The Company You Keep

Last night, my lovely brother took the kids to a show, so Spouse and I went to a movie. We really wanted to see Rust & Bone, but our local arthouse cinema (walking distance, how I love that) is closed for renovations so we ended up at the nearest multiplex, watching Robert Redford's latest, The Company You Keep.


It was OK, but not great. There were some wonderful actors in minor roles and cameos. I did spend much of the second half fascinated by Julie Christie's face. She's admitted to plastic surgery, and most of it is pretty good, but whatever she's done to her lips is just horrible.

As for Robert Redford. Well, I still have a crush on him, even if he is 76 years old. 

Anger Management

I am well aware that retail therapy is often a bad idea. You feel grumpy/anxious/angry/depressed/hungry, so you buy something. Then you feel exactly how you felt before, plus some guilt. At least that's generally my pattern.

Sometimes, however, it works out just fine.

This Etro stretch silk top - purchased on a nobody-loves-me-everybody-hates-me-think-I'll-go-and-eat-worms day - arrived on Monday and it is Just Gorgeous. I hardly ever wear patterns (other than stripes and the occasional polka dot) but because the colours in this one are quite neutral and suit my colouring, it works. And the cut is ridiculously flattering, even on my sausage shaped physique.

I can't wait to wear it ... Black velvet jeans or black tulle skirt?

PS Must keep doing yoga in order to bare arms.

Horrible Bosses

I don't think I've ever had a horrible boss. Mind you, I haven't had that many bosses, since I've been my own boss (and other people's) since I was in my late 20s.

But I have had a couple of great bosses. The best was my first 'real' boss, in my first 'real' job out of university - book editor at a legal publishing firm. Not very glamorous, I know, but how I loved it. My boss was a woman in her 50s who was clever, stylish, demanding and scrupulously fair. She had 4 adult sons and a much younger second husband (a lovely man) - and a cracking sense of humour. After I'd been there just a year, she got me a 35% pay rise (!) - I rewarded her by going freelance so that I could also take up a half-time teaching job at university, and she encouraged me to do so. And when I set up my own business, she sent me so much work that at one point I had 5 staff. I rather think that she regarded me as the daughter she never had. Because we are both somewhat buttoned up English types when it comes down to it - she's Anglo-Irish, I'm Singapore Colonial - I have never told her in person what an amazing mentor and aspiration she was to me, but I did finally write her a letter telling her that a few months ago. 

And today we had lunch for the first time in years. It was wonderful to see her - E is still vibrant, busy, energetic and smart (and she was wearing leopard print jeans - she's in her 70s!! - with a stylish black shirt and a charcoal cashmere scarf).

I hope two things: 1. that I can be something like her when I grow up (whenever that may be) and 2. that my daughter finds inspirational women like E in her life.

Cruel Intentions

Horrifying atrocities happen all over the world, all the time. We become somewhat inured, unless there is a personal element that hits home.

The Boston Marathon bombing has that element for me. I've never been to Boston, but I'm married to a runner who has Boston on his wishlist of marathons - we talked just a couple of weeks ago about when we might get to it. I know and love many runners. I know the excitement of travelling to a great race in a great city, and I know the thrill and anticipation of cheering on the runners and waiting at the finish line. I can only imagine the horror of such a terrorist attack. It seems particularly cruel and cowardly to strike at an event which represents so many hopes and so much hard work.

Pretty Woman

Fortuitously, I have two separate rants (I'm grumpy lately, aren't I?) that both fit nicely under this title.

1. Recently I picked up a copy of More magazine, which featured an article on what it called 'handsome' women and how they're aging fabulously. Supposedly, this is because they weren't conventionally pretty to begin with, and have now grown into their looks. All well and good. But then, note, 'They stay slim and fit and wear fashion that is updated but age appropriate. Most of all, they have a lot of competencies that create confidence and a sense of purpose'. So being Diane Keaton (mentioned) is helpful. And then you look at the photos:


So More is telling me that this woman wasn't always striking?

And this woman's only claim to 'non-conventional' beauty is that she's not blonde. 

I did read the whole article, and this is what I got from it: be thin, be successful (preferably with a shedload of money) and then it won't matter that you don't look like a teenage cheerleader. Gee, that's amazingly helpful.

2. I went into a shop the other day and I felt a little like I was reliving that scene in Pretty Woman where the person in the high end boutique (can't remember which, haven't seen the movie since it first came out) snubs Julia Robert's character because she's a hooker. Of course, I wasn't dressed like a hooker, but I might as well have been. The boutique I went into - genuinely looking for something specific - is a posh little place with pricey imports (double what you'd pay in the US/UK and add some), but a rather nice edit of items. I was looking for a pair of black dress pants. The saleswoman looked at me disparagingly and said 'We don't have anything in your size' and walked off. She was so rude it took my breath away. I'm still trying to work out what I did wrong - did I not look cashed up enough? Was my outfit offensive in some way? Of course, it was probably just the woman having a bad day,  but it was such an unpleasant experience that I will NEVER shop there again.

(un)Happy Feet

Occasionally I treat myself to a manicure, which is generally a silly idea, given my tendency to indulge in cooking, gardening and teaching art to small children. As for pedicures, I normally do these myself. Forcing my horrible feet (not mine above) on strangers seems a little unkind.

However, a few weeks ago a friend gave me a spa voucher for a massage. Unfortunately, I cannot abide strangers touching my skin, so I swapped it for a pedicure, which is about as touchy-feely as I can manage. A very expensive pedicure, I might add.

So off I went yesterday, as a reward for finishing a job. Pedicure was done ('performed'?) like a spa treatment, complete with tedious whale music and dim lighting, and took about 3 times as long as they normally do. I expected my feet - or at least my toenails - to look gorgeous when I finally took off my eyemask.

Well. A blindfolded dipsomaniac with the DTs could have done a better job. Because I'm that sort of person, I couldn't actually bring myself to say to the girl 'this is shocking, how can you charge money for a job like this?', but I went straight home and took off the polish and deeply regretted that wasted hour of my life ...

The mani/pedi chains with the terse Chinese girls (Korean in the US?) may have the ambience of battery farms, but at least they do the job properly, for a decent price.

So, that's my First World Problem of the Week.

Cocktail

Sometimes I struggle to work out what to wear. Not when I'm teaching or writing (in which case I could wear my yoga gear all day - but I don't), but when I have to go to a function. Last night there was a welcome dinner for new parents at Kid 2's school. The invitation said 'Business' attire, I assume because a lot of the parents would be coming straight from work. Well, I was also coming straight from work, but what I was wearing to work in definitely wasn't going to cut it.

I thought about wearing the sort of thing I'd wear to a client meeting - a dress, a blazer and heels. I even pulled such an outfit out of the wardrobe. But I just wasn't comfortable with it. So I grabbed my favourite ever jeans - black velvet skinnies - and my No 6 boots and a burgundy silk shirt. Possibly a little bit more rock n roll than 'business' but I felt like myself. Although I wouldn't say the evening was fun, exactly, the fact that I was comfortable in what I was wearing actually made me feel less socially awkward.

The next sartorial challenge is a cocktail party. I don't think jeans will do. Suggestions?

Clueless

I have been watching Kid 2's first few weeks in high school with interest. She's gone from a tiny, co-ed primary school, 5 minutes walk from our front door, to an inner city girls' school with 100 girls in her year (there were 9 in her last year of primary).

So far, it's been pretty good. She's loving it, she's made lots of friends, and the school has worked very hard to make us, as a family, feel like part of a community.

A friend asked me the other day whether I'd thought twice about sending Kid 2 to an all girls' school. I said that no, honestly, I hadn't. 'But what about the bitchiness?' the friend asked. Well, that got me thinking.

Yes, there have been moments. One day a couple of weeks ago she came home and said, 'Mum, J told me she 'got' [a bit like getting a puppy?] a boyfriend over the weekend and then she that I'll never get a boyfriend.' 'Oh', I said. 'That's a rather silly thing to say - what did you say back?'. 'I told her that wasn't very nice and then I didn't speak to her until lunch', said Miss, apparently unfazed.

When I recounted this story to a friend, she laughed and said 'Oh, I'm glad I've only got boys, girls are so horrible'. I was about to agree, but then I stopped myself. I'm pretty sure that my high school experience was a fairly standard one - I had friends, sometimes we fell out, sometimes people said nasty things, and sometimes feelings got hurt. But I honestly can't remember any seriously awful behaviour.

So why do we say this? Once I started thinking about this, I kept seeing it everywhere - the idea that teenage girls are unkind, even cruel, and that it's simply innate and we should just shrug and let them get on with it. I don't buy it. Yes, adolescence is a rough time for everyone, male or female, and working yourself out as a person - especially in relation to other people - can be tricky. No one is kind all the time. But casual accepting or assuming that teenage girls are necessarily 'bitchy' just normalises behaviour that is pretty much unacceptable in any other context. It's also a cop-out as a parent to say 'oh, they're just like that'.

Well, that's what I think, anyway ... Ask me again in a few years, I guess.

Love, Actually

Very little has been happening. And most of that which has been happening has not been good. I'll leave it there, shall I?

A bright spot on the horizon is the engagement party we are hosting this weekend. It's not a formal party at all, just a lunch in the garden. The happy couple got engaged when they were in Europe late last year, and I knew they wouldn't throw themselves a party, since they live in a tiny apartment (tinier even than our house). So I made the offer and they accepted. We don't know many of their other friends, but that's fine, since that way no one will mind if I'm in the kitchen much of the time!

We will be eating Bloody Mary sorbet, chilli crab and pannacotta with lychees. Now all I have to do is the shopping, cooking, cleaning and decorating ...

The French Connection

I have probably mentioned that I'm the only person in my immediate family who doesn't speak French fairly fluently - my stepfather is French, and my mother and brother can both hold their own. I can read simple things like magazines and Agatha Christie novels (don't laugh), and I can understand much of the dialogue in French movies, but I certainly don't ever try to speak.

Sod's law, then, that two weeks ago a little French boy turned up at school. Mum is here on a student visa, and speaks passable English. I don't know about Dad. M, who is six, could count 1-10 in English and that's all. It's my job to teach him.

The lovely thing is that he is just dying to learn. He regards me as his own personal dictionary and likes to rapid fire French words at me to get the English equivalent. It is amazing how much vocab - verbs even - I am managing to trawl up, decades since I last studied French. Of course, I'm not sure being able to discuss dinosaurs, crocodiles and pirate hats will be particularly useful to me in the future ...

The Wrong Trousers

I have a friend who has been trying to make me wear slouchy jersey pants for ages. She wears them and looks great. But she is over 6 foot tall, and most of her height is legs. I, on the other hand, am short, with short legs.

Finally, bored with my various skinny jeans and pants, I thought I'd dip a toe in by buying this very cheap pair from ASOS. 

Things that make your hips look wider are unpopular with many women, I know, but if your body type is straight up and down (I believe the official name for my figure is Sausage), creating wider hips could possibly create the illusion of a waist, right?

Anyway, the pants arrived. I wore this with a blazer. I don't take photos of myself as a rule, but I wanted to see whether they actually looked ok. Obviously the photo is appalling. My left thigh has not benefited from the addition of a chair leg to its silhouette ... And excuse my hair, which hasn't been cut in months and seems to be growing directly outwards.

Kid 2 got home from school and said 'I love your pants, can I try them on?'

Kid 1 got home from school and said 'Mum, are you wearing trackies with heels?'

Hmmm.

Flying High

If only I were literally flying. I have itchy feet. But not much chance of that at the moment, unless Spouse lands himself an overseas trip for work - better yet, an overseas posting. I can dream.

But while I'm wishing myself elsewhere, I'm also - and yes, it's entirely contradictory - trying to make the most of here and now.

Part of that is going back to yoga classes. I was supposed to have my first one last week, but it was also Kid 2's first day of high school and I'm glad I made that my priority. So my first yoga class in 6 months was this morning.


I was really, ridiculously, nervous. My temperamental lower back makes backbends rather awful for me. I hate being upside down. I cannot for the life of me balance in Half Moon pose. I have hypermobile joints that make me look like a freak in certain positions. I felt like I was going to be exposed for the dreadful, hopeless, uncoordinated creature that I am.

It was fine. Of course. I told the teacher it had taken me months of practice for me to kick up into a handstand and that I've probably regressed. She looked at me like I had rocks in my head. 'Some people never do it', she said. 'Just do what you can, when  you want.'

My ex-yoga teacher used to tell me I wasn't trying hard enough. I thought I needed someone to bully me into doing scary things. Time will tell, I suppose ...

Either way, I'm SO happy to be back in yogaland.

High Heels

Last Friday night, we had to go to birthday drinks for a family member. I was planning to wear my favourite mustard suede shoes, but it was pouring with rain and I didn't want them ruined. I pulled out another pair of heels - strappy black suede numbers that I've had (and worn) for years. I put them on. I tottered up the stairs to look in the mirror. Well, they looked just fabulous. But I realised as I stood there that I could no longer contemplate the thought of standing (not even walking) in them for the durations of 'drinks'. Once upon a time I could attend a wedding in them, right through to the dancing bit ...

I'm not ready to give up heels entirely. I just can't wear 4 inch stilettos anymore, it seems.

But that's OK, because I'm eyeing these Fluevogs as my new pair of boots for winter ...


Sexy? Nup. Elegant? I don't think so. Comfy? I'm betting so. 

Working Girl

I've been mulling over whether to post about a conversation I had yesterday that left me entirely gobsmacked. And I've decided that I will, because it's a way of getting it out of my system.

Here goes:

Me (to parent I'm sitting next to at the school assembly): Do you know what time this will go to as I ought to be back at work by about 10am?
Her: I think about 9.30. Do you work in the city?
Me: No, I'm a freelancer, so I mostly work from home.
Her: Doing what?
Me: Financial copywriting, generally, for banks and stockbrokers.
Her (pulling face to indicate distaste): I bet that's not the glamourous idea you had in mind when you started copywriting.
Me: (contemplating possible responses, including that most of my work has just happened organiclly and glamour was never a factor): ... Um ... I don't really mind it. [Trying to think of something to say to move the conversation away from my offensively unglamourous job] I'm also a primary school teacher - I do that for fun.
Her (pulling face as above): Except that it's not fun.
Me: (totally speechless for at least five seconds) Actually, I really enjoy it, although it is often quite hard work. [Trying to get away from my work altogether] What about you?
Her (expression of complete disdain): I don't participate in the paid workforce.

Silence.

I have known many women who have had the luxury of not participating in the paid workforce, but I have never before had someone respond so negatively to my work. It really threw me.

Mean Girls

But let's hope they're not.

Kid 2 started high school today, on the other side of the city. After 8 years of walking to school every morning, suddenly it's all different.

She was up at 5.45am - by the time I dragged myself out of bed at 6.15, she was showered, dressed and ready to go.

This is her on her first day of Kindergarten.

This is her on her first day of high school.

Excuse me while I go and wonder where the last 8 years went. 

On a less maudlin note, this is what we did on the houseboat.

A Room with a View

I don't mind staying in nice hotels when someone else is picking up the tab, especially when the view is like this. The Australian Open (tennis) was on in the blue courts on the first photo - I didn't go, but I could see it ... And the view the other way was over the river to the ocean.

Melbourne was fun, but unfortunately the garden at Heide, which I'd been so looking forward to seeing, was badly affected by drought. I would have thought, given that it's an art gallery/museum, and the gardens are part of the 'story' of John & Sunday Reed, that they might have watered and tended to the gardens more assiduously, but apparently not.

The Louise Bourgeois: Late Works exhibition was worth seeing.



Spider, 1997, steel, tapestry, wood, glass, fabric, rubber, silver, gold and bone, 449.6 x 665.5 x 518.2cm

And then we came back to Sydney, and the kids had to be picked up from sailing camp and I had to organise Spouse's birthday party before packing to go on a houseboat this week. It's been busy ...

The Great Escape

This week we have a sneak preview of what it's going to be like when we're empty-nesters. Weird, mostly ...

Spouse has to fly down to Melbourne for a couple of days for work. I thought about how exciting it would be to have the whole house to myself, no one to cook for, no one to clean up after. And then I decided to go down to Melbourne too. I've set up one meeting with a client - to stop me feeling guilty about going AWOL - but otherwise I'm just going to visit galleries, go for walks and hang out.

I'm most excited about going out to Heide Museum of Modern Art. It's supposed to be hot and sunny on Wednesday, so I plan to spend lots of time out in the sculpture garden.

Saturday Night Fever

Having a couple of weeks off work has been rather nice. In fact, I've relaxed almost to the point of torpor. I am normally somewhat of a control freak and obsessive organiser and list-maker, but these holidays I've been largely happy to let things slide.

On Friday I decided it was high  time to get organised again, and started by getting up early and taking Kid 2 on a practice bus trip to high school. By 9.30am I'd already done that and finished a writing job, so I was feeling rather smug.

Next on my list was working out what the kids needed for sailing camp, which I had written down as being 14-18 January.

I opened the relevant email and to my horror discovered that Kid 1 was due at camp at 2pm. That day. And Kid 2 was due up there on Saturday. And that I had missed out on getting one of the kids'  boats on a trailer ...

So I had to make a 3 1/2 hour round trip to get Kid 1 to camp, then run around trying to find various things that Kid 2 had to take up with her.

Fortunately, perhaps because I was so relaxed, instead of getting upset I just laughed at my own stupidity and got on with sorting things out.

Spouse drove Kid 2 up yesterday and order was restored. Finding ourselves kid-less, we thought about going out for dinner, but somehow ended up hanging out with some friends, drinking possibly too much wine and feasting on prawns and other lovely things. But not actually eating dinner.

So today, to make up for my idleness, I plan to cook something fabulous for dinner, just for the two of us. And as of tomorrow, I'm officially Not On Hols any more. Oh, except for a couple of days in Melbourne during the week, but that's another story ...

Back to the Future

Another year already? That went fast.

There will be a few changes for us this year. Kid 2 (below, ready for school disco) starts high school in 3 weeks, leaving the primary school that we, as a family, have been part of for 10 years. I've also taught there, in some capacity or another, for 7 years. There were tears on Kid 2's last day. And there have been some more tears since. She is so worried about high school - will she be smart enough, will she make friends, will she fit in? Of course we make reassuring noises, but she won't believe us till it happens.

Kid 1? I just want to know who created 15-year-old boys and when I'm going to get my son back. Also, why did neither of my children inherit my tidy gene? (In Cadets uniform, below. He has since cut off all his hair.)

Speaking of people without tidy genes, Spouse is starting his MBA this year. And doing some teaching. That's in addition to his full-time job. It's just as well he doesn't do much domestically for me to miss! I expect there will be a couple of triathlons and at least one marathon in there too.

And me? I think I'm the family under-achiever. I loved my gig as the school Art Teacher last year (wall of colour from the Art Show I organised, above), but this year is the music year, so it's not there for me. But from Term 2 I may be running after-school art classes. And of course my usual copywriting work, which is not very interesting or fulfilling, but is a financially necessary evil.

This year I start new yoga classes, after being dumped by my private yoga teacher mid-way through last year. Not joking, I was dumped. By text. With not even a 'namaste' to soften the blow. And then I couldn't find a class at a time I could manage, but I've signed up for one now, starting on the 31st of the month. Fingers - and various limbs - crossed that it's a good one.

OK, I've now bored myself to death. Best go and do something productive.