Babette's Feast

Holden came home with an assignment the other day. 'Mum', he said, 'I have to cook an Italian meal for the family, and then hand in recipes and menu (in Italian) and photos'.

Well, thank goodness he comes from a foodie family, I say.

We discussed various options, and he finally settled on: prosciutto wrapped melon; osso buco with gremolata, served with ciabatta and salad; gelato (bought) for dessert.

Here's how it went ...

1. He squealed when asked to dust the veal shin in seasoned flour ('it feels gross, mum!'), but bravely persisted.

2. He chopped garlic with great gusto and surprising skill.


3. It all simmered away while he wrapped melon in prosciutto and made salad dressing and gremolata.



4. We ate lots and lots.


5. I think he'll pass his assignment.

Sophie's Choice

The other day, tired of seeing my mother drag around a horrid Thing (I can't think of a better word for it), I bought her a lovely squishy leather bag in just the right autumn tones for her. I think she likes it.

This then made me feel a bit embarrassed by my own bag, which I have had for almost three years and which was never very nice to start with. I only ever have one day-to-day handbag, although I do have my small collection of vintage tortoiseshell lucite bags and a work bag I love.

So I have been looking and looking. I am so tempted by some lovely BRIGHT bags - whoever thought I'd be attracted to a bright BLUE bag? - but since I know I'll probably be carrying the damn thing every day for the next two years, I have to go more neutral and boring.

This bag comes in black, indigo, nude (pictured) and caramel. I'm desperately trying to decide between the indigo and the nude (you will note I am eschewing black).

Dumbo

Every year the kids have a parade for Book Week, where they dress up as their favourite characters. There is usually a ratio of about 5:1 in favour of Harry Potter. Holden's never been terribly interested, but Phoebe LOVES it. Some of her earlier incarnations are here and here.

This year there is a theme and it is Safari. So Miss P wanted to be an elephant. After a client meeting in the city yesterday morning, I duly tracked down grey velour and stuffing. All I had to do was make the ears and trunk, because the rest of it was made years ago, as a donkey costume, by a friend. But even thinking about it was making me tense (my sewing skills are, um, limited).

As luck would have it, another of my friends (I do have handy friends) dropped by for a cup of tea. Two and a half hours later, he left, having mostly finished the costume for me. So she still doesn't look EXACTLY like an elephant, but hey ... (The other elephant is her best friend.)

Great Balls of Fire

A knitting confession: I started a cardigan for Phoebe at the beginning of winter. I didn't finish it (life has been, um, unusual).

I picked it up again the other day, to finish the last sleeve, and discovered that the four balls of yarn dictated by the pattern had run out. (Don't ask me if I swatched - I can't remember.) I couldn't find it in any of the shops.

Last night, feeling disgruntled and not very hopeful, I emailed the yarn company with my tale of woe. This morning, at 8.30am, I got an email from them to say that they had found a ball in the same dyelot and it's in the mail to me - with their compliments.

I just had to post about this, because sometimes it's easy to focus on bad customer service.

EDITED TO ADD: As suggested by Imogen, I should say that the company in question is Panda yarns.

Public Enemies

We went to see this movie on Saturday. Yep, I could sit and look at Johnny Depp for hours any day. It got mixed reviews, but we enjoyed it. Apart from anything else, it is incredibly stylish and beautiful to look at (although the handheld camera always makes me a bit seasick).

Marion Cotillard is not just gorgeous, she is so natural looking. I was trying to work out what it was, and realised that part of it is that she has real teeth, not a glittering mouthful of cosmetic dentistry. And does it make her any less beautiful that she has - GASP - imperfections? Absolutely not.

But The September Issue seems to WANT me to go and see it. When I hopped online this morning, here was this story ... Do you think it's true?

I am going to Perth this weekend to visit one of my best friends. Apparently the weather is going to be dire, so perhaps we will be forced to go and see a movie ...

The September Issue

As I stomped off to yoga this morning (feeling grumpy; looking frumpy), I stopped in at the newsagent to see if I could find anything to lift my mood. And there it was - British Vogue's July issue. Yes, out of date, but since summer is ahead of us down here, I don't care. And it's their annual 'ageless style' issue. Of course, I don't really need to be told that Chanel can work for any age - it can only work for you if you can afford it in the first place - but I do love the fact that they feature a range of women with a variety of personal styles. I expect to get many hours of enjoyment out of my mag ...

As for the movie of my post title - I don't think I'll see it. First, I tend to go to the movies with spouse, and if I said it was a movie about Anna Wintour, he'd say 'who?'. Second, I'm curiously lacking in curiosity about her. She appears to wear the same outfit (yeah yeah, variations occasionally) and the same head helmet every day. She doesn't smile. To me, Anna W is just a boring, cold fish, no matter how powerful she is. Grace, with her outrageous red hair, could be another matter. But I'm looking forward to other bloggers seeing the movie and reporting back!

Something's Gotta Give

I try to avoid using this blog as a whingeing forum. From time to time I like to have a minor vent, but if I were to overindulge, it could quickly become nothing more than a litany of complaints. Instead, I'd rather post about frivolous, cheerful things. Apart from anything else, it helps me focus on the good things in my life.

Today, however, I'm allowing myself a ticket of leave.

For much of the time since late May, I have had, through no choice of my own, extra people in my house. It is a small house, and I work from a studio at the end of the garden. I am accustomed to a lot of solitude, and I like it.

Right now I have no space, no solitude and no choice. I am not enjoying it. And then I feel bad because I should be happy to open my house to people who want somewhere to be (although there are other options that they choose not to take). Maybe I'm a bad person because I really just want everyone (except my little nuclear family) to go away and let me have my old, quiet life back.

It is especially hard because these are our last months in this house, where we have been for seven and a half years. I would like my memories of it to be of happy times, rather than stressed, overcrowded times.

Ok, that is enough self-indulgence. Tomorrow I will find the silver lining (hopefully in an article of clothing!).

Colors

In one of those interesting instances of blog synchronicity, Imogen posted about colours just after I listened to a fascinating segment on colour phobia on the radio. The premise was that we (white Anglo-Saxon types, I think he meant) are afraid of colour in our lives (homes and clothes particularly) because they express emotion; and yet we love colour when we go somewhere else (think India, for instance). The presenter also points out that women have been told so consistently that black is slimming that many urban outfits are all black. Although I do love black, I wear a lot less of it than I used to.

I have to admit that I'm a fan of white walls, because in my house the colour comes from books, paintings, rugs etc. Likewise, although I often buy clothing basics in a very muted palette (grey, taupe, denim, navy, black), I will also occasionally buy something hot pink or bright green because the colours sing to me. Then, of course, I feel a bit self-conscious wearing them ... I think that's part of our colour phobia too, the fearing of screaming 'look at me'. There are some colours I won't wear (yellow, some blues, some purples) but I can still love them in context (in nature, for instance - or on someone else!).

Death on the Nile

A very fortunate side effect (or possibly main effect) of the time I waste/spend perusing blogs about clothes is that I am learning to try on things that are unconvincing on the hanger.

I walked past a shop this morning and saw a top that looked vaguely interesting on the mannequin in the window. My mother (!) convinced me I should go inside and look at it, so I did, reluctantly. On the way to that top, we were both waylaid by a soft grey silk - the colour and texture, rather than the cut. I lifted the hanger from the rack, thought 'too formless' and put it back. Then we saw the same top in a gorgeous eau de nile. I still thought it was too sloppy looking for me, but the mother (again) had its way and I tried it on. It was perfect. I bought two (a black one as well, just because).

I should add that the shop in question is a chain that doesn't have much (if any) fashion cred and I will be snipping the labels out pronto. But I will also be wearing the tops a lot, whatever their provenance.

I learnt two lessons: don't judge a garment on the hanger and never go shopping with your mother.

10 Things I Hate About You

No, this is not a rant - the title is a reference to the fact that when in doubt, I write a list ... In this case, one that was shared in blogland.

Making : Faces at the job I'm working on
Cooking : Very little because my mother has taken over my kitchen (this is not a bad thing)
Drinking : Tea, coffee, jasmine tea, wine ...
Reading: Mortgage documents
Wanting: Too many things to mention
Looking: At my 'to do' list in dismay
Playing: The same CD over and over because I'm too lazy to change it
Wasting: Nothing in the kitchen, my new policy
Sewing: Does an unfinished quilt count?
Wishing: I could find time and space to finish the quilt
Enjoying: Winter sunshine
Waiting: For Godot
Liking: Having homemade goodies in the cake and biscuit tins
Wondering: If running every day will burn off the homemade cake and biscuits
Loving: The crazy offspring
Hoping: I can juggle work, family and finishing a house
Marvelling: At how many hours a day my cats can sleep
Needing: Nothing, but wanting lots
Smelling: Samples at the cosmetic counters at David Jones
Wearing: My favourite leopard print scarf (over clothes, I hasten to add)
Following: Nothing in particular
Noticing: How blue the sky is
Knowing: Very little about many things
Thinking: That this list ought to be finished by now
Feeling: Morning-ish
Bookmarking: Only the books I am reading
Opening: Email confirming a flight to Perth
Giggling: As little as possible - I prefer to laugh loudly when I do

Pleasantville

Back to frivolity, right?

I bought this top on a whim, because it seemed to be a good colour for spring/summer (yes, it IS winter here - what of it?). I can only hope it doesn't make me pull a face like this particular model, who clearly wishes to be elsewhere.

I have mentioned already that I am not very good at accessorising, although I am finally learning to wear scarves without feeling like a twit. The next thing on my list is jewellery, and I am wondering whether something turquoise might work with this rather coral-ish colour ...

I should, of course, be thinking about floor tiles and paint colours and, oops, WORK.

Which reminds me ... I am currently working on something that is supposedly pitched at women. It was sent to me with draft copy that included such gems as 'Does my bottom line look big in this?'. Every feminist hackle I have (and that's a few) was raised. It gets worse. Apparently for the launch there will be goody bags that include nail files. Did I mention that the target audience is business women?

That's right, welcome to the 1950s. If only they were being ironic.

Stealing Beauty

A couple of days ago, as I hit the 30-minute mark on my daily run, and the magic endorphins kicked in, I had a sudden rush of affection for my legs. Which got me thinking ...

When I was younger, I hated my legs. Too skinny, too chubby (take your pick), too pale and freckly, too much cellulite, too much thigh muscle. Now that I am older, and it's no longer desirable/necessary/relevant to me to wear short skirts or prance around in a bikini, I can love them for the fact that they can go for a long time without getting tired, they have climbed mountains, they hold me up in difficult yoga poses and they have hiked the Inca Trail. Function over form, I guess.

Instead, I tend to focus my Limb Loathing on my arms, which seems to be common in women over 40. We don't have to hate our legs so much, so we transfer our body issues to the other bits that are on show.

I resolved, there and then, to stop thinking about my body as disparate, unloved 'bits' and try harder to give the whole damn thing the respect it deserves. I realise this will be difficult, but I will do my best.

When we're young, we don't know to appreciate our youth (or can it only be appreciated in hindsight?). In the same way, we don't seem to be able to appreciate our bodies until, for whatever reasons, the end is in sight.

I called this post Stealing Beauty because I feel that we - our objectified, commodified modern selves - overlook our own beauty every single day. Of course I don't mean beauty in the sense of aesthetic perfection - I am never going to look like this - but in the sense of being complex, active, creative and productive.

Not new or original thoughts, I know, but you have to have them for yourself for them to mean anything. I could say all of this to someone younger - my daughter, for instance - but she won't understand what I mean until she sees it for herself. I hope that will be sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow I will stop being earnest and worthy and return to frivolity.

The Getting of Wisdom

I'll get to the wisdom bit later.

First, here is a great photo taken by the partner of one of my best friends. It shows why I love where I live, although I do harbour (excuse pun) fantasies of going to live on 10 acres in the country one day. The two white arrows in the top left show the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the iconic Opera House. Moving down to the lower right, the red blob shows our current and future homes, and the red X shows Phoebe's school, where I sometimes teach. If we ever get the house done, one day we'll have a little boat moored in the bay at the bottom ...

Now, back to the wisdom bit. On the weekend, I went to a 30th birthday party. The friend in question organised a wonderful celebration for herself - first we had champers and finger food at her place, then we went to the theatre, after which we had a Lebanese feast at Abdul's, somewhat of a Sydney institution.

The performance was Thom Pain (based on nothing). Here's the wiki entry, which doesn't really tell you much.

Two guests giggled throughout the show (I was mortified). Several others showed their erudition afterwards by bandying about words like 'postmodernist' and 'theatre of confrontation'. I was in one of those moods. I studied Drama and Postmodernism at university, but bit my tongue. As I get older, I hope I get slightly wiser, and learn to talk a little less and listen a little more. I suppose I really mean I wanted to tell them all to be quiet, but made do with being quiet myself ...

Almost Famous

The marvellous Materfamilias has tagged me for this meme - "list 7 of your personality traits, as evidenced on your blog, and then pass the award on to 7 other blogs with notable personality". I'll give it a go ...

1. Frivolous
2. Resilient (not copying Mater, but possibly in a similar frame of mind)
3. Occasionally thoughtful
4. Selectively sociable
5. Excessively fond of food and cooking
6. Easily amused by children (mine and others')
7. A voracious reader (when I have time)

As for passing this on, I read very few blogs regularly (I am a purger rather than a hoarder although you might not gather this from my blog) and most of the ones I read daily have already been covered, so I will simply mention them: Materfamilias is a warm, open and inspiring person whose blog I love; Sallymandy has an infectious joie de vivre, even when things are tough; Une femme writes so engagingly about clothes that I had to buy shoes she mentioned!; Imogen shows great generosity in her sharing of style tips with readers; Duchesse has an incisive, occasionally acid (which I love) take on all things 'style' and a great eye for jewellery; my mother, who hasn't blogged forever, but knows all there is to know about food, and a great deal else as well - here's hoping she revives her blogging mojo.

That's only six. Does this mean I have a short attention span? Or perhaps I lack loyalty? Or maybe I can put a positive spin on it and call myself discerning ...

Little Buddha

Australia is ostensibly a secular nation. Despite this, every week in public schools time is allocated for 'scripture' class. Because it is 2009, not 1950 (notwithstanding best efforts of our last PM), we now have options: Anglican, Catholic, Baha'i and Buddhist are on offer at Phoebe's school. (Holden's school has Laus Deo as its motto but no religious instruction of any type.)

To date, Phoebe has always chosen 'non-scripture', where they sit around and colour in or do something similarly edifying (an extraordinary waste of school time, but I won't go off on that tangent).

The other day she said to me 'Mum, can I do scripture?'. I remember being attracted by the idea of God when I was a little older than she is now, so I said 'Sure, which one?'.

'Buddhist', she said. 'I want to learn to meditate and stuff.' I grinned to myself, signed the note and that was that.

A few days later, I was ranting about something in the car while she was sitting next to me. 'You know, Mum', she said, 'In Buddhist scripture I learnt about something called Patient Acceptance'.

Hmmm. I must meditate on that.

The Boys

My boys put me to shame, they are so damn FIT. Holden, like his dad, has lots of natural running talent. Unlike his dad, however, he is too lazy to train. He still managed to do the Bay Run - a 7K fun-run that goes around our Bay - in a respectable 31 minutes this year, coming 8th in the under 15s. Next weekend they have the more gruelling City to Surf ... Andrew's not-very-secret ambition is to win the Father-Son category.

Me? Well, thanks to being shamed by THEM, I'm bravely keeping up my 30 minutes a day jogging on my slow and ancient treadmill (note: it's the treadmill that's slow and ancient, not ME). I'm not going to break any land speed records, but I guess it's better than nothing.

Phoebe, sadly, takes after her mother, and thinks a game of Solitaire is as much of a workout as she needs.

Friends with Money

A few weeks back, we went to a weekend party with about 60 other people. This was an excellent opportunity to check out clothes/outfits/style. Sometimes, when I'm ruing the emptiness of my wardrobe, I wish I had lots of money to spend (conveniently forgetting how much I hate shopping). While at the party, I spent time with two women who can spend just about anything they want (on anything they like). It was interesting.

Number 1 is a tall, skinny (not slim, skinny), leggy, patrician blonde, born to money. She is always immaculate, with tasteful makeup (always pink gloss, never lipstick), tasteful Botox (oxymoron?) and perfect hair. Her style is too preppy (even a little boring) for me - but it suits her and she wears it well. I didn't like the Prada handbag - too ostentatious for mine (not that I could afford one even if I sold my children).

Number 2 is a smart, attractive dark-haired woman who is very successful in her own right (in fact, she is a minor celebrity here) and also married to a very wealthy man. She has just as much (probably more) to spend as Number 1. But she doesn't seem to care as much. She tends to look rather 'thrown' together, occasionally even slightly sloppy, and she freely fesses up to this. Sometimes she is dressed by a stylist - when this happens, she is a knockout.

Conclusion? I'm not sure - I'm still thinking about it ...

Circle of Friends

Recently I was ruminating about how hard it can be to reach out to friends when we need to, and why this is. I've realised that there is another reason that we (or I) might be reluctant to do so - sometimes they just AREN'T there for you.

Many years ago, when my father died (suddenly, and young), my best friend avoided me for three months. She told me later that she 'didn't know what to say'. I told her that she could have called me and said that to me.

This time around, I told one friend - not a close friend, and someone well-known for 'flitting' between friends - that there was a crisis. I wasn't 'reaching out', I was letting her know why I couldn't be somewhere. Her response was to send me a text that said 'Going away, call you next week'. She didn't call me. I have seen her half a dozen times since and she has avoided both conversation and eye contact.

What's interesting to me is that once this would have crushed me. Now, I just think 'Oh well, she can't deal with it. Never mind.' But when you're younger, that kind of response might be enough to put you off confiding in people ...