Saturday Night Fever

Yesterday (Saturday) we went to see Opera Australia's current production of Madama Butterfly. I don't 'speak music' (any family musical genes, plus the genes for height, athleticism and patience, skipped me), so all I can say is that I absolutely loved it.

The set design and costumes were amazing, the orchestra incredible, the singers wonderful. I cried. Even Spouse said he felt quite emotional at the end of it.

Going to the opera at the Opera House is always an experience. This time, because it was a matinee, we walked straight out the theatre door to the view of the harbour, in full summer mode. It was busy and beautiful. It seemed a pity to rush home, so we had a glass of champagne and some oysters down at the Oyster Bar on Circular Quay, then caught a ferry to Birchgrove (ferry wharf pictured), where my long-suffering brother (who had been amusing Kids 1 and 2 at Bondi Beach, just to squeeze a few more Sydney cliches in) picked us up.

After all that emotion, no cooking was going to happen. We had Japanese takeaway for dinner, just to keep it thematic.

The Competition




Kathryn Budig (She Who Was Born to Make Us All Feel Yogically Inadequate) in
eka pada rajakapotasana, from Yogajournal.com

I don't go to group yoga classes anymore, mostly because I haven't found one I like around here at a time that fits in with my odd and ever-changing schedule. I have a private lesson once (occasionally twice) a week and try to fit in home practice most days. This works for me because we can arrange the timing to suit both of us; it also works for me because I find the element of competition seems to sneak into every class and I don't like it.

Having said that, I'm well aware that yoga brings out my own competitive streak, even in my individual lessons. Like any endeavour, there are occasional break-throughs, and long periods where it seems that nothing changes. What seemed like an amazing achievement a year ago now seems humdrum - I need the next fix. When I don't seem to make any progress in the poses I hate (yes, not a very yoga word, but I'm being truthful here), the strong temptation is to give up, go into a corner and indulge in the self-talk that says 'I'm hopeless, I'll NEVER be able to do that, I don't know why I thought I might ...'.

So back to my previous post. It's constance that's the key. So I struggle horribly with backbends. So keep doing what I can, even if it's not very much. That's all. Hanging in there and sticking with it, even when I feel like a failure, is the victory.

Black Swan

Really, I'm never going to wear a ballet tutu. Even in the dark days of childhood when I did ballet I didn't lust after one. Note: I was utterly hopeless at ballet as I'm hilariously uncoordinated and inelegant, but I've been asked a couple of times recently if I was once a dancer - I think this is called yoga posture.

But, back to the tutu. Obviously I have been exposed to too much media, because I really really want this tulle skirt. Wrong?

The Constant Gardener

Monday, hot on the heels of Love Day, was our wedding anniversary. I had a photobook of our NY snaps and blogs made up for spouse; spouse gave me a rather nice handbag (dangerous territory well navigated).

Monday is not a great night for going out as all the good restaurants are closed. So - surprise, surprise - I cooked. Unfortunately it was also a deadline day, so I had to hurriedly make creme brulee and confit some duck in my lunch break. Seriously. I'm all for Slow Food, but usually my life won't slow down for me. Especially on a Monday. So I did Fast Slow French Food.

This was the menu (and here was me all surprised that I'd put on weight!):

Steak tartare with melba toast and all the accoutrements

Confit duck with roast potatoes and green salad

Creme brulee

All very slimming. Truly.

But back to the title of this post. When I was a child, I assumed it meant someone who was always gardening. Now I love the idea of constance, an old-fashioned virtue (like prudence). It's a little like commitment, but perhaps more patient and less ambitious ... And definitely something one needs in marriage.

Saturday Night Fever

You'd think that growing up in Singapore would have inured me to humidity, but apparently not. I abhor muggy weather, but it's something Sydney specialises in, and this summer is a standout. How does it go - 'horses sweat, men perspire and women glow'? Bollocks. I sweat like a pig (or horse?). It is deeply unglamorous.

Despite the nasty weather, I spent yesterday in vigorous physical activity, scrubbing the courtyard pavers (hands and knees, no wimpy high-pressure hoses for me), double-mopping every floor in the house and ruthlessly pulling out plants that have passed their use-by date (mostly overgrown, non-fruiting tomatoes and parsley).

By the time it came to thinking about dinner, all I wanted was something with minimum stove time. We ended up with Greek prawns with tomatoes and feta (home grown tomatoes), ruby chard (also home grown) cooked with onion, garlic, olive oil and pine nuts, plus crusty bread. Dessert was just fresh strawberries and rockmelon with a drizzle of vanilla poaching syrup left over from some peaches.

Today the boys are down the coast at a sailing regatta (gratuitous shot of Kid 1 sailing). Kid 2 and I are engaged in domestic chores. She has decided she wants an iPod Touch and wishes to earn some money to add to her current savings through extra chores. I have told her she can cook the weekly batch of bolognaise sauce (has to be in freezer for those horrible evenings when no one gets home until 7pm), so today we will do the first session. It's difficult for me to be hands-off in the kitchen, so this will be a learning experience for both of us.

Die Hard

Time for my regular work rant. I'm delighted (really) to be incredibly busy. In the life of a freelancer, this is definitely a Good Thing. It's just that, right now, all the work I have is of the deathly boring variety. My field is finance, so thrills are few and far between at the best of times, but even within this narrow spectrum I am currently at the wrong end.

I could just about grin and bear it if it weren't for one particular client. This person begins requests with 'May you do ...' (the horror), and frequently asks me to send things 'to myself' (to him). He works in marketing, so it's probably not entirely his fault. I could almost forgive him (well, not really) if he didn't take it upon himself to edit my work, adding words like 'thus' and 'whilst' and 'value-add', and changing everything to passive voice. Yes, I'm a writer, so I'm used to my work being edited. When it's my magazine editor, I don't argue (even if I disagree); when it's a literate publishing client, I keep my mouth shut. When it's a pompous, sub-literate marketing twit, I want to stab him with a red pen.

There. I feel slightly better now.

I will go and have my yoga lesson later today and emerge a less angry person. Perhaps.

Clueless

I bought a couple of pairs of jeans when we were in New York. What I didn't realise at the time was that I had been gradually putting on weight. By January this year, I noticed that a few kilos (not sure exactly how many, as I don't own scales, but probably 3 or 4) had crept on and so I made a few minor tweaks to make sure they'll come off (about as slowly as they appeared).

Unfortunately, as I'm heading back to my standard size and shape, my new jeans now don't fit very well. Do I keep them as 'big jeans' or do I send them to Vinnies and get new ones? I hate wasting money on clothes, but is there any point having something that doesn't fit lurking in my tiny wardrobe?

Three Colours: Red

Some time ago, I mentioned a local designer whose clothes I really like. Unfortunately, the only stand-alone shop was in Melbourne and my planned shopping trip never eventuated. So imagine my delight when I discovered that they had a new store in Sydney. Yesterday morning, feeling oddly melancholic and sick of sitting my cave writing, I ventured out.

The shop is in Paddington, where I lived when I first moved to Sydney, many years ago. In those days, you could afford to rent a (not terribly nice, it's true) share house in Paddo as a student; these days, it's all boutiques, art galleries and multi-million dollar abodes. Plus great shopping and a disproportionate number of long-legged models in incredible outfits - Sartorialist heaven. (Regular person hell.)

I tried on almost the whole winter collection, but I was very restrained. I loved this red skirt, but it was about an inch longer than I like (the model is about 6ft), and the hem detail would have made it complicated to adjust, so I passed. I did get a lovely 3/4 sleeve rust coloured silk/linen v-neck cardigan at 60% off, and ordered in a simple but beautifully made grey wool shift dress that I think will form the basis of my winter wardrobe ...

But that's not all. Emboldened, I ventured into the city to buy lipstick. More success - two MAC lippies, one a wearable red (Lady Bug), and another everyday colour with the alarming name of Hot Tahiti.

So what if the only 'people' who see my lipstick all day are the cats and dogs. I'm sure they'll appreciate me making the effort.

True Romance

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, but as our wedding anniversary is exactly one week later, we don't tend to acknowledge it. Plus it was a Monday, hardly the most romantic day of the week ...

It was one of those days where I struggled through my jobs, wondering if there's a parallel universe in which I could find something interesting to do for a living. In fact, by lunchtime I had descended into downright grumpiness, which was not assuaged by more jobs coming in, and a growing list of domestic chores (why do children have teeth? why do dogs need to be clipped? how does Spouse wear 20 outfits per week, all of which need washing after just one outing?).

Once I'd got through my deadlines (and my chores), I decided the solution was to get into the kitchen. The other option was retail therapy, but we're having a frugal month as well as a dry(ish) one. My kitchen (pictured, somewhat skewiff) is the size of a not-very-capacious broom cupboard, so whipping up a storm can be a challenge. But I did manage pork fillet in cream mustard sauce with potatoes roasted in goose fat, fresh steamed asparagus and a heart-shaped red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and strawberries. (Yes, of course I have a heart-shaped cake tin lying around - doesn't everyone?)

And I decided that Valentine's Day is a ticket of leave for FebFast and stuck a bottle of champagne in the fridge as well. Much better.

Saturday Night Fever

Saturday was grey and rainy, which might sound miserable but provided much needed water for the garden. Today is more or less the same.

Last night I didn't do anything very interesting in the kitchen. We are doing the annual FebFast, where not a drop of wine or beer passes our lips for the month (except Spouse always cheats). I find that hanging around in the kitchen for hours on end is much less fun without a glass of wine ... Anyway, to torture Spouse, I did beef in stout and red wine, with mushrooms and mash. It was delicious but unphotogenic, in the way of most stews.

Still on the topic of food, somehow word got round that I like doing food for parties. Kid 2's school is planning a cocktail party event at the Writers' Centre (isn't it pretty?) just down the road and they've asked me to cater. I'm sure I remember saying, at some point, that I should learn to say 'no' sometimes, but I failed. So, next month I'll probably be doing canapes for 80 people ...

The Summer of the Seventeenth Doll

I'm not really back, just in the mood for jotting down random thoughts ...

Last week was horrendous. We had the longest heatwave ever recorded in Sydney, with the temperature still over 33 degrees C at midnight on Saturday (it went over 41 during the day). This is not weather conducive to work or anything else. Fortunately the long-awaited cool change came through on Sunday afternoon - after sleeping with airconditioning on full blast the night before, we were suddenly needing a light blanket.

I think all the weather weirdness has thrown my poor body into confusion and now I have a slight cold. Dull.

January is normally the month I spend wondering where the next job will come from, but this year it's been different - plenty of work, plus I scored a new client, so that's all good. I even have an excuse to buy some slightly workish garb, as meetings with corporates will be involved ... I want to buy everything here as usual.

Kids 1 and 2 enjoyed their summer holidays. Kid 1 had sailing camp; Kid 2 did a production at NIDA. In the last week of January we went down to Jervis Bay with another family and enjoyed doing quite a lot of not very much. This is the house we stayed in.



This is the beach we played on.



Coming back to work and school was something of a rude shock.