Surviving Christmas

How much do I love these boots? So much that I am SAVING UP for them (they're not insanely expensive, but they're not cheap). Saving up is a strange concept these days. I didn't have a credit card until my late 20s (funny thing about finishing uni in a recession - no full-time jobs to be had, and back in those days they were much stricter about giving out cards). So before that it really was a matter of saving up for things ... And of course I won't actually be able to wear these boots for another six months because it is Too Darn Hot. So waiting is good.

I told Spouse it can buy me this:

this:

or this:

for Christmas. It politely declined. Apparently it wanted to get me an Hermes cuff, but they don't have the exact one I want in stock (gold with orange enamel). It's the thought that counts. AND I am getting tix to see Madama Butterfly in February, which I'm very excited about.

Christmas is in 10 days. We are hosting 22 people (14 adults, 8 children). Our house is very small, so all festivities will have to take place in the garden (also small, but bigger than any of our rooms). As we've been having insanely bad weather - rain, floods, pestilence - we've taken the cautious step of getting a pop-up marquee. We popped it up for the first time on the weekend and it takes up most of the backyard.

Paving is underway so that there is somewhere to put the buffet table.
Baking has begun. Three batches of shortbread have been despatched. 60 chocolate truffles have been rolled in cocoa. Plans have been made for the building of a gingerbread house, which will probably collapse in the dire humidity. I made caramels (80 of them) for Kid 2's schoolfriends: they looked like this when we'd wrapped them.

I want to live somewhere where I could have eggnog and mulled cider and fondue and enjoy heating up the kitchen with baking. Like New York?

Again, there is controversy around the tree. I begged to be allowed an artificial one - and my wish was granted, but Spouse doesn't like it.

So we got a small living tree as well. Before you know it, I'll be like Martha Stewart and have several Christmas trees in every room of my house ...

In other news, Kid 2 won the school's annual Creativity Award and was so happy it was almost levitating. I managed to miss the ceremony - after eight years of sitting through these terminally boring 'Presentation Days', where every single child in the school gets an award for breathing and there are about six awards with any significance, I bailed on this one. Sod's law, right?

Elf

Kid 2 takes it upon herself to be as kid-like as possible, at the same time as she's telling me she can't wait to be a teenager. Sometimes I can't work out whether she does it to humour the parentals, or because part of her wants to hold on to childish things for a little longer.

This morning before school she wrote a very polite note to Santa, asking for a microscope for Christmas. 'You know Santa's on a budget', she told me. 'It turns out he went to New York as well. The Elves told me.' Indeed.

Sweet Bird of Youth

The other day Pseu was pondering the Hermes pitch to 'yoof', and there were several comments around how much 'young people' (that would be younger than oneself) spend on clothing/accessories, etc.

I had only a brief window between subsisting on student earnings (I finished my undergrad degree in the middle of a recession and worked many part-time jobs before getting a decent one) and getting my first mortgage and then having Kid 1, so perhaps there was a year in which I could spend money on clothes. Even then, I wasn't extravagant, although I did have a pair of black leather pants made for me ...

So I was slightly taken aback the other day when I went shopping in Auckland for a couple of hours with my much younger cousin. Although Auckland is the back of beyond, there are some excellent NZ designers (Karen Walker, for example), and G took me to some lovely boutiques. I bought a t-shirt and a scarf. She spent five times what I did on two tops for work. They were very pretty blouses, but I was amazed at the casual way she spent a not inconsiderable amount of money.

And then I thought about it. She has no mortgage, no kids, a decent job - why not? Why not wear lovely clothes when you're young and pretty?

Birthday Girl

It was my birthday yesterday. Kid 2 bounded into my room at 5.30am, dying to shower me with gifts and affection. I confess I asked for 15 more minutes of shut-eye. Once I'd had it, and a cup of tea, I was ready ... She had written and illustrated a story for me about an ancient Egyptian cat-god, featuring both of our cats. Bless.

It was an uneventful but pleasant day - I had my yoga class, I worked. I had lunch with my mother, then she cooked a lovely dinner at our place - chicken roasted with 40 cloves of garlic, salad, potatoes. I made a flourless chocolate almond cake for dessert, served with whipped cream. It's all about the food ...

And tomorrow it is my mother's birthday. She is still in town, so we will all go out for dinner (see, food again). I bought her a necklace of coin pearls in NYC that I've already given her - maybe she will wear them to dinner.

Chinatown

Oh dear. Now I'm finally home, after a two-day detour to New Zealand for a family funeral, I can barely remember what we did with the rest of our time in New York ...

We did fail to get into the Guggenheim - we did get there (Andrew went via Queens, but that is another story), but it didn't occur to us that the only day of the week it closes would be a Thursday! So we strolled down to the Met instead. The exhibitions are just extraordinary but the place is overwhelmingly vast. It's possible I was a little museumed-out by then also.

On our last night we went to Bryant Park to have dinner and watch the ice-skaters - so corny, but so lovely.

And on our final day (Friday), we headed down to Chinatown, ate way too much (yum), bought me some gold hoop earrings (early birthday present) and then reluctantly headed out to the airport for our flight home.

When we got home, I had time to unpack, distribute gifts, repack, put on a load of laundry and pat the animals before heading back to the airport.

King Kong

It had to be done. Yesterday afternoon we went up the Empire State Building. I'm not good with heights, but I didn't feel scared - maybe too gobsmacked by the views. I did, however, feel awfully ill after about half an hour.

It's extraordinary to think it was built in just 14 months. My guess is the safety regulations weren't what they are these days. We got some cute cards with facts about famous buildings, but it didn't mention how many people died in the building of the Empire State ... funny that. But the buildings in New York are so spectacular now, imagine how impressive they were 80 years ago when they were built. No wonder this city has legendary status.

The rest of the day was another walking kind of a day, and we had dinner in a great little place just up on West 16th. I could live here. I think. I'm not sure about our menagerie of animals, and the kids might be a little confused, at first. But I think they'd get into it. Or not. Our latest plan (we always have a new one on the boil) is to come and live here for a couple of years when the kids have gone to university ... Ok, so maybe not. But we're definitely coming back for Spouse to run the 50th NYC Marathon as it will also be his 50th. I love a long-term plan.

Chicago

It's been an ongoing battle. Spouse wanted so see something high-brow, off-Broadway. I wanted to go see the cheesiest, most Broadway show possible. I won.

We saw Chicago. Roxie was played by Charlotte d'Amboise (what a gorgeous name!), who has played Roxie more times than any other performer. And she still made it look as though she was having the time of her life. It was wonderful.

That was the end of the day, though. In the morning we went to see the Frick Collection, as recommended by Pseu and others. I recently read Wolf Hall, so to see Holbein's portrait of Thomas Cromwell up close was just incredible. What a collection - truly staggering. I would SO have loved to see the upstairs of the house too.

We then wandered across Central Park, strolled over the Sheep Meadow (thanks Mark!), looked at the skaters on the rink, picked scenes from movies including Stuart Little (yes, we have children as an excuse), The Fisher King, When Harry Met Sally, etc. Eventually we made out way down to Times Square to get the tix for Chicago ... and there went another day.

We do seem to spend at least 50% of every day walking, which is a very good thing, especially as I seem to have become addicted to the 'munchkins' at our local donut 'bar' (who knew there was such a thing?).

So now I'm almost up-to-date. Only today's non-adventures to recount ... And in less than 2 days we'll be on the plane back home. About four hours after we get home on Sunday, I'm back to the airport to go to New Zealand for a funeral. Just imagine how entirely jetlagged, discombobulated and dog-tired I will be by the time I arrive in NZ.

Nights at the Museum

I had been secretly hoping that on Monday The Runner would be too tired to do anything and I'd get a day to myself. No such luck. It was up bright and early.

We headed up to the Museum of Natural History, which was fantastic and a Creationist's basic nightmare. Fascinating stuff, and I kept wishing we had the kids with us.

Afterwards we ate at a great Dominican place on 81st and Amsterdam that we'd been planning to meet at after the marathon - I had chicken with red beans and yellow rice and ate WAY more than I needed because it was so damn delicious.

Strolling back to the subway, I had to go to Zabar's (as recommended by my brother - thanks Mark!) and gaze in awe at the food, the cooking gear, the food, the food, the food ... Spouse was similarly sucked into a secondhand bookshop that I think he would happily have stayed in for the whole day.

But I was determined to Get Some Shopping Done. Spouse went off to see a movie by itself, and I went back to Tiffany's to get Kid 2's present and look for something for my mother's significant birthday.

And now, I have to confess something. I also went into Bergdorf Goodman. I expected to be delighted/enthralled/awed. I picked up a nice, simple hat (it was a cold day). It was $600. I was hot, overwhelmed and ever-so-slightly disgusted by the opulence and ostentation. I left. Somehow I expected that the excitement of New York would make shopping a more attractive proposition for me. It doesn't.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

The big day did finally arrive. Poor Spouse was up at 4am (yeah, and me too, although I didn't get out of bed) to get psyched and get down to the Staten Island Ferry for 5.30am (Lordy). Unfortunately, he didn't get the run he wanted, but that's his story, here.

I planned to head uptown, do a little shopping, then get to around 100th (East Side) to cheer. I didn't realised things open so late here on Sunday - there I was outside Tiffany's shortly after 10am, ready to buy a little something for Kid 2, and it wasn't open. In retrospect, this was probably a good thing. I'm not sure I wanted to be where I ended up, carrying a Tiffany's bag.

So, on the subway, up to 103rd. Very different. I walked east to 1st Ave. It was the first time since we've been here that I've felt uncomfortable. With my ultra-white skin and very (albeit fake) blonde hair, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I got a lot of 'hello, beautiful' comments - definitely benign, but nevertheless a little disconcerting when walking quiet streets alone.

I made it to 1st, where there were plenty of people. Then someone tried to hit on me while I was watching the race. Seriously. I couldn't work out whether he was really trying to hit on me, or perhaps had even less pleasant intentions. It was weird.

Obviously I lived to tell the tale, although once I'd seen Spouse at 19 miles I didn't much enjoy the walk back west to Central Park (again alone, again too many comments).

But once there ... wow. The vibe was amazing. Saw Spouse again, but he was struggling a bit by then. Anyway, I headed across the Park to our proposed meeting place around W 81st and loved it. We failed - thanks to delays with stuff, etc - to meet up, but were finally reunited at our apartment later in the afternoon. Another early dinner at a local diner, and Spouse was out for the count by about 6pm.

God, I'm exhausted by the recount. Sorry to be boring, but I need to jot this down or I will probably forget what we did ... There is slightly more excitement to come. Truly.

My Cousin Vinnie

I'm having trouble keeping up with myself. Where were we? Oh yes. Saturday morning was the International Friendship Run - for international marathoners and their friends and family. It was a 4km from the UN building to Central Park. I refused to run, but we did enjoy the walk - great vibe, thousands of people, and probably the only time I'll ever walk down the middle of a Manhattan street with no cars.

After the walk (and a shower) we headed down to Soho to meet my cousin. He is a first cousin, but as his parents separated when he was very young and he lived with his mother (and I lived overseas) we only met a couple of times as kids. But a few days before we flew over here I remembered hearing he was in NYC, so I tracked him down. Well. He's like the embodiment of what Coming to America is supposed to be about - he works for an investment bank, has just bought a full-floor loft in a landmark building in Soho/Nolita (which he's gutting out and completely renovating), and his girlfriend is a ridiculously beautiful Dominican model approximately half his age (but probably less). Not making up a word of it, promise. Didn't that make me feel like the Country Mouse ...

We sorted of dawdled around bit, stopping at Dean & DeLuca (yum), Uniqlo (cheap, but HOT and LOUD and kind of yuck).  Came back via Union Square (can't have too much of that hot cider),  then had an early dinner so Andrew could carbo load. Neither of us slept very well before the big day, but more of that anon.

White Men Can't Jump

Comedy on Thursday night was great. It was a tiny venue, on a street that made us think of a combination of New Orleans and Sydney's Kings Cross, down in a cellar-type space. There were only about 100 people in the audience, with five acts and a compere to amuse us. And we were very amused indeed. Unfortunately I made the apparently unforgivable error of finding the last act unfunny. I wasn't laughing and the guy saw me (hard to be missed in a venue that size); he therefore made me a target, in a nasty rather than amusing fashion, which wasn't particularly pleasant. I think some comedy is based on undermining people, exploiting prejudice, etc; other comedy is about finding the humour in situations we can all relate to, without necessarily making anyone the butt ... misanthropy vs solidarity? Anyway, enough of my musings on that.


Yesterday we headed up to the MOMA. Much of the contemporary work left me unmoved, but it was just incredible to see the works by Van Gogh, Andrew Wyeth, Monet, Rothko, etc. I could have stood in front of Starry Night for a lot longer than I did.

And the design section was incredible also. I loved the current exhibition about the development of the modern kitchen. Another section that fascinated me was the architectural models, drawings and videos of developments in various underprivileged areas - amazing to see the imagination and art that goes into creating better urban (and rural) environments.

By the time we'd stopped buying things in the Design Store (yay, half my Xmas shopping done already!), it was getting late, so I didn't get to my yoga class. We only had time to peek at the bottom end of Central Park before heading back to the apartment to drop off our bags before heading out again.

Knicks vs Washington Wizards at Madison Square Garden was last night's treat. I'm not what you'd call a sporty person, but it was brilliant. The noise, the acts, the sheer velocity of the game and the passion of the crowd - wonderful. And the game was close right up until the last quarter, with the Knicks eventually winning resoundingly. Great result. We also benefited from a guy behind us who narrated the whole game. loudly - perhaps if we were local we would have found it irritating, but he was very lucid and explained quite a few things I didn't understnd ...
I haven't time to recount today's adventures as Andrew has to post on his blog - in 12 hours time he'll be just about to get on the Staten Island ferry to the start of the run ...

The King of Comedy

Yesterday was a beautiful day, cold (for us) but sunny. We made the most of it by heading out to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. The view back to the Manhattan skyline from the Statue was amazing - I did take a photo but it was smoggy over the city, so it didn't look that great. Besides, so many amazing photographs have been taken of this city that one's own holiday happy snaps tend to look a bit lame, I think.


Once we got back it was mid-afternoon so we had a bit of a rest before heading out for a wander. We walked up to Union Square and caught the end of the Farmers' Market there - I plan to go again, earlier in the day next time. The fruit and veg looked fantastic and I saw fresh cranberries for the first time in my life. Unfortunately I didn't find any roasted chestnuts, but we drank hot apple cider (fantastic) and bought a blueberry pie for later.

We had an early dinner in a funky little place on Union Square called Republic and then had an early night. Tonight we'll go out properly and find some jazz or something.

Today I had my postponed yoga class with Martha Stewart's niece. It was great and she is absolutely lovely. I had to get the subway to Brooklyn but I didn't take into account that a Brooklyn block is bigger than a Manhattan block, and I had to walk about 15 blocks in the pouring rain. I was wet and cold but pleased that I'd made it when I got to the studio - and the class was great. Sophie was heading into town afterwards too, so we went via her apartment (GREAT apartment), where I got to meet her roommate and the roommate's dog. Then we caught the Q together and I got off at Times Square.

Andrew and I had lunch at Bryant Park, then wandered down to Grand Central, where we gawped, then strolled back to Times Square for a bit more gawping. It was fun.

We're back in our apartment now, where Andrew is reading all his race info (he picked it up this morning instead of coming to Brooklyn with me) and trying on combinations of clothing, not to go out anywhere, to run the race in. Hmmm.

Shopping thus far has been extremly understated - two umbrellas (!), a sweater and a woollen jacket for Andrew and one beige boyfriend cardigan for me, just to expand my uniform. I believe more shopping will occur tomorrow when we're Midtown around the Museums, tomorrow being designated Culture Day (followed by Sports Evening when we go and see the Knicks at Madison Square Garden). Oh, and I am also going to a free yoga class with Sophie, if I can fit it in.

Ok, I hate travel blogs/notes that are essentially a laundry list. And then I've gone and done one ... I guess it's just that feeling that if I don't write it all down, I'll forget!

So, things I love - the ethnic diversity, the great food stores, the buzz, the subway, the architecture, the mail boxes, Jalapeno Pringles (ok, so not a good habit, but hey), hot dogs, bagels, lox, pretzels, etc, the bookshops, the parks full of people, the steam from the subway vents. Things that bemuse me - the appalling coffee, everywhere, and being treated like a criminal at all points of entry and departure. I know the security is necessary, but it is not pleasant.

Anyway, I am now off to collect my laundry (perhaps the best thing about being on holidays is virtually NO HOUSEWORK) and buy socks.

And we've just booked to go to the Comedy Cellar tonight ... More boring detail to come tomorrow.

Wall Street

The flight (including brief stopover in LA) was long but not unpleasant. Things went slightly downhill when we arrived at JFK. No answer from the people who were supposed to be meeting us at our apartment. Spouse eventually got through, to find out they'd moved us - but was cut off before finding out where we were now supposed to go. We got off the shuttle on Lexington somewhere uptown and stood freezing at a phone booth for ages trying to find out what was going on. Eventually we got a cab to our original destination, where we were met by a strange and entirely unapologetic man who took us to our new apartment, way down in the Financial District.

It was not a good start. This morning we managed to get things sorted out and finally got into our apartment at about 3pm. We're on West 14th, between 7th and 8th, and it is a tiny and very cute walk-up with a loft bed.

So we haven't been able to get much done in between all the accommodation dramas. But we have:

• seen Wall St, the NYSE and the Bull;
• eaten pizza;
• walked lots;
• eaten lox and Philly on a bagel;
• eaten pastrami on rye;
• bought groceries in a fantastic little supermarket;
• seen Ground Zero;
• been on the Subway.

Tomorrow we're going to take a ferry tour (part of our CityPass) because apparently the weather is getting less pleasant later in the week.

Halloween

I love Halloween. It's not fashionable to love Halloween in Australia - in fact, it used to be considered downright unpatriotic.

More recently, however, retailers have started to see it as another way to make money, so costumes and decorations do appear in the supermarkets. I still have to buy my candy corn and mallow pumpkins from a special US foods website (which makes MY house the best to trick or treat!) ...

Our old house used to look great at Halloween, being a fairly creepy looking house even when not decorated.

This house is probably just a bit too recently renovated. But we made a minor effort.

Kid 2 is a vampire with a great deal of attitude. Kid 1 is happy Mafia (or Justin Bieber). Kid on far left is Kid 1's BFF, and the tiny poppets are his half-siblings (one from each parent - Modern Family indeed).

The Holiday

Two more sleeps. Have I packed? Lordy, no. I have written helpful lists for my mother (who is here to look after Kid 1 and Kid 2, although they are largely self-propelling). I have not finished work. I have not even made plans for what to do while in NYC, although some things are completely obvious.
The only thing I have decided to pack is my DKNY Cozy, because it strikes me as an ideal flying companion - blankie and cardigan-type-arrangement all in one.

It's Halloween tomorrow night, and the kids would kill me if I didn't decorate the house, carve the pumpkins, dress up and hand out treats. It's not ideal when we have to be at the airport by 8am the next day, but there you go ...

Saturday Night Fever

We went to a party. AGAIN. We are such gadflies. I wore my maxi skirt with this top. Obviously this is not me, and equally obviously I was not wearing a hat like this (although I may need to consider one in NY).

Yesterday we had people over for lunch. AGAIN.

One of them is a vegetarian, so I had to cook accordingly. Here's the menu:

Taramasalata & olives & Greek bread (from the Fish Markets) for nibbles.
Chilled cucumber and yoghurt soup that I ended up not serving as the weather was too miserable for summery food.
Greek spinach and feta brown rice with roasted tomatoes.
Swordfish and prawns marinated with oregano, garlic, olive oil and lemon zest then pan-fried (too wet outside for barbecue).
Baklava for dessert.

Apart from someone's child affixing silly putty to one of our armchairs (no, it doesn't come off), it was an enjoyable afternoon.

The Demon Barber

Kid 1 shaved for the first time today. This makes me feel unspeakably old and sad. He does still sit on my lap from time to time (mostly to annoy me, of course), and hug me when the mood takes him, but he's not my baby anymore. And of course I don't wish an endless infancy on him, but ...

The Hobbit

Yesterday was chaotic. [Later: Today has been worse.] I was hoping that I could squeeze in a little time to look at the shops, maybe buy a scarf or some nail polish. Actually, I wanted to buy THIS nailpolish (one, two, maybe all three).

But I ran short of time - what with work and all that nonsense - and when the lovely Chanel man in DJs told me that I'd only be able to get it in the 'Chanel Makeup Studio' in the Other Department Store, it was too late to dash back.

I did manage to buy a little netbook, just so that I can video call the kids when we're in New York. It's totally justifiable from a work perspective ...

Spouse and I had a discussion about whether we should buy an iPad instead. Sadly, we concluded that although it is sexy and pretty, it wasn't really the most functional option. I hate it when function triumphs over form - I want BOTH.

On a completely different note, ages ago TNMA posted pics that made me want a maxi skirt. Then she also suggested that even short people like me can wear them. I got one (black jersey). I love it. I'm worried I might look a little like one of those Olsen Hobbits, so I haven't tested the look outside the house yet ... And speaking of the Olsen Hobbits, I LOVE The Row. I can't believe they're 24. I also can't believe how much the clothes cost. Oh well.

Bright Lights, Big City

Planning for the escape to NYC is proceeding apace. Actually, no, it's not. We're both so flat-out with work - and Kid 1 is studying for exams - that we've done barely a thing. We do have tix to the Knicks at Madison Square Garden on November 5. And November 7 is the big run. Spouse says I should do the 4km international friends and family run on November 6. I haven't decided yet. Oh, and I have a yoga class with Martha Stewart's niece (long story ...) at Brooklyn on November 2. So a few things to do. I want to go and see a show on Broadway, but I haven't yet decided which one.

I plan to do some shopping while there, but even if I go with a virtually empty suitcase, I will need something to wear while doing said shopping. This has been worrying me rather. In fact, I had a ridiculous dream the other night that I was in NYC, minus anything to wear even to get out the door (except I had managed to pack my mustard yellow suede heels, well known as practical shopping shoes). Spouse gave me all kinds of Freudian interpretations which didn't help much.

The unfailingly stylish and lovely Pseu kindly said she'd do me a Polyvore for the trip if I sent her a list of possibilities, but what she didn't realise is that I have so few options that I could quite easily fit my entire wardrobe into a small suitcase (not including shoes and a couple of coats ...).

Today I am heading into the city (yes, a whole 10 minutes away) to work in-house for a client. This is usually my opportunity to shop, but since Sydney's going into summer (albeit slowly) and I'm going into a NY autumn (much colder than our winters) there's not much point buying anything.

Except, perhaps, some lippy or nailpolish ...

Saturday Night Fever

As promised, I actually cooked. We had herbed salmon en croute, using a tweaked version of  Maggie Beer's sour cream pastry recipe (250g plain flour, 150g butter, 1/2 cup sour cream). I love pastry ...

I made creme caramel for dessert. It set perfectly, and looked exactly right, but I just wasn't that happy with it. I'm pondering whether to try again some time or just stick to my beloved creme brulee.

I think breakfast was actually more successful than dinner - after Spouse got back from early morning run, before Kid 1 went off to sailing, I fried up some mashed potatoes (yes, getting through those spuds) with chives and parsley and served it with a fried egg on top. The menfolk were happy.

Although it is Sunday, today is a work day. I'd much rather be gardening ...

Up

Yesterday I was supposed to turn 30 kilos of potatoes into potato salad for an outdoor movie night at Kid 2's school. The forecast was dire, and we made the call at 10am to postpone. I found homes for all the potatoes (guess what we'll be eating for a while?) ... and of course the damn sun came out in the afternoon. But the wind was crazy, so that would have been a bit disastrous.

So instead of churning out potato salad, I worked, which was probably a good thing. With our dollar almost at parity with the greenback, I see some shopping in NYC in my future.

After a day schlepping spuds and editing a book on criminal law (who knew I was so multi-talented?) I decided I needed to do some yoga. And ... tada ... I kicked up into handstand for the first time in my whole life! Ok, yeah, I know this means nothing to most people, but it is a HUGE deal to me. 1. I hate being upside down. 2. I have hypermobile elbow joints that make standing on my hands seem both illogical and dangerous. 3. I am completely uncoordinated.

I do apologise to all three (or was it two?) of my readers for the yoga-ness of this blog at the moment. I promise to cook and buy clothes and do other things as well, at some point. In fact, I am planning to cook something interesting for dinner tonight, given that it is the first 'regular' Saturday night at home for a while (although we will be missing Kid 2, at a sleepover ...).

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

My yoga teacher went on holiday for two weeks. Very very unkind of her. I had to subsist on home practice. And then she came back and tortured me. She made me do this pose.

Pic from http://www.yogaartandscience.com/: Supta padangusthasana III

This guy is clearly some super-yoga dude, and even HE looks uncomfortable. Maybe that's why it's the only picture of this pose I could find.

I suggested my teacher might like to head off on holiday again soon.

But ... I also managed to do this pose Off The Wall (for about 5 seconds, it's true, but STILL).

Pic from http://www.sarawhitney.net/

Of course, I didn't look anything like that. I probably looked like some crazy flailing thing. But progress is exciting.

Saturday Night Fever

I had an interesting experience on Friday. A friend dropped by late afternoon, and was trying to work out how to get back to her place to drop off her son and get changed, in order to get back closer to town for work drinks by a certain time.

I suggested she leave her son with us overnight (he is Kid 1's best friend, after all) and go from our place. 'But look at my hair. And my clothes. And my FACE', she said.

'Use my makeup and borrow my clothes', I said.

So she did. Strangely, rummaging through my tiny wardrobe for someone else was much more fun that trying to work out what to wear myself. And when she was ready I thought 'wow, I like that outfit'. It's certainly a new way to look at one's clothes.

Last night the boys went to watch Australia vs Paraguay (soccer) so Kid 2 and I had a girls' night in. We watched telly and I enjoyed NOT cooking.

I sort of made up for it today. We had friends over for lunch, so I made a Spanish tortilla, snapper ceviche and a salad of roasted sweet potatoes with chorizo and chargrilled asparagus with a green chilli dressing. Dessert was crema Catalan, which is pretty much the same as creme brulee except the milk & cream are infused with lemon & orange zest and cinnamon instead of vanilla. I thought we'd killed it because I put it in the oven in the bain marie as we went out to drop the boys off last night - but instead of 30 minutes, the round trip took closer to an hour. But it was fine ...

And tomorrow both kids are back to school. Sigh.

Eat, Pray, Love

Yes, I have to admit, I did read it, a while back. As I expected, it was self-indulgent. It was also patronising towards the Indians (those few she actually had to be exposed to in the ashram) and the Balinese, although Gilbert probably didn't mean it that way.



(pic: our last holiday in Bali)

And her writing style did start to wear me down - enough bubbling, really. Did I mention self-indulgent? Good Lord, the woman needs a real problem. I shouldn't be too harsh - Gilbert does seem to be aware, albeit in flashes, of this fact ... but it doesn't stop her.

So I probably won't see the movie. I do love Julia Roberts - she seems to be illuminated from the inside, I think they call it 'star presence'? - but not enough to pay to watch her in this.

But I was thinking about it this morning, the three-word mantra. I've decided on one for myself. Stretch, pray, write - this translates to yoga, meditation and work. It's my recipe for a calm, productive day. Of course I like to eat too, but I don't really need any help with that aspect of my life. Actually, I could come up with a whole collection of these mantras to fit the day: a pleasant, relaxing day might be 'stretch, pray, cook', or 'stretch, pray, dig'. A typical, as opposed to ideal, work day could be summed up as 'wake, groan, write'.

On that note, time to get back to work ...

Running on Empty

I have a brief blogging hiatus and they change Blogger on me?! I used to link all my post titles to relevant movie reviews, but I don't seem to be able to do that any more. Progress, pah ... am I becoming a Luddite?

That's not what this post is about. Neither is it about the idiotic busy-ness of my life at the moment, although I could probably go on about that for ever. It's about something else altogether more worthy.

As I've mentioned a few times, we're off to New York in four weeks' time. Andrew is running the marathon and has decided to use it as a fundraising opportunity, which I think is rather good of him. Little Miss Sunshine was born 14 weeks premature, and spent a long time in hospital, so he's trying to use his run to raise a few dollars for the hospital she was in.

My feelings towards the hospital are a little more ambivalent than his, but I'm eternally grateful for our healthcare system - in the US, we would have been bankrupted by the care she required; in many other countries, she simply would not have made it.

Saturday Night Fever

It's spring here, and everything seems to have gone into overdrive as a result. More work, more clients, more sport, more chaos. And more rain. We've been trying to get up to our favourite camping spot for Phoebe's September birthday for years, and something always goes wrong.

This year, we had to change the booking to a different weekend, then half her friends couldn't come, so we threw her a surprise party last Sunday afternoon. I only decided to do this on Wednesday, and trying to organise it with Phoebe home on school holidays and a stack of work deadlines was, um, challenging. But it happened and she pretended to be surprised (we think she'd worked it out).

Undaunted by one party, we persisted with the camping plan. We were supposed to drive up Friday afternoon, but we'd had people for dinner Wednesday and Thursday, plus I had an urgent job come in at 9pm Thursday, so we postponed to Saturday morning.

We drove up to Palm Beach. It rained. We looked at the rain. We ate egg and bacon rolls and watched miserable people getting off the ferry. We turned around, drove home and pitched the tent in the backyard. Then, in a break in the weather, we went down with all the kids to the tiny beach in our nearby park and everyone (especially the dogs) got soaked and had a great time. The girls camped in the backyard overnight without mishap (it poured) and we finally packed them up and sent them home about ten on Sunday morning.

Thank goodness she only has one birthday a year.

Blow-up

(pic from Warner Home Video)

Well, yesterday's photo shoot was an interesting experience. I'd forgotten (or blocked out?) that we were having full body shots as well as close-ups, so I wore a pair of pants that really aren't a great fit, too loose and not very flattering. I wore them because they're the right colour to wear with my camelhair jacket, but looking at the photos on screen afterwards made me decide that those pants Have To Go. I should have worn my grey jeans. If I edit my wardrobe any further I'll have to walk around in a dressing gown every time I do laundry.

I don't like having my photograph taken at the best of times. Standing in studio lights, being instructed to cant, smile, cross arms, etc, was bizarre. Fortunately the photographer was a lovely man, and most understanding that none of us (bar our illustrious and somewhat egomaniacal editor) really wanted to be there.

In the next couple of days we will be sent the photos so that we can choose which will appear in the mag and on our website. I asked if I could have an avatar.

Saturday Night Fever

Kid 1 recently accused us of having a social life. He may almost be right, as we were out on Saturday night, so I didn't cook. I'm almost starting to miss it, Saturday's festivities being the antithesis of the tedious, slapdash weekday dinner. I know some people consider cooking the evening meal a good way to wind down from the work day, but it doesn't feel that way to me - I feel like it's just another thing on my endless 'to do' list. Perhaps I need to shift my perspective.

Today I am trying to finish writing an article on Islamic finance. It is a lovely spring day outside, and I'd much rather be mucking about in the garden, or doing yoga, or ... yes, I'd much rather be doing ANYTHING than working on this particular job.

Even worse, tomorrow we have a studio shoot for the magazine and I have to be photographed. What on earth will I wear? Just the thought is making my skin blotchy. I hope they are liberal with the Photoshop in post-production.

What Lies Beneath

I know some people are obsessed with underwear/lingerie. I'm somewhere in the middle - I would never wear non-matching bra & undies, but that's about the limit of my interest, most of the time.

A while back, I saw some very pretty underthings on someone's blog (can't remember which one) and I thought maybe it was about time I bought something with the emphasis on pretty rather than functional.

This morning, in my allocated 'you-may-spend-20-minutes-on-the-internet-before-you-start-working' time, I decided to check out the lingerie on net-a-porter.


I thought these were pretty. I almost choked on my tea at the price - (£247.83) and then I looked at the picture of the model wearing them. This is someone who is paid to look good in next-to-nothing and the underwear - to my mind - looks HORRID.




And these are adorable - but when on earth would I wear them? The matching bra is one of those ghastly 'half moon' things; the suggestion is to wear them with the matching cami for a 'boudoir pairing'.

So, is there such a thing as underwear that looks lovely by itself AND works under clothes? My fear of clothes shopping is second only to my fear of lingerie shopping - 'would you like a hand fitting that bra?' is, to my admittedly prudish self, one of the ickiest questions in the English language.

For now, it seems I will be sticking to practical undergarments.

True Lies

I know this has been discussed many times in blogworld, but I was thinking recently about the versions of our lives we create via blogs. Some are relentlessly cheerful - I don't enjoy those, because, depending on my own mood, it makes me think my life is tedious/my spouse is the worst husband on earth/my children are insuffiently cute/talented/whatever or the blogger is insane/deluded/a pain in the arse. Some are stuck on whinge mode - I'm all for blog-as-vent, but not all the time. Some just provide TMI - there are details I do not want to know. About anyone.

The blogs I enjoy most tend to focus on the positive, but acknowledge that there are times when we all get tired, grumpy, frustrated and bored. Life is not perfect.

I try to use my blog to find small, interesting (to me, at least) things within my day-to-day existence. Sometimes it seems rather difficult, but I suppose that's the point.

So, I suppose, most blogs are both true and untrue - they're necessarily an edited version of life, skewed to whatever the blogger wants to express. All good.

I was thinking about it because I know someone - not a friend, but someone within our larger social circle - who has a very popular, high-traffic blog, where she writes about women's self-image, motherhood, celebrity and various other things. Her most popular posts are when she talks about the trials of motherhood, and she is very good at the 'Everywoman' tone, lamenting the lack of time off, the incessant demands, the general drudgery ...

Trouble is, I know these things: she has a full-time, live-in nanny and a housekeeper; her husband is a stay-at-home dad; she travels overseas at least twice a year (with nanny!) and has two holiday houses; she has an almost unlimited budget.

Ok, so I don't mind her wanting to connect with her readers by pretending her experience mirrors theirs. What bothers me slightly is that she makes money out of her blog - it's a business. Does this make it unethical or am I expecting too much?

Saturday Night Fever

I must confess to laziness on Saturday night. Spouse and I went out to see a movie in the afternoon (The Kids Are All Right) so it had to be a relatively quick prep time - I fell back on my favourite duck breasts with bacon and chestnuts, served with braised red cabbage and potatoes roasted in duck fat. Yup, super-slimming. For dessert I made baclava for the first time in about 20 years and it was surprisingly good (I'm always surprised when things work out ...).

This week is one of those crazy busy weeks with lots of work deadlines and a ridiculous amount of extra-curricular stuff also. I must learn to stop volunteering for things.

Romy & Michele's High School Reunion

My 25 year high school class reunion starts tomorrow - in Singapore, which is where I went to school. I'm not going to be there. I missed the 20th reunion as well, because I was on an internship for my Masters.

I'm feeling a little sad. I would love to go back to Singapore. I have been back many times since I left home, and it's a very different city to what it was when I was growing up, but it still draws me. So I'm sad about that.

I'm also disappointed to miss seeing some people who will be there - a few of them were good friends of mine, back in the day.

Here, for the amusement of anyone reading this, is a pic of some of us on a school trip to France (yes, from Singapore).


I am the gormless tiny creature at the far left, in my fantastically awful red hat and silly expression. The girl next to me was the most popular girl in our year, the whole way through - she was clever and sporty too. And, you know what else? She is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. I can't think of a single bad thing to say about her. Hate that. She isn't going this year. In the middle is someone who rode horses at the same club as me - she's organised a lot of the reunion. It will be a shame not to see her. And in the insane fluffy hat? Well, there's our high achiever. She came to our wedding, because she was working at the Canadian High Commission in Canberra (spouse was most taken with her - not the first time THAT happened, trust me). Last time I heard from her, she was the Canadian High Commissioner for Cambodia, all four foot eleven of her, but that was a while back ...

So, in some ways I wish I could be there. In other ways I'm glad to avoid the inevitable comparisons, the competition, the feeling that so few of us ended up quite where we thought we might.

I'll share one more photo, because this gives a sense of what I was like when I left high school. Fierce. (I had shaved my head for $200 bet some weeks before.) The girl next to me still looks EXACTLY like she does in this photo ...

Little Shop of Horrors

On Sunday, after sailing (glamorous if you overlook the fact that the boat is a kid's sailing dinghy!) and lunch, we had to drop Kid 1 off at a shopping centre in the Eastern suburbs. It seemed silly to waste time driving there and finding a parking spot, only to leave immediately. So we thought we'd look at the shops.

We did manage to get shoes for Spouse and have a very pleasant coffee (hot chocolate for Kid 2). It went rapidly downhill thereafter. The shopping centre in question is one of those monolithic places designed to confuse you to such an extent that you get lost, panic, and then spend money to make yourself feel better.

We did get lost. Along the way, I saw some things I probably should have tried on. But the crowds, the noise, the treadmill of consumption led to panic. Instead of spending money, we went home.

I have talked often about how much I hate shopping. Even when I see things on the rack that I think I might like, I dislike the whole process. Service seems to range from the bored teenager who clearly thinks you're too old to be buying clothes anyway (because, OMG, like anyone cares what old people look like, right?), to the snooty older woman who gives the impression that she knows you can't really afford what you're trying on, to the sycophant of any age who tells you look great when you can see that the colour makes your complexion look like liver and the cut makes you look like your body was drawn by Picasso.

Because I dislike the process - and I resent every minute spent shopping - I am a great one for 'settling for' something, even when it's not really what I wanted, or doesn't actually look that great. Better to get it over with so I don't have to come back. But, of course, this is fallacious thinking, because getting the wrong thing means I WILL have to go back.

It's not even that I'm disorganised. I have a list of the clothes I need/want, neatly written into a mini Moleskine that is always in my handbag. I think I need retail therapy of a different kind - I need to learn how to shop mindfully. After all, there must be some lovely things out there somewhere ...

Saturday Night Fever

Crazy busy weekend, including such highlights as doing a stint on the school cake stall (the school is also a polling booth, and we just happened to have a federal election yesterday), rigging Holden's new Laser for the first time, and eating more macaroons than is seemly.

Last night I didn't cook anything adventurous - we had lamb koftas (barbecued by Spouse) with pita bread, tabbouleh, hummous and minted yoghurt. Then we ate way too many sweet things, as we were given half a dozen boxes of baked goods by a friend who hadn't sold them at the markets ...

We had an odd selection of guests - my brother, an old friend of mine, our ex-neighbour from the old house and a sort of waif-and-stray-friend-and-her-child. I can never bear the thought that someone is spending Saturday night without company and food, so I'm a little prone to inviting anyone and everyone to join us. It usually works out.

On a sartorial note, Spouse was persuaded to buy a pair of Campers this afternoon. He always feels guilty about spending money on clothes or shoes, so I reminded him that his last pair of Campers have lasted 10 years and still look good. I think these ones will be great for summer.

Now it's Sunday evening, and I'd really rather that we could stretch the weekend by another day - it's been fun but it seems to have gone by very quickly. I don't want it to be Monday so soon!

Big Wednesday

[Pic from surfersvillage.com]

No, this is not a surfing post. This is a Wednesday Work Whinge. It's an excellent day of the week for whingeing, and not just because it begins with a 'w'. The energy and motivation (ha - who am I kidding?) of the beginning of the week are beginning to wear off; the annoyances are starting to pile up; and the weekend still looks a long, long way away.

More specifically, this week I am struggling with clients who demand ridiculous turnaround times ('I need a 20-page brochure - can you get me a draft tomorrow?'. 'Um, NO.') but then mysteriously are not in the office or don't bother to read your email when you send the job in. Really, it was so urgent but now you don't need to look at it?

I have two ways of dealing with this. 1. I charge a 50% urgency loading for a 24-hour turnaround. And then I usually add a little bit more, just in case I need a new lipstick. 2. When a particular client pulls this stunt more than once, I push back their jobs and tell them I can't start for at least a few days. Most of them learn eventually.

For the nice ones, who say 'I know this is ridiculous, but if you could squeeze this in today and charge what you want and we love you', I drop everything and do the job.

There is a moral in here somewhere. Maybe it's just 'Say please and thank you'. (Especially on Wednesdays.)

Let the Right One In

I have a friend who is a bit of a hippie. Ok, a lot of a hippie. He likes to tell me that I need to let go of my attachment to outcome, and be 'in the process' more.

I am learning to apply this to things like yoga - that's why it's called 'practising' yoga, I guess. There is no end point. Of course, it's still utterly exciting to me when I manage to do something new (2 minutes in unsupported headstand, honest!), but I can also appreciate just being in the moment.

But I'm not sure that it works completely as an approach to modern life. While strenuously avoiding my magazine deadline last week, for instance, I thought about telling my editor that I was letting go of my attachment to outcome - so I'd just keep writing the story and never submit it.

Or dinner. That would be a good one. 'Sorry, kids, I'm in the process, but let's not get attached to the idea that there might be a meal on the table this evening.'


On a completely different note, I was aghast to read this story. Please tell me they won't choose Scarlett Johansson to play Lisbeth Salander ... It's stupid enough that they're making a US version - what, people can't read subtitles? - but even worse if they give the lead to a pin-up like SJ. Even Rubberlips Jolie would be better. Noomi Rapace was perfect in the role. Sigh.

Saturday Night Fever

No cooking to report - we went to a party! It was a 50th for someone we know through Kid 1's sport (which, as I have reported many times, is excessive by anyone's standards, especially mine).

It was fun, but as Spouse commented during our Sunday morning party post mortem, it felt more like a 21st. Not because we were all young and gorgeous, but because the speeches (emailed from the UK, where Mr 50 comes from) were all focused on the hijinx and hilarity of university days.

The anecdotes were funny, but it was strange that nobody - not even the party man himself - mentioned anything about his life now. He is married to a fabulous woman, has two lovely kids, and a stack of friends who don't come from the UK or share that past.

I'm as prone to nostalgia as anyone, but when I hit the big FIVE OH, I want to be celebrating my life NOW, not trying to relive my youth. When I do get to 50, Kid 1 will turn 21, and Kid 2 will be 18, so it's going to be a serious year of parties ... something to look forward to!

Legally Blonde

Every so often I think about growing my hair. Given that it's too wavy for poker hair, but not curly enough to be interesting/attractive, I was thinking about the sort-of-Jane-Birkin casual shaggy look. Trouble is, instead of looking insouciant, I just look plain old scruffy. I haven't the patience or hair maintenance skills to grow it out gracefully.

So off I went to the hairdresser and had my usual ultra-short pixie cut. Of course I want to look like Jean Seberg/Mia Farrow/Audrey Hepburn/Emma Watson but I'm approximately 100 years older than they were when they had this cut. Never mind.

I'm also contemplating growing out my grey, and blonde seemed like the logical interim measure ... unfortunately I got the weirdest colour I've ever seen. A sort of greige. No, I'm not going to take a photo. Trust me when I say that no human has ever had this hair colour naturally. I'm trying to decide whether to: 1. Give it a week to settle. 2. Run screaming back to the hairdresser and go dark again. 3. Shave it all off and buy a cute wig :)

The Winter of Our Discontent

I find that several things get me through a cold, wet winter.

1. Drinking ridiculous amounts of tea.
2. Cooking and eating large, hearty meals like pork with cider and dumplings, or coq au vin, or sauerkraut with plenty of sausage ...
3. Wearing sunshine on my feet.


4. Imagining, and occasionally making purchases towards, a summer wardrobe.

It is a well-documented fact that I hate dressing in summer, as I have nasty pale freckly skin that I do not especially like to bare. I also have hideous legs. And I'm bad at floaty garments, as I am not tall. This makes an Australian summer quite challenging.

This year, I am going to do better. I will:

1. Try to wear dresses. I have my eye on a sort of 'utility chic' khaki coloured silk number. Wow, I made that sound awful, didn't I?
2. Wear white jeans or even try to find a skirt.
3. Wear shirts that don't cling. I'm slowly building a collection of silk chiffon blouses.
4. Wear a jumpsuit. No, really, I had to. It's silk/linen and really quite nice on, especially without the horrid pink scarf in the Net-a-Porter pic (only horrid because it is mostly definitely not a good colour on me).

The September Issue

I know, I've used this blog title before. But this time I have a good reason - I recently took on a new (part-time) role as section editor of a magazine, and my first issue is ... September.

This explains why I am choosing to resume my blog - I'm avoiding deadlines, in the time-honoured tradition of journalists everywhere. That is all I will say about the job, because it is Very Boring.

Right now, apart from avoiding deadlines across all my writing jobs, my life is taken up with a mixture of domestic stuff, family, yoga, planning our trip to NYC and baseball. I know, it's not even summer yet. We're signing people up for next season. Blood from a stone, etc.

I never played sport (unless forced). It is a mystery to me how I have ended up being a soccer/baseball/sailing mum. No doubt it is something to do with the fact that I produced kids with a maniac runner, who is currently defying logic by running faster as he gets older. Sunday was Sydney's annual City to Surf run, and Andrew ran a PB of under 54 minutes; poor Holden missed out on the run as he had to play football. Phoebe, at least, carries my fine sporting genes and slept through it all ...

And speaking of lunacy, my brother recently walked the 750km Camino de Santiago (Way of St James) pilgrimmage in Spain. No, he is not Catholic. But his name is James. And walking 750km is his idea of a holiday.

It is 10 degrees C in my office (a corner of the garage), and pouring rain outside. I am wearing three layers of wool, thick tights and a disconsolate expression.

The Fabulous Baker Boys

I think I mentioned that I made a sourdough starter recently; last weekend I actually made bread from it. And it worked! In fact, it worked so well that the whole loaf was gone by mid-afternoon. I don't like sliced bread but I do love real bread. To my surprise, so do the kids. Kid 2 sawed off a fresh-baked piece the other morning when I wasn't paying attention and demolished it; then had two thick slices toasted yesterday - this is the child who eats about three things (peanut butter, fruit, meat). I don't think I'll be able to persuade Spouse to take in sandwiches from homemade sourdough ...

Definitely more exciting than bread - we have our first female Prime Minister!!! The question is whether she can win the upcoming election ... (Oh, and we actually won a soccer game in the World Cup, although we were still eliminated in the first round.)

It's almost too much excitement for me. To cap it all off, I actually wore my new MaxMara jacket yesterday to a client meeting. I felt a) warm and b) almost chic.

Saturday Night Fever

(Pic from bbcgoodfood.com)

On Saturday night, we took a little trip back to the 70s. There is back-story - we have been watching the current Australian series of MasterChef, and last week three contestants had to cook Beef Stroganov without a recipe. One contestant was eliminated because she used the wrong cut of beef and also used nutmeg (!) instead of paprika.

This created a minor kerfuffle, as people argued about the ingredients for a TRUE Stroganov. I amused myself by consulting the ever-opinionated Jane Grigson (who uses mustard and NO tomato paste) and also Larousse Gastronomique (also mustard). The kids decided we had to cook it - but the paprika version.

Spouse then decided that he wanted Bombe Alaska for dessert. I pointed out that a) it's winter; and b) I didn't have time to make the ice cream from scratch. He was unmoved. So we compromised - I used bought ice cream (vanilla and chocolate) but then also made a strawberry ice cream by adding gently cooked (with sugar) fresh strawberries to some of the vanilla. So we had a neapolitan Bombe Alaska, with blowtorched meringue ... We did take a photo, but sadly the dog ate the camera USB cable (true) so I can't show it. (I note also that some recipes for Baked/Bombe Alaska include cake, but we didn't.)

I don't even like Beef Stroganov very much, but I did enjoy the homemade pasta (parsley and black pepper fettucine) that my brother helped me crank out.

It was quite a relief on Sunday to have split pea & ham soup after all that excess ...

Men in Tights

Today I had a client meeting in the city. I went in a little earlier than I needed to, so that I could have a bit of a wander. As I was walking through the park, a man in his 40s with greying hair walked past me. Something about him registered as WRONG. I took another look. He was wearing leggings. No, not bicycle or running lycra. Leggings. With a conservative, dark blue business shirt (untucked, Thank The Lord). Carrying a leather satchel-style briefcase. But NO PANTS. I am one of the many who subscribe to the notion that leggings should never EVER replace trousers. I always thought this was a rule about women's clothing. Now I see that it must be expanded to include men.

I had to get over this experience by spending some time in our one posh(ish) department store, David Jones. It is full of fabulous women of a certain age - of all shapes, sizes and colouring - and I was not disappointed today. In fact, I was having such fun looking at them that I decided to try to distill what exactly made up their fabulousness. This is what I managed - no matter how beautiful/elegant/interesting the clothes, without these three elements, they didn't make the cut.

1. Intentional hair. It doesn't matter if it's a chic blonde/grey bob, a wiry mass of curls, a sharp razor cut in an unnatural colour or any other style - every woman who looked good clearly intended her hair to look the way it did. Note to self: sort the bloody hair.

2. Good shoes. Only a couple of the women were wearing serious heels, but there were plenty of chic flats, kitten heels, low boots, etc. One woman looked great from the ankles up, but had put on running shoes to navigate a day at the shops. They ruined the whole effect - and she could have worn something just as comfy that worked with her outfit (which was that sort of 'academic ethnic' that I don't aspire to but looks great on some women).

3. Demeanour. Every single one of the women I admired held her head high. But it was more than that - a certain je ne sais quoi. It made me feel (almost) glad to be getting older ...

Unfortunately, while following some of these women, I accidentally found myself in the MaxMara section. I tried on a beautiful camelhair jacket, spectacularly reduced (and badly photographed against the wardrobe doors - it is a much softer colour). Fortunately, it was one size too big, as I told the sales woman with some regret (relief?). She told me she'd see if there was one in my size. Unfortunately, there was.


Just as well the job I got briefed on is a lucrative one, don't you think?

When I grow up (in my next life) I will dress in MaxMara, Calvin Klein, Armani and occasionally some Dries Van Noten. I plan also to be about three inches taller. With better hair.

Sixty Six

A lot of Kid 1's school friends are Jewish and they're all turning 13 over the next year. Today we got our first Bar Mitzvah invitation.

Kid 1 wishes to wear a yarmulke to the synagogue. He is also strangely excited about getting his first suit. I think he half wishes he could have a bar mitzvah also ...

I realise that the main criterion for Kid 2 and myself, being female, is modesty. So I won't be doing my Amy Winehouse interpretation. In fact, it might be an excellent excuse to buy a (modest) new dress and shoes.

Saturday Night Fever

It's been a long weekend here, and one in which I seem to have been cooking and/or eating almost non-stop, but nothing I cooked stands out enough to mention (although I did cook my first chocolate souffle). And I successfully made yoghurt (something that I've always failed at in the past) and I have a sourdough starter fermenting happily away ... you see, if I didn't live in the inner city and work as a corporate copywriter, I'd be a PERFECT farmer's wife. Hmm. Shame I married a journalist.

And speaking of food, as I generally am, we are planning a few days in Melbourne during the kids' school holidays, so I have to find places to eat. I'm rather excited about it, as there is an amazing exhibition on at the National Gallery of Victoria, plus Melbourne is the fashion capital of Australia (Sydney is a) too hot; b) too casual; c) too, um, flashy); AND there is fabulous food down there too. We're planning to fly down, then drive back via my family in country New South Wales. A modest and rather parochial little holiday, but it will be fun to hang out with the kids, and we've always enjoyed the driving - you end up talking about things that simply never get a look-in during the usual domestic chaos.

CHiPS

To me, this story says so much about what is wrong with people's attitudes to food ...

The Piano Teacher

Kid 1 hates learning music, although it's a big deal at his school. He has opted for percussion - drumkit and Latin - which suits his need to be constantly fiddling, jiggling and making repetitive noises that annoy me. He's not what you'd call musical, although his sense of rhythm is good. He can't sing.

Kid 2, on the other hand, LOVES music. When she was fresh home from hospital, all 2kg of her, she used to lie in her cot and shout at her musical mobile. At first I thought it upset her, then I realised that she was happy - so they were either noises of delight, or attempts to sing! She hasn't changed much since then, always singing, humming, listening to music, etc.

And finally, many years too late, I have organised proper piano lessons for her. She has an electronic keyboard, but I'm hoping get a little upright piano for the library ... We begin next Monday. Now, to the 'have you done your homework?' nagging, I can add 'time for your piano practice, young lady'.

Saturday Night Fever

The other day, apropos of not very much at all, Spouse said 'I think we should buy more art'. I agreed wholeheartedly, but had to point out that, what with mortgages, school fees, braces, too many pets and a trip to NYC in November, it was probably low-ish on the list of financial priorities.

But obviously art got stuck in my brain. Yesterday I went to a couple of exhibitions with a friend of mine - at the second, instead of buying any of the paintings (done by a friend), I just HAD TO buy this small steel sculpture.


And on Friday I pre-ordered a book of Cressida Campbell's woodblock paintings (because I couldn't possbily afford to buy the real thing ... ever). I don't speak 'art', so all I can say is that I utterly love her work.


[Image from www.cressidacampbell.com]

And I found this painting from a South Australian artist whose still life work I really like ... it's not my favourite of her quince paintings, but it's on the market.


Anyway, back to regular programming. Because I was going to an opening at 5pm, I had to get dinner done largely in advance; because my vegetarian SIL was coming, I had to cook vegetarian. So I cheated and cooked things I know are foolproof - fresh tomato soup and a Persian vegetable omelette with walnuts (served with yoghurt). For dessert I did cook something I hadn't cooked before, which was pecan pie. As I made the soup during the day, pre-baked my pie crust and kept the main simple, it was easy to get back from the show at six thirty and have dinner on the table at seven thirty ...

An Education

Yesterday, Kid 1 and I had harsh words about his education. Well, I had harsh words AT Kid 1 regarding his perceived lack of effort at school.

Later, I apologised for my delivery; not for my opinion, which I maintain, but the way I expressed it. Kid 1 said, equably, 'That's OK. It's like Scout [the dog]'. I must have looked mystified. 'Sometimes', explained Kid 1, 'you really have to shout at him for him to understand that what he is doing is wrong.'

I didn't mean to treat him like the dog.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

A couple of weeks ago I posted a few comments on a book I'd read and been disappointed by. Interestingly enough, VERY soon after I'd posted it, I received a comment that: a) misunderstood/misread what I'd written; b) told me I had read the book incorrectly; c) was from someone who claimed to 'usually like your reviews' although I don't actually make a habit of reviewing books; and d) had a name but no identity (ie was not a blogger).

I declined to publish the comment, but it did occur to me that there might be media monitoring at work - thus the prompt (and inaccurate) response to my mild criticism.

I had largely forgotten about it, then I read this article in The Guardian. Interestingly enough, the pseudo-philosopher's aversion to any criticism is mentioned more than once in the comments. And as for his attitude to food, well, I wouldn't be inviting him to dinner at my place any time soon ...

Saturday Night Fever

Well, there was no cooking last night.

I was originally rather surly about the whole dress up party thing, but I changed my mind once I'd found a good Amy Winehouse wig ... All it took was a denim mini from the local op shop and a fake tattoo to add to the real one; oh, and rather a lot of eye makeup. I'm not sure I looked quite skanky enough.

Spouse is some unnamed rocker from the 80s (vest from the op shop also).

It was fun.

The Runaways

I have to go to a party on the weekend. What's even worse is that it's a themed party. And the theme is Rock Star. God, I hate that kind of thing. If only I'd kept my leather pants from some distant point in my youth - I could just hire a wig and be Joan Jett.

My brother suggested Amy Winehouse - love the idea of wearing the hideous beehive and outrageous eye makeup, but she seems to specialise in wearing not very much at all, which is not a look I can manage.

The Cotton Club

I bought a really dull skirt on the weekend (Marc Jacobs, cream cord, from the Outnet, of course, I hate actual shops). But you know what? Dull has its place. It will go with everything. I can wear it in summer, a season that always causes me terrible sartorial confusion (I don't wear shorts unless gardening, don't like denim skirts, struggle with summer type dresses although possibly improving on that front ...). I can wear it with flat shoes or heels. I can wear it with a silk blouse or a t-shirt. Whether I can keep it clean is another question, of course.

Enough of the boring. I have been thinking about how if I have a trend shoved in my face for long enough, I can go from 'eww, not ever never' to 'hmm, maybe'. Not everything works that way. I will not, ever never, do double denim, for instance. I will not wear harem pants. I will not wear shoes that make me wobble and fall over. But I am hankering after a jumpsuit (left from ASOS, via Make Do Style; right J Crew from net-a-porter):



The question, of course, is where on earth I'd wear it. To sit in while working at my desk in the garage? To do the grocery shopping or hang out the laundry? I've said it before - perhaps it's my life rather than my wardrobe that needs revision.