still - a weekend in Paris anyone???

The Trouble With Computers

2006-10-14T11:05:00.000+07:00

I love my computer. I spend hours gazing lovingly into it's screen, caressing it's keyboard with my fingers, dusting in between it's cracks and crevasses, cleaning out it's hard drives, arranging the desktop.

And you know what? It worries me.

Last week, we lost our Internet connection. I was beside myself with frustration. What about my friends and family?! The news?! Canadian radio stations?! My blog?! My EMAIL?!!!

During the five day Internet drought, I discovered life beyond my computer. It was slow at first, and even a bit frightening, but I dug out my old habits and hobbies and suddenly, my creative flare was blazing.

There are now plans in the making for a picnic table to be painted with acrylic paints and covered in game boards. I am saving up for the ping pong table I found on sale in the supermarket. I now own a sewing machine, and I sew! I've signed up for voice lessons, and have put out an ad offering to tutor children in English. The freezer is full of frozen soups and dinners that I made from scratch and the dogs have all had haircuts. I make my own greeting cards. I am going to learn to play golf.

Sigh. Life is so full of STUFF, and I am ever so happy that I've rediscovered it.

Another Conversational Misunderstanding

2006-10-05T13:32:00.000+07:00

Seven years ago, I was working at the Naval Base in Portsmouth, England. It was a strange job - and I am still not really sure how and why I got it - it was one of those: my friend's baby sitter's mom knows someone who knows someone who is related to a guy who is looking for a Secretary type of thing.

About two weeks into the job, five or six male Naval officers entered my office and asked what I would be doing that Friday night.

'Ummm, I'm not really sure, actually.' Red faced and feeling awkward, I leafed through some faxes and opened and closed some files on my computer.

'Oh,' one of them piped up, 'well, Mike here is having a Swing party, and we were wondering if you wanted to come?'

'Are you serious?! That's fantastic!' No longer shy or embarrassed, I was in my element. Swing dancing had been a passion of mine for years, and I had not been able to find any venues since arriving in England.

'Umm, yah. You swing?' The guys looked surprised and most definitely amused.

'Do I swing? Are you kidding?! My best friend Heidi and I went twice every weekend in Canada. There was this really cool bar with velvet couches and chandeliers. It was so fun, and I've been looking EVERYWHERE for it here! Are you guys all going? Are your wives going?'

'Yep, we do it about once a month. All of our wives will be there.'

'OK, I cannot tell you guys how excited I am. You guys all swing?! I would never have guessed! I have a few partners, but this one guy and I do flips and stuff all the time. Everyone used to gather in a circle and clap. Oh, and it'll be great to get to know your wives!'

'Well, Hmmmm. I'd like to see that.' There was nervous laughter, and the guys all looked like they suddenly needed to leave the room. 'So, you'll be there, then?'

'I sure will! You must have a huge house! Will there be extra guys there? I don't have a partner.'

They looked around at each other. They all looked so surprised and maybe even a bit shifty.

'What's wrong?' Maybe I was acting a bit too excited for these big Navy guys. I decided to tone things down a bit.

'Uh, ya, there'll be lots of guys there.' Mike answered in a low, raspy voice. They shuffled out of the room, and a few of them looked at me in a way that didn't seem quite right.

'OK then. I'll get directions from you later, Mike.' I returned to my work, energised by the fact that in only three days, I'd be Swing dancing.

About two hours later, I was called into the Colonel's office:

'Have a seat.'

Even though I didn't know much about the Navy, I knew that I should be slightly scared of the Colonel. Her essence sent shivers down my spine. She did not look happy. Oh man, what had I done?

'Leah, I've had a few complaints from a couple of people who overheard a conversation you had earlier this morning with some of the officers.'

'Oh my goodness. What did I say? What conversation?'

'Apparently a few of the guys here are involved in Swing parties, and they invited you to come this Friday night. That sort of thing is not tolerated here. You can do whatever you want on your own time. It is completely unacceptable to discuss things like that here.'

'What?!' I had no idea, no clue what she was talking about. I wanted to cry. What was going on here?

'Are you saying you didn't talk to Mike and some of the other guys about going to Mike's Swing party on Friday?'

'Yes. Yes I did talk about it. I was going to go.'

It took a couple of minutes, but after a few more questions, the Colonel's face turned from hardened and angry to sympathetic and tickled.

That day, I learned there are more than two ways to 'Swing'. And no, I did not go to Mike's party.

STERR

2006-10-04T09:26:00.000+07:00

http://www.myspace.com/sterr

OK, just go to their new website, and listen to 'Wishing Well' and 'It's OK'. I don't even need to tell you how good they are, but I will anyway: SO GOOD. And I am not just saying that. Honestly, if my brother's band was bad, I'd be embarrassed.

In other news, my brother is friends with the Foo Fighters!!!!!!! Sweet hullabaloola! I am that much closer to being famous.

One other point: Who are these girls on myspace wearing nothing but underwear and posting their pics all over the place? The next time one of them leaves a comment on STERR's site, I am going to have to have a word with her.

NOTE TO ALL GIRLS WHO POST LINGERE PICTURES ON MYSPACE:

I look good naked too, but I don't take pictures of myself pouting at the camera and then make sure that half the world sees them on the internet. If you are that desperate for approval, bake cookies and hand them out to homeless people.

Mini Reunion

2006-10-04T08:17:00.000+07:00

I travelled back to Canada from Thailand, and missed my ten year high school grad reunion by a week! I am the type of person who has been waiting for the reunion since the day we graduated - lame, yes...but nice for all 168 of them to know that I care that much? I should hope so.

Ridiculously busy with all the things that go into a two week visit to the motherland, I realized that I would have to stick to chance meetings with my friends from the past, as opposed to planned visitations. But then, from out of the blogging world popped a familiar face: Heidi Weibe...who had since turned into Heidi Epp. After being reconnected through blogger after 10 years of virtual silence, we decided to have dinner together which we packed somewhere in between her finishing work, and me rushing off to a concert my brother was a part of.

It was wonderful. We laughed, we talked, we laughed some more. The poor waiter had to come back 247 times to check if we were ready to order yet because we kept neglecting our menus to say things like, 'Haaa ha ahaaaa! Remember that time your cow chased me around in your field?' and 'Ok, did so-and-so end up marrying so-and-so's wife's cousin after all?'. Conversations like this are important for two reasons (at least):

1. They remind you that life is good.

and 2. They give you a reason to go out and do more funny things just so you can sit at a table ten years from now and talk about them.

Halfway into our meal, Dave Coutts (famed for being hit by a truck during a comic rendition of Mission Impossible) joined us. I learned a million interesting facts about them both, but not enough!

One thing I can say though is that: it seemed just as hilarious and fun as our days in high school - only with more honesty and laughter at ourselves.

Suddenly, I noticed the time. Dave rushed off, and I panicked when I realized that my Dad was waiting for me at the concert with the two twelve year old girls I was supposed to be meeting there.

'Heidi! I have to go!' Time had flown by so quickly. We hugged goodbye, and dear, sweet, hilarious Heidi paid the bill (THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

And that was it. I sped frantically through town to my father, and she made her way back to her awaiting husband. I truly can't wait to see Heidi again. Relationships are amazing, aren't they? So, here's to Dave Coutts and Heidi Epp...and our mini MEI 1996 Grad Reunion.

PS. Heidi hates her hair in the picture, so check out her blog to see more pics of her hair on better hair days. ( I think it looks lovely!!!!!)

Good Thing They Said: 'WHAT?! Are you serious?!'

2006-10-03T13:46:00.000+07:00

As I was lunching with my parents last week, the topic turned to my husband who was eagarly awaiting my return home:

'Did you talk to him?'

'Yep. Last night, on the phone.'

'He's still busy with work?'

'Yah, he said he's been working 16 hour days, poor guy.' I pull a face, and think about Damon working all those hours: sometimes I wanna have a serious chat with his boss............

Then, out of the blue Dad asks...'So, you had a good talk with your brother yesterday?'

'Yes.' I was still thinking about Damon who had just gotten over four days of food poisoning, and was looking gaunt and tired everytime I saw him on SKYPE.

'What did he say?'

And, here's where the confusion sets in:

'He said he loves me and needs me with him.'

'He did?' My parents both stopped chewing and stared at me.

'Ya. Um, he said he can't live without me.'

'He really did?'

'Yes! What do you think he's gonna say?! I thought it was very sweet of him! Thanks a lot!'

'WHAT? Are you serious?! What did he mean?' Mom wore a look of utter confusion, and Dad just sort of sat quietly beside me picking at his Ceasar Salad.

'What did he mean?!?! What is going on here! Sooooooorry if my husband has a few nice things to-'

I was cut off by both parents practically jumping for joy at the same time. 'You mean Damon!!!!'

'Oh no! Did you think I was talking about Dean?'

'Yes!'

'Oh. My. Word. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! Sorry! Now I can see where I messed up the conversation!!! Sorry for getting so annoyed!'

My parents forgave me, and we laughed about it for a while. It makes you wonder how often things like that happen and don't get figured out!? I think the lesson to be learned here is: When in doubt, ASK!!!!!!!

Back in Thailand

2006-09-30T00:47:00.000+07:00

Well, 29 hours after I left Abbotsford, I made it back to Thailand!!

Slightly surprised (as I always am after a ride in the air) that I did not parish in a plane crash, I am embracing life with flare and creativity (even though I bit all of my nails off).

I brought back plastic fall leaves and recipes for the season, and though it is always summer outside in Thailand, our home is a vision of autumn.

I may have over done it slightly though, because when I look around, I am reminded of elementary school classrooms; aptly decorated for the season. I have the Christmas decorations standing by. Come December, the orange foliage and harvest decor will be replaced with fake holly, pine cones and fir garlands; thankfulness and abundance will be overcome by peace and good will toward men.

Oh! And I've come up with my Christmas wish list already and it frighteningly house-wife-ish. When asked the question 'What do you want for Christmas?' I shall answer like this:

'Awwww! Thank you for asking!! OK, well...in no particular order: an oven or a sewing machine.'

Chances are, I'll get the oven. Need you ask why???

Tee Hee!!!!!!!!

For some reason, houses in Thailand rarely come equipped with an oven. We've got a stove top, though, so we're not dying. It would just be nice to eat something that isn't fried, boiled or steamed for a change. And Damon makes grand and delicious roast dinners. I can make casseroles, I think?

I HATE FLYING

2006-09-27T21:16:00.000+07:00

Today, I fly back to Thailand. I am DREADING the flight. Here's a little something that makes me feel just a tad bit better:

Monster #1: So, are you frightened?
Junior: No, not really.
Monster #2: Are you worried?
Junior: Not a bit.
I know what ever's gonna happen,
That God can handle it.

Frankencelery: I'm sorry that I scared you when you saw me on TV.

Junior: Well that's okay,
'Cuz now I know that God is taking care of me!

All: God is bigger than the boogie man
He's bigger than Godzilla, or the monsters on TV
Oh, God is bigger than the boogie man
And He's watching out for you and me.

Junior: One more time!

All: God is bigger than the boogie man
He's bigger than Godzilla, or the monsters on TV
Oh, God is bigger than the boogie man
And He's watching out for you and me.

Monster #1: Watchin' ...
Monster #2: Watchin' ...
Monster #3: Watchin' ...
Junior: Out for you and me! Yeah

Statue of Liberty - This is Embarrassing to Admit

2006-09-26T13:27:00.000+07:00

When my brother and I were 4 and 7 respectively, we came up with a (what we still think is HYSTERICAL) joke thingy. To this very day, when used within hearing distance of either my parents, myself or my brother - you can be sure this ridiculous and stupid joke will make any of us laugh.

Whenever I need an ab workout - I think of the joke instead of doing crunches. And the worst and most embarrassing thing about it???? I really don't think it is actually funny. At all.

There is just something about it that brings me back to that long car journey.

Dean and I were sat in the back seat of our Volvo. We were car-song sung out and had played a dozen rounds of eye-spy; the pickings were slim as to what we could do next.

Someone in the car said something about the Statue of Liberty. That's when it happened...the 'Mighty Reimer Joke' was born: the year was 1985, and we started what was to become one of our main long-car-journey pastimes.

Mom and Dad laughed at first, but Dean and I did not stop for years. The first few minutes after the birth of the joke were extremely exhilarating and exciting due to the fact that we were making Mom and Dad laugh while saying words like 'poo' and 'barf'. Eventually, we had to whisper back and forth after Mom and Dad stopped laughing and told us that 'bathroom' words are not meant to be used that way - but there was no stopping us.

This is how the joke (if it is worthy of being called a joke) goes:

Statue of Liberty:

Stat-um of Liber-bum

Stat-ee of Liber-pee

Stat-upid of Liber-stupid

Stat-arf of Liber-barf

See what I mean? Soooooo not funny - but sooooo very fun. You can do it with ANY THING! ANY WORD!

Stat-blinterblet of Liber-internet

Oh, and we never did it to make fun of the Statue. I promise. We were just two crazy kids riding in a Volvo. That is my only excuse.

Attack of the Killer Grannie

2006-09-24T13:36:00.000+07:00

Well, whad-a-ya-know: I am the victim of a physical assault. I bear no bruises from the attack; nor was any blood drawn....I think it's just the drama of the incident that keeps swimming around in my mind.

Samantha and I popped in to visit Grandma Betty last Friday afternoon. Fridays at Hallmark Assisted Living Apartments are Ice-Cream and Cookies Social Afternoons, and grand kids and friends are encouraged to visit. The second we rung her doorbell inside the building - imaginary light bulbs flashed atop each of our heads, and we laughed at the realization that we had forgotten she was away on holiday.

After commenting back and forth about how dumb we were for forgetting since we had been talking about her trip only two days before, we decided to grab a cookie from the public dining room even though we were Grandma-less.

'Where are you two from?' An evil sounding inquest floated from one corner of the room to the coffee and cookie table we were standing beside. We turned and faced the source of the raspy sound, and were met by the site of a straight haired grandma hunched over and glaring at us from under her dark eyelids.

'Abbotsford?' We questioned ourselves as we answered in unison. Our spirits were confused. We wanted to be kind and respectful to our elder, yet her tone and stares made us feel very small, and slightly scared. I could hear the faint sound of alarm bells, but we decided to hope for the best while we contemplated which cookie we were going to choose. There were Ginger Snaps and Chocolate Chips, and evil grannie was getting in our way.

'Well,' she hissed (she really did hiss!! i suppose she practices.) 'You can't have a cookie.'

'What? Oh! Sorry. No, we were here to see our Grandma, but she's not here today, we were just going to have a cookie. It's ok, we'll just take one, I don't need one any way...' By now everyone in the room was watching our dialogue, and I searched the crowd for a friendly face - to no avail. We were on our own here. 'So! It's a beautiful day out today isn-'

I was cut of by a scream: 'YOU CANNOT HAVE A COOKIE!'

And then I got mad. The cookie didn't matter anymore, it was the principle of the thing, and I was gonna teach this grandma a thing or two about human kindness, even if I had to wring her neck. 'Yes we CAN have a cookie. There's a million of them here, and they are for the Grand kids. Look, we'll just take one, not two.'

'You put that down now!'

I should have stopped here. I should have let it go. The whole senile thing hadn't crossed my mind. I forgot that she was 80, and suddenly crumbled at the lack of humanity that was being displayed in the dining area of our Grandma's apartment.

Sam (who was laughing hysterically) and I (who was confused and angry) walked out of the room. I was holding a Chocolate Chip Cookie, and that's when we saw her: out of the corner of our eyes, we could see the evil essence arise, and we froze in our tracks as she shuffled furiously toward us.

'Give that to me you brats!' She lunged at me from behind; there was no escape. I was tackled, and as she grabbed the cookie from my hand, I watched it crumble to the floor and cried out 'WHAT A WASTE! YOU ARE HORRIBLE!'

I released myself from her grip and Sam and I ran for the door. After a five minute cool down followed by a severe case of the hysterical laughs, Sam and I marched back inside. This cookie war was not finished. The fight between good (two innocent granddaughters) and evil (resident mean lady) would not be over until settled by the nurse on shift.

She accompanied Sam and I to the dining room, and smugly (though trembling slightly), we each took a cookie. As we left the room, I heard our enemy mutter, 'Those two. They've been here before.'.

And that is the story of my violent encounter with a Killer Grannie. If I ever have kids, I am going to be sure to tell them to shoot me if I ever become that disheartened with life. After all, cookies were made to be eaten, and I am almost certain that Grandmas were made to be lovable.

Im Going to Nicepeopleville!!!!!

2006-09-12T14:07:00.000+07:00

I booked my plane ticket to Canada in exactly the same fashion as I go about making hair cut appointments:

'Hi! Do you have any tickets from Bangkok to Vancouver available for this week?' pause 'Wednesday?! That's the day after tomorrow. Oh, ummm, ok! Great! I'll have my husband's secretary call and book it then....ok! Bye bye.' (I LOVE referring to 'my husband's secretary' and telling people that she'll get back to them shortly on my behalf: 'I'll have my people call your people'). The truth is, my husband doesn't even have a secretary, but he does have a Vicky, and she pretty much takes care of everything around the office at CMI.

Anyway, I suddenly NEEDED to see my friends and family in Canada. Skype was no longer enough, and I couldn't bear the thought of having not seen my grandparents for over a year. I panicked, and next thing I knew, Vicky had booked my flight, and I was going to Canada.

It worked out well, because Damon has to work long hours for a while, and he won't miss me quite so much if he's busy building a boat. : )

I was actually feeling a bit sad today at the thought of leaving Damon and the animals, and then the Thais did it again. Insulted me in their coy little ways, and suddenly: I can't wait to be in Nicepeopleville (aka Canada).

Come on! Did my new taxi driver really need to say: 'Your body look slender today. Last time I look you, you look fat.'

And did the girls at the medical spa who helped me with my humiliating acne problem have to cry out: 'Oh! What happened to your face?! The medicine no work?'

And when I paid for the groceries I bought to keep Damon and the animals going for the next two weeks, could the cashier not contain himself and refrain from commenting: 'You eat all this in one week? Too musch grocery!'

I'll bet you a dozen Timbits that I will get nothing but smiles and 'Hey! Have a grrrrreat day!'s in Canada...and I'll smile back and say, 'You too! Thanks!' instead of trying to apologize for buying food, being fat(by the way: I AM NOT FAT!!!) and having pimples.

And so, while it will stink to be away from sweet Damon, life without insults is going to be quite a breath of fresh air! I leave tomorrow at 3:30am (Zoiks!).

To all you Abbotsfordians out there, see you soon!!!! There are so many people I wanna see, and I haven't had time to tell everybody I'll be around for a couple of weeks.....Want to make a list of all of you here:

But what if I forget someone?

Damon Does This:

2006-09-12T09:19:00.000+07:00

In case you happen to be wondering what it is that brought me out to Thailand in the first place, it it this: My husband's job as a Yacht Build Foreman. He built the boat in the photos, and has been a part of a million different builds over the years. The company CMI is brand new (well, started exactally a year ago), and this is what he does!!!! He has a desk in an office, but still comes home COVERED in carbon fiber dust (they make the boats out of Carbon Fiber). It's ichy and comes in a variety of colors.

I love my husband, and am so thankful that he goes to work every day to take care of his family. What a great guy - a first rate provider. He's a real man.

ONE WHOLE YEAR

2006-09-11T15:30:00.000+07:00

As of Saturday, September the 9th, Damon and I have been in Thailand for one year!!!!!!!!

Dave (a great friend who works with Damon and arrived at the same time as we did), Damon and I decided to go out and celebrate. I wanted to go to a classic Thai style BBQ that offers meat, veggies and Thai salads that you can prepare yourself. It's all you can eat for 99 Baht!!!!!!! (that's around one Canadian dollar) And it's so very Thai. We could talk about our time here, and laugh at funny memories. We could give a toast to the year to come, and truly celebrate our lives and situations.

But the guys had other ideas, and so - (somewhat hysterically) we ended up at an Irish pub watching English football.

I sat in my seat at the table nibbling away at my Chef's Salad, and the guys ate their liver and bacon and said things like: 'Woaaa! Did you see that save?!' and 'That goal was amazing! Watch the replay!'. The only thing Thai about our celebration was the fact that we had ridden in a Baht bus to get there. They were even drinking Dutch beer.

I tried my very best to act interested in the game, and added the occasional 'So! A year, hey?' which was repeatedly met by blank stares and eyes gazing past my head and directed at the big screen.

It was hilarious, but what else can I expect? I have decided that Damon is going to have to hire a guy who is married to someone who can be my bestest girl-friend. I need someone who will sit with me in an Irish pub while the game is on and talk about hair extensions and babies. Who will ask how my garden is growing, and tell me that I have lipstick on my teeth. Who will come over and make personalized greeting cards with me, and talk about the ins and outs of laundry detergents and stain removers.

Don't get me wrong.....I love LOVE my life here - my husband is wonderful as is my home and my dogs and my cat and and my swimming pool. I just need someone who speaks WOMAN...in English.

Hm. I must sound slightly desperate here, but I'm not. Just picky. But, you gotta be when you're on the lookout for a pal, don't you? I guess it may be the same as finding the love of your life: the best ones usually appear when you're not looking. I'll just be patient.

And so, I look forward to the coming year in Thailand. I can't wait to see what happens. My marriage and home are better than I could ever have imagined, and I thank God everyday for the life He has blessed me with. Besides, I've got amazing friends scattered throught the world - and a year of emails and phone calls and letters from them has made my time here even more fantastic. So, CHEERS! to Damon and Dave! That's one year down, and many more to come....

What is Going on Here?!

2006-09-09T08:23:00.000+07:00

I have written about my brother before. My brother, the drummer. Basically for him: eating, jobs, friends and family are things that just sort of happen - it's the drumming that keeps him alive.

Recently, he sent me this photo of his new drumset after I had said - 'ok, what do you mean?' too many times throughout our conversation on the phone last month. I didn't understand what he meant when he said 'a kit with 14 drums' nor did it make sense to me that there would be room for 12 symbols and a tambourine thingy.

And so, he sent me this photo, and now I think I get it...sort of. And yes, he only has two arms.

He actually packs this thing up and takes it to gigs and shows no matter how far the journey. And I thought packing my hair dryer and straightener was a big issue.

His band began recording their second CD last week, and I can't wait to hear it. Guys: If you're out there - every single person I play your first CD for says, 'Who is this? They rock!'.

And so, the next thing I need to see is my brother actually playing these drums. I'm still not sure I believe him.....

Graduation Reunion....Ten years this August!

2006-09-08T10:05:00.000+07:00

Ten year used to seem like an eternity. I remember the day we graduated from high school thinking, 'I have to wait ten years to see these people again?' I was already looking forward to discovering how we would all turn the day I accepted my diploma, so imagine my curiosity and excitement when our ten year high school graduation reunion invitation turned up in my mailbox.

I hummed and hawed, and in the end, decided that it was much more important to stay in Thailand with my visiting step-kids than to spend a weekend re-living my past. After all, I can do that right here on my blog. Imagine money I've saved in airfare!

And so, let me begin by recounting the story of Dave, and his Mission Impossible:

It was a warm summer's evening, and twilight painted the air. Our group of friends was 'hanging out' in the parking lot of the local Canada Trust Bank, and one of us had sprinted across the lot in order to return a DVD to Roger's Video. Dave, a guy full of jokes, pranks and general hilarity, made his way back to us weaving in and out of the shrubbery, and holding his hands together in the shape of a pistol. The Mission Impossible theme song pounded in our imaginations as we watched Dave's version of agent 007 meander violently through the parking lot. We all saw the truck approaching, and assumed, that with apparent sneaking expertise, that Dave saw it too. But he didn't, and just as he was about to cross the road and finish his assignment, he leaped from behind a bush, and landed in the path of the oncoming truck...which hit him, by the way. It was not as funny then, as it is now. (though I admit to laughing like crazy while kneeling beside him to check his vitals - sorry Dave).

He spent the rest of his summer working to pay off the damage he caused the truck, and I never saw him try anything as dramatic after that.

More high school memories to come.

How Cute is This?!

2006-09-05T12:54:00.000+07:00

I received this via email a few days ago. These are my parents. Recently retired, my dad is living large - could this be the first in a series of 'crazy things to do when you're freeeeee!'? I certainly hope so. Hooray for fun!!!!

Maya

2006-09-04T22:22:00.000+07:00

A busy office. Cosy, yet professionally laid out. A constant flow of people either looking for jobs or looking for crew. And little old me sat at a desk pretending I knew everything there was to know about working on yachts and connecting people.

Ahhhh, the glory of having a desk job and feeling the power of saying 'Yes' to the people I thought would make it and 'Ummm, why don'cha come back tomorrow' to those I was not so sure about. I was a crew agent - and finding crew for yachts was my business (along with drinking loads of French coffee and joining into group discussions with those sat waiting for interviews).

People came from all edges and corners (and round bits) of the earth. I loved my land-based job. As far as I was concerned, those who came in search of work on a yacht were far better people than I, and I loved chatting with the plethora of interesting souls that came to sit at my desk.

(oh, what the heck: I'll just tell you now that I was fired for being too nice in the end.) - but that's another story. Today I want to tell you about the best thing that came out of my job at the Yacht Crew Agency: Maya.

It had been a busy morning, but I had my coffee at my desk, and answering phones was what I did best: 'Hello? This is Leah!!! How may I help you?!?!??!'

The voice that answered sounded strangely familiar, though I could not place it: 'Hi! I'm calling from London, and I just wanted to let you know that I'll be arriving in Nice next week, and will be in looking for a position on a yacht. Is there anything I should be prepared for? What should I bring with me?'

I went on to give her my speech about entering the 'world of yachting' and paused at the end to ask, 'Where are you from?'

'Canada.' I would like to point out at this time that discovering the news of a Canadian coming to Antibes, France was a dream come true for me.

'Really?! Where in Canada?'

'Vancouver. Where are you from? I can tell by your accent you're Canadian too.'

'No way! I'm from Vancouver too!!'

And thus began a friendship that has lasted three years and counting.

Maya arrived in Antibes, and we took the town by storm: The two Canadian girls doing the France thing. Not only was she Canadian, but she was also cool; although come on have you ever met a Canadian wasn't cool? (well, apart from maybe Celine Dionne and perhaps Bryan Adams?).

We shared similar interests: men, clothing, life drama and talking, and I like so totally understood everything she said. We have met up in places all over the world since then: Italy, Croatia, England, Canada, the Caribbean and as of last week, Thailand.

She was passing through, and we spent our entire time together talking endlessly about the past, present and future. We had our nails done beside a pair of ladyboys, and sipped on chilled French Red Wine in a bar called St. Tropez. Ahhhhhhh, the memories.

It was great to have a pal here - if only for a day. So, here's to girlfriends! The one I had with me last week, and the ones I desperately dream of seeing again soon.

Sunset Village: THE PLACE

2006-09-04T10:34:00.000+07:00

Sunset Village: THE PEOPLE

2006-09-04T07:28:00.000+07:00

We had a holiday within a holiday....20 minutes from our home! But still, 10 minutes into the drive Archie asked, 'Are we there yet?'

It was fabulous. Relaxation, and virtual isolation. At times, the city can get to be too much, and this escape was just brilliant.

Puberty at 28

2006-08-31T22:23:00.000+07:00

I've got pimples. And not just a few. I have the first seven chapters of the Bible written in braille across my forehead. The entire Chronicles of Narnia collection written across my left cheek, and my right cheek holds a secret coded message in reference to the end of the world.

The fact that I am 28, and am just now entering the world of acne is more than disturbing to me.

Positive aspects:

* I can identify with teenagers on at least one point

* I have a lot more color to my face

* I am no longer worried about fitting into a Thai size small: a spot-free face is all I ask for

And I am not even going to begin with the negative aspects.

Thus begins my journey into life behind a face full of bumps. Sigh.

My first plan of attack is to ignore it. So, this is the last I'll speak of the thorn(s) in my flesh. And besides, if I really do have literature on my forehead and cheeks, I won't need to pack so many magazines into my beach bag.

Things are looking up already.

Throwing Tantrums

2006-08-30T11:09:00.000+07:00

I had a tantrum this morning.

At 9:32am, I found myself throwing a plastic Kentucky Fried Chicken cup into a pile of dishes, and shouting: 'I am the worst housewife in the world! I am NOT coming out with you guys anymore' slight pause as I remember that we've planned to go to an island and stay the night this week - well, maybe I'll go there, 'Just go and do your thing, and I am going to spend the entire day cleaning!' I throw in 'That's all I'm here for anyway!' for dramatic effect.

I hustled around, spraying Windex, and wiping every surface I come near, violently empty garbage cans and pick up a pile of toys throwing them onto shelves and into boxes.

After a horrible night's sleep filled with time-of-the-month cramps and the type of anxiety only a menstruating woman could comprehend, I walked downstairs to find my husband slaving away at the kitchen sink, and was greeted by the words, 'You sure slept long this morning.' from Archie who had been knocking on our door, and walking in to ask us to wake up since 6am.

While I would normally take 'Pleeeeease wake up!' as a compliment - I mean, how sweet to think that someone misses you so much, that they incessantly try to drag you out of bed and into the morning? And while I would normally smile and cover my husband with thanks for doing dishes and washing the laundry, somehow I felt something snap, and I lost it completely when Damon greeted me with a grunt and what sounded to me like a 'why am i doing the housework?' monotone 'Hey.'

'I don't have any clean skirts.' Mollie approached me with the statement that threw me over the edge. Remain calm, remain calm, remain calm.

'Oh, really? OK, Let me go see if I can find any.' I stormed upstairs and threw piles of laundry around in search of a skirt. My search turned up nothing, and I flew back down asking Damon, 'How can she have no skirts?'

Which was countered with, 'I don't know, you tell me.'

To which I answered, 'I, IIIIIIII!!! have no idea. She's got millions, how can there not be one available skirt?! Why am I the only person around here who is supposed to know where every body's EVERYTHING is?! I am a horrific excuse for a housewife. I can't keep children in clean clothes, I can't wash dishes, I can't even keep up with the dirty windows!'

Although I admit that this tantrum was completely my fault, and I was growing more embarrassed by my immaturity and outbursts as each minute passed, I didn't stop.

Suddenly Damon's face turned calm and angelic: 'Just calm down hun; you DO do the house work. Thank you so much. I know it's been busy here, and we've been out a lot.' He enveloped unlovable me in a giant hug, and I broke down, sobbed a few premenstrual tears, apologised to everybody, and suddenly felt fine.

He tore me away from the floor tiles I was scrubbing with bleach and a toothbrush, and we enjoyed one of the best days we've had in weeks. So, there you have it. A wise husband calmed a fanatic wife today. Who needs anti-anxiety pills when they've got a Damon?

THE EVOLUTION OF A SMUDGE

2006-08-28T17:08:00.000+07:00

Three Hours

Three Weeks

One Month

Two Months

Three Months

Four Months

Six Months

Damon's Barbecue

2006-08-28T11:27:00.000+07:00

While I stayed home to clean the house yesterday, Damon and the kids hit the Water Slides at Pattaya Park.

Five hours, two sunburns, seven loads of laundry and one sparkling staircase later, Damon phoned with a plan: 'Let's have a barbecue tonight! The kids and I can pick up the groceries, and I can make my world famous potato salad! Sound like a plan?'

'Sure!' I said. And with that, he was off: gliding through the isles of Tescos with his grocery cart - tossing in marinades, fish, a selection of fine meats.

The threesome arrived home with bags full of barbecue-able treats, and Damon set to work immediately.

By seven o'clock, the neighbor-hood air was filled with the smell of burning charcoal, and the fridge was filled to the brim with dishes of exotic marinades and sauces soaking into meat and veggies he had carefully sliced up and prepared. His potato salad sat in a pot on the kitchen counter, and Damon worked tirelessly in the heat of the barbecue.

When the sky turned dark, and day turned to night, Damon was still outside barbecuing. I thought it odd that he had purchased quite so much meat; after all, it was only myself, the kids and him who would be eating. But, if there's one thing I've learned, it's to never mess with a man and his barbecue, so I sat inside in an effort to avoid mosquitoes and watched him through the French doors in the kitchen. Every once in a while I'd peak my head outside and ask, 'Can I get you anything?' and I'd be sent to the fridge for another plate of marinating meat.

It hadn't dawned on me that Damon was out there in the dark alone, until I glanced in the living room, and saw both kids collapsed on the couch. 'You guys hungry yet?' I asked - well, begged, actually. There was a lot of meat out there, and someone was going to have to do something with it. 'No, I feel sick.' Archie whimpered. 'I can't eat.' Uh-oh.

'Molls?'

'Um, yeah, I'll have a bit. Do you have any medicine I can take to stop me from throwing up?' Mollie, bless her, is the type of girl who would rather medicate herself than disappoint her father and his almighty barbecue.

'Are you ill sweetheart?'

'I feel like I'm going to be sick.'

'Well, you don't have to eat anything if you don't want to.'

'I know, I want to eat it.' She truly is a sweetie-pie.

(want to make a note here, that the reason I wasn't overly worried about the upset tummies was that they had had a long day in the sun filled with ice-creams and dad-treats: stuff kids only get when Dad's in charge...I LOVE DADS FOR THAT)

And so, trying desperately to contain the volcano of giggles that was threatening to explode, I walked outside to visit the chef. 'Hey hun, how's it going?'

Damon wiped a wave of sweat from his brow. 'Great. Whew. It's hot out here.'

And then I laughed. I couldn't help it. Damon was stood beside a table piled high with a selection of meat and vegetables. There was asparagus wrapped in parma ham that had been drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with herbs, corn on the cob, marinated shitake mushrooms, pork chops, spare ribs, chicken wings and salmon steaks. It was just so sweet.

'What's funny?' Damon asked while braising a lamb shank.

'Oh. No, it's just that there's a lot of meat here. Pshhhhaaaaaa! Sorry! Sooo-haaahahaha-rrrry!' I have never been good at holding in laughter.

'Well, get the kids out, and let's start eating! KIDS!!'

Upon discovering that there was a lot of meat, and no one to eat it: Damon said, 'All these marinades for nothing.' and then he laughed too.

At least he could smile about it. After the kids were tucked up in bed, Damon and I grabbed over-sized plates, and loaded them up. We picked at them; the food was delicious, but it was already ten-o'clock, and the heat had given us more of a thirst than a hunger.

By ten fifteen, Damon was asleep in front of the TV with a plate full of meat and potato salad on his lap. I carefully wrapped all of the leftovers in tin-foil, and placed them in the fridge. I considered setting up a stall on a nearby street and selling it (ok, not really - but there was a lotthere.)

This morning I tried to flog corn on the cob and chicken wings for breakfast, but that didn't swing, so I'll wait for lunch. (now that I'm thinking about it, I could have made an omelet. Oh man!!!)

So if there's anyone in the Pattaya / Jomtien area who is feeling a bit peckish, come on over! Damon really is the barbecue king - and that's just one of the reasons I love him so much. If only he had the same enthusiasm for washing dishes - now THAT would be lovable!

My Obsession With Vines

2006-08-27T13:01:00.000+07:00

When in my care, plants die. Flowers wither and fade, vegetables plants fail to produce that which they are supposed to and even cacti meet untimely ends. And that is why I have become completely infatuated by and preoccupied with VINES.

Damon has tried to break it to me calmly that our house and garden are being overcome by weeds, but I counter his comments with things like, 'Nothing natural can be called a weed.' and 'I find true beauty in all things green.'.

And so, every morning, while the rest of the house is waking up, I make my way outside to see how my vines are doing. I love them because they grow so quickly. There is no waiting involved. One day, a wall or fence is bare and bland, and the next, it is alive with life and color!

Over the months, I have gotten to know each of my vines, and the personality found in every particular weave. I take care and endow great pains and effort to make sure each shoot reaches it's next climbing goal with the ease and artistry only a weed - 'erm - plant could boast.

Though I am sure most of my efforts are seen as an eyesore to the the rest of the neighborhood, I refuse to give in. I ignore comments made by my friends and loved ones - ie. 'Leah! What the heck are you doing?' and continue my daily routine that is 'training vines'.

If these are the only things in my garden that agree to stay alive, then I must work with them - not against them. Perhaps one day (actually, frighteningly soon at the rate these things grow), our house will be hidden under rows of carefully thought-out vine columns. Birds will nest close to our walls, and thieves will retreat for fear of being 'lost in the jungle'. Maybe one day CUTE monkeys will swing from my balcony and the fence vines will reach upward to harmonize with the house vines (if all goes according to plan): our garden will be shaded by my only green-thumb success story since the bean sprout I planted in an eggshell carton in grade three (I still remember that smell).

When I pass garden shops and green houses filled with vast assortments of colorful and amazingly beautiful flowers and trees, I am saddened; but only for a bit. I tried (I really did), but failed. Lazarus (as I like to call my garden), has been reborn yet again: but this time, I've got a feeling it might actually work.

Just don't tell me that I'm making painstaking efforts to help weeds grow - sometimes the truth is better left buried (right beside my long-gone petunias, cucumbers and morning glories). I've always dreamed of having a garden, and though I've had to shift my ideals slightly, plant life has lasted longer than 12 days under my care.

Bless my husband for letting me try.

Too Much Cute

2006-08-27T11:03:00.000+07:00

Is it just me, or do I have two of the world's cutest dogs living at my house?

Six months ago, Roxy gave life to five little puppies. I complained as I cleaned messes, and found myself saying things like 'No!', 'Poo-poo outside!' and 'Bad doggie!' 97.65 percent of the time. They were absolutley adorable, but the amount of waste that flowed freely from their bodies dragged me to a level I had never knelt in before.

Our home and garden became a virtual Puppy Playland, and I had no choice but to give up my regular sports and activities to become a full-time-puppy-mom.

I cried as I saw three of the pups off to new homes, and wept when one of them died...and now, I smile - a lot. Smudge, the apple of her mother's eye, makes life here in Thailand more enjoyable everyday.

Though I don't believe in reincarnation, the romanticism of the idea gets me thinking: little souls trapped inside four-legged bundles of fluff. Who were they in their former lives? And how did I end up with them?

Check out Roxy's very own blog: HERE - No major posts yet, but there will be soon!

2006-08-25T22:35:00.000+07:00

The Man

Archie's Pirate Party

2006-08-22T22:23:00.000+07:00

Delightful Archie turned nine last week. And so, tapping into the spirit of a nine-year-old-boy, I planned a Pirate Pary.

A Cannon Ball Pinata, bobbing for Pirate Names, a Treasure Chest and a Gigantic Treasure Hunt kept children and adults busy with Pirate-Like activities for hours. It was a huge success (if I do say so myself). And, as I kept remining the Birthday Boy, it was all thanks to the fact that he developed in his mother's womb, and pushed his way out into the world way back when.

So, here's to Mr. Archie Smith - (aka Blackbead) - 'Well shiver me timbers with pieces of gold, Archie, you've turned nine years old! A piece 'o gold fer all nine years could make yer rich, but might cause tears. So matey, fill yer teasure chest with things that make man his best: honor, truth and loyalty; mateys, love an' family.'

Roxy and Arch play pirates.

Pinatas rock, don't they?

A whole gang of them!!

Archie is nine.

Pirate Scene

Father and son in Pirated up

Danger at Monkey Mountian

2006-08-21T21:22:00.000+07:00

Monkey mountain. The thought of a mountain full of cute little monkeys excited me to no end. I had spent weeks envisioning the little creatures swinging freely from vines in their mountain top jungle. I imagined that they would approach with caution, and softly take bananas from my hand with looks of whimsical innocence, and perhaps a teensy bit of fear. I would drop to eye level, talk to them in a soft, baby voice, and tell them that 'it's ok little fella, have another banana.'.

Pow, our driver, stopped the car at the bottom of the mountain. I found it odd that this amazing, dream-like place was not marked by signs or sculptures. It looked oddly quiet, and we seemed to be the only group of monkey-lovers ready to make the ascent.

The kids and I took our seats in the back of the pickup, and as he started the car, Pow shouted, 'Now you can look too much monkey!'.

Thirty seconds into our ascent, Archie gleefully spotted monkey number one. 'Look! A monkey!' I scanned the area, and my eyes fell upon what looked to me like a cross between a giant rat, and a miniature human who was screeching, scampering along the road, and gaining speed as it followed us up the hill.

'What?! That is not a monkey - what is that? Oh my word! Kids, get back, POW! DRIVE FASTER!' I had been duefully warned that monkeys wandered freely there, but still, I had not expected this. The monkey I was looking at wasn't cute and cuddly, it was frighteningly un-cute, and there was no way you'd ever get me to cuddle something with a bright red bottom, and pointy little teeth.

The kids loved it. 'This is great! Will we see more?'

'Ummmm, I don't really know? Uh, I guess so, yah.'.

We finally reached the top, and were surrounded by dozens of the little guys. When we were approached by banana selling Thai Ladies - and bought two baskets full - we suddenly realized that our only choice of escape, was to hand out bananas at a rapid pace.

'Kids! Just give them the bananas! Go! Go! GO!'

The whole outing was becoming less like fun, and more like a desperate attempt for survival. As our supply of bananas diminished, the crowd of screeching, teeth baring, greedy monkeys that surrounded us grew bigger, and I began to question whether or not this had been such a great idea? After all, I was in charge of Mollie and Archie, my step-children - their parents had trusted me, and I now had the beloved children on the top of a mountain in Thailand, holding bunches of bananas and being accosted by savage looking, hungry monkeys.

AND THEN when Archie, now frightened, and feeling slightly trapped announced in a shaking voice that he was banana-less, one of the little buggers bit his leg. A WILD MONKEY BIT MY STEPSON, and there was no escape.

When a car full of Japanese tourists pulled up, and we were relieved of our position of 'primary monkey feeders', I looked up to the Heavens and thanked God. Thankfully Archie's bite was superficial, and he had been fully jabbed up before his trip. After five minutes worth of comforting hugs, and a rather urgent call to his father, I calmed down enough to assure poor Archie that he would live to see another day.

It was an interesting experience to say the least, and Archie now has a story to tell at meal times. I will say this though: If you ever attempt a trip to monkey mountain, give up your bananas and run for shelter; they may be small, but those teeth are sharp.

MOLLIE AND MONKEYS (isn't the sea view amazing?)

ARCHIE BEFORE THE BITE

ARCHIE, LEAH AND MOLLIE AFTER THE BITE

I DON'T FIND THIS CUTE

My Best Friend Plank

2006-08-17T16:44:00.000+07:00

I have always found pleasure in forcing children to come up with 'away from the tv' activities.

Today we made an elephant in the back garden that was big enough to ride on, went frog catching, fed street dogs, invited friends over for lunch, pretended we were orphans marooned on a desert island (mhmmmm), ran through the sprinkler and crafted volcanoes out of pvc glue and toilet paper.

At about 4:15, I lost my will to stay conscious. 'I need some peace and serenity.' I told my darling stepchildren, 'Let's take a bit of a breather before your Dad gets home from work.' I switched on the tv and pretended to clean the floor hidden behind the kitchen counter while the kids focused in on my new favorite pass time: The Cartoon Network.

'Leah! Leah!! Look at this, it's soooo cute!'

'OK, just a sec.' I pulled myself up off the tiles, and wiped the drool from my cheek (how do moms dothis?) 'What is it?'

I was greeted by the sight of an adorable face drawn onto a plank of wood. The plank was swinging and running through fields, and in the back ground a man crooned 'My best friend plank, my best friend plank...'.

'This is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Or, I guess the cutest plank I have ever seen. I love it.' And I did, I really did. Who are these people? They rock!

I have changed my answer to 'Which celebrity would you most like to have dinner with?' from Jim Carrey to 'the Creators of the Kid's Cartoons I watched this afternoon'.

After the plank advertisment for Ed, Edd and Eddy, I sat through an entire episode of the Power Puff Girls, half of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, and endless clips of The Life and Times of Juniper Lee. The entertainment value of these shows kept a worn out 28 year old Step Mother captivated long enough to ensure that dinner will be served later than usual this evening, and that the toliets will have to wait until tomorrow to be sanitized.

Does this make me lazy and unimaginitive? No! If children enjoy this stuff, then I must be totally-awsome-cool for liking it too.

And so, I leave you with Plank's Music Video, as well as the lyrics to the song. Oh - and then a little Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. How cute.

My Best Friend Plank - Ed Edd n Eddy

My Best Friend Plank
Lyrics Written by Steve Patrick

I'm never bored when I'm with you.
We're pals, we're buddies through and through.
I wish I knew what to buy for you
On your birthday.

Our friendship goes against the grain.
I've seen you swell up in the rain.
I saw you - didn't see your pain;
Was it termites?

It's never hard to talk to you,
Though you stump me with your silence.
I feel so naughty pining here
For your happy face's guidance.

My best friend Plank
My best friend Plank
My best friend Plank

Sitting there so silently,
What could you be thinking?
You're not saying; I won't axe*
Is that sealant that you're drinking?

Man, you're hammered! Nailed you, pal!
Al Gore's wife's name is "Tipper."
I knew that we'd be best friends for life
When I saved you from that chipper.

My best friend Plank
My best friend Plank
My best friend Plank

Ooo, Plank,
Count the rings, count the rings!
Ooo, Plank,
Count the rings, count the rings!

I'd walk you on the seven seas
But sawdust always makes me wheeze.
I met your mom and dad the trees
But please don't get Dutch elm disease!

My best friend Plank
My best friend Plank
My best friend Plank
You're my best friend, Plank!

I LIKE CEREAL!!

Mini Golf - it's supposed to be fun?

2006-08-14T21:27:00.000+07:00

Some pre-game practice

Sooooo sweet

Supermen!

Archie's mischievous grin

There are three types of people in the world: those who live to win, those who know they might loose but play any way, and those who know they might loose, but desperately need to win and so - steer clear of all that is competitive. I, somewhat shamefully, admit that I fall into the latter group.

As a child and preteen, I showed promise in long-distance running. My dad would follow me in the car on my daily road runs, listening to talk radio, and calculating my kilometers and pace. No one ever pushed me into it; I loved the freedom, and the feeling of my muscles being pushed to their limit. Making it to the top of the hill left me satisfied, and running was my passion.

When track meets and school sports days came along though, I faded into the crowd, and refused to allow my body to work as I had trained it to. Occasionally I'd be overcome with the magical feeling of coming so near to taking off and flying that I would forget my competitors, and follow my legs and the rhythm of my breath to the blue ribbon.

These days, however, I am faced with a different sort of race; a competition I find so intense and unnerving that I would rather scrub floors and wash dishes than take part in. Mini Golf: Somebody's idea of disguising humiliation and gut wrenching rage behind windmills and clown's mouths; a way to divide friends and family, and separate the skillfull from the clutzes. I despise mini golf, and would join a group of picketers against it if there was such a thing.

I thought I had escaped the mini-golf day last week, but alas: my loving husband and step-children thought that they'd save the game day for the end of my illness, and waited until my flu bug was squashed before heading out to the dreaded: 'Pattaya City Mini Golf Course' last Wednesday.

Being the mature adult that I am, I smiled eagerly and said it was a 'great idea guys!'. Keeping in mind that the last time I had played mini golf at Castle Fun Park in Abbotsford 5 years ago, I had struck a floodlight out of pure frustration shattering glass all over hole 9, I decided to remain calm and enjoy the day. Besides, truth be told, I knew I would beat the kids - 8 and 10 years old - as they are younger than me, and had never played the game before.

I did try to keep a calm disposition, refraining from shouting, accusing and throwing tantrums until the 4th hole. 'Mollie cheated!'

'What?' Damon glared at me.

'Mollie cheated. She said she had four shots, but I counted six.'

'Hun, let's just enjoy this - they're kids, ok?'

'Fine. You're right. I'm sorry. Never mind - let's play!!'

As the game went on, I became more and more frustrated as Damon 'helped' the kids, and the family ended up waiting for me at every hole counting in unison as I took my shots: 'seventeen, eighteen, Come on Leah! That was sooooo close!, nineteen - we'll just give you twenty, ok?'

A couple of times, I considered sprinting to the toilets and crying, but I proceeded with the game in the mindset of a soldier marching on the frontlines. Things got even worse when a couple of the girls who worked at the course came to cheer us on, and ended up laughing hysterically with the children at my hits and misses. I resorted to comments like: 'This is such a stupid game.' and 'Well, at least I'm not cheating like everyone else seems to be.'.

I swallowed hard when the scores were added up at the end, and I had 19 more strokes than anyone else in our little group. Yes, the kids beat me.

I have declared myself a 'HAZARD TO MINI GOLF COURSES' and shall happily caddy and keep scores from now on.

The kids had a fab time, as did their father - so here's to good sportsmanship! May I live to see the day I can join in and laugh when I hear the words, 'Leah, you are the worst mini-golf player I have ever seen!'

The Hazards of Rash Hair Style Decisions

2006-08-13T20:57:00.000+07:00

I just want to add a warning: this post is incredibly shallow; I was a desperate woman, perhaps someone out there will understand??

The Hair History is this:

One fateful afternoon in December 2005, I stood in front of the mirror in our bedroom and lifted all of my hair onto the top of my head. 'Hmmmmm.' I mused.

When Damon returned home from work that evening I asked him, 'Do you think I should get my hair cut short?'

'What?! What are you talking about? No. I do not think you should get your hair cut short. What's for tea?'

Despite my husband's obvious disapproval of the idea, I couldn't shake the thought of walking around with a chick and pixie-like cut. The more I thought about it, the more my shoulder-length hair annoyed me. It clung to the sweat on my neck and frizzed out in the heat. I needed to get rid of it. What had begun as a simple notion turned into flat-out obsession, and by three-oclock the following afternoon, I found myself being swung around in a swivel-chair at the hairdressers and hearing the words - 'Ok! You finish! You like?'

Like? Did I like it? If there was a stronger word than no, I would use it here: No, NO, NOOO. It was the most hideous thing I had ever witnessed atop my head. It was Peter-Pan meets Bill Clinton. A thin, fuzzy, blonde mess that seemed to be clinging to my head out of fear that it too may be cut off and swept into dust pan at the salon.

'Thank you! Yes! It's great!' I decided that loosing it in front of the stylist would bring an element of reality to my dire situation. Perhaps if I ignored it, it would simply go away. I paid my bill, smiled confidently, and the moment I was past the front window of the salon, sprinted home in sheer horror.

'Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.' The dogs surrounded me as I slid down the wall in the front entrance and collapsed onto the floor - their kisses took some of the pain away. 'DAMON IS GOING TO KILL ME.'

I tried desperately to add cute little clips and bows to the three hairs that were left on my head, but all of my efforts were in vain; I had to admit that I had turned myself into a fashion victim of the first degree.

Damon was sweet, bless him, and tried his best to be supportive. My closest friends helped me through the first few weeks by purchasing hats for me, and bringing lunch over so as to avoid public appearances as much as possible.

Fast Forward to June, 2006:

I begin contemplating the miracle that is hair extensions. I check out salons in the area and even telephone a few places in neighboring cities. Nothing amazing surfaces until two weeks ago. I fall into conversation with a hairdresser named Jip who tells me she will come to my home and give me a full head of hair for 50 quid - including cut and color. I take up her offer and VOILA! I am reborn.

Before (Heaven Help Us All)

After (not the best photo, but HURRAH! Improvement to the 100th degree)

Jip's coming by next week to finish it all up, but I must say - life really IS better long and blonde.

True Beauty

2006-08-13T20:47:00.000+07:00

These gals - my step-daughter Mollie and my niece Daisy are just so beautiful. I can't get over it. Inside and out. Just plain angelic.

A Day at the Beach in Black and White

2006-08-12T09:34:00.000+07:00

ARCHIE the brilliant - Thai women all over the place are falling in love with him

OLIVER the pool-playing cutie-pie

Beautiful and Sweet DAISY - DOO

DAISY and friends

Stunning and angelic MOLLIE

SUSIE my sister-in-law from Heaven

Sporty and musical LUKE

SUSIE and LUKE go zoom

Blaming Ghosts

2006-08-09T13:03:00.000+07:00

In the hustle and bustle of children, animals, house guests and a very sweet husband, I have lost two travel journals, a leather belt, a baseball cap, a pair of diving goggles, a bottle of cough syrup and most importantly, my mind. I now believe that there is a spiritual entity haunting our house who finds it funny to watch me fret about searching over and over again for the same ordinary items. There is another explanation, of course, but blaming someone else - in this case an imaginary enemy - tricks me into believing that I am not disorganized, scatter-brained and useless at remembering where I've put things.

Yesterday however, I amazed myself and a small audience of Smiths when upon command, I managed to produce our house contract, a copy of my passport and Damon's motorbike registration papers. There was actual clapping when I came downstairs and announced that the job had been successful - and the papers had been found.

Part of the problem is that my dear, sweet, absolutely adorable, angelic step-daughter Mollie (wait until you see pictures - she is soooooooo sweet) brought me a flu-bug from England. Poor Molls ended up in the emergency room a few nights ago, but is now on the mend. I, on the other hand, can't seem to shake this thing, and my annoying fits of coughing drove my husband to the pharmacist, where he was loaded up with a plethora of medication and promised a full recovery within three days.

In Thailand, a prescription is rarely needed to obtain even the most powerful of drugs. It is pretty amazing, really. I am certain that if I was in Canada with the same flu, I would be advised to take some Tylenol Cold and Flu Medicine, and to get some rest. But here - I am taking five different pills including antibiotics and four others with names like Flemex and the like, as well as cough syrup (which has been stolen by resident ghost).

The words I read on the packages: 'May Cause Drowziness' are a complete understatement. 'May'? 'May Cause Drowsiness??!' No. We are talking Lights-out-Leah. And how am I supposed to mother with my eyes closed and no control over my consciousness?

Damon, like I've said, has been a star - as have the kiddos. They are all out enjoying Thailand - and Damon has carefully planned out each Leahless day giving me time to rest, and doing things with the kids he knows aren't my favorite. ie. Today they are playing mini golf, and going to a haunted house. Let's just say that mini-golf frustrated me (resulting in a lightbulb being smashed by my putter) and this haunted houses are not exactly my thing.

So, I have spent this morning searching for the missing 'stuff' (with no luck), and am now flying so high on my meds that I am not really sure what I am trying to say here.

I shall leave you with this: If you were a travel journal, where would you be hiding?

Hiding Broccoli in Spaghetti

2006-08-08T13:12:00.000+07:00

Yesterday evening, as I was preparing dinner, washing dishes and doing the laundry, I found myself saying for the first time, 'I just don't feel like what I do is really appreciated by you.' to my dear husband. Suddenly, I could see mothers all over the world standing in the kitchen with aprons on and holding up sudsy dish-soap-covered hands saying the same thing. He kissed me and told me I was doing a wonderful job, and I felt as if I'd just won a blue ribbon on sports day.

I can't imagine what it's like for children to have to 'put up' with another women taking the place of their Mother as 'Dad's other half'. I take my role in this whole situation extremely seriously, and am constantly aware of the sensitivity that is needed in order to make this the best possible situation for the kids. I am available 24/7 for bandaid applications, cuddles, bedtime stories, snacks, meals, wiping tears from cheeks, playtime ideas, bad dream soothers, 'make sure you wash behind your ears' type commands and to support their father, and make sure they are constantly aware of his and my love towards them.

Which brings me back to last night's dinner. Kim, their mother, and I are friends, and in touch a lot of the time. I asked for a list of her 'Mom Rules' so I could apply them in the kitchen, and keep their meals 'normal'. 'LOTS OF VEGGIES' was one of the rules - which she followed by writing 'good luck. I will give you a metal if you can get Archie to eat Vegetables.'.

Right, I thought, I'll hide them in the bolognese sauce. As I was getting ready to serve the spaghetti, Damon peeked into the bowl containing the sauce. 'Does that look alright?' I asked him.

'Just a sec.' He replied, and went to talk to the kids. 30 seconds later he reported back to me with, 'No carrots, no broccoli, no mushrooms, and definitely no onions.'

'Oh. OK. Ummm. Just give me a minute or two.' I stared at my beautiful bolognese. Veggies brought color to a normally monotone meal.

It is times like these that I have to bite my tongue. Whatever happened to 'You cannot leave the table until you have finished every last bite.'? But alas, I am not Mom, so I painfully pick out every last shred of vegetable, and stare at them as they lay in a bowl beside the sauce pan. 'Ha ha. I know what I'll do.'

I mashed them into what could only be described as a puke colored mess, and mixed them back in with the sauce. Kim would have been proud of me, I am sure - but I am going to have to get more 'veggie hiding' tricks from her soon.

The kids ate it, and said it was 'Very yummy'. I considered jumping up and down and pointing at them while shouting, 'HA!!!!! I made you eat veggies! That sauce was FULL of icky vegetables, and youuuuuuuuu ate them!!' But of course, I didn't. I rememberd the verse in the Bible: 'But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.' and decided to follow her lead instead.

WOMEN OF THE WESTERN WORLD: Leah misses you.

2006-08-06T14:49:00.000+07:00

Thai women, in general, are small. They are short and petite, and if one more sales assistant tells me they 'not haf size big big for madame' someone's gonna get hurt.

In order to contain the hopelessness I feel when I watch skinny Thai women stuff their faces with the same food I do, and not get bigger, I have decided to channel my thoughts into positive energy. In my mind; my imagination, I have started a clothing company called: 'WWW - Women of the Western World'.

As alone and disillusioned as I feel when someone tells me I have a 'face round like tomato', I have risen from the ashes and created a plethora of slogans to put on clothing in my line. T-shirts that say - 'MY BOOBS ARE HUGE IN THAILAND' and jogging trousers that read - 'I'M PROUD OF MY JUICY BOTTOM' on the bum.

Thai culture still keeps women in the kitchen. The women completely accept this, and think it odd that Damon and I actually do things together. When we have friends over, and some of the guys bring Thai girlfriends or wives, I receive glaring stares, and most of the Thais trickle off angry at the fact that they actually have to sit and enjoy the party as opposed to cram into the kitchen and cook copious amounts of wonderful Thai food. I honestly believe that sometimes, people can be satisfied with a hambuger and some good company. Thus inspiring the hooded sweatshirt that begs 'DON'T HATE ME BECAUSE I CAN'T COOK GOONG PAD NEM MAKHAM PIEK'(stir fried tamarind and shrimp) , and an apron stating 'IF I'M NOT FINISHED MAKING THE FOOD IN 15 MINUTES, ORDER PIZZA AND GET ME A DRINK'.

It is completely common for Thai men to have multiple wives. (BBBLLLLEEEECCCCHHH!!!) Prehaps this is the reason the women have the energy they do to avoid all fun, and slave away in the kitchen? If they only enter the marital bed on Tuesdays and Thursdays, that's a lot less exercise and physical effort they have to put out - if you catch my drift... Tshirts that say, 'I'M A FULL TIME WIFE' and 'I COOK AND SHAG EVERY NIGHT OF THE WEEK'. I would get more graphic, but let's just keep that to the imagination.

Thousands of foreign men who 'can't find or get what they're looking for in a woman' in their own countries, flock to Thailand to take advantage of the poor, but extremely beautiful Thai women. Just one walk down the street here in Pattaya will allow one to witness relationships that would be shocking, if not illegal anywhere else: big, fat grandaddies with t-shirts reading 'No Money - No Honey' and 19 year old beauties swinging on their arms (who look about 12). (the no money no honey t-shirts come in proper foreigner sizes, because no Thai man finds that funny).

Any man walking down the street with the bulge of a wallet in the back pocket of his jeans would be alone unless he wished to be. The Thai women leap from their hiding places and accost him with phrases like 'You sexy man.' , 'I love you.' and 'You want girlfriend?'. I'd make clothing that reads, 'I'D RATHER CLEAN TOILETS WITH MY TOOTHBRUSH AND THEN BRUSH MY TEETH THAN DATE YOU.' and 'WAKE UP GUYS - YOU ARE ONLY SEXY IN PATTAYA'.

So! There you have it. I know I am so much more fortunate than most of the women here, and that is not what I'm getting at. Everyone in the world has different opinions and different points of view. I brought mine here from far away, and thus will keep my clothing line slogans in my imagination and here on this blog.

Not even sure I should post this, but I will. Take it from a fun-loving, XXXXXXXXXXXL sized (in Thailand) Canadian who doesn't cook as a hobby and really would rather brush her teeth with a toilet scrubbing tooth brush than date a perverted grandfather...letting off steam this way will allow me to refrain from throwing a punch the next time a Thai lady says, 'You eat too musch. You fat. Why you not take good care you husband? Why you not let him go with lady Thai? Him have friend for me for boyfriend, not care how old'.

Butterflies: Seeing the World from a Different Point of View

2006-08-05T08:43:00.000+07:00

Only 72 hours ago, my days were long and sometimes lonely. I would meander around the house, dusting, talking to animals in strange voices, breaking out into opera songs when I found myself at the top of the stairs where the good acoustics are (this frightened the animals), and washing windows, toilets, mirrors, floors, dishes, frogs and anything else that got in my way. I knew I had reached rock bottom on the boredom scale when I adopted four caterpillars, and allowed them to eat my hanging baskets full of petunias in order to track their growth and coming redemption.

But now; all that has changed. The house is alive! and brimming with activity. Damon's sister, her boyfriend, and her two ADORABLE kids, arrived on Wednesday!!! Susie (sis) won't let me do anything but join them on their excursions, thus allowing me to see more of this place I call home.

The kids have turned our house into a colorful and lively activity center, and mamma Leah has emerged from her once barren soul. I; once a big fat catapillar, have been redeemed! Life looks different when you're flying high like a butterfly! Children are amazing, aren't they?

There is so much more to write, and I certainly shall. But I'll leave you with the best news, and fill in the blanks later:

As I type, Damon is on the motorway bringing his babies home. I am beside myself with joy. Damon has been more excited than a chimpanzee in a banana tree. Mollie and Archie, his two wonderful children have arrived, and I can't remember a time when I felt more alive.

There are signs and balloons, and my heart is beating fast. My role as 'Step Mom' is all that's on my mind at the moment. They call me a 'Wicked Stepmom' (in a good way), and I am gonna make sure that doesn't change.

Loud Mouth Leah

2006-07-31T16:41:00.000+07:00

The fact that my voice becomes loud when I get excited became apparent today. It finally started to rain; my garden would nourished for FREE!

I ran outside and exclaimed, 'It's raining!' and a man four houses down stuck his head out of a window and said, 'It is?'.

The Secret to a Long Lasting Marriage Isn't a Secret at All: just set your eyes upon a good example

2006-07-30T16:38:00.000+07:00

George and Ann Reimer. 68 years of marriage.

When I asked my dear Grandmother the secret to her marital success she answered, 'You've gotta love your man. Just keep loving your man.'. Their dedication to God, their family and eachother, has turned their marriage into the stuff of miracles.

Today, in a (real!!!) Castle in White Rock, B.C., Canada, a wonderful group of Reimers will join together to celebrate this couple. George and Ann, still steaming up the windows after all these years.

I arrived 40 years into their romance and have been watching them love eachother ever since.

These are the lessons I've learned:

1. Discover your role in the marriage, and stick to it. Grandma takes care of the food, family and managing the home. Grandpa does the yard work and brings home the bacon - so to speak.

2. Help and support your partner. When Grandma could no longer make it up the stairs, Grandpa started doing the hoovering. When Grandpa started to loose his hearing, Grandma acted as interpreter, making sure her husband always knew what was going on around him.

3. Compliment eachother. Grandpa: 'Doesn't Grandma make the best apple pies?' Grandma: 'My George. He takes such good care of me.'

4. Hang on to your passions outside of marriage. Grandma is a wonderful writer, and takes time out of her day to fill in her journal of memories and wisdom. Grandpa is a skilled craftsman who is still building birdhouses, wishing wells, children's toys today - in his NINETIES. Also, he has his painting area set up to escape into his own creativity with watercolors and canvass.

5. Hold hands. They are always holding hands, kissing or sitting close to one another. Let the other person feel your love.

6. Never get separate beds. When Grandma was ill, and needed a special bed to assist her, they bought a single bed for grandpa, and inched the beds right up next to eachother; sharing the same fitted sheet and duvet.

7. Help others together. Grandpa will pick up a lonely friend or widow, and Grandma will have dinner ready and waiting upon their arrival. They never forget the lonely, ill or needy. They share the same desire to 'love thy neighbor as thyself'.

8. Pray together. Every day, Grandma and Grandpa pray for their family. Every single one of us has our name lifted up before the Lord. I know, because I've heard them. Can you see how He's blessed them?

9. Be humble. Though they afford it, Grandma has never needed lavish gifts from Grandpa to know that he loves her.

10. Patience. Instead of harsh words, or raised voices, Grandma and Grandpa pass over annoyances with things like, 'Well, that's your Grandpa.' or 'I'll go warm up the car Ann.' When you want to ring your spouce's neck, remember that you chose to spend your life with him or her. Anger and impatience won't make the difference that dealing with it patiently will.

11. Support one another. Every year, Grandpa's Craftsman club has a festival, and every year, Grandma bakes apple pies and buns, and works behind the canteen in support of her man. When Grandma was admitted to a hospital in Vancouver - a two hour drive from their home, Grandpa booked himself into a Bed and Breakfst right beside her ward, so he could be there for her at any time.

12. Stand together at the door and wave to your guests as they leave. I have witnessed this so many times, and it has painted a forever picture in my mind of my Grandparents as a team. Grandma doesn't rush off to wash the dishes, Grandpa doesn't flop on the couch. They stand there together, on their 68 year old threshold, and you smile and wave back knowing for certain that those two make eachother. They are the best of friends, and proud of it.

My dear gradparents aren't perfect people. They deal with the same pressures every couple deals with. They've just mastered the art of being married. It is my hope and prayer, that I will follow in their footsteps. I know it isn't easy, but when you've got your mind set on forever - what can be more rewarding than knowing that you've spent your life in the arms of someone who has spent their life loving you?

Thank you God, for George and Ann, and their legacy of 68 years and still going strong.

Spotlight on: ROXY

2006-07-28T12:55:00.000+07:00

Long ago, and far away in France, Roxy was to be the subject of a photographer's greeting-card line. Recently reunited with a few of the photos, I thought I'd share them.

Newspapers

Love Bug

Fairy

Roxy Smiles

Dottie

2006-07-26T15:03:00.000+07:00

A FACT OF LIFE: when you fall in love and marry a man who lives oceans away, you throw whatever you can into a couple of suitcases, give up the rest of your 'stuff', and head to the nest he has waiting.

ANOTHER FACT OF LIFE: Hamsters die.

Before Damon and I were married, I decided that Roxy and I would indulge in something I had never had as a child.

I was an adult! I could make my own choices! So I went to the local pet shop, and purchased a Hamster. No - wait - I not only purchased a Hamster, but also a flamingo pink cage, dozens of tubes, tunnels and mazes, yoghurt treats, wood chips, and a tiny yellow leash. I named her Dottie.

Roxy was certain that Dottie was a baby in need of nourishment, and went straight into a false pregnancy. With milk dripping from her boobies, she would try desperately to get Dottie (who was so not interested), to nurse. It was very sweet, and they really did get along.

Dottie and I, on the other hand, started out with a definite love/hate relationship. I love- ok, well I liked her, in a hamster sort of way, and perhaps she was slightly fond of me because I made sure her food dish was always full of little hamster food-thingys.

I am not the type of person who takes pleasure in seeing an animal caged (unless it is a hungry lion). And this is definitely something I should have considered before actually bringing a hamster into my life. Perhaps I jumped into the whole hamster thing a bit too quickly. (what the heck was I thinking?)

I soon learned that 'no': A hamster cannot wander freely in one's house. No matter how much you pet it, feed it, talk to it, give it toys, it basically doesn't like you. And I certainly didn't blame her. I mean, really now, the life of a hamster...sucks.

To tell you the truth, I didn't like her much either. I felt sorry for her, yes; but the whole situation was slightly smelly and definitely depressing.

The efforts I made to ensure I gave my hamster the best possible life I could embarrassed my friends and family:

'Mom and Dad, could I use your back yard to build a 10 foot by 15 foot wooden maze for Dottie?'
_______________________________

'Great! You're having a campfire tonight? Do you mind if I bring my hamster?'
______________________________

'Hi guys! Look! Isn't she adorable! Here. Hold her! Awwww, come on! Hold her!!'
_______________________________

'Sorry, can't join you at the mall right now, I'm walking Dottie. Although I guess I could bring her, I do have this leash.'

But Dottie's nose kept squiggling, and every once in a while I would glance at her from the corner of my eye, and remember that she was very closely related to the mouse and rat families. It was at times like those, that I didn't like Dottie much at all. I am ashamed to say I constantly entertained the idea of 'loosing' her in a field or a forest.

The funniest thing I think I have ever seen was one evening in my parent's living room. The were gone for the evening, and I was borrowing their TV. I had Dottie's cage on the floor beside me and the little flip-up lid was open, so Roxy stuck her nose in to say hello. One minute I'm watching Miami's Crime Scene Investigators crack a murder case, and the next minute all hell has broken loose in my living room. I can see immediately that Roxy's collar has been caught on the cages lid, and her nose is now stuck INSIDE Dottie's Hamster Area. Roxy goes completely mad, shaking furiously and running ALL OVER MY PARENT'S HOUSE with a hamster cage stuck to her head. Sawdust and rodent poo flies everywhere, Roxy, desperate for an escape, thinks that she can outrun her metal captor, but she can't. 'ROXXXYYYYYY!!!! Stop! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' I try my best, but Roxy is too panicked to hear my screams.

Suddenly, the collar gives, and Roxy is set free. I, on the other hand, am left with a house full of sawdust, other hamster-cage parephenalia, and a missing rodent IN MY MOTHER'S HOUSE. At this point, things are not looking up, and I seriously consider sentencing Dottie to death by toilet flushing (AS IF I would ever do that).

About a month later, Roxy and I had to leave to become Smith's. I had a garage sale (car boot sale), left some boxes with my dear folks, and Dottie went to live with my friend Cassy.

I get little updates every once in a while: 'Dottie moved to the left hand side the cage.' or 'Dottie still likes yogurt treats.' You know, basic hamster stuff.

This morning, Cassy called to say that Dottie had died, and I was kind of sad. Mainly because I STILL feel sorry for hamsters world-wide, but also because she was a little black dot who called me mom for a while.

So, this one's for Dottie. May you find peace in Hamster Heaven - there are no cages there.

MY MORNING

2006-07-25T11:27:00.000+07:00

You know some mornings when you wake up before you were supposed to, and see a warm glow trying to make it's way through the window and past the curtians? Tired, but intrigued, you take a look outside and wonder, 'Why don't I watch the sunrise more often?'

Annoying Swedish Man was Right!

2006-07-24T10:31:00.000+07:00

'Ju look yust yike Bjorn Borg!' A tall, skinny Swedish man with a far-too-bright Hawaiian shirt walked straight up to the table Damon, I and Joe and Perla were sitting at. It was loud and annoying, but come on! Look at his shirt! He obviously wanted someone to talk to.

In an attempt to make sure the stranger felt 'welcome' I said, 'Oh! That's great! Hun! Did you hear that?'

'Mhmm. Leah, quiet, I don't want to talk to...'

'Jes! Jes! Yust yike him! Hey, Magnus! Come Here! Doesn't he look yike Bjorn Borg?'

A weary looking man and two Thai ladies dragged themselves over to where their friend was standing.

'Jes, he does.'

'Thanks a lot Leah.' Damon looked deeply into his coffee, Perla sat silent and confused, and Joe looked around trying to decide if he should join in on the conversation.

'Jes. I come from the same city as Bjorn, so I know what he yooks yike. Six wimbletons.'

'Yes! That's right!' I can't handle awkward situations.

Realizing that I was the only one paying him any attention, our extremely loud 'friend' took a seat at the table beside us, and his friends somberly slumped into the seats beside him. They all looked as if they were going to fade away into extreme boredom and humiliation.

The man wouldn't stop talking; LOUDLY.

'See, Leah. This is why I didn't want you to encourage him.'

'I know. Sorry. I just felt kind of sorry for him, his shirt is awful.'

Perla piped up, 'What is he saying?' He was still babbling away at us, and the fact that we were having our own conversation didn't seem to deter him at all.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Damon looks like a young boy?'

'What?'

'I don't understand why he keeps saying that Damon looks like a young boy. A young boy from Sweden? Wimbleton?'

Tee hee hee! With his accent, 'Bjorn Borg' DID sound quite similar to 'young boy'. We laughed, and explained it to Perla in between nods and 'mhmmm's' to the conversation Mr. Sweden was forcing on us.

'So! Ver ju all come from? Vat are your name?'

Magnus rolled his eyes, and shifted in his seat.

Like children at school, we each recited our name, and where we came from as he pointed to us. ie. 'Damon, England.' 'Leah, Canada.' 'Perla, England'.

We became hysterical when he started pointing to the people at his table.

It was Magnus' turn:

'Ummm, Uh, Magnus? Sweden.' Magnus shrunk in his seat and mouthed, 'I'm sorry' in our direction.

Then Mr. Sweden pointed at his Thai girlfriend, 'Und ver ju come from?' he said in a voice one would normally use in a classroom of four year olds. Daggers, are what I saw fly from her eyes and directly into her boyfriend's skull. 'Thailand.' She said.

We continued our meal with Swedish interruptions ranging from, 'I come to Thailand for a Mission Impossible.' and 'In Sveden it is summer now.' to 'I just cannot believe how much ju yuk yike Bjorn Borg. BUT, my friend, do ju make as much money as he? Vat ju do for work?'

Damon looked up from his meal for the first time, relieved to be asked a question he could actually answer. 'We build bo-'.

'I vemember one time in Sveden van Bjorn Borg had a party. Oh! Dat vas a great time.'

Right. We all looked at eachother and giggled - well, perhaps the guys snickered, but Perla and I giggled - I know that for sure.

When we finally got up to leave, Magnus told us how sorry he was, and Mr. Sweden got out of his seat to shake each of our hands. 'It vas wery nice to meet you.' (awwwwww. see why I felt sorry for him?)

He waved wildly as we crossed the street and hurried away. 'Bye!' He shouted down the street. 'I am happy to know you! BYE!!'

'Bye.' We turned and whispered our see-ya-laters and hopped into the car and locked the doors.

As it turns out, Damon DOES look like Bjorn Borg. Though Damon is a hundred times sexier. But come on Mr. Sweden: once would have been enough!

The Prodigal Pup

2006-07-23T22:53:00.000+07:00

Guess who's back?

Back Again?

Smudgee's Back!

Tell a friend.

Roxy's Black mini-me is mine, ALL MINE! Ok, I'll share with Damon.

Last night, at our friend's son's first birthday party, Perla and Joe - frightened and stuttering - asked if there was any way we'd take Smudge back. Apparently, the two sisters, Tanuu and Smudge have been fighting in true sisterly fashion, and as they grow, their bites and fights have become too much to handle. Perla and Joe were seriously worried that they would one day return to find one dead, and the other satisfied.

They looked at Damon and I with big eyes. They were SO SORRY, but they were going to have to find a new home for Smudgee, and wanted us to be the first to know.

Damon, big and strong, melted on the spot and said, 'Can we pick her up tomorrow morning?' .

And we did. Smudgee is back, and we are all smiling here in Smithsville. So nice to have a baby around again. So long as she stays out of my garden.

Bungy Jumping in Paradise.

2006-07-20T16:40:00.000+07:00

I guess, that if you're going to risk death, you may as well do it in Thailand. We do it on the streets everyday, and as far as I'm concerned, that's crazy enough for me. BUT, never let it be said that insanity HAS to stop at street level. One day, last December, a small group of us decided to take it up to new heights, and found ourselves at 'Pattaya Jungle Bungy' getting high.

It began as a kidnapping scheme - our dear friend Dave had happened upon a 'Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day' (remember that book??), and it was our intention to ease him back into the light of day, and show him that we cared enough to let him drop 165 feet off of a crane overlooking a small, swampy lake. (more on Dave's Day in an upcoming post).

Dozens of beers later, Pom and Dave took the jump - Pom did it twice in fact. I'm not necessarily frightened of the jump itself - but of the Thai standard of safety. For example: I cut myself on a loose screw at the waterslides everytime I go down the free-fall. I'll risk it there, but as far as bungy cords falling apart goes - I'd rather take pictures.

So! Here they are.

Our Little Group.

Damon and Pow laughing hysterically at one of my jokes. OK, fine. It wasn't my joke.

It's raining Pom!!

Dave's Vital Statistics. (just in case)

Green Papaya and Corn Flakes: When Taste Buds Strike Back

2006-07-19T11:04:00.000+07:00

Do you ever go through 'food phases'? Periods of time during which you can't get enough of one certain kind of food? Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks. Everything revolves around that little piece of Heaven that surprised your taste buds with a marvelous feeling of exhilaration - and you seeminly loose control over all food-oriented decisions.

i.e. My Corn Flake Phase:
___________
'Here! I've made you guys crepes for breakfast with a selection of fresh fruit toppings, and icing sugar to sprinkle on top!'

'What are you having?'

'Oh, I'll just have some Corn Flakes.'
_________

'Lunchtime! We've got Filets of Wild Salmon placed on a bed of fresh lettuce and garnished with figs, cashews and a lemon dill cream sauce. You guys help yourself. I'll ummm, I'll be right back. I probably won't have any Salmon. In fact, I'll go get a bowl of Corn Flakes or something.'
_________

'Hello! I'm so glad you guys could all come round for dinner! We've bbqed chicken, sausages, steak, and have made grilled vegetable and prawn kebabs!'

'You help yourself first, Leah.'

'Oh! No! Ummm, thank you, but I'll just....I won't have any now thanks.' I sprint to the pantry - both frightened and alarmed by my addiction - and wolf down a bowl of Corn Flakes faster than you can say Kellogg.
_________

I can honestly say that my Corn Flake obsession lasted for just over a year. What was I thinking!? I can't even look at boxes of the stuff now, and pretty much steer clear from all cereals in the aisles of the super market.

I bring this up today, because only 18 hours ago, I took my last bite (hopefully EVER) of Papaya Pok Pok. It is a spicy salad consisting of grated green papaya, garlic, tomatoes, chilies, dried shrimp, sugar, peanuts, lime juice, fish sauce and green beans. The reason I tried it in the first place, is because it was the only thing I could find that wasn't fried, full of fat, or covered with coconut milk. But now: Ughhh. Even the mention of the ingredients sends a shiver down my spine along with a feeling of nausea and a whole bunch of 'why?'s.

Papaya Pok Pok became a part of my every day ritual nine months ago when I discovered it at a street vendor's cart, and sort of pointed at a bag of it that was hanging from the umbrella (advertising? I'm really not sure). Anyhow, she made it, and when I brought it home and ate it, Damon couldn't get over the fact that I could eat something so spicy.

Being a slight show off (at times), I continued to stuff it into my mouth and in between tremendous waves of pain and burning - which I kept concealed behind my 'mmmmmmmmm's and 'oh, this is sooo good's, I gave him the thumbs up, and vowed to eat the stuff until the day the chilies didn't send me into cardiac arrest.

Eventually, I started liking the stuff. I tried not to think about the dried shrimp, and the occasional Blue Land Crab claws that had somehow come to rest in my salad, and soon, I was the Papaya Pok Pok Queen.

'You know you can ask for her to do it less spicy, don't you?' Friends would counsel me.

'Yes, I know that, of course. I order this all the time. But I really like it hot. The more chilies the better!' (though I'd usually keep my voice down if the chef was preparing my salad nearby. I mean, she didn't have to make it that hot. Really, four or five fresh chilies ground up with the garlic was plenty. Absolutely no need to show off here.)

One evening, at a Thai BBQ (buffet restaurants in Thailand where you are given a steam pot and bbq, and prepare your own food - always seriously cheap), I actually learned how to make my own Papaya Pok Pok! I mean, who would have thought that Papaya tastes good even before it's ripe? And, the mixture of peanuts and garlic and dried shrimp! Delectable!

Well, to be quite honest, the whole thing suddenly changed from a fantastic foreign food experience to a whole list of questions:

Why raw Papaya?

Why peanuts and tomatoes?

Who dries shrimp?

What exactly came over the person who decided that grinding up garlic, and adding sugar would be a good thing to do?

And lastly, why did some street vendors add tiny live crabs to the mixture and crunch them up with their garlic press?

Suddenly, Papaya Pok Pok wasn't looking so good.

But, I continued eating it due to the fact that it is the only thing I know how to order in Thai.

So, yesterday, when lunch time rolled around, I decided to give it one last go. I walked up to a lady with a Papaya Pok Pok cart, and ordered. When I returned home, I ate it in silence, and made my final deacon.

This stuff is disgusting. My affair with the green Papaya is so over. Like a stale lover, thoughts of it drive me to question my sanity during my period of obsession.

And so, with the bravery of any foreigner in a land of oddities, I will press on and deal with the inevitable: I must come up with a new dish. Out come the Thai language books and pictures of food. There's gotta be something out there that actually contains edible ingredients without being 80% fat. And I am on a quest to find it.

Unfortunately, I've already done the Corn Flake thing. Hmmmmmmmmm. I am certain that there's more to life than dried shrimp and flaky corn. I'll let you know when I find it.

Leah + Red Wine = Disaster.

2006-07-17T16:59:00.000+07:00

I have battled with whether or not I should Penn this post, but alas: the fight for humor has prevailed again, and I am going to bare all (pun intended).

Yesterday afternoon, Damon and I went for a swim in our neighborhood's communal pool. It was a lovely, sunny day, and we had been painting the kitchen for what felt like hours.

OK, well, the truth is this: before we went swimming, while waiting for the paint to dry, we drank a bottle of wine with lunch. We dined at a lovely, little, romantic cafe on the beach. The sun was shining, and wine is hard to come by around here (rather pricey) so halfway through the bottle (when we should have stopped) we decided that leaving the rest would be a tremendous waste. And so, we drank on: Me, blabbering away about my idea to build a puppet-show theater in the backyard for the neighborhood kids, and Damon cutting in wherever he could to retell stories about his childhood 'on the farm'.

And THEN we went swimming:

'Ha Ha Ha! Damon! Let's have Superman races!'

'Hun, I...'

'No! No!! You HAVE to. Come on! Put your arms up like this and then glide.'

'Leah, careful, there's a man right behind you with a baby.'

'Oh, well, he's not in the pool. It's fine!' I remember kicking madly as I pushed off the side in my best Superman stance, and surfacing on the other side of the pool to be greeted by the sight of a frightened Thai man, and a screaming baby. They were fully clothed, and dripping wet.

'Right.' I said, and slipped back under the water only coming up for short breaths when absolutely necessary until I was certain man and baby had left the premises.

Damon, being a strongly built man, who grew up in English Pubs obviously wasn't quite as effected by the wine as his normally-water-drinking wife was.

What happened next has two different explanations:

Damon's: he played a little trick on me, which he seriously states he would never have done had he known what my reaction would be.

Mine: my cruel husband left me no choice but to run naked through our neighborhood, stopping to break up a dog fight on the way home.

So, here it is: I pride myself on my ability to float in the water. While others slowly sink to the bottom, I remain on the surface - and really feel the need to show off - even if Damon has seen me do it half a million times.

Apparently, my floating ability wasn't quite as impressive as it had been in the past, and Damon thought it would be hilarious to quickly remove my bikini bottoms and hide in the men's toilets with said bottoms, as well as all of our towels and clothing.

His idea was to wait for a couple of minutes while I panicked in the pool. He tells me that he expected laughs, and giggles, and 'Damon! Come on! Where are you!'s.

Instead, I panicked, and sure that he had abandoned me at the pool, I glanced around, made sure I was alone, and made a dash for home.

I grabbed a leaf off of a nearby bush, and rotated it from front to back as I ran. Halfway home, in the middle of the street, I witnessed a fight between Natalie, and Mom Dog - two street dogs that I feed - and for a moment, forgot my sorry state, and actually bent down to break it up.

By this time, Damon had decided the joke was over, and had come out from hiding. He heard my shouts: 'No! Mom Dog! Natalie! Stop!' and came dashing out to the street screaming at me (between hysterical laughs) to run home. 'Go! Haaaa ha ha ha ha! Leah! Run home! Teee Hee ha ha haaa! Noooooow! Ha ha ha ha ha ha hhhaaaaa!'

And I did.

Needless to say, I was a bit shocked to see him run out from the swimming pool, instead of our front gate, but I wasn't stopping to ask questions until I was inside and covered up.

I showered, we had diner, watched a movie, and went to sleep. Not a word was uttered about the 'incident' until today at lunchtime when he called me from work.

'So, had any complaints from the neighbors yet? Tehaaa ha ah hahaa! I told the guys, they think it's hilarious.'

Perhaps I will wait a few days before I leave home again.

The downside to this is that I am the only foreign lady in this estate, and it will not be easy for me to walk down the street undetected. The upside, is that both Damon and I are pretty sure there was no one else outside as I flashed half of Thailand with my glowing, white bottom half.

Needless to say: the next time there is a bottle of wine waiting to be finished, it won't be me drinking it.

For Your Viewing Pleasure

2006-07-17T16:23:00.000+07:00

Damon and Singha the resident pup. Before putting his t-shirt back on, Damon tried desperatly to get a tan. He layed out for hours, neglecting me, and refusing to wear any sunblock. Unbelievably, he is still white as a polished tooth.

Awww! Isn't this cool? Those fish must go insane, though. All that water only a few feet away; and there they are trapped in a fishbowl.

Me. Talking on phone.

A good friend of mine. OK, no. Actually it's just a plaster flower pot.

Her name is Irene!!! She is sooo sweet. Her grandmother supports her financially by giving massages and manicures to people at the beach (myself included).

Some kids I was stalking with the camera - I was too shy to be able to take a proper photo: I hate photographing strangers!!! Especially when parents are nearby wondering why some lady is snapping photos of their children.

This is Just the Sweetest Thing

2006-07-11T14:54:00.000+07:00

Claire, Mrs.Aglobalblog, has created a tutorial titled 'How to Whislte With a Blade of Grass'. The post title on her blog, ends with 'For Leah'; which has brightened my day.

You must click the post, and read it. She learned the art from her Grandfather, and has written full instructions.

Thanks again Claire! Going practice, and whistle the afternoon away.

PS. The person in the above photo is neither Caire nor anybody she knows! I don't know him either, for that matter. Just wanted a cute grass-whistler photo, and there he was, waiting for me on google images.