Lucia’s Neighborhood

It was my 9yo who brought this "story" to my attention,  She said to me in disgust the other night "Did you know that they had on the news that Princess Mary had gone to the shops to buy nappies!?!".  I then told her about Cate Blanchett's shoes and she was even more amazed and went running off to tell her dad.

I actually find the whole Princess Mary carry on in Australia quite puzzling.  She is just a real estate agent from Tasmania and doesn't even seem to have much of a personality.  I remember a radio announcer joking at the time of the "Royal wedding" that we should change the Australian national anthem to "Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen".

No wonder the Republic didn't get up!

Show us a fashion trend that you hope goes out of style ASAP.

I had thought that this one had been asked previously but I just looked it up and found that I had actually given a sarcastic answer to a very different question. 

Kimmeee

Fortunately I think the muffin-top look is pretty much on its last legs now so my current least favourite fashion trend would have to be all those clothes like the smock top that make non-pregnant women look like they are in their last trimester or at least eating for two.  Given that being asked if I am pregnant is something that completely ruins my day, I can't see why anyone non-pregnant would voluntarily embrace this fashion trend.

Smock top

Also liked Diamond's answer to this question.  Hopefully the phase out of the muffin top will also result in the phase out of that particular nasty trend. 

I did it. The most monstrous task of all. The thing I dread with every molecule of my being. I packed today. It had to be done. I'm moving on Friday and I hadn't touched a box or packing tape until today. It didn't hurt that I've been living in another city sleeping on a mattress on the floor at my parents all summer meaning that I haven't been staring at all of my stuff dreading the chaos to come for every waking moment.

On second thought maybe that's a good thing.

A small amount of background on this subject. I am the WORST packer you have EVER met. I could come up with many examples but between my ability to procrastinate, my dread of change and tendency to label boxes “things that go on shelves” packing and I have been on the outs for a long time.  On my last big move I ended up starting to pack about 3 months before I was moving and I was still scrambeling at the last minute.  This move would be different I swore.  Surprisingly I did have some modest success in this venture.

Today actually went very well. At no point did I burst into tears. I labeled boxes appropriately with the room and contents across the top. And in four hours I managed to pack all of by bedroom, all of my office and now I just have the kitchen and basement to conquer tomorrow.

I have not conquered my phobia by any means but I am proud that for today at least I have triumphed.

Death haunts us not by the things that are there, but by the things that aren't.  The screaming emptiness a vacant chair at dinner.  The unsettling feeling of walking in the door and not tripping over their shoes.  The holes are loud, and even if we could fill them we wouldn't want to.  We slowly swallow the acidic knowledge that things will be okay eventually, maybe, but they will never be the same.  We try to accept this new version of ourselves and of our lives; there is less of us now, parts of us get buried with them in the ground. 
My uncle is not doing well.  It is to be expected, I know.  He was devastated that you are not allowed to plant flowers on the grave at the cemetery (this is because of maintenance issues apparently).  So he had dirt dumped next to where she died, and planted tons of perennials there.  The image of my uncle, on his knees, planting a garden where his daughter died breaks my heart.
The family went to the graveyard together the other day. They wanted to see the cross my uncle had made.  They held hands and prayed.  My grandmother finally cried.  She had been trying so hard to say that there was nothing sad about someone getting to go to God so soon, it is a nice thing for them, that there was no reason to cry.  The relief that she had finally allowed herself to react rippled through our family.
She called today to tell us about this.  She said she hopes they can go together to visit my cousin often. She said that no matter how hard it was, in the end it felt kind of good.  
It's so sad to hear about these things over the phone, imagining how life is for everyone so many provinces away.  It makes you cry private tears, the ones that spill down your cheeks without making any noise.
I watch my mothers face turn grey.  She keeps remembering when my brother was sick; imagining what life would have been like if we lost him.  I think she feels guilty for feeling lucky. 
I don't think I really understood until now, the fullness of loss.  I thought of death as an echo, something that starts off loud and then gets softer and softer until you don't even notice anymore.  I never realized that the people close to the deceased have a ringing in their ears that will never stop.

Don't have time to post the full report, but as you can see we had a last minute costume change.  My daughter ended up being only one of two dalmations (were loads of Pippi Longstockings - including one of the teachers) and my son the only Harry from Harry and the Bucket full of Dinosaurs (he decided he much preferred this to Puss in Boots).  Unfortunately Mollie had to stay home so didn't get to come and march as Hairy McLary from Donaldsons Dairy as she would have liked. 

Bucket

2 comments

Harry at home

Dalmation at home

Harry and Dalmation

Dalmation marching

Forlorn Mollie

Town says send us ugly women

A SEVERE female drought has gripped Mount Isa, but Mayor John Molony thinks he has the answer: send in the ugly girls.

Men outnumber women at a ratio of about five to one in the testosterone town and the female famine is taking its toll on young blokes, who call it the 'beer goggle capital of Australia."

"May I suggest if there are five blokes to every girl, we should find out where there are beauty-disadvantaged women and ask them to proceed to Mount Isa," Cr Molony said.

"Quite often you will see walking down the street a lass who is not so attractive with a wide smile on her face. Whether it is recollection of something previous or anticipation for the next evening, there is a degree of happiness.
"Often those who are beauty-disadvantaged are uphappy with their lot.

"Some, in other places in Australia, need to proceed to Mount Isa where happiness awaits.

"And, really, beauty is only skin deep. Isn't there a fairy tale about an ugly duckling that evolves into a beautiful swan?"

The miners' mecca has traditionally been a man's world – and young fellas say living in the Isa is about earning money, not finding love.

In 2006 there were just 819 females aged 20-24 living in town, compared with 994 in 1996. While most blokes accept the female drought is "just the way it is out here" – they still have a few suggestions as to how to lure the ladies out west.

Builder Paul Woodlands, 25, said the pay for jobs traditionally filled by women did not seem to match what the blokes could earn and there was little incentive for women to stay in the remote town.

"I know a few women who have come out here to do hairdressing, but they left to go back to the coast because the pay was bad and there's not much to do," Mr Woodlands said.

"I think if they improved wages for those types of jobs, it might help.

"There's definitely a lack of beautiful women, blokes are not as picky – you take what you can get."

Grant Rollings, 26, dubbed the Isa "the beer goggle" capital of Australia.

He said blokes were far less choosy when it came to women, because they were few and far between.

Electrician Paul McDonald said his mates warned him not to bring his girlfriend to the Isa as she would become prey to the men.

Though he claimed the divorce rate is skyrocketing in Mount Isa, after 12 months he is still happily attached.

Fly-in, fly-out miner Luke Eastgate, 22, hinted that while there were women around, many were not the type to take home to meet your mother.

"There are a small number of professionals, like school teachers and nurses, but it's more of an open set-up, it's difficult to find a girlfriend in this town and keep her."

Mr Eastgate said many young professionals were in Mount Isa for a short time to start their career before they moved back to larger cities.

The story which of course comes from Sydney's Daily Telegraph (also known as the Daily Terror) is accompanied by a photo of America Ferrara dressed as Ugly Betty superimposed over a photo over a Mt Isa landscape, the most notable feature of which is a very phallic, billowing smoke stack.  The caption under the photograph says "Ugly Betty ... would be welcome in Mt Isa".  Words fail me!

The Cook's Companion: The Complete Book of Ingredients and Recipes for the Australian Kitchen

Stephanie Alexander

This is the updated version of my favourite cookbook.  I received a copy as a wedding gift from my best schoolfriend, J, who is a marvellous cook (she is the person I ring up for any cooking advice I need).  As well as being a cookbook, it is also like an encyclopeadia about food. I particularly like how it is arranged in alphabetical order by produce so if you have say, a tonne of tomatoes, you just turn to the tomato section for ideas on what to do with them.  It also has cross-referencing in the margins so if there is a recipe using tomatoes in the chilli section, you can still find it easily.  My most successful recipes from this book have been the lemon tart and the banana cake but I have also referred to it for lots of other things over the years.  Someone else has reviewed this book on her blog here.

In the past few years however, the Cooks Companion has been taken over by the Presbyterian-Methodist Women's Union Cookbook, also given to me by my friend, J.  Like the Cooks Companion, it is pretty light on for pictures (actually only has line drawings of some of the dishes) but is really good for those basic things you don't like to admit to not being able to do, like roast a chicken.  I also find it great for when I pull a note out of one of my kids' schoolbags at 8pm on a weeknight that says "cakes and biscuits needed at school for a cake stall tomorrow".  Most of the recipes only contain a few ingredients so good for rustling something up in a hurry without going to the shops.  It has saved my skin numerous times on that kind of thing!

PMWU Centenary Cookbook

"Have you ever passed the night in chokey, Jeeves?"

"No, sir. I have been fortunate in that respect."

"It renders the appetite unusually keen. So rally round, if you don't mind, and busy yourself with the skillet. We have eggs on the premises, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall need about fifty, fried, with perhaps the same number of pounds of bacon. Toast, also. Four loaves will probably be sufficient, but stand by to weigh in with more if necessary. And don't forget the coffee -- say sixteen pots."

"Very good, sir."

-From Bertie Wooster Sees It Through by P. G. Wodehouse

I'm going in for some tests tomorrow.  In "preparation" for one of these tests I had to have a strictly fat free diet for 24 hours beforehand, and complete fasting for 12 hours.  When I initially was told this, I was unconcerned.  I haven't been eating much of anything anyways, and besides you can get a fat free version of anything these days. This will be easy, right? Wrong.
The Fates, as I should know by now, have a sick sense of humor.  I woke up at 6am this morning, stomach grumbling, for the first time in perhaps months, I was ravenous. I stumbled into the kitchen, and began checking labels for something fat free. The fruit of my efforts?  I discovered Soy Sauce is fat free.  Whoopeee. I cut up a cucumber and ate about a quarter of it.  The cucumber did not actually have a label... but I went out on a limb.  A cucumber, however, was not going to fulfill my hunger now, let alone for the whole day.  I got into the car and drove to the 24 hour grocery store.
I was all smiles with my little basket as I wandered around grabbing things on whims off of the shelf that had the beloved words "FAT FREE" on the packaging.  As I made my way to the checkout, a little voice crawled inside my head and said "maybe you should read the labels." Did you know that if a food has less then 0.5g of fat per serving it is allowed to call itself fat free? Lies! Lies! Lies! Not one thing in the damn basket was authentically fat free.
Round two: fight!
I left the store with carrots, celery, another cucumber, plain rice cakes, authentically fat-free fig newtons, one of the few fat-free yogurts that actually didn't have fat and a box of chicken flavored oxo powder.
The oxo powder was slightly in jest.  A few months back, when this whole unable to eat thing started, I mentioned to my mother that I was using broth as a sort of replacement meal. "That is anorexic food," she said curtly. This from the woman who mailed me exercise dvds and diet plans biweekly for a year and half.  I found today to be a lovely occasion to go back to brothy filler.  It is not actually that filling, if I am to be completely honest.
I went to work, which felt both long and short.  The morning was ungodly, but the afternoon passed quickly.  I finished Wuthering Heights.  That book started off borderline awful, but got progressively better, by the end I could actually say it was a brilliant read.  Depressing - but most good books are, it's an unwritten rule.  Then I did some hand sewing.  I've been making purses, and all I have left to do on most of them is the last little bit of "invisible" stitching.  Unfortunatly my hands were shakey; I kept poking my knuckles with pins and needles.
There was a curious incident at work today, that also added interest to the afternoon.  I was the only person in the building.  I noticed a beetle crawling on the floor, headed directly for my chair.  I promptly trapped it under the pencil cup, and figured I would wait until one of the guys got back from the field and then have them take him gently outside.  I considered naming him (Gomer) but decided I probably should refrain.  I sat back down. 
Approximatly ten minutes later, the aircraft I was doing flight watch for landed for a break, which meant i had time to run to the lunchroom.  I rolled my chair back and it didn't quite roll smooth, there was a slight crunch.  It did not take long to realize I had killed a massive disgusting beetle.  I could see that the first beetle was still trapped in the cup, and somehow two beetles is exponentially grosser then one. I didn't have time to think about it, I rushed to the lunchroom. 
When I got back to my desk there were three more live beetles crawling around, I am not even joking.  I thought maybe i was suffering from fat withdrawl, I was hallucinating.  People always talk about bugs crawling on their skin... this was relatively close to that. Maybe this was one of those biblical plagues, it was just starting small. I decided to go with the most rational building, of this is a very old building, of course there are bugs.  I am not sure if that actually makes sense, but its what I went for. 
This bug crisis put me in a terrible position.  There was no one I could ask to remove them.  There were not enough cups left to trap them.  Squashing them with my beautiful shoes was completely out of the question. I'm not really supposed to leave my office at all (have to stay by the radio), so working elsewhere was not an option.  I resolved to use my chair, it was what must be done.  I didn't know whether laugh or cry as I wheeled the chair around my office, squashing the three beetles.  In a careless move, owing largely to the fact that a wheel caught on a cord, I knocked the pencil cup over, and was obliged to squash the once incarcerated beetle as well. 
Beetle count: 5
I spent a good portion of the afternoon twitchy, forever certain a beetle was crawling up my pant leg, or in my hair (aha! now where was the infamous withdrawl symptoms!).  Only two more beetles actually materialised, neither of which crawled on me, both of which came to an end shortly after I spotted them.  (Beetle count: 7). 
I was very grossed out, and not, under ANY circumstances going to touch those bodies to remove them, so they were littered across the floor until the guys returned from the field.  One of whom noticed immeditatly, exclaiming "Was there a culling scheduled for today that I was unaware of?"
"Please! Please get rid of them."
And bless his heart, he did!
Thus concluded my day.
I got home, laid down on the couch, drank my anorexic-broth and watched Jesus Christ Super Star.          
 
 

Show us something gold, silver, or bronze.

Lemon butter and lemons

Some (golden) lemon butter I made yesterday using some of the lemons from the lemon tree we received as a wedding present more than 10 years ago.  I used my grandmother's recipe but instead of faffing around with double saucepans and constant stirring, I just tossed all the ingredients into the bread maker, turned it onto the jam setting and let it cook itself!  Here is the list of ingredients (which I doubled):

• 1 large cup of sugar
• 2 oz or 50g of butter or margarine
• juice of 2-3 lemons
• grated peel

ETA: For those without a breadmaker, you ideally need a double saucepan and at least an hour to spare.  If you don't have a double saucepan, you can boil water in a large saucepan and place the ingredients in a smaller saucepan, put that into the large sauce and stir for one hour until the mix thickens, taking care especially not to get streaks of egg in it (this was always my downfall when I did it this way).