Category Archives: Life

Ai Weiwei, What is he up to?

I recently came across some media coverage on Ai Weiwei. The world family and politically controversail sculptor has move to live in Cambridge in England after living in Germany for the last few years. He is also setting up a business to share his sculptures with buyers to be re-assembled in one’s home. This is consistent with his signature style to shock and to make one ponder his intent.

This brings to mind his exhibition in Toronto entitled “According to What?” some years ago. The impact of his home imprisonment in China was still fresh in his consciousness. And with China in the news these days with the CO-vid19 virus spreading from Wuhan to all over China, and  globally with no end in sight, the image of his crabs is an apt parady. There is a Chinese saying, that if one spills a basket of crabs, they’ll crawl everywhere–a situation hard to contain and control. This is what it is:

Ai Weiwei has been described as provocative, political and controversial.  The exhibition of his art on a world tour and at the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) originated from Japan. The curator went to his home in China where he was on house arrest to discuss the presentation. I went to the exhibition with an open-mind, albeit wonderfully how I would feel afterwards.

Ai Weiwei’s Snake meandered on the ceiling of the entrance hall.

I entered a corridor with photographs of the changing landscape of China on display. The next corridor had television screens showing a myriad of clips ranging from Ai Weiwei working on his art forms, making faces (which I guess was also his artistic expression), and his arrest by the Chinese officials. There was a write-up on the incidence and pictures of brain scan showing the brain injuries Ai had sustained from the blow of the head by his officials, and for which Ai had to undergo brain surgery.

On the opposite wall, two marble sculptures, one representing surveillance camera outside his house and the helmet worm by the rescue crew at the Szechwan earthquake paved the way for more messages from the artist.


His works reflect his ideas about free expression and right to protest, and at the same time, his artistic brilliance shine in his astuteness in the use of lines, forms and geometry.

One passed by a life-size sculpture of Ai Weiwei himself as one left the exhibition deeply moved by the power of this giant in the artistic world.

I am wondering now if Ai Weiwei will create a sculpture with face masks in response to the Wuhan corona virus when the masks are back in supply. This may even be a piece he can shipped to his patrons’ homes to be re-assembled.

Travel Theme: HEIGHT


I am petite. Every time I am a spectator among a big crowd watching a parade, I am keenly aware how challenged I am with my height. I am envious that this person has found his vantage point. This also reminds me of William Kurelek’s painting I saw at the Ukrainian Museum in Saskatoon.


Do visit Ailsa’s Where’s My Backpack for other interpretations and images of Height in her Travel Theme.

Thursday Special: My 200th Blog Post

I celebrate my 200th post to-day with a link to my first post. I also submit this post to Thursday Special, that Paula of Lost in Translation has set up. I entitled my first post “Impossible? Possible!” It was the banner in the photo that gave me the inspiration to start blogging, and the words also reflected my determination to power walk to bring health to my life. Blogging and power walking are now two activities that I engage in regularly, together with my other passions–reading, food, and music and art.

I was standing under the same banner at the start line of the Sporting Life 10K earlier this year in May and took a picture of it myself. It dawned on me too that I had been blogging for one year. These two activities have enabled me to connect with many lovely people, who have shared with me their interests and their lives. They have broadened my perspectives, challenged my usual way of thinking, and in short, they have enriched my life.

My walking friends have supported me through races and hikes. I have covered distances that I have never dreamt that I am capable of doing. They have also given me the privilege to share their blessings and joys, as well as trial and tribulations. Without walking with them, and being part of their non-walking related activities, about half of the contents of this blog would have been missing.

My blogging friends (yes, although we have never met, yet I consider you my friends) are generous and embracing. They open their world to me. Their posts have made me laugh, made me cry or rendered me speechless in awe.  I learn about books, movies, music, crafts and hikes, as well as classics. Their blogs have taught me how to take pictures, how to write and how to cook. They help me update my bucket list of things to do and places to go. They have offered me comments and “likes” that have encouraged me to keep blogging better posts. The benefits I have derived are too numerous to count.

Now that I have reached the 200th post mark, I want to take this opportunity to thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

This blogging milestone is making me reflective, but not sentimental. I am determined to live by the Tagline of this blog to “age with peace of mind”. I have made a choice to appreciate my blessings in the vicissitudes of life. I have likened races as a metaphor of life. Walking and Blogging are part of my Life. Thank you for celebrating my 200th post with me–if you reach this far–and so, let us walk on and blog on.

For other Thursday Special posts this week, check out: Lost in Translation.


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Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: In One Colour

I welcome Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge for this week: In One Colour, as long as it is not black and white. The subtitle of my entry is: “All that glitters is not gold”. This is a visual illusion of gold coins showering from the sky in a show in a Macau casino. See how excited the audience is trying to catch them!


Thursday Special: A Visit to the Hairdresser


Paula of Lost in Translation has set up a non-challenge Challenge called Thursday Special as an avenue for bloggers to “wake up their creativity and show their own ideas and interpretation of the world”.

As I was sitting in the chair in the beauty salon the other day, I had a revelation that I wanted to write up to share in the Thursday Special this week.

On that day, I had to spend almost two hours in the hair salon to perm my hair. I was leaving for a trip on which I had to attend formal occasions and professional presentations. I would not have time to take care of my hair which was normally short and straight, let alone get ready in my hotel room with curlers like Hilda Ogden in Coronation Street. My solution was to perm my hair, with a plan to finger dry it after  shampooing it myself.

The shampoo was the best part of my appointment with my hairdresser, Maria. I lay down in the reclining chair and rested my neck on the groove of the sink. I closed my eyes while my Maria showered my hair with lukewarm water. She worked the shampoo solution all over my hair before rinsing it off. She was efficient but never rushing when she repeated her action with the conditioner. Then I felt her fingers, gentle but firm, starting to massage my scalp. This was the moment I was waiting for. My already half-relaxed body let go completely. At the end of each stroke, her fingers applied pressure to the vital points on my head. If one aspired to an “ohm” moment in transcendental meditation, I already attained my “ah” moment at Crowning Glory, with my hairstylist giving me a head massage. I forgot that I had left my house all stressed after a hectic week; I forgot that I had a list of errands to run after my hair appointment before I could to go home to pack for a trip.

“Let’s move to the other chair,” the voice of my hair stylist Maria sounded distant, but brought me back to reality before I drifted into an altered state of consciousness, with my hair wrapped in a turban and I was now sitting upright. I followed Maria to her station and talked about the purpose of my visit.

Still, for the moment,  I watched Maria put the curlers on strands of my hair sandwiched between two thin pieces of paper and she squirted a chemical solution on them. I noticed how the method had not changed since my first perm that was inflicted upon a reluctant me by my mother when I was six years old, even though the stink of the chemical seemed greatly reduced comparing my present experience to that retrieved from my olfactory memory.

After Maria had left me with my head of curlers covered in a towel under a shower cap, and a cup of coffee and a magazine to wait for my hair to curl. I noticed the animated conversations between the customers around me and their hair stylists. The lady sitting beside me was having a blow dry. She raised her voice that I guessed the entire place could hear her.

“I have to be there almost three or four times a week. She says she is taking a course and has to stay back to do her homework. Then I get a call from Tom the night before asking me to stay with the kids when they go away for the weekend,” she did not sound pleased. I was more amazed though by the neutral yet tactful response from her hair stylist, “So it must be very inconvenient for you.” “You’d better tell her,” the lady said, “I know Tom wants a break but can’t she ask and say ‘thank you’ to me?”

When the blow dryer stopped, her voice subsided, and I was drawn to the conversation between an elderly gentleman and his hairstylist. He sounded tired but only too pleased that he could be out of the house for a brief moment to get a haircut and vented about his circumstances. By the sound of it, he certainly needed this reprieve from the constant strain taking care of a spouse suffering from dementia.

The two customers were not the exceptions, I realized. My mother, who is in her eighties, goes to her hairdresser for a “shampoo and set” every week before she meets her friends for lunch. Her friends apparently do the same. During these regular visits, my mother, like many customers, chats with her stylist. Only on one occasion when I met her hairdresser that I realized how much she had told her hair stylist about me and my family.

My revelation is that the hair dressers are there not only to create an attractive coiffure for the customers and pamper them with head massages, but they also become a social resource to some customers over the course of regular visits. These encounters of an hour or so transform from small-talks into a social support session as well. If the customers are willing to talk, the hair stylist becomes an engaging individual for them to open up to like a friend, or if I were bold enough to speculate, a therapist-of-sorts.

I believe that face-to-face interaction is fundamental to social relationships. Powerful as the social media for fast, instant and brief messages, they cannot replace what real human conversations can offer. A visit to the hair dresser is one of such encounters. You become relaxed after the shampoo and the disarming head massage. There is verbal dialogue, visual contact and body language in the interaction. The hair dresser is always ready to listen. This is the essence of human interaction that technology cannot replace. Maybe that is why most of us find a visit to the hairdresser so desirable.

I felt very content with the hair treatment and my beautiful perm when I left Crowning Glory to get on with my day. I also felt good that I had witnessed the celebration of REAL human interaction in the hair salon.


Travel Theme PEACEFUL: The Interactive Garden of Walt Rickli

The Travel Theme of Ailsa’s Where is my Backpack this week is Peaceful. This photo shows the setting in which I have discovered a peaceful surrounding for a quiet walk to engage in my own meditation.


I am talking about the Interactive Garden of Walk Rickli, nestled in the serene grounds near Bronte Creek in Lowville Park, Burlington Ontario. Walt Rickli has made his name as a stone sculptor-philosopher, who has integrated into his art the beauty of nature and reflections in the mind. While I pace along the garden path, each sculpture invites me to pause, look and think. Many pieces on display have running water, the sound of which entices me to walk over, and I discover the stillness of the stone contrasting with the movement of the water. Many a visitor will find the ‘ohm’ moment here.

This is one of my favourite pieces.


The exhibits are rotated during the year. I find on this day several sculptures depicting the native Inuit theme. I leave them to your interpretation.

Kitchen Renovation (6): The Final Lag and Finish Line!

My excitement was beyond words when the cabinets arrived soon after the dry walls were finished and the tiles laid on the floor. The cabinet installer also started working on the same day. Watching him work, I discovered how exact the task was to ensure that seams and joints were aligned, the hinges on the doors were adjusted and tightened, and the shelves were placed to provide functional partitions. I was very pleased to see the two-tier lazy Susan trays which would give me all the space I had hoped for in the corners of the cabinets.

In the meantime, the painter came in. I had been expecting him for a while, especially the contractor told me that the painter had promised to complete my job before his three-week holiday in Australia. I could simply not bear the thought of my kitchen on hold for three weeks! To my relief, a jovial painter bounced in like a kangaroo (he told me he was Australian), decided on the colour with me and the job was done.

The final lag of the kitchen renovation was a piece of orchestration and co-ordination by the different trades, and the supervisor did a superb job lining them up. Once the lower cabinets had been installed, the countertop person was called in to do the measurements. He used an equipment that was similar to a surveying tool. That was an innovative procedure to me.


It took two weeks for the counter top to be ready. The cabinet installer continued with his work and so did the electrician who put in lighting under and inside some cabinets.

I welcomed the counter top on its day of its arrival like a groom waiting for his bride. I heaved a big sigh of relief when it was brought in, because finally I could tell that it matched my choice of the floor tiles. The backsplash were installed the day after the counter top. Another day for grouting and cleaning up. The last item to go in was the kitchen vent.

I had no idea when I started to post about my kitchen renovation that it had taken some eleven weeks to have everything completed. Not bad, because I was given an estimate of nine to ten weeks when the job started. I had become used to cooking and eating in my make-shift kitchen in the basement, but it’s certainly time I moved to my new kitchen and caryy on. It would take me several days to wipe it down and return to the old routine with new appliances and new storage arrangements . If you were expecting drama from my renovation, you might be disappointed. However, it was an educational experience, nonetheless, finding out the expertise of the different trades and craftsmen, learning to be patient and how to communicate clearly what I wanted using trade terms.

Please don’t ask me about kitchen warming yet; just let me enjoy the sight of it first.


Leslie Shimotakahara Reads “The Reading List”

I1-IMG_1248 heard about Leslie Shimotakahara through six-degree connections, bought and read her book The Reading List: Literature, Love and Back Again, A Memoir. In each chapter of her memoir, she relates herself to the character of a book, as she describes her struggle with her career and her relationships with friends and family members. She has included Thoreau, Wharton and Joyce as well as Faulkner, Woolf and Hemingway in her thirteen chapters. Ondaatje and Atwood also make it into her list, among others. I have also found out from her blog under the same title “The Reading List” that she has many insightful reflections weaved into the over sixty book titles she has posted on her blog.  When I heard that she would be reading from her work in Hamilton, Ontario, I went out, because I wanted to meet her and ask her to autograph  my book.

The reading was organized by Litlive and held at the Homegrown Cafe in Hamilton, Ontario. The venue was situated in the re-vitalized downtown area of the city, where artists and writers had moved to in recent years. It offered a casual but cosy setting for this reading event with about thirty people among the audience to listen to the works of six writers of poetry and prose.


My interest in meeting Leslie Shimotakahara stems not from the fact that I know a member of her extended family who has told me about the book in the first place. It is more because I am fascinated by her talent. Her writing has demonstrated scholarship and style. I admire her courage and frankness in revealing herself and her family in a memoir, though generally memoirs are written by people much older than she is. Her themes are multi-faceted and she has knitted them together seamlessly in her book.

I can relate to her feelings about academia, having come from academia myself. It would1-DSC02296 indeed be difficult if your goals and inclinations are not there to play the role according to the rules of the game, no matter how interested your are in the subject matter and the topic you are conducting research on. Now that I have met Leslie Shimo (guess it is all right to shorten her name like her great grandfather, Kozo, was referred to in her book). I can also identify with her disadvantage of having a young-looking oriental face. It would be tough to be a professor, a bona fida professor she was, in a small east coast town where the parochial outlook predisposed her students to take her at face value (ah, what a pun).  I wish I could tell her that I had been asked if I were a teaching assistant  by an overseas visitor I met for the first time in a faculty social after I had been a full member on faculty for some years.

Part of the revelation in the book was the Shimotakahara family history during the period of internment of the Japanese in Vancouver during the Second World War, and it was spearheaded by her father who tried to extract as much information as he could from her grandmother before she died. Her family saga could be representative of the hardship of many a Japanese families during those difficulty times. I cannot but marvel at Leslie Shimo’s artistry in blending her personal story against the backdrop of the past and present unrest in her family and in the world. The tension was palpable and she handles it with such ease.

She read an excerpt from the first chapter of her book. There she 1-IMG_1249was, back home to decide on her next move after leaving the ivory tower and after fulfilling her father’s aspiration for her –although it might not be hers– to obtain a doctorate and to become a professor. I am daughter as well as a mother. When I read that part of the book and listened to Shimo read, I  kept wondering: Is this an immigrant psyche, or an oriental psyche? I have to resort to Jung for an explanation of our collective consciousness.

Critics and publicity blurbs describe Shimo as “a recovering academic”. As I watched her friendly smile and how composed and graceful she was on stage, Leslie Shimotakahara was already “a recovered academic”, in my opinion. I congratulate her on winning the Canada Council for the Arts Canada-Japanese Literary Award.  I wish her well in her new relationship and I look forward to reading her next book.

Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: SPRING (River and Ruin Hike)


Everything I saw on my hike on the River and Ruin Trail in the Lowville Park area in Halton Region, Ontario was a representation of Spring. I am therefore integrating this as my submission to Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: SPRING. The moment we set out on our hike from the carpark, Spring was tangible. Photography could only capture what one could see. The green of the grass and the leaves is a Spring green, which looked so promising after the rain from the night before.  I could hear Spring from the birds’ singing and chirping, and the rustling of the wind, I could feel Spring from the cool, refreshing breeze, and I could smell Spring in the air. The flowering trees were starting to bloom and the open fields were covered with dandelions, bright yellow contrasting with bright new green.

P 1-IMG_1287 Other vegetation, from the fern to the May apple (with its bud hiding underneath the leaves), the trilliums to the marsh daisies are out. I saw the Bracket Fungi for the first time.

We also spotted the Garlic Mustard, an unwanted foreign specie because they would edge out the other plants.

We took the River and Ruin Side Trail, crossed a bridge to join the Bruce Trail Main Trail. We hiked to Kilbride, took a lunch break and hiked back, using a different arm of the side trail to see the ruin. The water level was high and we had Bronte Creek to our right for half of the hike. The ruin appeared as a surprise among the trees. It was the relics was a big farmhouse.



We had to use our imagination to think back two hundred years ago when this part was farmland and the residents were using out hiking trail to go to their general store in Lowville. What kind of bridge did they have back then?

Kitchen Renovation (5): The Long Wait, and Suddenly…

The dry wall team did not turn up the day after the electricians had left. They did not turn up the next day, nor the following day. I call the supervisor. He told me the dry wall people were finishing a big job, and he was hoping that they could come by and start working in my kitchen soon. He sounded reassuring when he told me that dry wall workers usually carry several jobs at one time, because when the plaster was drying in one place, they could go over to another place to do some work there.

In spite of my optimism,  they never turned up at my place. I had an entire week without any workman in my house. I tried to carry on my life as usual. I went to work, did minimal grocery shopping since I had to plan carefully what to cook in my makeshift kitchen and we ate out more.

The inspector from the city also did not come, but it was a relief to know that he did not need to come because they were over-booked and could only manage one in three of the sites. They apparently knew the work of the electrician and my contractor,  and skipped us. That was good news. According to the schedule given to me by the contractor, they had allowed two weeks for the dry wall work. Ten days had elapsed.

When I returned home from work on the eleventh day, I walked into a dusty hallway and the stinging smell of plaster. I started to sneeze but I was more relieved to see that work had finally resumed. The dry wall team had given me the walls and the new ceiling of my kitchen! These people only spent three days in my house and completed their work. These were dusty and sneezy days, but the job was back on track again.

The tile people followed suit. They first did a good job reinforcing the floor boards by punching nails on it. In came the wire sheets and they did a patient job lining the floor before putting on the ceramic tiles. It was another three-day work because when they got the corners and the side of the room, the tiles had to be measured and precisely cut. It was fun watching them, as they placed the tiles as working on a jig-saw puzzle. Another chapter of my kitchen renovation saga completed.

Kitchen Renovation (4): Plumbing, ducts and lights

After the tearing down of my kitchen, the plumber, the duct and vent installer, and the electrician with his assistant appeared as planned in the ensuing days. They were friendly and efficient.

New pipes were installed, because by opening a wider door, the pipes had to be moved. I did not feel too much inconvenience. I could not flush the toilet for over half a day, and the main was shut down for about half an hour.  The plumber’s assistant came the following day and gave me a new vent.


I was very impressed by the electrician and his assistant. For me, it was an eye-opening experience to see how much was involved in electrical work that was behind the scene. Since my renovation involved installing new outlets, re-positioning existing ones and installing pot lights in the ceiling, it took them twelve hours to get the work done. I tipped my hat to their work ethics. They told me that they had a schedule to keep, and as long as I did not mind, they wanted to complete the job. Why would I mind?

The team had been working for ten days and the ground work was done. The supervisor  dropped by at the end of the day and was pleased. He told me that an inspector would come to look at the electric work, and the dry wall team would be next. So far so good, I said to myself.

Weekly Photo Challenge: CHANGE (Kitchen Renovation 3: Go, Going, Gone!)


This is a stage of my kitchen renovation which fits into the Weekly Photo Challenge Theme: CHANGE.

A dump bin was placed outside my house on the drive way. The two workmen came. We had a mini-conference as to what I would like to keep. In fact, my friend had wanted my old cabinets and the workmen were extremely helpful in keeping them intact and moving them to the garage for my friend to pick up. Then the banging began.


I could not bear to stay around because the images of knocking down cabinets and walls on  the television show Restaurant Makeover and similar programmes were too vivid and harrowing to me. Furthermore, with the noise going on, I could not even work at home. My home was dusty, despite the sealing of the doors and the staircase. The tearing down took them three days.




By the end, the floor was only a pile of rumbles, the ceiling was gone, the sink was gone, the pipes were exposed and part of a wall was knocked down. I was excited to see a bigger kitchen–of course, because the cabinets were all gone (silly me)–and the wider door was what I had wanted.

So far so good. The supervisor dropped by at the end of the day. I was pleased with the way the workmen tidied up the place every day before they left. So far, I had no complaint.

When I REALLY Do Not Want To Cook…Or When My Frontal Lobe Goes On Strike

When I REALLY do not want to cook, and it happens once in a while after a long day at work or running around doing errands, I do not even want to decide what to get for take-out or find what frozen food I have in my freezer. My husband will understand when I tell him that my front lobe has gone on strike. To my less neurologically inclined readers, it is my suggestion to my husband that I do not want to do any planning, organization and execution, and the less decision-making I do, the better. This means that unless he is happy to cook and wash up, we’d better eat out.

We both had been following the Boston bombing the entire afternoon yesterday. We were sad, though relieved that a couple of friends we knew were out there had passed the finish line and cleared of the area, including their families who went out to watch.  I really did not want to cook. My husband was quick to come up with a place to eat when I told him my frontal lobe had stopped functioning. He remembered driving past an Indian buffet restaurant the previous week, and since both of us liked curry, it required no thinking at all on my part. So off we went to  Flavours of India, a small restaurant offering buffet meals at a great deal.


The moment we entered, we saw a couple of friends. It turned out that they came to the restaurant often on the recommendation of a mutual friend of ours. We were greeted by a friendly waiter who showed us where to sit. Looking around, I found interesting artifacts from India on display.


The good thing about buffet was that I did not have to read the menu and ponder among choices. There was enough food on display that decision making was reduced to ‘yes’ or ‘no’. There was a wide selection of food: soup and starters, salad, rice and bread, vegetable dishes and meat dishes. There was also a wide range of curry flavours, from mild to hot and the food display was clearly labelled.

I had some soup, and sampled the samosa, pakora and tikki.

Many Indian buffet restaurants fall into two problems . The first is to have trays filled with sauces and not enough meat for obvious budgetary reasons. Secondly, the taste of the curry is too uniform.  Flavours of India did not have these problems and I did not have to stir my ladle around to hunt for a small piece of meat. The sauces were colourful and each curry had a distinctive taste. Besides, inasmuch as we knew that there is butter and coconut milk in some curries, the items served in this restaurant actually tasted quite healthy.

There were enough choices for me to have two helpings of different meat and vegetables, accompanied by rice and naan bread, which were very good to soak up the sauces.

Indian desserts tend to be very sweet. I did not try the Kulab Jamun, because it was too sweet for me, regardless of the restaurants. However, I enjoyed the rice pudding which was creamy and refreshing. My husband and I ate and shared our thoughts about Boston. We had some peaceful time thinking about the unfortunate ones and their families.

Although Flavours of India is not a gourmet restaurant, it is a friendly, neighbourhood restaurant which offers good food for great value. I am happy to go back, whether or not my frontal lobe decides to go on strike or not.

Flavours of India, 1400 Plains Road East, Burlington, Ontario.

Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: ROADS

I have more pictures which fit in Cee’s Theme “Which way–Featuring Roads” than I initially thought.

Here is a cross-road, where the light rail tracks run across a street in the New Town of Tin Shiu Wai in the New Territories in Hong Kong.


The highway to Uluru (Ayers Rock) in Australia.


No. 27 Side Road, off Trafalgar Road, north of Hwy 401 in Ontario.


Icy CN Rail linking Canada with the United States.

A back street in Sydney Australia near the vibrant The Rock. What a contrast!


The roadway to the ferry to cross over to Prince Edward Island from Nova Scotia.


The road surface to Confederation Bridge, from Prince Edward Island to New Brunswick.


Finally, I hope you can see this road which is winding through the beautiful region near Big Sur, California bordering the Pacific Ocena.  I consider Big Sur to be the most breath-taking place to do a race (Big Sur International Marathon).


Kitchen Renovation (2): Dislocation and Relocation

I have cleaned out my kitchen cabinets and pantry and this is time to take a last look at the kitchen as “before” and then I shall tidy up the utensils, dishes, cutlery and condiments for everyday use to evacuate from the kitchen for the renovation.


The boxes are filled, and the corner of my living room is filled with stuff I think I don’t need (I hope).

There is also a pile of take to the thrift store but I just cannot do so without taking a picture of this beer can chicken roasting tin. This white elephant has occupied an entire cabinet for some five years, and only in the first two years of having it in my possession that I roasted my chicken rotisserie-style  while it sat on a can of beer. It is time it retired.



My kitchen is now re-located in the basement. I feel reasonably well-equipped with my microwave oven, a toaster oven, a slow cooker and an induction heater. Mind you though, I cannot use more than two equipment at one time, because the electric fuse will jump. All this is more for my sense of security than functionality. My fridge is in the family room, and the contractor has cleverly given me a zipper entrance to screen off the dust but allowing accessibility from one area to another.

Stay tuned….the destruction is about to begin.