Ducks

To mitigate the unmitigated moroseness of the last few posts , I have thought of something lighter. To be sung to the tune of "The Star Spangled Banner" This is also for my daughter and her rubber duckie.

Be Kind To Your Web-Footed Friends (attributed to Fred Allen)

Be kind to your web-footed friends.
For a duck may be somebody's mother.
They live all alone in the swamp,
Where the weather is cold and damp.
Well, you may think that this is the end.
Yes, it is, but to prove that you are wrong,
We're going to sing it once again,
Oh, yes we will, but it will be just a bit louder!

Be kind to your web-footed friends.
For a duck may be somebody's mother.
They live at the bottom of the swamp,
Where the weather is cold and damp.
You may think that this is the end.
Well, it is ## you are right!
So, just remember:
Be kind to your web-footed friends!
Be ever kind, yes, oh, so kind to all the duckies!

The Golden Gate

Coming to the end of the year, I have a few thoughts in passing.

This is to my wife, in the hope she will find reason and peace. It seems she will not, at all costs, agree to a divorce. Neither will she move forward. My girl is sacrificed somewhere in the middle.

Depleted by his pain, he slowly
Walks to Jan's desk. What did not last
In life has now possessed him wholly.
Nothing can mitigate the past.
He gently touches Jan's sand dollar.
It soothes him in the ache, the squalor
That is his life, and she seems near
Him once again, and he can hear
Her voice, can almost hear her saying,
"I'm with you, John. You're not alone.

Trust me, my friend; there is the phone.
It isn't me you are obeying.
Pay what are your own heart's arrears.
Now clear your throat, and dry those tears."


Vikram Seth- The Golden Gate. (last page of a VERY long poem)

The Caged Bird Redux

Another caged bird scenario. Maya Angelou took this poem as inspiration for the title of her book, (and poem too), "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings). School days will be here soon.

I KNOW what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!

Sympathy- Paul Lawrence Dunbar

A bit of poetry. I've cut the poem up a bit with some excerpts of Maya Angelou. Yes, I know why the caged bird sings.


The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

I know why the Caged Bird sings- Maya Angelou

I have not seen my daughter for about ten days. A bad sign came the week before when I got an SMS from the wife saying that she had moved and had pulled Summer from the pre-school. Now I have absolutely no idea where she stays or where the school would be.

There was a hint that I would be able to see Summer once a week, in return for not being able to fetch her after school. After 2 years of not having a full day with my girl, I really don't know what to feel anymore. Then on Friday (26 Dec Boxing Day) bad signs came as she would not return or confirm whether I would be able to see my daughter. Somewhere areound midnight, SMS came, more or less saying it was up to me whether I wanted to see my girl or not.

Saturday morning. Guess what. Another SMS saying she would not let me see my daughter. I'm waiting in the car having driven to some shopping complex to wait for them.
I have not seen my daughter for Christmas, New Year, her birthday, Chinese New Year, my birthday for the last two years. I don't know what to say anymore, except I'm numb.
This Christmas has come and gone, and the new year will pass also, without my seeing my girl. My poor daughter does not know how normal parents behave. But in my mind , I see my daughter waiting patiently for me after school , and running at me to knock me to my feet in her happiness. I hope she keeps her innocence.

cloned out

Before :
Original photo, with some distractions, and washed out colour.

After:
I've photoshopped the background, no playground equipment, no distracting kid. Is this cheating??

summer on see saw

actually...
the order....
has been reversed by blogger....

sleeping summer

I don't feel much like commenting on the uncertainty with my girl. Had to reason with people who have a perverse way of dealing with the world. Its like some character whom you meet in the lower circles of Dante's Inferno.

So, I will just post a picture of her in sleep. She had just sat down for maybe, oh, 10 seconds. Dead to the world and she didn't even grab my hand this time to hold in her journey to sleep. No flash, just some sunlight was coming in from outside the windshield. Don't want to upright the picture, you will have to cock your head sideways if you want to see it upright. There!! You cocked your head.

missing summer

I was only been able to meet my girl maybe twice a week after school in the past few weeks. Yesterday I was smsed and told that wife and daughter had moved. (Again no idea where and she won't say) Summer has been taken out of school and supposedly put into another one next year. There seems to be implication that I cannot see her after school at all, the woman has suggested one Saturday a week for me and my girl. After waiting two years for a weekend with my girl, actually I don't want it anymore. My poor girl.

Mad dogs and Englishmen

A friend mentioned that he couldn't follow the poems I had borrowed and put on this page (I guess this is not as bad as those who , em, borrow without accrediting).

Not literal enough, he said. (Got a pun there) So I put here below a literal poem. This is the only one I know actually.

Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

The Charge of the Light Brigade- Tennyson

To forestall charges (ahem) of obtuseness, the historical context is as follows in the actual story as told in the House of Commons by Lord Cardogan:

We advanced down a gradual descent of more than three-quarters of a mile, with the batteries vomiting forth upon us shells and shot, round and grape, with one battery on our right flank and another on the left, and all the intermediate ground covered with the Russian riflemen; so that when we came to within a distance of fifty yards from the mouths of the artillery which had been hurling destruction upon us, we were, in fact, surrounded and encircled by a blaze of fire, in addition to the fire of the riflemen upon our flanks.

As we ascended the hill, the oblique fire of the artillery poured upon our rear, so that we had thus a strong fire upon our front, our flank, and our rear. We entered the battery - we went through the battery - the two leading regiments cutting down a great number of the Russian gunners in their onset. In the two regiments which I had the honour to lead, every officer, with one exception, was either killed or wounded, or had his horse shot under him or injured. Those regiments proceeded, followed by the second line, consisting of two more regiments of cavalry, which continued to perform the duty of cutting down the Russian gunners.

Then came the third line, formed of another regiment, which endeavoured to complete the duty assigned to our brigade. I believe that this was achieved with great success, and the result was that this body, composed of only about 670 men, succeeded in passing through the mass of Russian cavalry of - as we have since learned - 5,240 strong; and having broken through that mass, they went, according to our technical military expression, "threes about," and retired in the same manner, doing as much execution in their course as they possibly could upon the enemy's cavalry. Upon our returning up the hill which we had descended in the attack, we had to run the same gauntlet and to incur the same risk from the flank fire of the Tirailleurs [riflemen] as we had encountered before. Numbers of our men were shot down - men and horses were killed, and many of the soldiers who had lost their horses were also shot down while endeavouring to escape.

They went in by mistaken order, whacked the enemy, and then rode back through the the same way. (Got to gostan, mah, dead end, jalan mati).

The French Marshal on the other side could only say "C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre" -It is magnificent, but it is not war. "C'est de la folie"- it is madness.

We see the two aspects of Empire Brits. Courage to the point of madness , and incompetence. When combined, what a spectacular result!

Example of bravery:

In what is popularly known as the Thin Red Line, the commanding officer told his men, "There is no retreat from here, men. You must die where you stand." To which the reply was, "Aye, Sir Colin. If needs be, we'll do that." The madness was there also, as the enemy pulled back. The commanding officer thought it was a trap, as the men assembled were so pathetic, they would have been mowed down for sure.

How about more incompetence? (plus the requisite balls...)

In the Battle of Minden, 9 Battalions of Infantry (6 British and 3 Hanoverian) in the face of cross fire from 60 cannon, marched on the French cavalry and shot them to pieces.

The English Infantry, through a mistaken order (as usual?) advanced unsupported against the French with colours flying and drums beating. (Like a march at military tattoo- except people shoot at you) Six times they were charged by the French Cavalry, and each time, they repulsed the charges. They kept on marching until they reached point blank range, whereupon they decimated the French. In that morning these guys had picked up some roses in the gardens nearby and stuck them in their berets, so they must have been in a good mood.

I'm in a military mood today.

food and drink

more meaningless stuff. One at Wei Sek Kai (Glutton Lane), the other at cafe and bar.

unprocessed

colours

cannot resist.....

some more photos

more photos...not as good as from film I feel, although I guess there will be people who disagree.

other photos

No pictures of my girl this time. Shots above were taken by my friend on his tours. I'm fiddling with the jpegs. Not too bad from a bridge camera, but not as good as film.

Words

I noticed something a little while back. In the last few months, Summer's replies have changed from "Yep, papa" to "Yes, Father". Slightly more formal, except that I never heard "No, Father". Its always "No, papa". I'm not sure what to make of this, except perhaps she has found a way to soften a negative by appealling to a "papa" while presenting a formal positive "YES" to a more formal "Father".

At least "aeroport" was easier to figure out. "Papa! I want to go aeroport!"

colours

A little but posterish in colour...

Oh christmas tree...

A post of a christmas tree taken at 1600 iso just inside the camera shop . No aesthetic value , just that it was taken 1 minute after buying the camera.

father cheeky papa, and cheeky girl

A itty bitty poem on the fleeting passage of time. All things pass. For me I hold my late father in my heart and mind. When Summer is older maybe I will tell her about her grandfather. Then she will understand the grain of her father's character.
For now she is too young to remember anything. Except maybe for the funeral wake, when she sat quietly in a chair, just watching the strange adults moving about. She was just a baby/toddler then. 15 months old. Between that and now she hated jokes, would cry when she heard "papa wants to eat you." [Don't eat me!! After got blood and bones!! Boo Hoo!!]
Since then she has learnt to like jokes. Likes "cheeky". At this point in time, we are "cheeky girl" and "cheeky papa".

"La noche buena se viene, La noche buena se va, Y nosotros nos iremos, Y no volveremos mas."
-- Old Villancico

Sweet evenings come and go, love,
They came and went of yore:
This evening of our life, love,
Shall go and come no more.

When we have passed away, love,
All things will keep their name;
But yet no life on earth, love,
With ours will be the same.

The daisies will be there, love,
The stars in heaven will shine:
I shall not feel thy wish, love,
Nor thou my hand in thine.

A better time will come, love,
And better souls be born:
I would not be the best, love,
To leave thee now forlorn.

Sweet Evenings Come and Go, Love- George Elliot

monsoon blues

Feeling a bit soppy today. An overcast sky in the middle of the monsoon season. My thoughts turn to poetry. I love my daughter for she is my daughter. To borrow the voice of Elizabeth B. Browning...

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
"I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"—
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

If Thou must love me (Sonnet 14)- Elizabeth Barrrett Browning

Boing!

Not mine, ok?? but the sentiment is in my heart and I guess all fathers in this world.

Yesterday, against admonishment,
my daughter balanced on the couch back,
fell and cut her mouth.

Because I saw it happen I knew
she was not hurt, and yet
a child's blood so red
it stops a father's heart.

My daughter cried her tears;
I held some ice
against her lip.
That was the end of it.

Round and round: bow and kiss.
I try to teach her caution;
she tried to teach me risk.

Gregory Orr-  Father's Song

I remember when my daughter fell from my shoulders when she over-balanced. Went down with a PLOP! on the carpet
Scary...Don't think she will try rocking horses on my shoulders again anytime soon.

At the book shop, where she will browse for her own books.

I WANT MY YAKULT!!

just a pict, which is self-explanatory.

My daughter. Summer, who will turn 4 in a month or so. I see in her eyes the glimmer of happiness and love when she snuggles up and proclaims.."papa, I want to sleep on your hand (or body)" . She hugs my forearm or whatever part of me that is available, closes her eyes and wriggles for a sleeping position. If she closes her eyes long enough,and manages not to fall off, she will fall into slumber. Sometimes fitful, sometimes dead to the world. A tiny force of nature who rocks my world.

A fleeting moment in time and she will never be this age again. I would give anything to hold on to this moment.. As humans , we age and our memory grows dim, for memory is a poor recorder of feelings. But she will grow older,and i will grow older and with grace of god (if I were christian?), we will grow together as father and daughter. What will tomorrow bring? We can only feed the present with love and hope. In the way wines mature and mighty trees grow from little seedlings, I hope to see my daughter grow and grow up together.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night- Dylan Thomas

Another little test, for food shots. This one is done at iso 800. A bit of sharpening and some noise reduction.

softly..

Ok. just my itchy fingers, my daughter dreaming away while waiting for her food. There is a whiff of christmas in the air.

I have a few shots (two actually) for my friend. One is a shot of his foot (some symbolism here...) the other his obligatory substance of abuse. This guy has been holding out for a proper digicam but refuses to make a move on the current camera of his eye, which happens to be a Nikon d90.

In between the whining and the slacking, he makes do with a oldish p&s for his vacation shots.

And this is the modified version. Not sure if it looks better so here goes. Tried not to be heavy handed. I'm not a subtle person...At least she doesn't look like she has gone blue in the face from holding her breath.

I got a digicam last week, so I can post some photos here. I have a ton of cameras at home, unfortunately all film cameras so it becomes a hassle to process and scan to blog. Basically I bought a glorified point and shoot because I had this idea of CONVENIENCE.

On first impressions , 12 megapixel on a p&s seems ok for blogging. However...I have to say that on closer examination there is no comparison with film. Seems to me , the shots I took hold no candle to film. (I'm not even comparing to good film stock. As long as the lab processing film is reasonably proficient, the results are visibly and surprisingly in favour of film. Caveat here that the jpegs are from a little p&s)

Having a cooperative model helps..
Above is the unmodified image at 400 iso

Seems I won't get to see my daughter for a few days. My wife (wife in name) has taken her off to undisclosed location for an undisclosed number of days....anyway I digress.
Took my girl and met up with my friend yesterday. While I had a coffee, Summer had a sphagetti . Being a precocious food critic, she pronounced the pasta as good if a bit spicy and salty. She had her "topping" a few heaps of parmesan powder. Of course it was salty. a 1:2 ratio of cheese and pasta would be slightly on the salty side.
Then she has a few table spoons of my coffee. Bitter is not in her vocabulary for some reason. Reminds me of when I was a kid, which is reassuring and scary at the same time.

intro

Ok. This blog serves primarily to record the antics of my daughter, Summer who is 3 years old. (She insists she is five but that is another matter altogether). Also this blog is a response and anti-thesis of sorts to the blogs of my friends, who blog in a variety of manner, ranging from to profane to the cryptic. Anyway lets see how it goes.