Jungle Janes

I was feeling a bit nostalgic and decided to blow the dust off some old photo albums that I had put away in storage.  It was then that I came across these couple of pictures from my early working years.

I was in public health at that time and was doing research on new field kits for testing microbial water quality.  Basically I was trying to develop simple, cheap and easy field kits for monitoring drinking water safety in a developing world setting.

Somehow, I managed to convince my superiors that I simply had to get baseline data from pristine jungle streams which was how I managed to wrangle myself onto a scientific expedition into what was then a relatively unexplored part of the Malaysian jungle.  Carrying and using the heavy gear in the jungle would be hard work but I liked the idea of going to places few people have ever seen; I had a kind of a David Livingstone obsession in those youthful days.

Ah, but there was a catch!  My supervisor wanted me to take her two visiting Dutch medical students along for the jungle adventure.  I groaned.

And then I met them, Ilsa and Laura.  Two gorgeous beauties (with wonderful personalities) and since we spent most of the time in and out of the rivers collecting samples, they were most often two gorgeous beauties in swimsuits.

Now I am sure you can imagine that this “Tarzan and Jane” scenario is a fantasy of most of the men in the almost totally male expedition camp.  Suddenly, everybody seemed to want to be on our research team and go out on the trails with us.  I became popular! Suddenly, rough, anti-social, jungle hardened veterans was giving me the time of day, so as to get closer to the girls.  Safe to say, there was a lot of chest beating going on around camp!

Tarzan stand-in double demonstrating the chest beating trademark move

 

Ilse (L), Laura (R) and me (hidden in the back) testing the pristine waters of the Endau Rompin jungle (circa1989)

 

Two Beauties and the Beasts in the wilds of Malaysia

 

These days, Marja is my Dutch sweetie but as you can see I had the privilege of knowing these two Dutch Jungle Janes’ somewhat earlier.  The other great thing was how all these guys left me offerings of food and drink in return for the opportunity to be introduced to the girls.

Dear, Ilsa and Laura, thanks for the good memories.  I hope that you are both well and happy and the intervening years have been kind.  And if you happen to read this post (stranger things have happened on the internet), do make contact and leave a comment.

Name Game

Be prepared for another rambling post.  It’s a mystery where the post will end up.  Let’s start……

Here is my Chinese name ………

My very wise parents chose this name for me and I am often told either that the name suits me or that I have lived up to the name given me.  It is pronounced “ci liang” and means “kind and good”.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to be named “rich and famous” but I  guess that is not a bad thing to have a name like “kind and good”.

One has to be careful with Chinese names because characters with similar sounds can mean something totally different.  For example, my brother’s name actually means “kind dragon” (which I think is really cool to be called a ‘dragon’, don’t cha think?).  However, with just a slightly wrong pronunciation and accent, such as might be said by a Westerner with no experience with the Chinese language , then “kind dragon” will suddenly be transformed into “pig sty”.

It is precisely because of all these mispronunciations of my name when I studied in the United Kingdom that I decided to adopt an Anglicized name.

I chose “Calvin”.  I like “Calvin”. However, in retrospect, it was not the wisest of choices.

If you were to look up the meaning of the name “Calvin”, it has only one unfortunate meaning…………”bald”.

BALD!!!!

Oh, yea.  Good choice there squirrel.  Can you imagine a bald squirrel?  No bushy tail?  Not a pretty sight, I think.

Many years ago, I went to Geneva, Switzerland and got to see a statue representing a rather famous “Calvin”……………John Calvin – a key historical figure of the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century.  The statue is part of a series of Protestant figures in what is called the “Reformation Wall“.

Photo by LGS

 

Calvin is the second from the left.  Now, I am not 100% sure, but don’t they all look bald to you?

Apart from being an important church figure, they also named a beer after him called Calvinus Beer.  I tried it.  It’s okay but not great……certainly won’t put hair on your head.

Strangely, there aren’t a lot of famous ‘Calvin”s.   The 30th President of the United States was a ‘Calvin” but he is mostly known for being a bit strange and being a man of few words. The story is told that a matron, seated next to him at a dinner, said to him, “I made a bet today that I could get more than two words out of you.” He replied, “You lose.”   Another tale relates  that upon learning that Calvin Coolidge had died, Dorothy Parker reportedly remarked, “How can they tell?”

The only other ‘Calvin” that people seem to have in their consciousness is “Calvin and Hobbes”.

A Boy and His Tiger (comics by Bill Watterson)

 

Now I don’t mind that association cause Calvin is kinda cool but it gets a little tiresome when people keep asking me “Where’s Hobbes?’

Anyway, what does your name mean and are you happy with it?

Prank it forward: – Best Shift Ever

Following up on my April 1st post about pranks, I now present a wonderful prank. I want to thank my friend, Nancy Foisy, for clueing me in about this video. In it, we see a very deserving waitress, Chelsea Roff (she raised her younger sister alone from a very young age, overcame an eating disorder and provides free yoga lessons as a means to help others with eating disorders), get the best shift ever. It really opened this ol’ cynical squirrel’s eyes to how positive pranks can be if we just use our imagination. Here is to positive pranks.

Also, for every 1000 views of this video, the producers of the show, Break, will donate 1 USD to charity.

NUKWIDLS 1: Little Kids

This is a NUKWIDLS (i.e. “Now U Know What I Did Last Summer) post, as promised two posts previously.

Last year, I started to volunteer my time at a children’s playgroup run by a church and this last summer I really maximised my time with them. The playgroup consists of about 30 children ages 1-3 years old. They are accompanied by at least one of their parents or grandparents. Basically, I help the teachers with arranging furniture, handyman jobs, playing with the kids and my number 1 job; storyteller! Some of the kids have some learning or development disabilities and we make a special effort with them too. The playgroup is also a place for parents to get support and advice. Now I am having a great time enjoying the kids.

I have no children of my own and I have no younger siblings so taking care of kids or even relating with kids is not something I have had much experience in. Furthermore, I am not the most friendly person around. It may (or maybe not) surprise you but I tend to be on the reserved side when it comes to relating socially. When I was working, I think my work colleagues would probably have described me as clinical, cold, curt and a bit anti-social.

Hence it was with trepidation that I first went to this playgroup. How was I going to relate with them kids?

To my surprise and many others, I took to it like an otter to water or a squirrel to a birdfeeder. Where I am socially inept with adults, I was right at home with kids. I know your devious minds are even now busy devising devious comments for this post like, “LGS, this says volumes about your maturity level”. But I really don’t care cause even better ….. the kids like me too.

Let me introduce you to a few of them. There is Harold who is truly a young gentleman – always polite, always asks before taking a toy and frequently helps out with tidying away the toys.

Adrian is obsessed with cars. I once wore a T-shirt that had a picture of 4 British Guardsmen in their bright red uniforms crossing at a pedestrian crossing in a parody of the famous picture of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road. A came up and started counting “One soldier, two soldier, thr……Car! Car! Car!” He had noticed in the picture, a tiny image of a small car parked way in the background!

Jessie loves to dress up and is a socialite in the making. Once, at the lantern party, her dad wanted to take her picture but she was busy playing with the paper lanterns and refused to cooperate. In frustration, her dad said, ” But I only want this photo to post on Facebook.” JQ immediately dropped everything and posed for the photo.

Then there is Owen.  Owen loves to test the boundaries. If you tell him that he is not allowed on the stairs, he will patiently stand at the base of the stairs and maybe 10 minutes later, he will step on the stairs and wait until you spot him before stepping off again. He does this all the while flashing a cute and disarming grin.

Everyone calls 3 year old Shania an “old soul”. No baby talk from her. She seldom opens her mouth but when she does, you can’t believe it came out from a 3 year old. Once she was climbing up to the top of the sofa and her aunt who was reading the newspaper looked up and saw her and worried that she might fall, said, “Shania get down from there!” Shania paused, looked at her aunt and replied, “Why don’t you just keep reading your newspaper!” On another occasion, she observed one of the teachers cleaning up a mess on the floor with some detergent. When the teacher was finished, she walked over to the spot and pointed at it and said, “Why is there STILL some black black there?”

I remember her very first words to me. She was carrying a toy that she had finished playing with when she walked up to me, handed me the toy and said those three amazing words; “Put it away!” And when I hesitated from the surprise, she looked me up and down, gave a big sigh, took the toy back from me and put it away herself. I think Shania has it in for me. She is ever so critical of my performance especially when I am reading stories. On one occasion, I was telling a story about this man and I said that the man was very rich and he lived in a big house that was had 5 floors and 20 rooms. Shania barged her way to the front of the kids, walked up to me and corrected me, “That is not a house. That is a Mansion!”

Anyway, the kids and I have really bonded and I will soon be a little sad cause the older ones in the group will not be returning next year.

Playgroup Having Lunch

Trip to the Animal Farm

Lantern Festival Party

Our Place in the World

Not too long ago, I was having a deep conversation with a young man in his late twenties.  I guess you could say that I was playing the role of the supposed grizzled, battle-wizened, old veteran of life’s challenges to his young man charging up the corporate ladder role.  Let’s call him Ben (after Ben the Rat from the movie “Ben“) because he felt like he was caught in the Rat Race and being swept along by the surge of fellow rodents.

He is an up and coming star in a well known accounting firm.  But he has discovered that the more he impressed his superiors, the more they wanted him to handle more portfolios.  His working hours began to increase.  He now works with increasing regularity to about 10 at night and I know it as a fact that he was working late even on New Year’s Eve.  All the time, he is being told that he is paying his dues and he had to make sacrifices if he wished to go up the corporate ladder.

Like many young men, Ben is thinking of getting married and setting up a family but two things stand in his way.  First, with his working hours, it is hard to have much of a social life let alone try to woo a young lady.   Second, he is concerned about having enough financially to build his dream nest.  It was on this matter that he was seeking my advice or insight from my experience.  He felt insecure with his current financial situation.  He felt inadequate.  He was compelled to work harder to achieved higher positions within the company.  Yet, he also recognised that his life outside of work already sucks.  Like many of us, he wanted to know how to balance his life; the need for financial and job security on one hand and on the other hand, the need for more time for himself, his friends and his growing relationship with God.

It so happened that we both had an opportunity, not too long after,  to visit a friend who had given up his job and home in the city and took with his family to live in a remote village to be a Christian missionary to a marginalised forest tribal people.  We visited them in their new village home and what struck us was that the house they now lived in was very basic.  The floors were bare cement, there was hardly any furniture, forget internet or wifi or cable TV.  However, there was water and electricity and the house was large by comparison to the tiny apartments many big city people live in and the children had  wonderful space to play in.  There were other advantages of living in the remote area such as plenty of fresh fruits and fresh fish caught from relatively clean rivers, clean air and a more peaceful and slower pace of life.

Ben realised that our missionary friend was very happy and content in his rural home.  That made him wonder if he could be happy there too.  If he was willing to quit his job, he had more than enough already to live this simple country life right now.  But if he wanted the grander house and all the bells and whistles of modern city living, than he would also have to cope with the soul-sapping working hours, the traffic jams, hurried pace, ulcers etc.  If he could be content with the rural life, he could get out of the rat race right now.  It’s something that Ben is still trying to work out in his life.

Contentment is quite illusive for many of us.  The Apostle Paul wrote in Philippians 4:12; “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.”  I think it is an important secret to happiness in this life.  To help us all realise just how much most of us (especially if you have a computer, access to internet and are reading this blog) already have and should be thankful for, please view the video below which seeks to show us our place of privilege in the world by picturing the world as a village comprising of 100 people and challenges us to help those less  fortunate than ourselves.

This second video shows how a celebrity music artiste, Sarah McLaughlan, made a difference.  Maybe we can all make a difference if we realise how rich we are and how much resources we waste – resources that could mean so much to others.

People Keep Popping Up in the Scenery

I overheard a conversation between two captains of industry.   One was a senior banker who retired some 15 years ago and the other was a big-time director of a large national company who was just about to retire.  In fact, his company and associates were going to throw a big retirement bash for him on his last day of work at the end of the month.  The banker said, “George, you know all these years, you have been used to a lot of attention.  All these many people were trying to get appointments to see you at work and after work you had all these dinners that you were invited to.  But let me tell you that after your big retirement bash, suddenly there will be no more any clamoring for an appointment and there will be few if any dinner invites too.”

The banker’s point was this; the big-time director was in charge of a company that would award some USD 10 million in contracts every year and because of  this, all manner of people crawl out of the woodwork and try to “curry favor” with him, “show respect” or in the local euphemism, “carry big leg”.   However, once he steps down and no longer hands out the contracts, it will be as if all these “friends” will have disappeared.

With perhaps a few exceptions (Steve Jobs may be one), most of us give the better part of our youth and vigor towards some soulless corporation or organisation.  The corporation or organisation may benefit greatly from our efforts but in all likelihood, our contributions and indeed our names may be forgotten from the corporate consciousness as the fresh new enthusiastic crop of corporate climbers report in.

The flip side of the banker’s point was that our life’s value is actually measured by the lives we touched and by the people who remember us.  This is something that I believe is true but it was nice to hear someone with all the money and worldly success to say it too.  At least then, it is not a case of sour grapes on my part or should I say, it is not a case of “beetle infested walnuts”.

I feel the same way about traveling or other life achievements.  What’s the point in being a war hero if everyone else in your unit died in the fire-fight and you have no-one who wants to listen about what happened during a war they would rather forget?  Or what about walking solo to the South Pole but you continue to have your dinners solo too.

Achievements and experiences mean more when shared with people who care and who care about us.  I have done much traveling and the experience was so much more meaningful and pleasurable when shared.   When I reflect on my one month hitch-hiking and train hopping through Europe, I can still remember the majestic glory the Alps, the awesomeness of the Norwegian fiords, the wondrous culture and art in Vienna and the history of Brugges but even more, I appreciate the beer shared in pleasant company in the Ardennes, the cheerful guide at the folk museum in Bergen, the German farmer who picked me up during a torrential downpour and gave me a ride to town, the Dutch innkeeper in Yugoslavia who happened to have grown up in Indonesia and the many more people that made my trip to Europe unique and different from everyone else’s.

 

Guide at Folk Museum in Bergen - Warm Smile on Cold, Rainy Norwegian Day

So in all things, people are the gems that shine in our crown of life.  They sure keep popping up and ruining my photos of the scenery!

Horror in the Afternoon

As usual, the beginning of this post has little to do with the end except that by writing in this way, I may have contributed to the outcome at the end. Confused? Mwahahaha! That means I have succeeded (wiping tears of evil joy from eyes).

Sorry, if this seems to you to be just mad ramblings of a lunatic. I spent most of the day talking to several different individuals from Technical Assistance unit of my internet provider which should be sufficient to explain my current state of mind. The problem was that my internet provider was not providing. My computer (an Apple iMac) was very helpfully telling me on the screen that there was nothing wrong with its beautifully designed circuits and that the blame lay entirely with the internet provider. Just to be sure, I tested out my office’s laptop and it too could not access the internet.

So I dutifully called the number that was neatly printed on all my internet bills. It is a three digit number that only works with landlines. So I called them up and waited for the appropriate moments in the long drawn recorded message to select my options. Finally, I reached a living person at the other end. I told her that I wanted to report that my service was not working. She asked for my telephone number, my contact details, my account number and the date that I paid my last bill. I answered all her questions patiently.

Then she asked me to go into my computer setup and look for certain information. I told her that is would be a problem as the house phone and the computer is in two different parts of the house. “Oh, she says. In that case, I can’t help you.”

So I told her that I could talk to her and access the computer if I called her on the hand phone but I pointed out that the three digit number does not work when dailing from a handphone. She gives me a different number to call. I ask why this number isn’t printed on the company’s stationery or found on their website. No answer. just a cheery, “Goodbye. Thank you for calling. Glad to have been of service.”

Okay, called the new number, went through all the lengthy preliminary foreplay and got a different operator.  This time I got as far as telling her that I was not getting any service when we were cut off.  I swore into the dialing tone.

On the third attempt, I got a guy at the other end.  He was very polite but he tended to swallow his words and the line was crackly.  Also his English was not fluent and was heavily accented.  This lead to a conversation liberally interspersed with “What?”,  “Pardon”, “Please repeat” and “Huh?”  He tried to suggest that the problem was with my router.  I humoured  him by disconnecting the router and connecting the modem directly to the computer.  Still no service.  Ah, he concludes, it must be your computer setup.  I  am dubious since I tried three separate computers and laptops and none can access the internet.

He says, “Open the system preferences and you should see a file called terminal.app ”

I say, “I have opened the system preference but there is no file called terminal.app.”

He then says look for any file called “terminal”.  I do and find one.  He instructs me to type some code in.  The file does not allow any editing of contents. “Oh, can’t be the right file then.”

Great.  “Any other ideas.”  He suggests trying a number of other files and dialogue boxes.  I try, but what I see is not what he says should appear.

This goes on for what seems like hours.  Finally, we both knew that we could not make it work and agreed to end the relationship  and  see other people.  I will have to wait till next week to get  a technician friend to come see what is wrong and the technical assistance executive will move on to the next victim customer.

And that is the long frightening story of why I am going to have limited internet access till next week and why I am writing this at Starbucks.  And so, finally we reach the end.  Not being able to access my photos for the post I had in mind, I wondered what I could do instead.

Fortunately, Evalinn came to the rescue cause she found this site that analyses your writing and suggests who you write like.  So I put in some text from my blog into the analyser and perhaps not surprisingly considering the afternoon described above, it says I write like H.P. Lovecraft – master of horror.

Actually, I would love to write a good scary story so I wouldn’t mind if my writing really was like H.P. Lovecraft’s  but that’s just wishful thinking.  Who might your writing style be like?

I write like
H. P. Lovecraft

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

When Men Were Real Men

Do you remember a time when men were real men? Not “soft and sensitive” new age guys or “in touch with their feminine side” metro-sexuals? It was a time when men bravely took charge of the family and led it with a firm and sure hand. A time when they went out into the harsh world and brought back the bacon. A time when they knew how to take care of their women. Today, many men could do with role models on how to be real men in their marraiges……. real men to their wives.

The Lone Grey Squirrel has resorted to scouring the internet and theft (in the tradition of Sneaky) to bring you the best examples of the strong, caring and take charge husband. Please vote for your favorite for the “Husband of the Year” award. (see poll on the sidebar; results will be tabulated after a week).

Here are your “Husband of the Year” Nominees from…….

Albania

England

Poland

USA

Ireland

Unburied Nuts from 17th November 2006: Goodnight, Mrs. Legatt

The “Unburied Nuts” series is an unashamed effort to recycle some of my earlier postings when I am too stressed out to create something new to post. This offering is certainly from the earliest period when the Lone Grey Squirrel was not so grey but going through a mid-life crisis anyway. I hope you like it.

As we travel through life, we pick up a lot of junk. Not surprising, I am a bit of a pack rat and will not allow things I collect to be put out for a yard sale without a fight. For me, these are more than just items, they are symbols of my life journey. More than things though, we each meet a whole host of people. Some have been a big influence on our lives while others less so but they all touched our lives and were part of the shaping of who we are and what we believe. Some of them taught us great life truths and yet others got us wondering about life.

Tonight, I find my mind traveling through time and space until I find myself sitting by the bedside of Ms. Legatt. My younger self was a thin insecure teenager who found himself thousands of kilometers away from home in a strange and cold place called Brighton, United Kingdom, so as to have the opportunity to study. Once a week, I took part as a volunteer in a community out reach project. My assignment was to visit shut-ins. These are elderly people who are pretty much bed-ridden or house bound. Food is sent to them by Meals-on-Wheels which are run by other volunteers and they get a visit from the community nurse a few times a week. Very often their only other visitors and social contact was with volunteers like myself.

Brighton Pavillion

The truth was that for many of the community volunteers, visiting shut-ins were the least desirable of assignments. There was always the smell of urine or worse. The rooms or apartments were generally unkept and you might be asked to clean mouldy dishes or throw out the rotting garbage. Many felt that the hour spent there was the most boring way to spend 60 minutes.

Not for me. I was able to ignore the lack of hygiene and cleanliness and perhaps I was also alone in a strange land, I was genuinely able to enjoy the fellowship and because of that I was able to learn quite a lot. So I spent many hours visiting and sharing a cup of tea and a cookie with Ms. Legatt at her bedside. Ms. Legatt was pretty much alone in the world. She had no close family. She was diabetic and bedridden with an amputated leg.

However, we made a connection and in her tales and stories, she was a young girl with the world at her feet. She was thrilled to learn that I was Malaysian. It seemed that she spent the best part of her life traveling in the Far East. She was adventurous for her time. She took on a job with the British Foreign Service and left the dreary British shores soon after the end of the Second World War aboard a warship. Her first port of call was in Singapore where she served in the British Administration and took part in the post war rebuilding. I know many British, like Ms. Legatt, were really carrying out their imperial and colonialist duties. Yet, I believe Malaysians inherited a relatively prosperous and peaceful country at independence and in part it was because of the services and sometimes sacrifice of these servants of the setting Empire. So in all sincerity, I wish to say thank you to all of them.

Ms. Legatt spoke of some girlfriends of like mind and spirit. They made Singapore their playground. They partied and attended all the social events. They rubbed shoulders with high society and my eyes opened wide at some of the adventures and hi-jinks that she related that she sweared involved the crown prince, heir to the Sultanate of Johor.

It was a colorful and exciting life. Ms. Legatt was one of the flowers that shone brightly at the twilight of the Empire in one of the most exotic parts of the world at that time. Somehow she never married, eventually came back to Britain and grew old alone. Somehow she was forgotten.

I remember Ms. Legatt tonight and wonder about my own life. How would I be remembered? All my memories, the victories I celebrate, my loves, my friends, my struggles, my fights, what would they mean when I am old. Who would remember? Who would care? What would my life really count for? Why am I pondering these things? Well, I am about the age where I am due to have a mid-life crisis and as one of my friends is prone to say, “it’s right on time.”

Seriously, I think it is good to take stock of our lives from time to time to see if the things that occupy us, whether it is our work, careers, hobbies, friends, dreams, problems really remain as important against the test of time. As for me, I think you lived a full life, Ms. Legatt and you contributed to shaping a great country. Many may have forgotten but I remember and I enjoyed tea, cookie and friendship. Good night, Ms. Legatt, wherever you are.

Odd One Out

I have a knack of being the odd one out in a crowd. As I mentioned before, I have been the only guy in a group of ladies for many occasions in my life. What you may not have known is that on other occasions, I was the only Chinese in a hall of Irish patriots, the only Chinese in a Jewish synagogue and the only non-Muslim in a closed fundamentalist Muslim community. These are stories to be told at another time but which clearly demonstrate that I have a knack of ending up as the odd one out and standing out like a sore thumb.

Well, I did it again last Friday. My assistant told me that the women’s wing of a political party were inviting people to attend a meeting to discuss common concerns. I work for an environmental and conservation organisation and so for me common concerns related to the environment. Although generally, not keen to attend political party meetings, I happened to be very near the venue of the meeting and agreed to drop in after I completed some work.

I went to the registration desk, they took my name and then ushered me personally to my seat. As I entered the hall, I suddenly became aware that there were about a hundred women seated there and as I scanned around, I could not spot another male anywhere (where were they, the cowards!). My usherer insisted on taking me almost to the front. I am sure my arrival was the focus of everyone’s attention. I sat down and my spirits plummeted further when I read the program and saw there was nothing on the agenda on the environment. In fact the order of the day was a discussion about “Violence against Women”.

As the discussion got going, I began to sense a lot of hostility in the room to the male gender and so I tried not to attract any attention while my eyes surveyed the nearest exits in case a quick get-away was needed.

In the end though, they were very civil about my presence. I also got to learn a lot and at the end I really thought that more men should indeed have been there to listen.

I was particularly shocked to learn how callous the bureaucacy treated women who had been victims of violent crimes in Malaysia. I was disappointed to learn that one-stop Rape Crisis Centres in hospitals had been axed in cost cuts. I was appalled to hear of police officers who asked rape victims if they enjoyed the experience.

Police officers were clearly in need of learning gender sensitivity. Some told victims that the way they dressed implied that they invited sexual attack. Others have actually told some rape victims that they were not pretty enough to attract any one to be interested to rape them.

Honestly, I had no idea that things were so bad. I applaud those who are trying to make a difference. In Malaysia there is even a male organisation that exists to speak out to other males against domestic violence. Malaysia just celebrated 50 years of independence but our attitude and treatment of women clearly shows that we have not matured as a society.