Halloween II

I love Halloween. Creating costumes, dressing up, carving pumpkins, making ghoulish food, decorating the house and throwing a party complete with apple bobbing, mummy wrapping and costume competitions is my idea of fun.

In Australia, it's never been a big thing. I've had to sweet talk greengrocers into finding me carving pumpkins; I've ordered my candy corn and jelly pumpkins etc from a specialist US food website; I've created (with one of my best friends) crazy decorations from scratch.

This year, however, things are different. Maybe it's because Halloween is on a Saturday. Maybe it's because - post-Bush - we're allowed to indulge in things American and not feel politically incorrect. Whatever the reason, there has been Halloween stuff everywhere. So much of it, in fact, that I didn't even bother trying to buy my pumpkins until yesterday (we can't carve in advance because they rot in the heat!). And guess what? It seems every pumpkin in Sydney has sold out.

My house, which is normally the spookiest in the neighbourhood, is going to be pumpkin-less. I'm not sure if I'm going to cope ...

Analyze This

Reams of paper (and gigs of webspace) have been devoted to the therapeutic properties of cooking, I know. Sometimes I'm not so sure - where is the therapy in having to throw together a meal after a hideous day, when you really just want to collapse on the couch?

But today, after a long and difficult work week, I did get some therapy in the kitchen. This morning, knowing the day ahead was going to be tough, I decided to make meringue 'bones' to send in to Phoebe's class for Halloween. I had already bagged up (specially ordered American) candy to send in, but usually I make something and I didn't feel right about not doing so. Piping meringue into bone shapes at 7.30 in the morning isn't everyone's idea of fun, but, bizarrely, it perked me up no end.

By the end of the day, I had failed to meet two deadlines for work (a rare and awful thing for me). I thought about what the consequences of this might be: 1. For the first job, nothing. 2. For the second job, a book publishing closer to the edge of its reporting period than the publisher might like. Will they think less of me? Given the deadlines I was given to start with, and my usual promptness, one would hope not.

So at 5.30pm, I left my work where it was and went into the kitchen. I rummaged through fridge, freezer and files, and found a recipe I'd wanted to try for ages and the necessary ingredients. I put Lucinda Williams on the stereo, poured myself a glass of wine and started chopping, measuring and pouring.

I will still be working over the weekend (again), but at least I will have enjoyed my Friday evening. Perhaps it was the puttering in the kitchen; perhaps the solitude; perhaps the giving up of unrealistic expectations.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I am so completely frazzled with work etc that I can barely string two words together.

And because I haven't even had time to take photos of the progress inside the house, here's an aerial shot.

There is stuff happening inside, just not necessarily in the order or timeframes that we might have expected. A cuckoo's nest indeed.

Saturday Night Fever (2)

Okay, so I'm continuing from last Saturday night where the new recipe was less than thrilling. Last night [it was Sunday when I wrote this post; it just took me ages to post it] I decided to try a recipe I cut out of a magazine 10 years ago - blue-eye cod with chilli-tomato compote and saffron butter sauce

This really was a restaurant style recipe - at one point I had four pans on the stove at the same time, just for the one dish. The saffron sauce was a classic French reduction, easy and delicious (and loaded with so much butter and cream my arteries will be groaning for a month). The chilli-ginger 'jam' part of the 'compote' was a mix of Asian that I was worried wasn't going to work, but was completely superb. It was served on a bed of julienned zucchini (courgette) lightly cooked in butter, with the oven roasted tomatoes on top of the fish, then the chilli-ginger, and the butter sauce poured around.

It was divine. I think my brother was glad he'd chosen last night to drop by. Maybe it will keep me going for a week's worth of rushed post-work dinners!

The Big Blue

A busy week, full of mundane things. Rather than bore myself with details of house developments and work I thought I'd pick up mater's blue meme.

I don't have a lot of blue in my house, so it was moderately entertaining rummaging around to find things to photograph. This is what I came up with:

1. An antique French plate which I bought for a ridiculous (that's bad ridiculous, not good ridiculous) price because it amused me so much. Monsieur is reading Le Figaro and demanding 'Ou est le garçon?'. It sits on a shelf in my kitchen.


2. Two glass paperweights; one made in his student days by a friend who is now a rather well-known glass artist; the other a gift from Venice.


3. Bowls that were given to us as a wedding present. We eat out of these many times a week, and we've only broken one (there were eight) in all these years.


4. A Le Creuset stoneware baking dish.


5. A ceramic bowl thrown and glazed by my paternal grandmother (I think in the 70s).


6. Predictably enough, with my name, some Tiffany blue boxes and a beautiful little Tiffany pen my mother gave me.


7. Two old soft drink bottles I picked up in a junk shop years and years ago and haven't the heart to get rid of.

Stormy Monday

Today was one of those days. Not the weather, actually, but the general, um, vibe.

I was happy enough to be working in the city, but Little Miss was NOT happy about going to before school care, and the Almost-Teen has been having an extended meltdown about homework for the last hour and a half (and it's still going).

I did go window shopping for a bit at lunchtime. It was dire. I didn't even see any shoes I liked. I resorted to the makeup counters, figuring I can always find a lipstick in times of retail desperation. Even they failed me - apparently I have hit the age of invisibility with such a vengeance that even the overly made-up 12-year-olds behind the counters couldn't be bothered to try to sell me anything ...

Then I had the joyous task of chasing up overdue invoice payments. 'But', said one client, 'It's only a few days late.' I wanted to ask him if: a) he'd be thrilled if his pay was 'only a few days late' (with no payment in sight); and b) whether I could just submit work when it suits me and say 'well, it's only a few days past deadline'. Of course I didn't. But I kind of wish I had.

Saturday Night Fever

Most Saturday nights we're at home. We have friends who go out at least once a week, and spend a not-very-small fortune on babysitters, but we generally stay home with the kids and attempt to create our own fun.

Andrew likes to do this by forcing the kids to watch movies he considers to be 'classics'. (I think his interpretation of 'classic' is a little loose at times.)

For me, it usually takes the form of cooking something that's either: a) time-consuming and therefore a treat only for weekends; b) new, so untested and therefore potentially exciting; or c) slightly extravagant (think duck, truffle oil, etc).

Last night I made a barbecued seafood salad with prawns and baby octopus, potatoes and zucchini, served with a salsa romanesca. For dessert I made a strawberry shortcake.

To be honest, the salad was slightly disappointing. I'm not sure why - maybe a bit bland, not enough textural interest. But the salsa was delicious and I'll definitely make that again. I thought the kids would love the strawberry shortcake, but they were a little underwhelmed by it. So not the most successful of Saturday cook-fests ... Perhaps I'll do better next week.

School resumes tomorrow, and I'm in the city for a client, so the relaxed morning pace of the last couple of weeks will soon be a pleasant memory.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I honestly have not spent the last few weeks thinking about nothing other than my clothes. The offspring have been on school holidays, which means that I have also been perched up here in Command Central (my studio), working and occasionally looking down at the house and wondering how many hours Phoebe can spend reading Harry Potter without getting bored.

If I hear shouting, I actually walk down to the house and negotiate, but Holden hasn't been around much - he sets off with friends for the nearest skate park every morning (with a bottle of water, money for lunch and his mobile phone) and returns at about 5pm.

Sometimes I wonder whether I have extremely low-maintenance children or I'm just an extremely neglectful mother? In my defence, I did take them horseriding on the weekend. And I do feed them.


And they have done other fun things too, like go to the movies and have sleepovers.

As well as working fitfully, hating my wardrobe and neglecting my children, I have also spent plenty of fun time talking to eletricians and plumbers, and gazing glumly at the house, wondering if it will EVER be finished. It seems unlikely. We had a tiler through on Saturday, who showed me lots of pictures of previous jobs - like the pool area of one house that was larger than our whole block ... I have a funny feeling his quote might be out of our range.

Julie and Julia

Through a happy coincidence, rather than clever planning on my part, both the kids were elsewhere last night, so Andrew and I decided to make the most of it and see a movie. I think Andrew suggested Julie & Julia because he thought I'd enjoy it.

He was right. It was fun, and Meryl Streep was obviously having a ball with her role. I have no idea what the real Julie Powell is like, but the screen Julie was a little wet - there were several times when I just wanted to slap her ... Also, it could just be me, but I simply could not live with someone who eats like her husband, no matter how handsome and saintly he might be.

The food? Well, I was really hanging out to see a real duck-boning - something Julie leaves till last because it's so challenging - but of course we didn't. Boeuf bourguignon? It's something I love to cook, but not necessarily to look at. I did swoon over the accoutrements, the dozens of copper pans and Le Creuset casseroles, even the sink in the Paris appartment.

When Harry Met Sally, also by Nora Ephron, is my favourite rom-com of all time. But did she really need to have Julie utter the same line's as Carrie Fisher's character - 'You're right, you're right, I know you're right'. I thought that was lazy. Or maybe it was just referential ...

Twister

Today I made the first purchase for my 'new' wardrobe. It's true, I didn't leave my desk and try things on the way I'm supposed to. But it is silk/cashmere, and it is ridiculously versatile if this is anything to go by.

And mine is green. Not exactly a neutral, I know, but I didn't want black, and hot pink is definitely not my colour.


I'm thinking of it as a reward for writing a whole flipping website about derivatives.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Yesterday the awesome Imogen came over to 'do my colours' and give me some wardrobe inspiration. The colour stuff was great - it was nice to know that most of my (very few) clothes are in colours that suit me. I got rid of very little, and one thing I would have been upset to part with turned out to be silk (I hadn't ever checked the label), so I can dye it.

It's also tremendously fun to have a little shade card to play with, especially looking at colours I wouldn't ever have thought of wearing. And I finally understand why I cannot part with my orange jacket ...

The wardrobe bit was slightly sadder. I have no clothes. As Imogen said, no wonder I'm bored with my clothes - I don't have any options. She wrote me a HUGE list of things I need. I now have a licence to shop; just need to find the time and the cash, of course!

One of the most helpful things Imogen did was look at my existing clothes and work out what defines my choices - what I like in terms of fabric, pattern, texture, etc. Armed with all this information, I can gradually build a wardrobe that will look good and make me happy.

I made a solemn vow to buy NO MORE JEANS. I may have also promised to buy at least one skirt and one day dress. Feel the fear and do it anyway, right?

Pretty in Pink

I did a panic shop on the morning of the wedding and bought a pink dress that I hated pretty much by the time I got it home. I wore it anyway and felt unattractive all night. There is a lesson in there.

But there was one bright point. We dropped the kids off at my in-laws' house on the way to the wedding, and when my mother-in-law saw me wearing my cheap but pretty freshwater pearls, she said 'Come with me'. Turns out she'd had HER mother-in-law's pearls restrung and cleaned and was giving them to ME.

I know pearls are old-fashioned (these are circa 1930s/40s) but how I love them.

27 Dresses

Ok, not 27, but three. I was planning to wear this dress to the wedding tomorrow. It's simple, but I love the colour.


Then I decided that maybe it's a bit shapeless and maybe I should go more 'va va voom', so I dragged this one out of the cupboard. It's so tight I can't even fit shapewear under it. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.


Then I got my hair coloured and I hate it and I feel frumpy and thought maybe I should just stick to the same damn dress I wear every time, this one.


I was going to treat myself to a new cardigan and/or shoes, but I seriously can't justify it, not with the cash-inhaling activities going on in the new house. So I have to wear whatever I can find. It's either sensible black heels or crazy vintage snakeskin numbers that I can stand in (but not much else).


I did get the manicure. Even that fell a little short of expectations - the colour is good, but they didn't pay much attention to the shaping. And it's so long since I've had painted fingernails (about 12 years!) that I keep getting a shock when I see my hands.



By tomorrow afternoon, when it's time to get dressed, I fear I will be in a complete funk.