Weekend of Farewells

Sigh. I now have to avert the gaze of Friday Body Pump instructor, lest I burst out laughing. So I have to ensure that I get a spot near the window, so I can at least gaze outside. Great class though. Packed, as usual. Some people have very bad spatial judgement. They'd set up their board far too close to you, despite there being acres of space in front of them. We could have locked horns, or locked bars, especially for the chest presses.

Saturday morning combat was a hoot. For some reason, the amazon ladies in combat on saturday morning are very reticent, and we usually don't give out any warrior shrieks, or orgasmic grunts. It was no different this saturday, although the instructor was a replacement. Anyway, he very ambitiously made us do 6 non stop tracks, which is what I like. At the end of the 6th track, as we wiped our brows, I mentioned to a fellow combatter, "He's good right!". It was meant to be a soft mutter, or whisper, but coz we hadn't vocalised for the last 30 minutes, there was no volume control, and the words came out a bit too loudly. I immediately covered my mouth with my hand, in that very useless reflex action (not like you can recapture the words), only to hear the instructor say, "I HEARD THAT!!!". Thank the Lord Almighty it was "He's good right" and not something like, "What an ass". Oh well, the instructor concerned is in my top fave 5 anyways, so no issue lah.

After combat, it was time to slave over the stove. Was hosting a farewell party on Saturday night, for a good American hero, who was going into exile in Nigeria, or something like that, and also had to make a cake for daughter's birthday. I've ALWAYS wanted to try Nigella Lawson's Chocolate Fudge Cake; her narrations say it "serves 10, or one, with a broken heart". So romantic. But my own family is not big on chocolate cakes, so I daren't risk it for family dinners. This was the perfect opportunity to experiment. Lots of unhealthy ingredients go into this cake. Virtually 2 blocks of butter, a tub of sour cream, 200 gms of dark choc, lots of sugar...does it really mend a broken heart, or just clogs it up?

The actual colour of the cake is somewhere in between the two, coz one was taken with flash, the other without. Of course, everyone's nightmare with chocolate cake is tucking into one that makes the sahara look wet, so waiting for people to take that first bite was like waiting for blood test results. The first review, from the no nonsense Ms Loh, was, "it's moist". PHEW.

Post mortem : I definitely would use the cake recipe again, but DEFINITELY would NOT use the icing recipe. It is FAR too sweet, and far too oily. Shudder. The cake would go fabulously with stronger chocolate ganache kinda icing.

Dinner was a Malaysian spread, in honor of our American guest(s). Chicken rice, briyani, beef curry, murtabaks, etc. And chocolate cake.

There went the body combat.

Sunday - Pork lovers must try this place in Desa Hartamas, called Jarrod & Rawlins. Its a deli kind of set up; that serves REAL bacon and eggs, even a champagne breakfast for RM35. If that is out of your budget, you can pick your own sausages or bacon from the deli and get them to cook the meats for you, at a nominal RM10. (of course, you have to pay for the pork).

Had a farewell lunch there for this dear dear couple and their baby; they were our first friends we made as a couple together. As in, neither wife or I can lay claim to them being "my friend first", kinda thing. Sigh, it is with a heavy heart that we bid them adieu, and God speed, but thankfully they're only going down south, to Singapore. Still.....

Earlier on in church, we were treated to the novelty of hearing a shofar. A kind of horn made from a ram's antlers. If blown properly, I am sure it would be quite majestic.

At night was daughter's birthday. Seven already. Seemed like yesterday that we were in the labour room waiting for her. A full head of black hair, lips red as a rose, and a scream that reverberated through the corridors of the maternity ward.

I heard this in yesterday's sermon:

When I was a child, I laughed and wept, TIME CREPT
When I was a boy, I sang and talked, TIME WALKED
When I was a man, TIME RAN
And the older I grew, TIME FLEW

got another line, but I can't remember what it is.

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm Chapter 90 verse 12)


jesscet said…
noted how you exposed all the children's faces here but crop off yours and your wife (guess work here..;))

i also am amazed at how time seemed to fly - the fast `growth rate' of my eldest nephew (who's the same age as your daugther)

oh and happy belated birthday to yen yen.. :)
HL said…
"Earlier on in church, we were treated to the novelty of hearing a shofar. A kind of horn made from a ram's antlers. If blown properly, I am sure it would be quite majestic."

Very good... I didn't miss the undertone ;)

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