The Loose Goose

Continuing to feed my desire to be somewhat proficient in kitchen skills, last week's dinner was all about steaming a fish. This wasn't something I had in my repertoire that included frying, grilling, or baking. Steaming was always something I never quite trusted because I'm one who always underestimates the power of steam. It's all gas after all. How much was it going to contribute to cooking meat? Never mind that it's capable of running turbines.

The other challenge was trying to decide on where I was going to get these fish without entering a wet market. The next best sanitized version would be a supermarket at the frozen good section where everything was nice and dry and I could safely navigate in heels and a cute outfit.

All the fish were neatly arranged on ice looking clean and presentable. In fact the pomfrets were especially presentable and looked ready-to-eat; all that it seemed to require was a bit of seasoning and, in this case, steam. I was so happy, as I picked up a selection to be weighed, thinking smugly that these ones looked so clean that had I gone to a wet market, they would all have been wet and slimy.

With everything ready, I was raring to go, and as a last minute confirmation, called my amazing cook aunt for advice.
Me: How long do I steam it for?
She: Has it been cleaned?
Me: Yes, it's sparkling.
She: Where did you get it from?
Me: The supermarket. Everything there is so clean looking.
She: Did you ask them to clean it for you?
Me: No, I thought it looked clean enough.
She: Is it a whole fish?
Me: Yeah.
She: Any cuts on it? Like the underside?
Me: No...
She: Ah then you've got to clean it.
Me: Um...
She: Run your knife down the under side and gut it.
Me: What?
She: And then scale it and wash.
Me: Uh...

Of course it had totally escaped me that fish might have guts too. I mean, my cuts of fish had always been fillets, deboned, in the past. And then I pick up a whole fish that looks like it's ready to eat, except that it's not? Who knew? With their glassy eyes that stare unblinking into space (even when they're alive and swimming), no arms, no legs, just floating around looking like mechanical mobiles.

Did I gut the fish in the end? Sure, with bare hands too. It was a very clinical operation and for a first-timer, it was a darn fine job. I had expected to be squeamish and all affected by it, but no. I could be a top notch fishmonger at this rate. Working at a wet market. So, if anyone were so much as to suggest that I'm not any kind of cook, I pose: hast thou disemboweled, with thine own hands, a chicken, a prawn, and a fish?

The fish was out of this world.

Because Trouble has been the cutest dog ever, and although he gets up to mischief a lot, he has a way of looking at you just so with eyes that seem to say "Not good? But you're not going to punish me, are you?", we've regularly discussed becoming a two-dog household. Many a time, the reason to justify this would be so that Trouble would have a playmate of his own kind, especially during the moments when he seemed to think I was his buddy or lady, situation depending. He enjoys wrestling with me and no doubt thinks I'm just another mate that magically learnt to walk on twos instead of fours, and who would a lot of times get down on all fours to play with him.

Each time we brought it up, though, Trouble seemed to get wind of the fact and would promptly mark his territory in places he's not allowed to. The ensuing work of cleaning the mess and giving him an earful would make us change our minds about getting another dog, and he would be well-behaved once again, although I'm sure I've caught him giving us a sly grin having accomplished his mission.

The neighbours had recently adopted a puppy that came from Trouble's now extensive family - a little brown floppy-eared nephew called James Earl Jones. I had on occasion played with him, and although Trouble had not yet met him directly, he has smelled his nephew on me; none too pleased neither violently mad. James Earl Jones' people were hosting a dinner and they weren't sure he was going to be able to cope with a crowd, so they asked if we could have him for a night. Of course we said yes.

When the day arrived, James Earl Jones was brought over in his tiny hamster cage minus the wheel and sippy cup. There was food and water and his favourite blanket in which he was curled up in. I was surprised when I got home that the cage stood alone with Trouble no where in sight. But then he heard me and came rushing out, heading straight for the hamster cage and looking at me as if to say "Do you see this? What is the meaning of this?" From within, James Earl Jones had stood up on unsteady legs, watching me, his tail wagging in greeting. Whom was I to greet first? The resident or the guest? The first conundrum, of many to come.

The tough part was trying to let James Earl Jones have a good time without Trouble feeling left out. Trouble, being about 17 times larger, was prone to scaring the wee mite with his exuberance. Having to constantly watch them and keep James Earl Jones safe at the same time was exhausting, to say the least. There were times when Trouble registered his protests of my attention to James Earl Jones by walking out of the house and sitting by himself on the lawn, his back to all of us.

James Earl Jones was a very nervous charge. He kept an eye out for Trouble all the time and only ever relaxed when Trouble was outdoors. Then he felt free to clamber all over me and gain confidence over his surroundings with each step. When Trouble came back in, James Earl Jones let out a frightened squeal and scampered back to my lap, trying to dig himself into the deepest recess behind me. Trouble would give him an annoyed stare. "What are you still doing here?" he seemed to say.

So perhaps we won't get a second dog after all - for now. It was nice having James Earl Jones over, but it was also nice having the knowledge that he will be returned. Everything was back to normal the next day as Trouble basked in the universal and undivided adoration that he has claimed his own. As I buried my face in his fluffy neck, he cuddled in and gave me a padded swat as if to remind me that my allegiance was to be wholly unto him.

How can you not have a good time when great hospitality greets you? We were split into two rooms - Room 1, we dubbed "Credit Card", and Room 2 (ours) was "Bubbly". Room 1 incidentally housed Responsibility and The Underaged. Technically, Dizzle would have to have been absorbed into  Room 1,  but they had reached their limit, so he bunked with us, stationing himself by the phone.

When it rang, he picked it up and we tried to eavesdrop on a one-sided conversation where he managed to sound very business-like. It would seem as if he'd done this before:

Dizzle: Ah... for that, you've got to call Room 1.
Hotel: [unintelligible]?
Dizzle: Room 1, too, for that.
Hotel: [unintelligible]. [unintelligible]?
Dizzle: That you send to Room 2.
Hotel: [unintelligible].
Dizzle: Yes, thank you.

Then we waited for him to tell us what had transpired, but instead he leaned back and hugged a pillow with a self-satisfied smile.

Jizzle: What did you stick us with?
Dizzle: Oh nothing. They were talking about room charges. I forwarded them to Room 1.
Rat: What about the Room 2 bit?
Dizzle: Welcome drinks.
Rat: You know you can't have them.
Dizzle: Sure *cynical smile*

Then the door bell rang, and Responsibility walked in with Underaged Deb, eyeing up the room for evidence that we might perhaps have turned the room into some sort of Den of Depravity. Satisfied, she said "You do know we cancelled your champagne. No drinking on this trip."

Jizzle groaned. The rest of us laughed. Dizzle put on his most innocent look.

When safety had been restored, the door bell rang again and in walked a hotel staff bearing the most wonderful sight:

In the travels of my childhood, there had always been a malevolent component to trips taken along the highway heading south. Whether or not it was a ploy to keep me still and in my seat, mum would ominously declare "Be still, this is cross wind area" and then point to the orange tunnel flags that stood on either side of the highway. Each time, they stood there hanging listlessly, and I would draw a breath of relief. It meant that we were not going to get hauled off the road by cross winds and would be safe once more.

These were areas where the hills that flanked the highway receded far away enough to make it seem like there was a treacherous drop on either side of the road we were on. The sky seemed to swoop down into the valley and everything was laid stark and bare. I was fascinated by the geography, as well as in awe of the potential disaster that could strike our little moving vehicle. So I sat quietly, hands clasped in lap, barely breathing as I waited for us to move back into safety, and then proceeded to become a right little monkey once again - till the next set of orange flags showed up at least.

As those trips became fewer and farther in between, the memory of those flags almost completely escaped the recesses of my memory. There were bigger more deadlier disasters in the world, and knowing that we were nearly always going to be consigned to being spectators of these events made cross winds seem like something remote that was not going to be as deadly as I had imagined them to be.

I had all but forgotten about it until a recent road trip my cousins and I took... heading south. It was right after dawn and the day was just beginning. We had decided to make an early start, and after stopping for junk food and money, were cruising down the highway, high on nonsense. I had the wheel and the rest were reclined in all manners of comfort, crunching on snacks, with Rat as "navigator"; she had the coveted seat and that was it. Through the chatter, I felt, but ignored, the fact that the car seemed to be moving away from my control. I peered into the sun and noticed that bunches of dry leaves were whirling about on the surface of the road - something I'd never seen before.

"Do any of you feel us moving sideways?" I asked finally when it got too much.

"Cuz... look at those trees" Jizzle said, scooting up to sit behind and in between the two front seat.

The oil palms looked as though their crowns were about to be snatched off, the only sign from within our vacuum that the winds were heading towards gale force outside. Dizzle sat in silence and Rat looked around languidly. He was perhaps scared; she perhaps did not care.

"Are we in cross wind area?" I asked, mesmerized by the scene and trying to hold the car centered at the same time. As if in answer to my rhetoric, the orange tunnel flags came into view but they were different this time; if you were letting your freak flag fly, this is how it would look. Never had I seen them full of air and standing stiff 90 degrees to the ground. We were definitely in the middle of a cross wind.

"Do you know how we should get through this?" Jizzle asked, trying to sound calm although I knew he was quaking. "You've got to open all the windows and let the wind pass through."

"Nah" I said, silently enjoying the turbulence. "You might get sucked out."

"No, really cuz, wind down the windows" he said, sounding a tad desperate.

"And slow down" Dizzle's voice came from behind.

We were moving straight on and some side-to-side component applied by the winds. I felt mild panic but was also intrigued at the same time. Had this happened years and years ago, would I have been terrified? I wondered what my child-self would have felt and done, especially since I would not have been behind the wheel at that time. And so I realized that having the wheel now made all the difference. I was not scared, but the rest possibly were (except Rat since she sat barely concerned throughout the 10 seconds we had to pass through). I'd like to think she had full confidence in me. Jizzle perhaps might have been less anxious had he been driving. Dizzle would have to wait a couple of months before he learns the awesomeness of being behind the wheel legally.

Thus we made it through a mini adventure, and it was good prep for what awaited us the next day when we almost lost our hearts and minds on the rides in Universal Studios. After that, no one was talking about cross winds anymore.

I fell off my horse and have been incapacitated for most of December. Before that I had been purely lay-z. Well, no, not purely - I did output another novel in November but it required such herculean effort that I told myself then, and still maintain now, that never again will I do it. Of course, when November rolls around again this year that sentiment will be up for review.

Getting back to the horse accident story, that's just a fancy way of saying I picked up a bad neck and back injury that made any movement next to impossible. The horse... there is no horse. Never was. Someday, though, I might buy a horse. I realize the dangers of throwing offhand comments like that because it may actually come to past that someday I'll wake up in a farmhouse I own (you've got to have a farmhouse before the horse), and find a Clydesdale snorting in my kitchen window. Having a farmhouse is not even a real dream of mine.

It may sound as though I'm still on pain medication, but that could not be further from the truth. This week marks the first time in a very long time since I've felt wholly human again. No restrictive pain, no New Year Cold. Just the unencumbered  motions of youth that most take for granted. I hated the long period of illness, but dare I say I'm glad I was made to feel aware of every limitation I was put through? Where even the catatonic state of slumber did not bring relief but literal tears of frustration? I know now that I appreciate being able to turn just my head instead of the whole body to take a look at something that is happening just over there.

So every day now I find myself appreciating every little skip and step I am able to make, and on the drive to work am happy for the sun that burns directly on my face, and yes it is PMStically hot, but are not the blue skies pretty?

The colourful flags have been up in the neighbourhood for almost a month now. They are bold and fluttery with intimidating ocean-waves type edges, and to borrow a word from Monkey, rather intense. They were all rather scary to my 7-year-old self (and well into adolescence too), but these days they lend a kind of fascination that has been growing at the back of my mind for all things unearthly. The hungry ghost month - how exciting.

I'd always maintained that I didn't believe in ghosts. More of a move to convince myself rather than true conviction, really. I knew if I actually ran into one, I would... panic, to put it mildly. Then as mental capacity grew and logic kicked in - I am very sciency after all - I had the strength of theories, formulas, and extrapolation on my side. There are no such things as ghosts.

Even the miniscule number of 'inexplicable' events I'd experienced weren't really anything much - just minor happenings that could definitely be explained away, but from which I refrained just so I could say "Guess what happened to me??" at ghostly sharing sessions.

So, guess what happened to me??

Pi and I were on our way back to the office. It was around half 8 at night and we had just been to partake in a breaking fast buffet at a hotel nearby. Our portable office equipment had been left behind for safety reasons and were to be picked up on the way home.

First, in trying to get back to the office, we inadvertently stumbled onto a dusty road end the was eerily lit by orange street lights. Feral dogs were on hand to greet us, defiantly standing in the car headlights as if daring us to move forward. Then there was the sound of the far off baying of hounds. A jungle type arrangement loomed right in front of us. We managed to get out without causing any harm and were soon on the right road. "Wasn't that weird?" I said and Pi agreed that it was.

As we approached the office, it was quite out of the ordinary to find all the blocks darkened; there would usually be one or two people around putting in extra hours. It seemed like everyone had taken the opportunity of the buffet to hightail it out of there early. The lone source of light was turned on in the foyer. We walked in, chattering about the night's event.

"Do you smell that?" Pi asked suddenly, a half curious smile on her face.

"Yeah, I do" I replied. There was an unspoken agreement that we should not discuss it further.

"I don't get anything in here" Pi said as we entered our room, adjoining the foyer.

"Me too" I agreed.

We gathered our things quickly and left, passing the foyer again. This time we did not mention the smell.

When we were chatting online the next day, I asked her about it.

It was too curious. We didn't believe in the supernatural, but it seemed like an exciting story to tell, so we sought out MK and relayed the whole night's events to him. He's a good listener; he waited patiently till we'd finished.

"That's because there are two jasmine bushes in the garden, on either side of the porch. Hadn't you realised?"

We hadn't. In fact, walking past them every day, they had always seemed like nondescript plants - no hint of obvious blooms or scent. Of course we had to explore right away. And there they were, at 10 in the morning, in full bloom with the familiar heady scent. It was all a bit of a let down until MK said "We went down that dusty road too, but there was no sign of any dog."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "There were at least 10 of them just lying around. They couldn't all have dissapeared within the hour."

"There were none" he confirmed.

So, maybe there wasn't an authentic jasmine-scented ghost hanging out at the office, but those dogs had to have been spooks.