(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

The rain has stopped. It is still misty and chilly outside. The temperature is warming up, with new green mingling with patches of brown on the ground. Flower bulbs are popping up everywhere, eager to get a glimpse of spring.

US President Barack Obama on Tuesday signed into law a landmark health care reform bill. The law will bring near-universal coverage to the only industralized country in the world, which does not have some form of universal healthcare. A wealthy country with 46 millions of people uninsured, and another 100 millions without adequate coverage. The plan’s provisions will be phased in over four years, and it is expected to expand coverage to about 94 per cent of eligible non-elderly Americans would have coverage, compared with 83 per cent today.

This signals the biggest shift in U.S. domestic policy since the 1960s. The bill was passed after a divisive, yearlong debate and political infighting, with all Republican Representatives voted against. It was passed with a slim margin of 220 vs 211. Although it is law now, but the fight is not over yet. Attorney generals of some Republican states are planning to challenge it in court. Further Obama is risking an upset in the midterm congressional elections in coming Novermber. He already knew the huge risk involved but still pushed ahead, and accomplished something other presidents including Bill Clinton had failed to reform during their own presidencies. There is hope after all. A politician not afraid of triggering an avalanche of defeats, all for the good of his countrymen. This is our first glimpse of spring.

横眉冷对千夫指
俯首甘为孺子牛
Lu Xun (1932)

Just hope our own Canadian politicians will learn from it.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

For us retirees, reading the newspaper is the highlight of our daily life. Every morning, we spend hours going through the newspaper, right there at the kitchen table. But have you ever wondered, how to read a newspaper?

There is actually no proper way to do it, you just develop your own style.

So what kind of reader are you?

First of all, are you a spreader or a folder?

For a Folder, you fold your newspaper in whatever way that suits you, in half or into a quarter page, or just to expose the article that interests you.

For a Spreader, you simply spread the newspaper in front of you, full size. With elbows bend, you hold the newspaper up with both hands, with your face and probably the whole body, hiding behind it. Or if that is too tiring for your arthritis, you can spread the whole newspaper out on the kitchen table, and bend slightly forward to read it.

To lighten the load of a heavy, thick, too-many-pages newspaper like the Sunday New York Times, you can be a Picker. You pick out all the pages that don’t interest you, right from the beginning, discard them, before you settle down to enjoy your morning read, leisurely and effortlessly.

Too much work thinning the newspaper? Try to be a Selector. Scan through the whole newspaper first and make note of those articles that interest you, mark them if you want, then go back and read through them one by one, slowly.

As you read along, if you are a Collector, you may start cutting out those articles or pictures or cartoons or crossword puzzles or whatever you treasure and want for keepsake. By the time you finish this morning exercise, you will be left with another edited newspaper, with holes that are comparable to a redacted Conservative government document.

Many people read the newspaper as a Silent Reader. With a mug of coffee in one hand, you slowly turn the pages, absorbed completely with the content of those ridiculous news and amazing events that are happening all over the world. Or if you are an Announcer, you will broadcast what you have just read to your spouse or anyone within hearing distance. “Another Hollywood couple hit the dirt.” “What is the government hiding.” “Wine is good for you.”

But a word of warning, though, once when you found yourself the Detailer, combing the newspaper from top to bottom, from headlines to obituaries, digesting and regurgitating every single bit of junk news, then you know too much time is on your hands. You better start working out in the gym, book for a Tai Chi or dance class, play a game of friendly ping-pong, and join the senior breakfast club at McDonald. Or, be a blogger.

As the saying goes, no news is good news. Information overload can be hazardous to your health.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

Back to the future.

“Hello there, Johnny, long time no see. Remember me?”

“Hi, eh…… How wonderful to run into you. Let’s get a picture of you to celebrate this moment?”

“Oh, sure.”

Johnny pulled out his iPhone and snapped a picture of the stranger.

He opened his App page, chose Facebook – Face Recognition option and clicked send. A second later, there was a match, out popped the info:

Jane Doyle, female, born 2031.

“Hi Jane, how are you?”

“Excellent. And you? Still working hard?”

“No choice, can’t retire yet.”

“Are you still working in the same old place?”

What place was she talking about? Johnny keyed into his Google Personal Timeline Map: Intersection: Jane Doyle and Johnny Who. Right away it spitted out the answer, displayed on the screen: Co-workers of Universal Enterprise 2055-7.

“No, not at UE any more. I am with the Japanese company, Recalls In Motion for the past few years.”

“Have you seen Freddie Jetson lately?”

Who is Freddie? Once again, Johnny typed in Google Advance Search: Freddie Jetson & Jane Doyle & Johnny Who ….. Robots from the same lot #13385, manufactured by the China Robotics Company.

“Haven’t seen Freddie for ages. We should get together sometime.”

“That is a good idea.”

“Let’s arrange it now.”

Johnny pulled up his Personal Appointment Book, typed in Jane Doyle and Freddie Jetson; the apps checked all participants’ schedules automatically, and suggested a time slot that was convenient to all. Johnny clicked OK.

“It’s done, see you again soon, Jane, online.”

“Bye, nice to see you again, Johnny.”

“Ditto.”

The future is friendly. No more embarrassing moments.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

“Hello there, Johnny, long time no see. Remember me?”

“Hi, eh ….. of course, long time.”

“How are you? Still working hard?”

“Yes, no choice, can’t retire yet.”

“Where are you working now?”

“Same old place.”

“Have you seen Freddie lately?”

“eh….. No, not for a long time.”

“How’s family?”

“Great. Kids all married now…… and yours?”

“No such luck, still living at home. Ha ha.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hey, have to run, nice seeing you again.”

“Ditto.”

Who is she? Who is Freddie? Mistaken identity? Memory loss? Alzheimer? Old age?

“Hey, over here, Johnny, long time no see. Remember me?”

Oh my God, here we go again.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

50 years ago in Hong Kong, adoration and worship of the West were the norm of the day.

Once, father brought us to a restaurant to learn British table manner, how to properly use the forks and knives, in what order they were used during the courses of dinner, how to cut and eat like a lady and a gentleman, where to put them when finished. It was quite a treat for us kids.

At home, we were still stuck with our Chinese-ness, we still used the chopsticks, all the time. But I have to admit, I didn’t know how to use them properly. As long as I could swing the two sticks open and close to grasp some food, and able to put them into my mouth, I was satisfied. I figured, that was all I need to survive, no matter how my parents scolded me.

Later in university, I was told superiorly by a British friend, “Chopsticks are for savages. For those who lived in the forest, using two sticks to pick up food to eat. We are more civilized, we use forks and knives.” Such conceit. I was stunned. I went home and determined to re-learn how to use the chopsticks properly.

The whirlwind of Ping Pong Diplomacy swept across the globe. Entered the dragon, onto the world stage. Although under a different social-political system, the economic power of China is unquestionable and enviable, by the whole world. The status of the Chinese has been on the rise, especially for the last few years.

Take Hollywood as an example. Many movies now depict actors at ease, using chopsticks, properly and skillfully, although they may still order by the numbers, still eat egg-rolls, drink wonton soup and ask for the fortune cookies, but they no longer laugh at our way of eating, or view the chopsticks as novelities, as strange and uncivilized behaviour.

Look around you in real life, in chinatown, more and more Canadian know how to order real Chinese dishes in restaurants, not just Dim Sum, and no more Dinner Combo. They bypass the forks, in favour of the chopsticks.

50 years later today, the wind is blowing from the other direction. The adoration turns East. The Chinese culture has finally established herself as another civilized alternative.

All these years, I have lost contact with my British friend. I should track him down one day and quote to him this, from “The King and I”.

King: You will order the finest gold chopsticks.
Anna: Your Majesty, chopsticks? Don’t you think knives and forks would be more suitable?
King: I make mistake, the British not scientific enough to know how to use chopsticks.

PS Do you know the famous Japanese lacquered chopsticks (Wakasa-nuri hashi) are produced in the City of Obama, Japan?

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

I don’t like banquets, charity balls or any fund raising functions. Don’t get me wrong, I am no Uncle Scrooge. I am happy just to donate and simply get my tax receipt. But sitting around a table, with a group of strangers, trying to start up a conversation politely, just to kill time; before the first dish arrives, that’s a chore.

“How are you today?”

“I am Mike. Nice to meet you.”

“Today’s weather ………..”

“Going on holiday?”

These lasted at most 15 minutes, and then silence.

We wreck our brain trying to restart the conversation.

But weekend gathering with friends, that is a different kettle of fish. We don’t have to try hard to find a topic for conversation, it just flows easily. We are birds of the same feather after all.

During our university days, when together, we talked about courses to take, professors and assignments, boyfriends and girlfriends, or simply seeping a beer, watched a hockey game together.

In our final year, we talked about job prospect, job interviews or graduate school, and might be, a wedding date.

After graduation, that year, we were overwhelmed with weddings. During receptions, we talked about our new jobs, family planning and who was going to be the next victim.

The next year, all the wives came to the gatherings with big tummies. We stared at each other and laughed. Natrually the conversation fell on the due date, maternity experience and preparation. Childbirth classes, breathing technique, natural birth, mid-wife or obstetrician, on and on we kept talking.

Next year’s gatherings were noisy indeed, with so many babies crying like an orchestra. Obviously converstation was centered on how to raise a healthy child, what to feed a baby, their growth and milestones. “Johnny starts crawling already.” “Mary already knows how to say dada.” We compared notes. We were all proud parents. And these lasted for the next 5 years.

As the kids grew, our conversation was switched to the merit of private vs public schools, French Immersion or Montessori; and then later, concentrated on which piano teacher was best, was private tutoring necessary, and which saturday Chinese school. Eventually, which university, what faculties and courses to take. Decision, decision, work of the parents would never end.

Recent gatherings, we were talking about, which eye doctor is best for cataract or surgeon for colonoscopy, what to do for arthritis, high blood pressure and high cholesterol, what to eat and what not. “Are you retiring yet?” “going on a cruise, or China tour?” “Symptoms of PMS?”

Pretty soon, we will be talking about our good old days, our dwindling retirement funds, the nursing home and the funeral pre-plan.

Amen.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

This winter Olympic sparked euphoria and Canadian patriotism across the whole country, to the envy of all politicians. If this nationalism can be kept up, a majority government will definitely be in sight.

How to pass this flame of patriotic nationalism on and circulates across the country and keeping it alights, till the next election? That is the dream of all politicians.

Now prorogation has ended, parliament reopened its door; the throne speech was given and a new budget was announced, even threw in a gender-neutral national anthem for distraction, but the euphoria is dying fast. What a politician to do? How to rekindle that nationalistic spirit?

With a jolt, the politician realized someone was standing before him.

“I am the Ghost of the Olympic Spirit, Sir. I am here to show you the way.”

The large TV screen was on. “Let’s go back three weeks. Here is the opening ceremony, with athletes entering the stadium. Notice those countries with only one or two athletes, that is the real Olympic spirit. Participation first, winning second.”

“No no no, we do want to win. We want a majority.”

Puffed. In a jiffy, the Ghost of the Olympic Spirit was replaced by the Ghost of Owning the Podium.

“Canadians are too modest, Sir. We went into the Game with fighting spirit, with only one aim in mind, no matter what, just win, win, and win.”

“Now you are talking.”

The TV was showing our first week dismal results, we did not own the podium, and for what were awarded, they mainly belonged to the woman athletes.

“Oh no, we only want cracks in the glass ceiling, not big holes.”

Puffed, out went the Ghost of Owning the Podium, and in his place, appeared the Ghost of Humility.

“Sir, here is Joannie Rochette, our bronze medalist, skating in memory of her mom.”

”Will this translate into votes?”

“Here is another story, Brain Mckeever, the legally blind cross-country skier, who made history by qualifying for the Olympic.”

“We have squeezed all possible publicity out of him already, and in the end, he was benched and forgotten. He has no chance of winning anyway.”

Puffed, the Ghost of Humility exited angrily, and in her place, the Ghost of Gold Rush.

“Sir, I am glad to report we do own the podium, the top of the podium, to be exact. We now hold the record of the country that got the most gold medals. Our last gold was the one that triggered the euphoria of nationalism across the country, from coast to coast to coast. We own the hockey podium.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what we want. To keep the patriotic flame alight, we need to ‘Own the Hockey (Male) Podium’, the government has to form our own all Canadian NHL team to do just that.”

A quiet voice spoke from the corner, “why don’t we just draft Sidney Crosby for PM, should be cheaper and more effective.”

The politician woke up with a cold sweat.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

Everybody loves a bargain.

When I was small, mother used to bring us kids along, for an excusion of whole day shopping. Hong Kong was known as the Shoppers Paradise, with shops everywhere, selling all sort of merchandise, from jewellery, clothing, shoes, toys to food and dried goods. Street vendors were at every street corner, yelling and selling their “Jump Off Building”, world cheapest wares.

Selling and buying in Hong Kong is an art. You stopped and looked at some merchandise, the shopkeeper would suddenly appear from nowhere, right away started listing the qualities of his ware.

You cut to the core, “How much!”

“10 bucks.”

“Too much, 3.”

“Oh, no, too low, can’t survive. How about 8 bucks.”

You started to leave. “All right, final price 7.00.”

You kept walking, shaking your head. “OK, ok, 6.50”

You stopped. He smiled. You smiled. Another transaction completed.

That is the technique of a bargain hunter.

But when we first moved to Canada, we completely lost this magic touch, because here it was one set price policy. If you asked the salegirl for a discount, she just stared at you, wondering what planet you from.

With the economic ups and downs of the past few decades, advertising marketing keeps evolving. Now we have Scratch and Save Days, discount coupons, and instore on sale items with door breaker prices, “we will match the price of competitors,” “Don’t pay till 2012” etc, but all these are initiated and controlled by the merchants and stores, not by the customers, and completely took the fun and art out of bargaining.

Until one day, a patient walked into my office, with a sore throat.

He opened his mouth. The tonsils were red and angry, with pus. I did a throat swab.

Then told him, “You have tonsillitis, need antibiotics, I am going to give you 30 pills, you take 3 times per day for 10 days.”

He raised his hand with five fingers, said hoarsely “50.”

“What? You only need them for 10 days.”

“40.” He lowered one finger.

I stared at him. Silently I wrote the prescription: Amoxil 250 mg 3 X per day for 10 days total 40 pills.

I stared at him. The bargain hunter has finally arrived.

(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)

This is a 50 years old legend, from HKU.

Young Dr. Kildare was a first year surgical resident. He was not on call that night. As a matter of fact, he was having a happy time with his buddies in the bar near the hospital. Suddenly his beeper went off.

“Excuse me, I have to call the hospital.”

“Doctor you are needed in emerg, there is a serious multi-cars accident. We are overwhelmed. We need all the help we can get.”

Back to the hospital he went. He was assigned a patient with stomach ache, and with a tummy as hard as rock, who screamed with every touch. He made the quick diagnosis, appendicitis, that required surgery right away. He tried to find the chief surgical resident, who was tied up with the accident cases. The chief sent back a message, the case is all yours.

Young Kildare’s jaw almost touched the floor. He had never done any appendectomy bt himself before. He assisted in a few cases, and did some other surgeries, that’s all. Well, you know the surgical basic, you have to walk when your horse died, the young doctor kept telling himself. He went in to scrub and put on the surgical gown and mask.

Nervously he entered the Operation Theatre and approached the operating table. The patient was already prepped, and waiting for him. He spreaded the drapes and covered the body.

“Scapel.” He put out his hand, and made the first cut. He tried to remember the number of layers he had to cut through, before he could enter the abdominal cavity. Luckily, he had the abdomen opened with minimal bleeding. He was congratulating himself silently.

“Rat, where is the appendix.” He searched and searched, with no success. He began sweating, beads of water appeared on his forehead. Then he realized. “Holy Mackerel, I am on the left side, the wrong side for the appendix.” He almost passed out.

Swearing, he changed side with the nurse and made another cut. This time the inflammed appendix was quickly located, ligated and cut. Now he had to closed both wounds, one left, one right.

An hour later, when the patient woke up from the anaesthetic, the young Dr. Kildare was already at the bedside, speaking in a low voice, “you see, I want to make sure everything is OK, so I took a look at the other side too. And this is on the house, no extra charge.”

The patient was extremely grateful and thanked the young doctor over and over again.

Well, that is the legend.

Headline in today’s newspaper: Patient sued for wrongful masectomies.

So the legend might be a true story, after all. Time changes, but there are things that never do.