Hard to believe that there is only one more of these Sundays from Singapore post after this! I guess life got less strange and there wasn't much to talk about.
I had a Christmas message all written and ready to send, but decided I didn't really like it. It made me feel like I was back in grade school and was sure that nothing I could write would be good enough for the teacher. This feeling of being a juvenile seems to occupy my thoughts lately.
Take Christmas, for example. I had a great Christmas, and although as a kid I probably wouldn't have been as excited about the large number of books I received, and small amount of candy, they thrilled the older child that I am now. The only mar to the day was the exceptionally recent closure of the only Cinnabon store in the country. I mean, what's wrong with these people? Don't they realize the importance of stuffing yourself silly with a 15,000 calorie bakery item oozing with icing on Christmas morning? Can they really believe that I will go away content with a whole roast piglet complete with festive red lights blinking on and off from the eye sockets? Maybe they think hacking off a hind quarter and gnawing on it while opening your stocking is the high life, but not me! A full-blown tantrum was brewing in my admittedly unchild-like chest.
An operation that would have made the SWAT team proud was launched in search of a suitable replacement by Christmas morning. All the while, I fought the urge to grab each successive taxi driver around the neck and demand, "Where ARE the Cinnabons???" I really wanted to pinch and pull their hair (ugh!) and break all their stupid little dashboard toys too.
A jail sentence, caning and possible hanging was averted by the location of of some pop-and-fresh type canned rolls at a far-flung market. We don't think of this shopping venue often, and so, like a star-struck celebrity gawker, I cruised the aisles marveling at items that would pass for ordinary in any US grocery store. In fact, we all got so caught up in playing, "Oh look! I just found Ragu, can you believe it?" that we very nearly walked out without the required Christmas buns! And they made a more than adequate substitution.
The next day it rained and rained and rained. About 30-40 hours in total. And we were expecting to host 2 US sailors from the USS Carl Vinson, which was in port for the holidays. How excited we all were to entertain these men or women who were to come to dinner at the club and then hang out at the house for the evening. I even did the dust buffalo roundup, so as not to horrify these servicemen who are used to keeping everything so clean. But they never came!! We waited, and waited, and finally slogged our way to dinner by ourselves. Everyone was disappointed, but we realized that any number of things could have prevented their getting away from base. One possibility has been brought to our attention by our good friend Rick.
According to a report forwarded by Rick, the Singapore government recently uncovered and averted a terrorist plot to blow up the nation's Navy port. They caught 10 of the 12 suspects, but can't locate the 2 tons of explosives that were intended for the attack. I bet they are hidden inside those stupid roast pigs!
Neither the Singapore nor the US governments will publicly acknowledge the raid, and let me tell you, nobody has said anything to us sitting ducks over here! Whadda ya think? Could this explain the daily presence of two machine gun toting police officers who stand guard, glaring at everyone entering the American Club? The official word was that this was just something the Singapore government decided to do. I thought it was because, if anything happened to the Club, we Americans would take all our spending power and head for home. It makes me wonder what else they aren't telling me. Am I so immature, that after the raid is over and done with, I can't be trusted with the information? What is next? Are they going to let me find out over the internet that there is no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, or Tooth Fairy? I, for one, was counting on funding my retirement with my haul when my teeth finally fall out and I resort to dentures.
But, I guess in the end, the events suit my condition. If I am going to pitch a fit over Cinnabons, imagine launching spit balls at uncooperative taxi drivers, and anticipate being spell bound over discussions of life on a really big boat, I probably can't be trusted with information about blowing up a part of this very small country. I might be tempted to write about it on bathroom walls or send it out over the internet to my friends. Oops! There I go again! I suppose I should have a timeout and be sent to my room for an hour... with all of my new books!
Love you all