Playing Ping-pong, and the memory it evoked

While I have dabbled in different sports while in school, I would have to say the one that I'm most comfortable with, a direct result of having played it the longest, is table tennis, or Ping-pong, a term of Chinese origin but has since found its way into the English lexicon.

Back then, we had a table comparable to the size of a Ping-pong table in the veranda of the very first house that I grew up in. Everyday after school, I would be playing Ping-pong with kids from the neighborhood, uncoached. Left to our own devices, we would be just striking the ball all over the table, and outside as well, with wooden bats. Before long, we seemed to develop some kind of basic skills in serving, returning, and even smashing, when we were in Grade Four.

Then I was good enough to be in the elementary school's team, and upgraded myself to playing with rubber-surfaced bats (the popular Butterfly make as I recall). I had by then also learned some spin moves, but not the top spin though.
Those days in school, there was a burly guard wearing a turban who combed the school ground looking for outsiders whose actions were deemed disruptive to the school proceeding such as horse-playing in the hallway. I was in the morning session (because of insufficient classrooms, a school is normally divided into the morning and afternoon sessions with a different set of teachers) and often had to go back to school for the practice session in the afternoon. The Ping-pong table being in the Hall, flanked by classrooms on both sides, the players had no choice but to practice in the Hall. It was OK when our coach was there with us, a sign of official business. Sometimes, the coach would step way, and whether because he suffered from memory lapses, the guard would charge in, sending us running helter skelter for cover.

I continued my Ping-pong playing days in the Middle school (again representing the school) and High school (playing for the class at intramural level only for there were several nationally ranked players in NJC, the high school I attended in Singapore).

In university, I split time between table tennis and basketball, the court being just outside my 4th floor dorm window (I was in the 3rd Residential College in University of Malaya as a freshman). Usually I would play table tennis from 4.30pm to 5.30pm, then I would dash to the basketball court. I participated in the inter-floor Ping Pong tournament in 3rd College, ending up as runners-up, thanks to the rule that State and National players were not eligible to take part, for which there were 1 and 2, respectively.

I remember playing with Sung Poh Wah, the then #1 player in the country, but lost. It could have been a worse loss if not for the fact that he played with his left hand. He was a rightie and I, a leftie. In other words, his worse got the better of my better. But at least I got to play with the #1 guy in the country.

From my sophomore year onwards, I became an NHO (non-hostelite organization, meaning no more in the university housing). My Ping-pong playing days then came to a halt, and I was full-time on basketball since my house-mate and most of my course-mates played it.

When I started work at Muar, Johor, my first assignment, I reverted back to Ping-pong since there was a table at the executive covered car park, which became vacant when my boss left for the day. So we would unfold the table, and start banging away. I was the office champ, and represented the district Department at the State level sports meets. It was the same when I transferred to the headquarters at KL, playing after work and at the inter-state department meets.

When I first arrived at US as a working professional (I was here previously as a grad student) more than four years ago, I did not touch the Ping-pong bat until this year, for fifteen minutes, sparring with Tom to test out the newly acquired table for the Clearwater Chinese School. I was rusty, hitting the ball every other way but on the table. And hardly perspired.

Then Wify's friend, Linda, told us that she has just added a new Ping-pong table in her newly renovated house, the expanded space having created an exercise room big enough for that facility. So yesterday, we went over to her house, expecting to have a full workout (I have not exercised in a long while, save for the sporadic evening walks with Wify).

I put on my white sports shoes, complete with long white socks (Wify said I looked good in them), and seemed to appear overly eager when I arrived. While wify disappeared into the Music room with Linda, I checked out the workout room, a gleaming Ping-pong table under the cover of a transparent sheet. Yes, bats, both panholder and handshake, with rubber surface, and some white balls on the floor (I accidentally stepped on one and you know the result). The space seemed tight, but big enough for the game (also less space to run around to pick up balls, which may actually take up half of the playing time at our level. But the alternate body bending, stopping, and straightening took a toll on the body nonetheless).

I started playing with Linda, trading shots, mine often off the mark, an obvious sign of a long layoff. But with time, my form gradually returned. And I was able to smash a couple of times too. Then it was Aaron's turn, Aaron being Linda's younger son. He only started playing when the table first arrived at the house. So I gave him a few pointers.

Then Victor, Linda's hubby, continued the family rotation with me. All in all, I had a forty minutes workout, enjoying both the game, in between pantings, and the perspiration, the amount of which must have equaled the total amount prior to yesterday since I arrived in Tampa. I might have exaggerated that a bit, but I truly felt lighter.

The last session was between Linda and Wify. I must admit Wify's ability at Ping-pong caught me by surprise, which I ascribed to her grounding in badminton, her first game. She hardly let out any sweat, a testimony to her better-conditioned body achieved through constant moving around tending to the house and weekly aerobics, which she started several months back.

It was such a long lapse that I have almost forgotten about the sense of wellbeing after a rigorous exercise, the body toxins having exited along with the sweats, and the heart, aerobically exercised. It was such a good feeling that Wify and I are talking about making it a regular thing, say biweekly. Let's see how that pans out.

Image courtesy of the Google people at the occasion of the 29th Olympics held in China last month, a dragon returing a shot, symbolic of the Chinese prowess in Ping-pong.

Kaleidoscopic Asia: The Tea Route

[I would like to first apologize for my oversight in forgetting to bring my trusted digital cam along for the ride. So bear with me for a purely wordy escapade.]

In Malaysia, having high tea in the late afternoon has become a favorite pastime in cities as attested to by the many hotels offering High Tea Buffet. Apparently, this social setting is a British tradition and is not popular, almost non-existent even, in US. Of course high tea has become synonymous with a late afternoon gastronomic pursuit that has less to do with tea than an occasion to socialize. Nor is consuming tea restricted to that particular time of the day.

We are no connoisseurs of tea, but we do drink tea, more for its medicinal value since our preferred beverage has always been coffee, a habit cultivated from young for wify following her Mom's footstep. Me? I was more of a Coke addict, but have since dropped it several years ago when I learned that each can contains seven spoonful of sugar. That's a lot of sugar loading considering that I had that for every lunch and after every evening workout during those hot days in Malaysia.

Now I have resorted to tea, the green variety specifically, to go with my lunch. Then yesterday, wify suddenly had the urge to go for high tea. I remember reading about a tea lounge close to USF in the papers that I was reading while waiting for my car to be examined earlier in the week at the Toyota Service Center (yes, I have had an engine overheating problem again). Something that starts with a K.

Then I came across a mention of the same tea lounge in the Asian Trend Magazine that I picked up while grocery shopping at MD Oriental this Saturday. I found the magazine in the house, and proceeded to google the place. It's Kaleisia Tea Lounge on the east side of Fowler. The website, complete with menu and all, seemed inviting. (The logo is taken from the lounge's website.)

So that's where we headed yesterday, sometime around 5pm, knowing that it would close at 6pm on Sunday. CE was apprehensive initially, after hearing from me that the lounge is a favorite haunt for USF students as she does not enjoy crowded places. Maybe because it was the long weekend (today being Labor Day Holiday), we entered into a relatively quiet shop interior, unlike the crowd featured on the website, which was good. The left side of the wall is fronted by shelves showcasing tea pots and other paraphernalia in all shapes and sizes. Further in along the same side is the counter, with a smiling young gentleman standing behind.

Upon learning that this was our first visit, he pointed to the panel behind us (this would be the Wall of Tea comprising numerous glistening cans of tea numbering in the 100s featured on the website) for our tea selection. Wify surveyed the array of tea on display, and decided on Earl Grey and Georgia Peach. We also ordered the Asian Noodles and the Hummus-Avocado Wrap, two vegan dishes, and some cookies to go along with the tea.

Hung on the wall on both sides of the tea wall were the photographic exhibits featuring Angel He's photographs. While waiting for our orders, I ventured further into a settee area, which is, presumably, meant to provide a more intimate setting for patrons, and examined the book collection stacked against the left wall. I took out one, All the Tea in China (Kit Chow & Ione Kramer, China Books & Periodicals Inc., 1990, 187p), and retraced my steps to join my entourage.

Our orders came, we partook, me doing it while browsing through the book. The portions were small by normal standard, served on exquisitely shaped plates while the tea pots were emplaced on bamboo sheets spread on top of wooden supports. The tea smelled and tasted great, the vegan food scrumptious, and the cookies, a palate's delight.

Intrigued by the name of the lounge, we started to speculate as to its etymology. A native word in a foreign language? A combination of word parts, wify suggested? To solve the mystery, I confronted the young man who served us. Almost gleefully, he said it's a combination of kaleidoscope and Asia. That figures.

So our first visit to Kaleisia Tea Lounge turned out to be a refreshing experience, partially because of the less than normal weekend crowd, if it could qualify as a crowd at all during our timely visit. This first experience could almost rival the one that we have had with the Teapot Cafe back home, but only in terms of tea experience and the ambience, for a cafe obviously serves a much wider range of food selection than a lounge, as is the case here. However, in terms of the website design, my impression is the other way round, that of Kaleisia is decidedly much more appealing. CE also mentioned that she might bring her friends over for a taste of the delightful tea experience.

The Audacity of Hope

No, this is not about the book by Barack Obama, the Democrats nominee for the coming US Election; nor is it about the “epic achievement”, in the words of Mark Spitz, of Michael Phelps' 8 for 8 gold medal haul in the 29th Olympiads, the man from the Aquarius.

It's supposed to be about winning the maiden Gold Medal in the more than a century-old annals of the modern Olympics, in the person of Lee Chong Wei (CW), the pretender from Malaysia to the Olympics Crown in the man singles game of Badminton.

Granted he was to face a formidable foe, nicknamed the Super Dan, Lin Dan of China. What with 1.3 Billion people behind him providing the home court advantage. But, as they say, anything can happen in sports ...

I read that the final was to be held at 8.48pm today, local time in China. And that would be 8.48am here in US. I guess the timing of the final, sporting two 8s, is no mere coincidence.

Anyway, I surfed through the four TV channels here that cover the Olympics: NBC, Telemundo, USA, and MSNBC, and found that none carried the Badminton final live. That's not surprising, considering that Badminton is viewed largely an oriental sport, though US did send a Badminton contingent for the Games (The Google image to the right is one of many daily varied images put up by the Google people, one for each game. This one is for badminton).

So, for the first time, I looked for a live streaming video, and found it in the NBC Olympics website (where the image of CW to the right is taken from as a screen shot). It was already 12-5 in the first set, in Lin's favor. And Lin was leading all the way, helped no doubt by the uncharacteristic error-prone way of CW who seemed to spray the shuttlecork all over the place except in the court, yielding easy points for his opponent. To CW's credit, he did display flashes of brilliance that has earned him the #2 rank in the world, but that was too sporadic.

Perhaps the pressure got to CW, which I thought it would have affected Lin more, him having to shoulder the expectations of 1.3 Billion people. But Lin thrived on the incessant crescendo of JiaYou, JiaYou (literally, adding fuel, the Chinese equivalent of rallying support) of the partisan crowd, displaying all-court craft and extreme confidence.

The first game was soon over with a score of 21-12, going to Lin. The second set was more of the same, Lin raced to a 6-0 start, and never relinquished the lead. It was agonizing watching one's countryman under-performing for I know CW is capable of putting up a tougher fight, if not winning.

Badminton, for a long time, has been the only avenue to fame for Malaysian sports, starting in the 1950s (then Malaya). Later, Malaysia had to play second fiddle to Indonesia, and more recently, China, but have always maintained a respectable niche in Stanley's Cup, the world cup of Badminton, and All-England, the Grand prix of individual badminton honor. Then bowling, and later, Squash were added to the rather narrow field of Malaysian prowess in world sports. But Badminton has always remained our greatest hope, as testified by the two Olympics medals won by Malaysia so far, one silver and one bronze, and as you guessed it, both in Badminton.

So daring to hope and realizing that hope are separated by a huge chasm in reality, and to bridge that chasm will take much more than determination. But the important thing is to sustain that hope, to learn from the mistakes, and to take concrete steps toward improvement.

So let's keep our eyes on the 30th Olympiads to be held at London in 2012.

The Greatest Show on Earth: Beijing Welcomes You

Aug 8, 2008 is an auspicious day, by Chinese numerology. So it's no wonder that the day has been chosen as one that would herald the opening of the 29th Olympics. The organizers even went one step further, selecting the start time as 8:08 pm (Beijing local time), an instant that would only recur in the next 100 years. It's the very first time that China is hosting the premier game, the world stage for athletes, the epitome of sporting par excellence.


You can always count on the Google people to come out with a topical search logo (top) that is appropriate for the occasion of the day, this time featuring the four fuwas (literally translated as blessed dolls/kids) holding each corner of the Olympics flag and the fifth, leading with the torch. The five fuwas, the mascots, are arrayed on the bottom image taken from here, representing, from left to right, the fish (ocean), the panda (forest), the Olympic torch, the Tibetan antelope (Earth), and the swallow (Sky/Space). Each is given a double-syllabic Chinese name that is repeated, an endearing appelation for children. Phonetically, the five names (a character from each since the two characters are repeating), when enunciated in the same sequence, translates to Beijing Welcomes You as calligraphically represented by Wify below.


Not sure whether there would be live telecast of the Opening Ceremony, I decided to stay home in the morning just so I wouldn't miss what has been billed as the greatest show on earth, live from Beijing. I knew this would be a long shot since the published schedule of the NBC's TV's coverage of the 29th Olympics clearly indicates that the time of coverage would start at 8.00pm today.

When Wify phoned home later in the morning, her folks were watching the live telecast in Malaysia. Why we in US are not able to watch the opening live, despite her distinct technological advantage, is just beyond my comprehension. Proximity issue? Timing issue? Contractual obligations?

Anyway, instead, we watched some of the pre-show highlights that the NBC Today's staff had in store for US viewers. One of the slots dealt with Chinese etiquette, the social norms that govern the daily lives of Chinese people, steeped in tradition and one that outsiders may view as pandering to superstitious beliefs rather than grounded on rational thinking. It has to do with numbers where the counterpart to the unlucky number 13 in the western society is 4, which is phonetically somewhat akin to “death”. So having a number 4 in a car's number plate or the number of a house is downright unpopular among Chinese owners.

On the other hand, the preferred number is eight, phonetically allied with “making money”. Hence the Chinese fetish for this seemingly symmetrical and endless (as in looped) numerological entity, as amply demonstrated above in the choice of the date and time for the opening ceremony.

This phonetic likeness also plays a role in gift giving, or rather what not to select as gift. It's perhaps logical to think that a clock would make a nice house-warming gift, what with its utilitarian value. But this is taboo in Chinese society as, you guessed it, the Chinese word for clock sounds every bit like “the end”, as in coming to the end of life in this world. Even umbrellas are not appreciated since they signal “to open up” or something akin to washing dirty linens in the open. This, I would have to admit, I'm not so familiar with.

Then there are other negative symbolisms as well, all having to do with the notion of death, a taboo subject that is not welcome at all in any conversation involving the Chinese. One such example is in relation to the proper place to leave a pair of chopsticks in the vicinity of a filled rice bowl. Sticking them upright into the rice is tantamount to wishing death since that would resemble incense sticks staked in a pot that is a common sight in any funeral setting and one for remembering the dead. The best is to leave them on the table, by the side of the bowl. For momentarily stepping aside from eating, it might be OK to put them horizontally on top of the bowl (but I would like to be corrected if I erred).

Even gift wrapping is a sensitive issue, the prudent thing to do being to avoid white color. Traditionally, in Chinese tradition, white symbolizes death or the departed. Examples are that monetary gifts of condolences for bereavement are termed “white gold” while a recently widowed lady often spots a white lily on her head.

Ann Curry, Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera of the Today's cast agonizing over the proper choices with regard to gift bearing, the placement of chop sticks, and gift wrapping, the three clusters on the table arranged from left to right. (Screen shot of the local NBC station in the Tampa area, Channel 7, Today's show)

Ann and Meredith listening to the featured Chinese host explaining the Chinese foods that constitute a Chinese breakfast. The third cluster from the left features fried flour sticks that were a staple breakfast item for me during my younger days back home simply because the vendor was our neighbor. So you can say I practically grew up with this simple Chinese food, without realizing the historical significance behind the mere action of frying the sticks, until much later. Suffice to say that the frying is a symbolic punitive action (wallowed in hot oil) meted out against a historical despicable chinese official of the court who had betrayed a loyal general back in the Sung Dynasty, Ye Fei. (Screen shot of the local NBC station in the Tampa area, Channel 7, Today's show)

Then there is the table manner. Most people would think that it's commendable to finish all the food on a plate, leaving a clean slate behind so to speak, no wastage. There are even eateries here in US serving buffets that charge the customers for unfinished food.

However, if you were a guest in a Chinese home, it's considered rude or uncultured to do just that. Instead, social etiquette demands that you leave some behind, sending a message to the host that you have had enough of the sumptuous treat, and not that you have not been given enough to savor.

That, in a nutshell, is what westerners should watch out for lest the Chinese sensitivity be ruffled. Now settle in for the Games of Olympic proportion that would soon unfold.

A Tale of Two Foxes

The Dark Knight has been making all manners of records at the box office since it made its debut two weekends ago. At the rate it's going, it's projected that it would smash the record of the highest grossed movies of all time, one that has been held by Titantic for more than ten years.

Its popularity also means that watching it has become a dicey proposition, what with the current weather pattern in Tampa now that is reeked with daily afternoon showers. Our first two attempts were derailed by untimely downpour. Honestly, I wasn't sold on the movie prior to watching it, despite the glowing reviews splashing across the papers and Internet, and by word of mouth, especially one from CY, who said that she plans to watch it again, this time on IMAX.

Part of my less than salutary view of the movie was the makeup of the Joker seen in the movie trailer, which did not make a favorable impression on me. My view then was Jack Nicholson would not be dislodged by the late Heath Ledger as my favorite Joker.

On the other hand, I have been a X-files fan, not die-hard, but one who would like to see Mulder and Scully going beyond being mere good friends, just for old time sake.

The family was planning to watch The Dark Knight on IMAX at Channelside last weekend. But the afternoon deluge (though by screen time it had dwindled to a slight drizzle) coupled with my lackadaisical attitude toward the movie put paid to that venture and I was able to divert them to watch I Want to Believe at MUVICO that's closer to home, even though right up to the time at the ticket booth these other dissenting members of my entourage were still undecided whether we were actually going to watch the X-files.

Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed the wise cracks from Mulder and Scully's ability to rattle off medical terms with no loss of fluidity and fluency despite the intervening years. And more. This time though, the threats were entirely terrestrial in origin but perpetrated by earthly aliens, a term reserved for anybody who is from outside US in the parlance of United States Citizenship and Immigration Services. I shall skimp on the more part but let's just say I declared it to be the best movie in my list, thus far. My family members, though, have their reservations.

So after two abortive attempts, we made it to the Channelside way ahead of time: about 45 min before the scheduled screening time of 3pm. We joined the meandering queue at 2.20pm, a scene not unlike the waiting line in DisneyWorld, Orlando, except here they were more expectant adults than wide-eyed kids. To a collective sigh of relief from the waiting crowd, the door opened at 2.40pm, and the patrons started filing into the cinema, its interior seemingly dwarfed by the 8-storey high screen.

Because we made the right decision to appear well ahead of time, we were able to secure good and contiguous seats (second row from the back). It was a packed hall, and those who came late, especially in groups, were forced to split up or sat on the very first row (I can't imagine how one could actually enjoy the movie from that proximally disadvantaged seating location by having to swivel the head not only from side to side but to raise and to lower it continuously in order to get a full view of the action.) CE said she saw a party of late-comers comprising some kids in tow leaving the hall after making a brief survey upon entering, presumably to ask for a refund or exchange the tickets for a later show.

There was only one trailer shown, presumably not many movies are made with IMAX screening in mind. So for those who are used to seeing six or seven trailers being shown at a time, like Wify, they might not have realized that the feature presentation has actually started.

Anyway, the movie started with a group of masked men executing a bank robbery, and I was instantly taken in by the panoramic view seemingly giving it the depth dimension, and the rhythmic accompaniment of the background music.

When Batman was surveying the cityscape of skyscrapers in a night scene from the top of the Sears Tower (I learned later that most of the scenes were shot in Chicago), the acrophobic reaction elicited from the audience, at least in my case, was quite real. There was much explosion, but the carnage was implied rather than sensationally exhibited. The closest the movie got to something bordering on the macabre was the splitting of the mouths of unsuspecting victims by a small knife wielded by the Joker, who had a fetish for knives and made a case for using them as opposed to guns in the movie the details of which now escape me. He also made similar analogies for schemers, and rule followers, both of whom he was not, and human nature when stripped down to the basest elements: each man for himself.

I was pleasantly surprised by the sterling performance by Heath Ledger as the Joker, especially the way he swiveled his tongue ostensibly while talking, augmenting the maniac dimension of this dark character.

Oh yeah, there were moments of levity too, such as when the joker uttered a familiar line from Jerry Maguire (1996) that made me burst into spontaneous laughter, along with others as well.

There were some spontaneous applause from the audience in the course of the movie, the loudest of which was at the end from a patently appreciative audience for a cinematic experience well-delivered. By the time I stepped out of the cinema, the X-files' reign at the top of my movie list has been rendered a really short one, a week to be exact. Now the Dark Knight stays on top, a feat no doubt partially enabled by the IMAX experience. But so was the plot, the underlying human interest angle, the performance of the cast, etc. All conspire to make a believer of the movie's appeal out of an erstwhile cynical me.

There may be a teeny weeny bit of giveaway, aka plot spoiler, in the next paragraph, so please be forewarned.

To most, obviously the Dark Knight refers to Batman, in dark suit, and being nocturnal. But I have a different take, prompted by the white knight, Harvey Dent, the D.A. played by Aaron Eckhart. The “white” as used here refers to his open identity as opposed to the concealed, or dark, identity of Batman. In the movie, Dent's dark side was successfully unleashed by the Joker, the master manipulator of human emotions, thus earning Dent the moniker, the Dark Knight, in my reckoning.

Supposedly Dent was chosen to be the Joker's target because he was the strongest, over Batman and the police chief Gordon played by Gary Oldman. Eventually by saving the day for everyone and by taking the fall for the dastardly acts of the changed Dent, Batman turned out to be the strongest for he is strong to live long enough to become the villain so that people like Dent would die as a hero.

As for the tale of the two foxes, the fox in the X-files is self-explanatory while the fox in the Dark Knight is Lucius Fox played by Morgan Freeman.

The passing of an ordinary and yet Great Man: Randy Pausch

Despite today being a weekend, I woke up earlier than usual, meaning on work days. Wify was already downstairs starting her daily routine, another unusual sign for her too for she usually sleeps late on weekends, what with over the midnight bed time last night (or this morning to be exact). There seemed to be some kind of premonition in the air, which I had no inkling about, then.

At breakfast, I picked up the St. Pete Times from just outside the door, sauntered to the table, scanned the first page for a sense of what's happening around Tampa, Florida, and the world at large. St. Pete Times has a news gist column to the left on the first page, summarizing the various news vignettes that point to further expansion inside the paper.

While scrolling down the list of news gist, my eyes caught the title, 'The Last Lecture' professor dies, that sent a jolt through me. Randy Pausch was of course the latest Internet phenom who breezed through the blogosphere like a fresh wisp of air with his presentation of the Last Lecture caught on video, which I have blogged about here. He was best known for his delivery of life lessons, imparted with a mission-like urgency precipitated by the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer just days prior to his fated delivery.

Despite the terminal illness that would have cowed a lot of people into submission, he fought on gallantly, exuding a lustrous passion for life, and conversely, a near disdain for death, that excited those who are similarly afflicted, and more so, shamed those fortunate among us for having taken life for granted.

Life being what it is, his passing should not have been a surprise. All of us will be visited by the same fate, sooner or later. Except that in his case, it might have seen sooner than most of us thought. But his legacy lives on, not only to his loved ones who are the original targets of his 'the Last Lecture', but also the millions around the world who have been fortunate enough to catch a last glimpse of him, literally. And hopefully goad us into living a full life from this moment on. It's better late than sorry.

May Randy Pausch rest in peace, and that his family will remain strong to tide over this difficult time. We all have lost an ordinary and yet a great man, but only in terms of his physical form, and surely not the life lessons that he had had instilled into our collective psyche.

A Memorable July 4th Weekend

America celebrated her 232nd birthday yesterday, having gained independence on July 4, 1776. And a traditional celebration mode is the combination of July 4th parade in the morning followed by fireworks in the night. The last time we partook of such a celebration was more than ten years ago, when we were still at Gainesville, once every year from 1991 to 1994, at Flavet Field in the UF campus (WT, a rising Junior at UF, remembers the name, not surprisingly).

I still remember we all used to walk from Corry Village, our four children in tow. Wify would spread out the picnic mat on an available spot on the grass field and we would sit on it, waiting for the pyrotechnics show to commence while listening (we were always seated too far to watch the action) to a live band performance on a nearby open-air stage. Then when the moment arrived, we would enjoy watching the night sky being lit up by an ebullient but ephemeral tapestry of bright spots in seemingly haphazard pattern, preceded by what sounded like a distant thunder and rising flares of projectiles in succession, eyes affixed skyward, mouth agog.

It was not until last night that we were able to reprise that child-like wondrous experience, at the invitation of Linda and Victor Hong to join them in Temple Terrace. But first, we visited their newly remodeled home that is close to being finished. It is spacious with an impressive new facade that has added depth to what was originally a ranch-style home, tastefully nestled among the stately trees. Then we were serenaded by the Hong's talented musicians, Victor on the drums, Kevin, a rising high school sophomore and his elder son, on trumpet, and Aaron, a rising 8th grader and his younger brother, on bass guitar. Then father and son (Aaron) switched roles to play on the bass and the acoustic guitar, respectively. I just wished WJ could have been here to put the sole Lee's flavor (he plays the guitar) into the musical mix.

Then we adjourned to a sumptuous dinner prepared by Linda. And the musical interlude continued wih a solo piano performance by Aaron, on an 20 years+ Roland electric piano, accompanied by some leisurely dance moves by Wify who did not seem to be able to keep her dance urges in check after her overtures to yours truly and then to Linda to join her were respectfully declined. At Wify's urging, Linda also played a tune, For Elise, on the piano (honestly this was the only number I know, the others seemed to be jazz pieces that I'm not familiar).

Then it was off to the computer room to be awed by Kevin's design of military aircrafts and Aarons' design of several animated games, under the watchful eyes of their pride parents.

Just before 9pm, we sauntered en mass to the nearby Golf course for the fireworks display, under the clearing sky that had hitherto threatened to rain on us accompanied by a distant rumble and lightning flashes. We found a spot, got seated, among the many like-minded audience, and waited patiently for the promised show to erupt above us. And we were not disappointed, reliving the memorable experience we last had more than ten years ago, captured here using the Nikon Coolpix L11 digital camera with the fireworks setting, thanks to our gracious hosts, the Hong Family.

Happy Birthday America!

The throng of people taking up their respective places. The distant display was apparently from another earlier fireworks display on another location, the relatively low height acheived belying their position further afield.

And the show we came to watch went ballistic.








This vertically stacked pattern was preceded by a staccato of shots reverberating and illuminating in the most magnificent glow of all, a grand finale to the night of celebration.

Pedometer as a Personal Exercise Motivator

It's a human tendency (or is it just me?) to slow down with advancing age. Sports activities diminish, except for the viewing kind, and trips to the gym get curtailed. Also, a couch looks increasingly inviting by the day.

On the other hand, the dispensation of medical advice to exercise more also picks up in tempo, getting strident with each doctor visit when the only direction on a weighing scale is UP. Cutting down on food intake can only do that much. So I have been looking for a motivation to exercise, something like a constant reminder that would track my progress by the minutes, aside from wify's nagging, but delivered in a loving way and accepted whole-heartedly.

And my prayer was answered: CY sent me a Father's Day gift parcel that included just that: a pedometer. Actually two, the other one being for wify. Honestly, this is the first time I have even heard of the gadget/device. This particular one is a SPORTLINE walk and run collection, touted to “accurately counts walking, hiking or running steps” and be “prefect for 10,000 steps/day programs”.

So both I and wify have been wearing the pedometers at the waist since day 1, and religiously recording the number of steps achieved each day, eliciting “Wow” and “Ah!” from us whenever a new milestone was reached. In the past twelve days, wify has breached the 10,000 mark (the highest being 16,476), which has been claimed as the yardstick for an active lifestyle, on 7 of them while just short of that magical target in 2 of them.

Me? Well, as a sedentary worker confined to the office and often glued to the computer screen, it comes as no big surprise that my highest is just over 7,600 counts, which is on a Saturday. Must be a day of weekend grocery shopping, I reckon.

After 12 days of use, we kind of know what step counts to expect from our daily activities. Just by doing household chores alone, ascending/descending three levels, moving around the kitchen preparing our three meals, and circum-ambulating while reciting Buddhist sutras and mantras, would gain wify around 5,000 – 6,000 counts.

In contrast, my typical 8-hour day at the office, including the walk to and fro from the carpark and trips to the printing machines/break room/restroom/conference room/colleagues' rooms plus walking in circles within my own room, a more recent add-on in order to boost my step count, would reward me a lowly 2,000 – 2,500 counts. Obviously, some kind of supplementary physical activity is called for.

The evening walks. A typical half-an-hour around part of the west side of USF campus (before the Sun Dome) adjacent to our house would count for 2,000 steps. A further foray up to the center of USF Campus (just beyond the Library) and back, taking up to an hour or so, would double that. So that has helped push up my daily score past 5,000.

Starting two weeks ago, wify and her Arts teacher, Mrs. Fan, have been going for aerobic exercise (twice a week for 1 hour each) and dance class (once a week for 2 hours) at a nearby community center. These are locally sponsored community programs for 50+ (age wise)/seniors/AARP (formerly American Association of Retired Persons) members, free for aerobic and $6/class for dance classes. The average count she scored for an aerobic class is about 2,500 and for a dance class, about 3,500. The reason for the less than doubling of the step counts, which is disproportional to the duration of activity, is because a dance class involves frequent stoppage while the teacher is explaining the moves. So at least for three times a week, wify's target of 10,000 counts is always met, except when evening showers wash out the evening walk routine, which has become a frequent event lately.

As you can see, I still have a sizable shortfall to fill. Several options come to mind: parking further from the office; afternoon walk around the park (one of my colleague does just that, walking to Bayshore Blvd and back, while the other one goes one up: he jogs during lunch time and comes back all sweaty); or extending the route of the evening walk (our furthest was up to the USF campus lake fronting the Psychology/Music Buildings at the east side of Campus taking more than an hour, but that was before we had the pedometers). It seems I would have to add all three in order to top the threshold of 10,000 steps/day. And I look forward eagerly to that day.

Some information on pedometers from the friendly people at Wikipedia:

“A pedometer (also known as a Tomish-meter, perhaps after the alleged inventor of a successful device, Thomas Jefferson ) or step counter is a device, in modern times usually portable and electronic or electromechanical, that counts each step a person takes by detecting the motion of their hips. Because the distance of each person's step varies, an informal calibration performed by the user is required if the distance in yards or miles is desired.

Used originally by sports and physical fitness enthusiasts, pedometers are now becoming popular as an everyday exercise measurer and motivator. Often worn on the belt and kept on all day, it can record how many steps the wearer has walked that day, and thus the kilometers/miles (distance = number of steps x step length). Some pedometers will also erroneously record movements other than walking, such as bending to tie one's shoes, or road bumps incurred while riding a vehicle, though the most advanced devices record fewer of these 'false steps'. Step counters can give encouragement to compete with oneself in getting fit and losing weight. A total of 10,000 steps per day, equivalent to 5 miles (8.0 km), is recommended by some to be the benchmark for an active lifestyle, although this point is debated among experts. Step counters are being integrated into an increasing number of portable consumer electronic devices such as music players and mobile phones.”

Oh, yes, the pedometers were made in China, a clear portent announced in the very first sentence of the book, China, Inc. (TC Fishman, Scribner, 2005), another gift in the Father's Day parcel from CY:

“CHINA IS EVERYWHERE THESE DAYS.”

Hand-made Cards that Make Our Day

While Mother's Day was celebrated last month, June ushers in Father's Day, celebrating the other half of the parental edifice. From being children ourselves, we have assumed the role of parents, not once, but four times as our household expanded. Now our two youngest are already in college, paving their way to become independent adults.

From bearing gifts to our parents, we have now become recipients in our own right. As parents, seeing our children grow up to become responsible adults is the best gift that we could ever get.

Each of our children has a different disposition. So are the ways they display affection, following the general pattern that daughters usually take after their mom and vice versa. Being perhaps the most expressive and creative of our children, CY sent a self-made card each to wify and me on the above occasions, along with other gifts driven by her uncanny sense of our preferences, and her perception of what we needed the most at this stage of our life. But nothing beats the hand-made cards and the messages thereon.

Here I would like to share the cards she has made for us while leaving the messages private for Mom and Dad to savor. You can see that CY really takes after her Mom in creating pictures out of imagination. We are really blessed to have our children turning up the way they are.

For Mom.

For Dad.

Kung Fu Panda: Belief in oneself

Belief in oneself. That's what Kung Fu Panda is all about. At least that's the take home message for me. We watched the movie yesterday at MUVICO located at New Tampa (we have grown to like this cinema complex for its spacious seat arrangement, suitably stacked on an incline to remove any worry of visual obstruction with reclining cushion seats, arm rests and adequate leg room plus excellent acoustics). We had a family conference and collectively decided that we would not pay the extra $3 per head to watch it on IMAX at Channel side, a good 12 miles away. (Wify's version of the pugilistic Panda is shown here holding the coveted Dragon Scroll in one hand over the head, with an inscription of the Chinese character for pugilism across the chest, in the shower of the peach flowers.)

The movie trailers shown during the pre-show segment were mostly catered to the children audience, understandably so, including the animated version of the Star Wars genre, The Clone Wars. Wonder whether it would meet with the same box office success as its human counterpart when it is released later in the year.

The feature presentation started with a nice musical score, a decidedly Chinese beat. We learned earlier on that Panda Po came from a noodle family with a secret recipe passed down through generations. And the movie then rolled on, and gradually revealed the provenance of the Dragon Scroll, supposedly a much coveted martial arts secret that only the designated Dragon Warrior could view. The two parallels did not become obvious until later, embedded in the words of Po's father (but I may have paraphrased here, relying pretty much on my memory after the fact), played by a gander (I almost wrote goose, which is the female, strictly speaking) of all animals:

“If you want to make something special, you just have to believe it's special.”

I would leave the movie itself to connect the dot between the two, lest I'm guilty of “spoiling the fun”.

While watching the movie and as the plot progressively unraveled, Po's name began to strike me as having a deeper meaning the selection of which was not random. I recall the term “Po” coined by Edward de Bono, that world-renowned progenitor of lateral thinking/thinking out of the box, to convey exploring beyond the bounds of conventional wisdom. To refresh my memory, I consulted Wikipedia and was rewarded with the following:

“A "Po" is an idea which moves thinking forward to a new place from where new ideas or solutions may be found. The term was created by Edward de Bono as part of a lateral thinking technique to suggest forward movement, that is, making a statement and seeing where it leads to. It is an extraction from words such as hypothesis, suppose, possible and poetry, all of which indicate forward movement and contain the syllable "po." Po can be taken to refer to any of the following - provoking operation, provocative operation or provocation operation. Also, in ancient Polynesian and the Maori, the word "po" refers to the original chaotic state of formlessness, from which evolution occurred. Edward de Bono argues that this context as well applies to the term.”

But perhaps I'm thinking too much into this, but I sure would like some feedback one way or the other.

We thoroughly enjoyed the movie, notwithstanding the fact that it has a strong Chinese root. But the destruction of property when the fight rampage was on seems excessive (collapsed stone walls, and exploded buildings and ground, etc.), perhaps exaggerating the potency of the highest level of unarmed combat there is done understandably for cinematic effect. Also, those who are veterans of Chinese martial arts movies and are an avid fan of Jackie Chan (who plays the voice of Master Monkey in the movie) would recognize some familiar fight sequences, for example, the chopstick fights between the Master Sifu and Student Po going for the Chinese dumplings with dexterous display of blocking moves.

Talking about Master Sifu, I was stumped by CE's question on if Sifu is Master in Chinese, why then “Master Sifu”, a seeming classic redundancy error (like repeat again?)? An oversight?

In the annals of Chinese history, the evolution of martial arts, especially the Shaolin lineage, is intertwined with Buddhist monks (another lineage, Wudan, would be more associated with Taoism). So it is little surprise that some vestiges of Buddhist influence were sprinkled here and there. For example, one scene had the Master Crane writing the Chinese calligraphy for the word Chan (Zen, wify's version is shown to the right). Then there is this not so subtle reference to the Buddhist worldview of being mindful of the here and now, imparted by Master Oogway (Chinese for turtle, Wu Gui) to Po under the Sacred Peach Tree (again, paraphrasing):

“Yesterday was history. Tomorrow is a mystery. But today is a gift. That's why its called the present.”

Carpe Diem!

A Foretaste of Retirement Life?

Today is the fifth straight day on a stretch that I have been away from work since last Saturday, Monday being a public holiday (Memorial day) and the next two, my own leave. The two off days were not planned, but just kind of being carried along by the momentum of the holiday mood, perhaps a foretaste of what a retired life would feel like.

I would have to say it's a nice, relaxed feeling, one not burdened by work but entirely driven by one's volition. We spent the first two days on Dharma matters, attending two Dharma talks on consecutive days. Both have been Dharma bliss-filled occasions, granting us serenity and uplifting us spiritually. The next two were more mundane affairs, but physically soothing nonetheless.

We watched the latest Indy's flick that deals with crystal skulls. Harrison Ford is, well, Harrison Ford, a vintage performance. And we were introduced to Shia LaBeouf, the pretender to the maverick archaeologist's crown. He made a grand entrance reminiscent of the young Marlo Brando, a prompt we learned in today's movie review. But some of the scenes remind me of the Raiders of the Lost Ark, if one were to replace the mysterious forces of the remains in the gold casket with those wielded by alien beings. While the first Indy movie stopped at Area 51, this one started from there, with a ten-year hiatus. But that's as much as I would say about the movie.

Personally, and entertainment-wise, I would rate Iron Man a better cinematic experience. Somehow a human superhero aided by human ingenuity is more believable than the supernatural forces whose provenance would need more than a leap of faith to comprehend.

Then yesterday, we watched the first DVD (out of seven) of a Taiwan-made TV series entitled It Started with a Kiss. It was adapted from a Manga series involving the evolution of puppy love between two teens that blossoms into a lasting marital relationship, preceded as always by the infatuation stage that is decidedly one-sided. It may be an old theme but I would grant the cast for some refreshing angles that involve nothing more than good old fun, nothing in the league of the back-stabbing, blood curdling sagas of the daytime soap operas that thrive on scheming protagonists and carnal knowledge. According to CE, this is the Taiwan edition, which is cheaper than the Japanese edition that has better packaging. Incidentally, CE has served as an English consultant to provide the English subtitles for an online group, with occasional tips from us, rendered gratis. We are proud of her initiative, kind of taking after the father, don't you think?

It lasted three hours into the wee hours of the morning, a luxury that I have not indulged since maybe watching the Japanese series GTO (Great Teacher Onizuka) starring Sorimachi Takashi several years back while we were still in Malaysia, a record yet to be beaten. But these days there seem to be more kissing scenes, perhaps a reflection of the more liberating atmosphere in Asia, but nothing bordering on indecency.

Talking about the DVD set, it was delivered by USPS, supposedly a birthday gift for CE, but self-ordered online and self-paid, with our blessing. It came wrapped in a cardboard box that is just small enough to fit into our pigeon hole mail box placed outdoor at a central location typical of apartment complexes.

If you are not familiar with the mail box system here (or perhaps they are the same everywhere), just bear with me. Now, these mail boxes are arranged in a regular array of regular openings that span vertically and across. Each is accessed through an individual door opened by a key that is unique for each resident. But the postman would access the individual boxes differently. He/she would open a single panel large door that comprises all these individual mail-box doors to expose the mail boxes all at once. Then all he/she would need to do is to slot the mails into individual boxes, bypassing the trouble of opening individual doors and closing them after each delivery.

So the box went snugly into our mail box. But little did the postman realize that an individual door is actually crafted slightly smaller than the mail box itself to allow for side hinges on one side and for the bar lock on the other. That's where the trouble started, I simply could not slide the box package out, and being of cardboard construction, it can't be squeeze either. This is actually our second experience of the same whence we had to use a pair of scissors to cut open the box side so that it could be bent to offer a smaller sectional area for extraction. And that worked, but at the expense of the scissors the handle of which broke due to the brute force approach.

This time, though, we were better prepared. So I used a paper cut knife, you know, the sliding type, and sawed open the end of the box, revealing the DVD box set within. Luckily, the actual DVD box is smaller than the door dimension (but not much) and I was able to slide it ot. The rest was easy, the cardboard, minus the contents, was then easily collapsed and removed.

I'm not sure when the postman will learn about this size disparity and do the right thing, i.e., place such boxes in another larger common mail box (not assigned to anybody) specially designed for these odd-sized packages. The postman would then leave the key to that common mail box in the mail box of the resident concerned for later retrieval. I guess we may have to tell him/her one day. But we will give him/her another chance.

So that brought us to today, which we have not yet decided how the holiday mood should continue. Perhaps the second DVD, so that we could continue to laugh heartily at the silly antics therein, which at times would bring a chuckle or two as we were young and possessed with the same impulsive tendencies once.

Anyway, it is good to relive some old fond memories, vicariously notwithstanding, especially with wify by my side. A mere squeeze of her hand would bring up a knowing smile and a loving gaze from her. Such is the experience shared by two who have traveled this far in life together whereby a lot can be exchanged without having to say anything.

From donation drive, to public speaking, to the spirit of giving

Human tragedies continue to hog the headlines, proving once again that homo sapiens, despite wondrous technological advances that have been lulling us into a false sense of security vis-a-vis the might of Nature, are still at the mercy of the “whims” of natural calamities. While the carnage brought about by the 2004 South Asian Tsunami and the devastation wrought by the 2004/2005 Hurricane seasons in US have hardly receded into the recesses of our memory, 2008 has shaped up to be a particularly difficult year so far, with catastrophes charging out of the gate one after the other: Cyclone Nargis sweeping through the lowlying coastal plains of the Irriwaddy delta, Myanmar, the 7.9 earthquake in Sichuan, China, and the recent havoc in the wake of the tornadoes whirling through the US midwest.

Especially in Myanmar and China, rescuers are on a frantic search for survivors in hard-to-reach places while international aid organizations are mobilizing resources, be they manpower, materials, equipment, or financial, to pour into the affected regions. Donation centers have been set up, both physically on the ground and virtually through the Internet. To facilitate donations from folks on the street, small teams of volunteers have also been deployed at commercial facilities to collect donations from patrons making their weekend grocery trips.

Tzuchi Foundation, a Buddhist Compassionate Relief headquartered in Taiwan, has again initiated such a street-level donation drive effort at locales throughout the US. And we were honored to be called upon to help out in such a drive held in Tampa today. Our destination: The MD Oriental Market on 1106 E Fowler Avenue, one which we frequent on a nearly weekly basis. Our team of Linda, Wify, and yours truly was assigned to the second day (the first day was yesterday), the first shift running from 11am to 1.30pm, followed by a second shift ending at 4pm where our fellow volunteers from the Tzuchi Foundation in Tampa would take over.


The day was mostly sunny, except for several brief anxious moments when dark clouds loomed atop momentarily but eventually drifted afield, leaving a few drops on my head in the process, sparing us the deluge that would have hampered our effort but not dampen out spirit. As it were, even the weather seemed to be on our side on this day marked by compassion all-round.

After setting up the poster announcing the purpose of the donation drive at the entrance, and putting on a vest bearing the emblem of Tzuchi Foundation (Linda was in the familiar white long pant and blue T-shirt, a signature outdoor attire for Tzuchi volunteers affectionately termed “Blue Sky White Cloud”), we positioned ourselves on both sides of the entrance, but at a discreet distance away so that we would not block the direct path of entry into and exit from the Market, each holding a donation box in our hands.

We greeted the patrons warmly, and inquired politely whether they would like to make a donation to help the earthquake victims in China, after which we thanked them. We also bade them “have a nice day” on their way out. We abided strictly to the instructions from Tzuchi Headquarters not to be seen as exerting pressure on patrons; nor should we disrupt the smooth running of the business of the establishment. Prior to going ahead with the donation drive at the premises, the team leader is to consult the proprietors to seek their blessing for the effort. So we were that because of their good office and for that Tzuchi Foundation is thankful.

We used a combination of Mandarin and English for obvious reasons. Of course sometimes we did err on being presumptuous because not all Chinese looking people speak Mandarin. And they were graceful enough to overlook our oversight and happy to donate all the same.

Initiating a conversation with a complete stranger can be intimidating, let alone asking for a donation. I can recall times during my younger days when I was prone to being tongue-tight among strangers, preferring to merge into the background as much as possible. I still remember vividly a high school class debate when the night before I was agonizing over the things to say, the way to say it, and so on. I think I hardly slept, constantly turning in bed and dreading the arrival of the morning. When the moment came, I remember standing up, looking straight ahead, the mind drawing a blank, a complete one. I might have stammer a few words, but the pin-drop silence engulfed me, totally. After a seemingly interminably long time, in silence, I think I felt my teacher motioning to me to sit down, and the rest of the day just went by in a daze. That definitely wasn't me in there on that day, I rationalized, because I had won several elocution contests in my days at the elementary school levels. But my classmates never mentioned a word of my anomalous behavior that day after that, not to me directly anyway. And I was thankful for that.

I was forced to overcome my stage fright after I joined the work force during which I had been called on occasions to deliver talks and briefings. Now even though I still have butterflies in my stomach before an audience, I have never failed to speak, whether it was well delivered is another matter all together. Now I realize that as long as I make myself audible, intelligible better yet, people will always listen before they shut you off. They don't like to laugh at you, unless you yourself make it irresistible for them. I think it's the letting go of the pressure, and the assurance that comes from knowing the substance of the message we are about to deliver. Of course knowing that we are doing it for a good course helps tremendously.

This is our third time doing a street-level donation drive for Tzuchi Foundation, the first and second times being for the 2004 South Asian Tsunami and 2005 Hurricane Katrina Disaster Reliefs, both at the Oceanic Market several years back. Just like then, I found the experience to be a humbling one, and a heart-warming one as well.

People will always have a soft spot for human tragedies, irrespective of where it occurs. And they will always respond positively to kind words and polite requests. The readiness with which they came forth with donations that I witnessed today is a clear testimony to the humanity that resides within each of us. And as long as compassion and the spirit of giving are not in short supply, we will always be able to triumph over adversity, and render help to those in need, in whatever capacity each of us is best equipped to handle. And it was with this conviction that we handed the donation drive over to our successors of the day comprising the trio of Yu Huei, Adina and Lulu.

Eureka Springs Park. Eureka! Indeed

Wify was brought to Eureka Springs Park, located just off Highway 301 and Sligh, yesterday morning by Linda, who had chanced upon the Park. Linda fell in love with it right away and had been meaning to bring wify to partake of its magnificent flower collections for some time now. Everything fell into place yesterday and they took the 20-minute drive there. Unsure of what to expect and being in a party of two made up of the fairer sex, she was hesitant to bring along the camera. And that task fell into my lap, today.

Armed with my newly purchased Nikon Coolpix L11, procured at a discount from Ritz Camera and costing half of what I paid for my Nikon Coolpix L6 bought last year with essentially the same functionality, we drove for about 8 miles, as measured on my car's tachometer, from our home for Eureka Springs Park.

But we were sidetracked along the way, for a good reason. While crossing the Tampa Bypass Canal, we noticed that the bridge was closed on one lane, and there were people standing about the cordoned half of the bridge deck, most with cameras trained at the river below. Then our view swept over canoes criss-crossing the river. Yes, we had chanced upon a rowing regatta. Our first thought was this must be an inter-high school competition as wify recalled being informed by Mrs. Kim (we were going to invite her family for a dinner today) that she could not make it because her son, Mark, who is from Plant High School, was to take part in a rowing competition.

As we walked along the bridge deck, we saw a familiar gold and black outfit with the letter “P” inscribed on it, occupying one of the four canoes lining up at the starting point. The Macee's announcement confirmed that it was indeed the Plant Panthers (both my two younger children graduated from Plant High two years and a year back, respectively).

And it was opportune that we arrived just when the Panthers were about to row off in a competition. At the end of the countdown, the four teams pedaled feverishly to the finish point beyond, to the enthusiastic shouts of the respective supporters. We were not sure how the Panthers fared, but Go Panthers!

The Golden Panthers.

And off they went, each cutting a swath of water marks.

After that interlude, we continued toward our destination, arriving at an empty car park. I was not totally surprised to see the car park deserted, having being informed by wify of the less than popular situation on her trip yesterday. But I ascribed that to it being a weekday. But apparently I was wrong. Perhaps it is because of its secluded location as we had to drive through a stretch of rural setting, boasting farm houses with cows and horses roaming the open field. Or there is simply too much competition from the plethora of parks dotting the areal landscape, some of which are in prime locations in terms of accessibility, such as the Lettuce Lake Park.

Wify at the entrance, marked by vertical letter carvings on the wooden sign post behind.

But definitely not for the lack of amenities and especially the flower offerings. Established in 1938, the park offers a meeting room with screened walls (a perfect setting for a Dharma session), a green house, a looped boardwalk, and various nature trails, paved with broken shell fragments that emit a light crushing sound when walked on. Several small dug ponds scatter around the compound, which kind of make up for the lack of a natural stream flowing by (for example, at Lettuce Lake Park and Morris Bridge Wildnerness Park).

An innovative collection of wooden signs.

As for the flower plants that are by far the major attraction, I could only describe it in one word: Eureka!. I've found it! indeed, not unlike the feeling of elation when Archimedes discovered the principle of hydrostatics while lazing in a bath tub, which we now accept as the Archimedes' Principle. But I will let the pictures do the talking, presuming that my amateurish photography skill could do justice to the splendor, the exuberance, the rich tapestry of colorful hues that meet our eyes.

While promenading through the park in relatively quiet, save for the happy chirping from cicadas (do cicadas chirp? Also throughout our nearly two-hours sojourn we only managed to cross path with another gentleman), we met Barbara, the park manager who has been at the park since the 1970s. She was all hands on, hands in gloves and a hand-held spade in one gloved hand, shaving off earth from a nursery plant ready to be planted.

We chalked up a conversation and learned that the park has seen better days in terms of maintenance because of depleting funds. By then we had already finished a major part of our walk through, and had noticed some vestiges of run-down condition in the greenhouse, and shriveled leaves here and there. In fact, Linda told wify yesterday that there might be a real threat of at best a scaled down maintenance regimen and at worst a park close-down should the fund situation remain unresolved.

Despite the fund limitation which is approaching dire proportions, I would say the park remains in a spruce condition, thanks to the dedicated efforts of Barbara and her co-workers in tending to the park so that visitors like us could immerse in what nature is able to offer, a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, a mental therapeutic trip into communing with nature.

It would indeed be a crying shame should the unthinkable happen by force of circumstance. We , for one, would make repeated visits to the park and appeal to other park loving people out there to do the same, making it such a popular family destination that the Park would not be relegated into oblivion by sheer dint of economic dictates. So, see you all there, and cherish the Eureka feeling!

Let the fun begin and be dazzled by the rich array of colors, shapes, and sizes that is the floral kingdom that rules Eureka Springs Park (do click on the images for enlarged views).

Commencement Inspired Reminiscenes

Time really flies when you least expect it. Before we know it, the Spring semester has ended. First, CE started becoming house-bound, meaning not going to the USF campus to attend lectures. Then WT's turn followed suit. And we drove to Gainesville today to fetch him back. And here are some photos taken on the trip, a typical sunny day with the normal load of traffic along the Interstate. The campus was relatively deserted as most of the student population had emptied out of the campus, including those living in dorms, as testified by the small number of cars parked outside Hume Hall, parents helping their kids to vacate their rooms as what we were doing. I can imagine the long lines of cars, sometimes even double-parked, if we were to come yesterday when the main bulk of the exodus would have occurred.

This is the view from the vantage seated position at the back of our minivan, kind of tailgating. That was what I did while waiting for Wify and WT to unload stuff from WT's dorm room, a mug of coffee by my side, and The Authentic Confucious (by Annping Chin, Scribner, NY, 2007) in my hand, learning the intricacy of the local politics of the day in Lu country (Confucious's home state) during the Era of Spring and Autumn (6th Century BC) in the long annals of Chinese History.
And this is the view of my tailgating position, the pad of paper on the rear bumper serving as my seat. The Happy Birthday balloon was meant for WT, who celebrated his 20th birthday just a few days prior.

And here are WT and Wify (swinging a pillow) in the thick of moving chores, the disparity in the loads patently in sight from their carrying actions (WF lugging while Wify toting), for obvious reasons.

The semester end period is also the time of commencement (back home it is called convocation) when college graduates rejoice, having endured several years of self-imposed exile wandering in the campus, and soon to be liberated into the real world. On our evening walk yesterday, we were pleasantly reminded of the jubilation of having tasted academic success and becoming newly minted members of the college graduate rank.

First, there were two policemen standing in the middle of the road, directing traffic to ease those coming from the Sun Dome. Then a throng of people were seen walking to the car park: old, young, all resplendent in their proper attire fit for attending a gala dinner of high society, inter-mingling with students in graduation garb complete with mortar boards. And yes, they had just attended one of the commencement ceremonies held at the Sundome for USF graduates. Wify even congratulated one of the female graduates walking past us who acknowledged the kind gesture with a beaming smile and resounding Thank you.

I remember reading in the St. Pete Times that there are more than 4,900 USF graduates this year. This is in stark contrast to the declining job market prevailing now that would make their job hunt that much tougher.

That also brought back memories of my own graduation ceremonies, which I managed to attend only once out of three opportunities. The most vivid and memorable one is of course when I went on stage to receive my bachelor degree at Chancellor Auditorium of University of Malaya, watched by my late mother, my wife-to-be and my younger sister. I think it was some day in June of 1978. Earlier in the morning I had driven my entourage from my hometown, Yong Peng in Johor, to Petaling Jaya in my soon-to-be father-in-law's car, a more than 100 mile journey.

Then I missed the next two: Masters and Ph.D. Commencements, but both by design. The first I forewent because I had only two weeks to do any traveling before I returned to Malaysia, and the date of commencement, a day in June 1987, fell right smack in the middle of that. And I figured it was just a ceremony lasting for a couple of hours, compared to a lifetime of memory of a sight-seeing trip that I may never have the chance to partake of. After all, how different can the atmosphere be from the one back in 1978? As they say, you have seen one, you have seen all.

The second miss involved a slightly different circumstance. This time though, the date was three months after I returned to Malaysia, being in May, 1995 while my return trip was already booked on early February the same year, barely one week after I submitted my dissertation in final form to the Graduate Students Department. I had to bring back an official endorsement from the University in lieu of the degree which I would only receive in June, by mail, testifying to my successful completion of the doctoral course and would be awarded the degree in due course to show it to my employer (I was sponsored by the Government) as proof.

So I have only one graduation picture to show for my academic pursuit to the highest level. But I know in my heart that what counted the most was the journey, the test of academic rigor, the countless hours spent in the cold, damp lab building the mud profiles, from bags of artificial clay, mouth covered in protective gear to filter out clay dust lest it got lodged in my lungs, and withstanding the constant probing and prodding from my academic advisor who of course had nothing except my academic wellbeing in his heart.

There were also the fun times like the usual volleyball game during lunch breaks. Who can resist the smugness that came from blocking a spike? Right in your face! Most enjoyable is undoubtedly spending time with the family, visiting places, watching July 4th firework display at the BandShell, admiring the various exhibits at the Florida Museum of Natural History, the Harn's Museum of Arts, and many many more sites of local interests, and the weekend trips to the various theme parks in Orlando, including the now defunct Splendid China. Not forgotten are the various book and reading activities organized by area libraries and bookstore chains, and Arts Festivals during which wify and the children had the most fun.

Yes, those are definitely the memories to be cherished, and the growing up lessons we picked up in the process through each footprint kind of got indelibly imprinted and stored in our collective memory bank, for a lifetime of reminiscence.