My Bed

If I ever have to nominate my favourite place I always say my bed.  Bed is a refuge.  A place where I feel secure. A retreat from the world where I can be alone with my thoughts.  A reward at the end of the day.

When I lie down my body intuitively knows where to settle, the groove worn into it that fits my body perfectly (despite frequent flips and turns of the mattress). The bed linen is washed to the perfect level of softness.  The pillows are plentiful and the right height and density.

I miss my bed more than anything else.

Seven weeks ago our house was packed up and my lovely comfy bed was put into a container and shipped to the equator.  We had spent a great deal of time organising an ‘easy’ transition – only 2 days in a hotel before we could move into our rental property here and only 3 weeks without our things.  Without my bed.

Seven weeks from that date and we are still in temporary accommodation.  Seven weeks and eight different beds.

One bed was so soft that I sunk into it and found it impossible to roll over so I slept on the lounge.

The next bed was just bad. So bad it sent my back into spasm and I spent a good part of my first fortnight in Singapore hobbling.  Every step I took sent stabbing pains down my right leg.  This place also allocated one pillow per person so my lifelong habit of cuddling a pillow as I slept was curbed until I bought another.

The one I’m in now is Ok, although someone must’ve taken an axe to the bottom as it’s 6 inches shorter than normal. (It’s Asian bed size).

Others weren’t memorable, but weren’t great either.  Sheets were over-starched and felt like I was lying under a tablecloth. Quilts were too hot and yet there was no top sheet to provide a happy medium.

In others the bed was OK but other bedroom stuff I take for granted was missing.  Some didn’t have bedside lamps, only 2 have had clocks. In one, I was lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds from the air-conditioning turbines on top of the building next door.

With all the different bedroom arrangements I’m truly surprised that on my many trips to the bathroom during the night I haven’t tried to pee in the wardrobe.

I never thought I’d be wistful for my bed, but I am.

Blessed

I am feeling blessed right now.

Blessed that we have had the good fortune to move overseas.

Blessed to move to a place that affords us so many opportunities to travel.

Blessed to have a good man in my life.

Blessed to have my girls.

There’s some frustration involved when relocating overseas (a bit of an understatement!), particularly given we picked as our rental property a mirage house – one that shimmers tantalizingly in the near future but never gets any closer.  So, I need to remind myself of all these blessings from time to time.

I am blessed.

Feet – Part 4

I’m in Phuket while the tail end (hopefully) of our leasing saga plays out, and yesterday while the Missies were getting their hair braided I got a pedicure for $10 (Sing).

You know that saying “you get what you pay for”? Completely true.

For $10 I had my cuticles attacked with a pair of cuticle cutters.  I’ve had a LOT of pedicures and not once have the taken scissor things to my cuticles.  I yelped and I bled.

I now know that cheaper is not better as far as pedicures go.

I Need To Share

I’ve not done this before, but I *need* to share this exquisite piece of writing from my friend, mamabook.  We moved away from Australia (but in different directions) only a few weeks apart, and I like to think we have been a support system for each other.

I’m only going to put the first couple of paragraphs here, and then you should click the link and pop over to 4 kids, a dog and a blog to read the rest of it.  Be warned, you will probably cry.

Stairs to Australia

Not long after we arrived in California I was having a chat with my youngest when, seemingly out of the blue, he started to cry. He was struggling to remember exactly how his Nana’s face looked, the one we had just left behind in Australia, the one he had seen at least twice a week for his entire life.

Last week we were visiting a generic shopping mall, one that looked much like the Westfield that we had visited so often with Mum, and I joked that Nana might appear around the corner at any moment. As I witnessed the small boys eyes light up with excitement as they peered eagerly into the crowds my heart sank. And I was again reminded that my youngest cannot conceptualise what half a world away really means.

I occasionally have these moments myself, where I momentarily forget, and it sets off a painful longing to be back in the city I love with the people who sustain me. Sometimes it is nothing more than a pang, at other times a sadness that can be best described as grief. And then there is guilt when I realise how at home I am here, how sometimes it feels as if I had never left in the first place.

To read more of mamabook’s post, pop over to 4 kids, a dog and a blog.

Feet – Part 3

Every summer I fight the battle of the heel.  They get dry from wearing open shoes and have a tendency to get cracks if I don’t take care of them.  I hate it when the skin on my feet gets snagged on the sheets.  If I have the opportunity to go to a day spa I will choose a pedicure over everything else. For about nine months of the year my toe nails are painted (usually red).

It appears I have a foot thing!

So, with wearing open shoes every day my heels are suffering.  When we went to the Night Safari the other week there was a Fish Spa and I thought about it for two seconds before handing over my money and dangling my feet into a pool of hungry fishies.

As soon as they saw me take a seat the fish swarmed my way.  Eagerly awaiting my dry and flaky feet.  This freaked me out.  Polite fish would wait and let me put my feet into clear water, to ease me into this.

For a while I could only bear to put my heels in.  Their raspy little nibbles in the arch of my foot and between my toes tickled, but eventually i relaxed and the experience was quite pleasant.

I only paid for 5 minutes (although it felt longer, I think I got a couple of extra minutes) and, sadly, my feet were less than half done.  In fact, a couple of days later they were the worst they had ever been and I had to take a trip to the pharmacy to buy a foot file thingy and some heavy duty foot cream.

Next time I will dangle my feet until the fishies swim away and my feet are baby-bum soft.

Who knew I could three posts about FEET?  I apologise to any readers who have a feet phobia.

About Last Night

We entrusted a stranger with babysitting our kids.

We got dressed up.

We went here.

We ate delectable food.

We drank exquisite wine.

We left with a much lower bank balance.

It was divine.

Unusual Singapore Things #5

Most kitchens in Singapore do not have air conditioning.

There are very few ‘open plan’ type kitchens here, meaning the kitchen is usually in a separate room, and without air con they get HOT!

Feet – Part 2

There is a preference for removing shoes in Singapore, and I think it extends to most Asian cultures.  I recall an article in The Good Weekend years ago about “Brothers” from the Mormons in Melbourne who were specifically targeting families of  Asian heritage, and  they would identify them by the pile of shoes outside the front door.

In the house we may or may not move into* there is a specially designed shoe cupboard inside the front door. Like a coat closet you see in cold climates, but for shoes.  Even the housekeepers and concierge in this serviced apartment remove their shoes before entering an apartment, which must get annoying when you are in and out of apartments all day long!

At home I would take my shoes off inside and also remove them when asked if I went to someone’s house.

I’ve run foul of the ‘remove shoes’ rule in Singapore twice, that  I know of.  The first was in a clothing shop’s change room, where I was screeched at to take my shoes off before entering the cubicle.  um…ok.  So, I kicked them off and left them lying haphazardly.  When I had finished trying on the dress (incidentally I am thrilled that maxi dresses here are the perfect length for me!) my shoes had been neatly lined up with the heels toward the change room, all ready for me to step in to.   Kind of sweet, but I felt for the shop assistants who have to touch people’s sweaty shoes all day. Ick.

The other time was when I went for a pedicure and stepped up onto the little platform where the special pedicure chair up fully shod.  Bless the lovely girl who was too polite to point out my cultural faux pas and quietly removed my shoes to the regular floor.  Again, they were perfectly positioned for me to easily slip in to.

I’m not anti-shoe removal at all (although I am related to someone – by marriage – who is), I just find the little differences fascinating.  I believe the expats mantra is “It’s not wrong, it’s just different”!

* that’s a story for another time, but I doubt I have the words to describe the hellish process we are undergoing trying to rent the house we picked out in April.

Feet : Part 1

Within a couple of days of arriving in Singapore my feet  were aching.  Other new arrivals reported the same, as did another Twitter friend who relocated to the tropics for a year.

I’d even stocked up on the leather thongs*/ sandals I had favoured during summer in Australia.  What I didn’t take into account was that, unlike Melbourne with its ever-changing weather, I’d be wearing summer shoes every day.  Whilst my cheapish flip-flops were fine at home (because I wasn’t wearing the all day, every day) they were doing me no favours here.  I’m sure my foot problems were exacerbated by constant walking on concrete footpaths and not being used to hard floors inside.  In Melbourne a fair chunk of our house was carpeted which acts as a lovely pillow for tired and sore feet.

So, my very first Orchard Road purchase was a new pair of sandals complete with arch support.  And I’m not too proud to admit they are Hush Puppies.  I love them, which makes me sound like a Nanna.  And I’m OK with that!

 

* In Australia, thongs are things we wear on our feet.  They are called flip-flops and jandals in other parts of the world.  The things that are called thongs elsewhere are called “G-strings” in Australia,  I believe this is because they make you thing “Gee, these things are uncomfortable!”

Oh, Singapore

Oh, Singapore, your people are lovely and considerate.

In the space of 5 minutes this morning I saw or experienced 3 acts of concern or kindness that would happen rarely in Melbourne, especially on public transport.

1. Lady stopped me at the stop of the escalator as we were heading to catch a train to tell me that my backpack zip wasn’t closed properly.
2. Whilst waiting for the train I noticed a lady slumped on the bench, clearly not feeling well (and not in a “been drinking all night” kind of way!). I was just about to ask her if I could help when an MRT staff member approached (yes, there are staff on the train platforms here. Take note, Melbourne!) and offered her assistance.  While the staff member called for help, another commuter offered to sit with the sick lady and comfort her.  In Melbourne, I had been doubled over on the train (in work clothes) and then thrown up in the bin at the station without one person stopping to help.
3. On the crowded peak hour train a lady immediately offered her seat to Miss 4 and I.  This happens about 90% of the time I travel with Miss 4, children are given priority.

So, lovely people of Singapore thank you for your consideration.  I hope that when/if we return to Melbourne we will take this kindness with us and share it with others. xx