Thailand

Jeremy and Michelle got married in Thailand. Why? Because Thailand is halfway between Perth and Seattle, and makes for a fabulous holiday. I met up with Jer, Michelle, Josh and Elisa in Bangkok the weekend before the wedding and we played tourist and went to the dentist.
By tourist I mean Josh and I explored the “low cost housing” areas across from the tourist district one morning, eating our way through the narrow alleys. First we ate some lychee-looking things that I thought were amazing yellow fruit (long gang) that I’ve had before, but were the less-than-good Kool-aid berries. We disposed of these, and got in line for cooked thingies from this lady. We had NO idea what they might be, but hey, there was a line! They were, in fact, delicious. And I still don’t know what they were – crepe dough, filled with pudding, and topped with green onions. Then we got Rambutans (hairy leeches) that a lady cut open for us using a knife that she had just sliced fish with. (Of course she wiped it clean on an old cloth first! Hygienic and Everything!). Then we found Mangosteens, which are my favorite fruit ever – purple husks on the outside, delicious white sweetness on the inside. We happened upon a doughnut shop, and then a coffee shop,though not located next to eachother. I was convinced that I was going to be sick from such a delicious morning of dodgy food. But no, it was all good, and we hopped on the boat back to our side of the river.
As for the dentist, I mean the Dental Hospital in Thailand is cheap and excellent, such that it was worth half a day of my 3 day sojourn in Bangkok to get a checkup, cleaning and fillings, and for Jeremy, worth a whole day of his honeymoon to get a root canal.
We also all got massages, multiple times, because Thai massage is one of the wonders of the world.
The wedding itself was amazing. The festivities lasted almost a whole week full of dinners and games, beers, new friends and family time.

Overcome evil with WAR!

The boys at home are shy. When strangers come over they hide behind doors, refuse to speak, and stay out of the room. For the entire first week in my new home Zizu, the eight year old, still had his fingers in his ears, as an indication that he would not speak to me. Enzo, the six year old, might have been less shy, but followed the precedent followed by his brother.
But I broke them. After the weekend at the lake, during which I brainstormed thawing ideas with some friends, I broke out my playing cards. “Enzo! Do you want to play a game?” “Um, I guess” I taught him War, and after a few games, Zizu’s curiosity overcame his shyness and he insisted I play a round with him.
Since then, we play war every waking moment that we are both home. The hour that they must spend in the evening with their tutor is sheer agony – which Enzo solves by finishing up as fast as possible, but Zizu prolongs by getting up to come over to me every 5 minutes.
This week the boys are excited to see me in the morning. They answer my hellos and let me wave them off to school. Endless games of War is a small price to pay.