A Christmas Poem from Singapore (with apologies to Clement C. Moore)

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Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the stores,

Singaporeans flocked, surging the doors,

While malls are jammed every month of the year,

It’s Christmas where retail is specially dear.

In the tropics, you know, it’s hot, damp and green,

Not an icicle or snowflake is normally seen.

But they pull out the stops at the Yuletide grows near

With a serious dedication to creating that cheer.

Orchard Road, for example, is brilliantly lit,

With gigantic decorations and electrical kit.

24 hours a day, it’s a fantasy place

So bring and so twinkly, you can see it from space.

Girls dressed as Santa, in minis – so pretty

Have invaded the streets and taken the city.

And snow globes so big, for a dollar or two,

You enter inside – and a snowstorm ensues.

It’s funny, these icons that come from cold climes,

And how they’re interpreted – on occasion, sublime.

But Christmas is more than a man with a sack;

The end of the year is a time to look back.

Like most, I suppose, it’s been good, sometimes tough -

With travels and friends and professional stuff.

All grist for the mill, the highs and the low

Twelve months just flew by; where the hell did it go?

If you’re managed to read through my short little ditty,

You are a true friend, as this poem’s a pity!

But aside from my stories and the occasional bad rhyme,

It brings you my love for a great Christmastime.

3 things to maximize your holiday

Simple but not necessarily obvious.

1. Get up super early. That means you might need a nap mid day.
2. Give up routines.
3. Try to do nothing (try).

And a bonus suggestion:
4. Take the battery out of your Bberry or phone.

Philosophically speaking…

Life is a lot like driving. Mostly you scoot around on auto pilot, speed up, slow down, maybe get caught in a traffic jam, hit a bumpy patch, take a wrong turn, occasionally blow a tire or even get into an all-out smash up.

And then it’s time to hit the gas, turn a corner… and the open road stretches in front of you.

Ode to the fiddlehead

The fiddlehead is a wild fern which grows in cool, shady forest glades near rivers. You can’t cultivate the fiddlehead which means that it is only available for a few weeks each spring, as it emerges after the spring floods. I think it only grows in North America, particularly the east where I grew up. And it’s one of the few foods which European settlers learned to eat from the local Indian tribes.

Any of you from outside Canada may not be familiar with this rather strange vegatable. It’s officially known as the “ostrich fern”. It tastes like mild asparagus with a “wild” earthy undertone. Similar I suppose to the gamey taste you get from wild animals as opposed to the cleaner taste of cultivated vegetables.

Wikipedia says – For the Maliseet, a native tribe from the area where the ostrich fern grows, fiddleheads were considered to be medicinal as well as a foodstuff and were gathered in quantity during the relatively brief season before they unfurl.

Have always loved ‘em and had the chance while in Canada this week to catch the end of the fiddlehead season. Cooked up a huge plate, was a funny homecoming ritual that I did not expect.