The Garden of Many Delights

Some people may be a little tired of my lyrical waxings regarding my garden. Be that as it may, I have trotted forth with my lovely Christmas Camera (thankyou to Mr's Dad and Mum:-) and taken shots of the abundance that is the backyard of our Cottage.

This is an overview from the back porch. Attractive Hills-Hoist lets one know that we are definately still in Australia.

Yeah, it's sideways because I'm am technologically challenged, but it is still my lovely grapevine literally dripping with bunches of yummilicious fruits of bacchus. Not to mention, plenty of leves for homemade Dolmades. Yum.

Kiwis. Apparently (according to my father) the vast majority of Australians have never seen Kiwi's growing. If you are vastly Australian, -here you go. They're only babies at the moment. I suspect about 3 weeks will pass before I can pick and eat these beauties (which I intend to do standing in the shade of the vne with the fruit still warm from the sun). The Housewarming party will have to include some kind of Kiwi cocktail. All recipe suggestions gratefully received....

And oh, the unutterable delight of fresh raspberries from your own canes! I have been a little piggy of late (hence the serious lack of berries in the picture), but I left that one on there long enough to capture the moment. It is now somewhere in my digestive tract.

Plums dripping, ripening, blushing in the cool sunlight, plums to be stewed, eaten straight from the tree, preserved in tall glass jars, packed into baskets for friends and family. Look at those mouth-watering little fellas. Can't wait to pick the first bushel. All orders should come in early...I'm a greedy woman.

Part of the enormous vege garden. The top bed has cucumber (apple and lebanese), scarlet runner beans (sprouting atm), broccoli (sprouting), tomatoes (oxheart and roma), the lower square bed is all celery (I use it a lot )and the round mound seedless watermelon (again, just sprouting). This is all right down the back of the garden.

So there you go. I did not take photos of my ballerina apple tree, my golden and standard marjoram, plain and variegated sage, thyme, pineapple sage, yarrow, parsley, basil, corn/squash beds, capsicum/basil/eggplant/salad greens beds, lavender hedge, pear tree, cherry tree, digitalis, windflowers or newly dug front garden bed (complete with a pink hydrangea named 'Cameron'....he insisted) but you know you're welcome to come up and have a wander in my little eden. Ooooooh I love my garden. I love sharing it with others even more, so just hop on the ol telephone and give me a little warning first.

Makes one glide to be a lav.

The Day that was and will be again

I survived. I am very proud of myself.

Christmas Dinner was quite the thing, it being wintry and suitably English up here yesterday. We built a log fire, drank rose and port listened to the soundtrack of 'Miss Potter' (very excellent indeed) and opened prezzies.

As you can see, I became quite the non-creative Christmas chef and opted for a roast. Vegan, of course. We accompanied all that fatty goodness with a pear, walnut, avocado and rocket salad with lite goddess dressing, and a vegan cheesecake with raspberries, mango slice and toffutti ice-cream.

Pre-dinner nibblies were chilli + garlic rice balls with sweet chilli/sour cream, szechuan seitan niblets and spring rolls.

Lydgate treated us to a lovely dance in the loungeroom clad only in his brand new Oroton undies. Very fetching indeed. Mr and I settled down to an episode of 'Summer Heights High' and a bit of 'Black Books' (too much festiveness needed to be countered with some Bernard-style humbuggery) and Lydgate did Yoga in his PJ's.

All was very fine and cosy until I woke up at 2am and proceeded to hurl chunks until about 5am. That was a fun way to remember Christmas.

Lydgate puts it down to stress and mixing drinks, but as I have assured him,it wasn't alcohol sickness. I may be a bit of a cadbury girl but even I can't get wasted on a light beer, a snifter of port, a snifter of sherry and 2 glasses of wine. Sheesh, that would normally count as a mid-afternoon snack.

This was a mega-xmas-stress stomach event. So, the boys have gone off to Katoomba to see 'The Golden Compass'. I absolutely refuse to do boxing-day movies. Too many children by far. I have stayed home to pack for New Zealand and to do some much needed chilling.

Lots of kisses to the boys though. While I moaned and groaned in bed this morning with a razor-lined oesophagus, the dears did all the washing up and post-celebration cleaning.

They'll be back at about 5pm for an early dinner of Spaghetti Bolognese (which they cooked before they left), then a very early night. Mr and I will be at Kingsford-Smith tomorrow at 7am for an 8.50 flight to Christchurch. Exhausted, excited and blissfully alone, I shall play with my new camera for a while and then check the packing AGAIN.

When I've finished my Nutrition course, I'm going to do a Permaculture course. So there. I am well on the wasy to being a qualified Hippie. Peace.

Ouch in many many ways

Bloody hell. Even with Lydgate's strong arm and fabulous hoeing skills, I am as sore as all get-out after yesterday's gardening efforts. Mind you, yesterday saw the completion of all the really hard garden work. All beds are now prepped and most are planted out. I can now go on holidays in peace knowing that my garden is in proper working order.

Lydgate worked like a man possessed. Oh how I adore that boy today:-)

Apparently, according to some meaningful quasi-scientific facebook quiz, I show and appreciate love through 'Acts of Service'. i.e. don't tell me,-show me and vice-versa. I will cook you a feast in a second, but will rarely say anything 'lovey'.

Following, yesterday worked well. Lots of affection was communicated through soil, food, sweat and mulch. This is as it should be. Hoorah:-)

2 more days of teaching and then holidays! As of friday, I will have the head-space to plan the ultimate vegan Christmas feast. This involves pulling out all my favourite cookbooks, brewing a large pot of tea and pondering at my kitchen table. It would be appropriate at this point for an unusual cold snap to come in and wreath my garden in mist.

Vaughan Williams will be welded to my CD player, soy-milk will be purchased in bulk, and a shiny new pen will be obtained for the planning notes.

Now to find the motivation to teach this afternoon...I know I put it somewhere....

Seafood and sunsets

A long way to go for chips and salad. Lovely sunset, pleasant wine, a bit 'ho-hum' in the conversation stakes. Curiously non-festive for a celebration. Back in my cottage now though and off to my warm bed complete with purring kitten. Lovely.

Halawa is an Arabic sweet usually eaten after meals with warm pita bread. It can also be used as leg wax.
As I have the one dotted with pistachios, I will not use it as leg wax.
According to the site I visited , after making Halawa you can either eat it, or wrap it in glad wrap and store it in the fridge for next time.
I'm sure this is the only recipe in the world for leg-wax/dessert.
oooh, ABC FM is playing the soundtrack from 'Pride and Prejudice'. Time for a bubble bath and a cup of tea.

Kaleidoscope

Lots of different colours zooming in and out like the acid trip I never took.
Last weekend I was bathed in medical white, jungle green, jamaican coffee and the brilliant crystal hues of effortless conversation with like minds. I can't get over how stupidly pleased I was to converse with others about the delights of vegetable gardening. It sounds silly, but it is such a rush when random party-goers share this particular fetish of mine. My feet were frozen while I chatted about the mysteries of men with the inimitable Slamma, my tastebuds were delighted with Cam's first vegan cheesecake, my mind was tickled by a small but impressive medical posse.
The rest of the weekend was green, brown and straw. Mainly due to my early xmas presents from Brett. 5 bags of Cow poo, 5 bags of mushroom compost, 3 bags of bark-chips and 2 bales of fine straw. Best christmas present ever.
I donned old trackies,a light shirt, tons of sunscreen and wandered through the herbs to my vegetable beds. I hoed in manure, compost and straw til the soil was a light and friable delight. The back of the top bed was planted with scarlet runner beans. In front of them lebanese and apple cucumbers, in front of that 3 different tomato varieties and broccoli.
Next bed down has oodles of celery seedlings and a seedless watermelon mound.
Across the path is my 3rd bed that looks a lot like I've buried 10 cats. This is my mexican experiment. According to traditional mexican planting, the best yield and most eco-friendlymanner of planting is to cultivate 'the three sisters'. Corn, beans and squash. You prepare your soil and then create hills (hence the ten cat graves...I have mounds...). The first sister to be planted is corn. When she is 5 inches high you pop beans at her base. They fix nitrogen into the soil and of course, climb up the corn. When the beans have a decent leg-up you plant squash at the base. This effectively provides a mulching effect for the soil and the large leaves encourage water retention. Planting in this way gives you maximum yield for minimum space but cannot be used commercially because apparently no clever mexican has yet invented a machine that can harvest all three crops. It must be done the old-fashioned way.-by hand. I shall relish this immensely I assure you!
Below this bed is the currently fallow nightshade bed. Next weekend it will be hoed and pooed and planted with capsicum, chilli, basil, more tomato and eggplant.

My only issue now is that I have no beds left for onion, garlic, potato and zucchini and I have completely forgotten to set aside space for a salad bed. Brett won't love me very much if I ask him to build me two new beds. Perhaps I will have to revert to my chaotic planting instincts and just slot them in wherever there's space.
When the house-warming party happens (mid to late January I hope), everything should be verdant and juicy and gorgeous and heart-warming. I shall lead people through my eden in a large straw hat and flowing whites and wach their hearts warm at the sight of organic abundance. People who don't think veges are beautiful needn't attend.

Off to Doyle's tonight for a 'Symphony' dinner. I'm not sure why I'm going to a seafood restaurant. My brother's idea. I guess I will try to be gracious and not gag into my salad while fellow humans rip heads and intestines from various sea-creatures and stuff them into their gaping maws. Many cigarette breaks may be necessary just to escape the smell. -Yes, I'm aware of how ridiculous that sounds.

What goes around...

I should have touched wood.
Now I'm sick as a dog. My throat is an inferno embedded with razors, my nose is dripping buckets, I have an awful dry cough that only gets worse when I try to sleep.
Last night I totalled about 2hrs. Exhausted and needing TLC. Brett is sick too though, so limited sympathy and care is available.
Tomorrow I have to clean the house from top to bottom for a buyers inspection on saturday. Woo-hoo and Huzzah. I also have dear Lydgate coming up to celebrate the end of his course. I am determined to make a huge vegan lasagne and a crispy salad. Best of luck to me. I wish me all the best.

Great Southern Star

It's all over. I am left in the wake of the Symphony, elated, exhausted, a little lost.

It really was a wonderful evening. No, wonderful is the wrong word. It was an epoch in my performing life. It didn't feel like an epoch, but I know it was. It felt like just another gig, albeit with a better cast than I've worked with in some time.

Tuesday the 27th November was a grey, steamy day. The air was so thick you raised a sweat just getting out of the car. Mum and I went down early and parked at the Garrison, then walked around the unpleasantly fragrant harbour to the Opera House. The Stage Door was packed with catering staff, -neatly ironed penguins waiting to be led into the culinary bowels of the Opera House. They were there to create tempting delicacies for VIP's and sponsors and to serve them quietly and efficiently. Little penguin ghosts carrying champagne and canapes. I wanted to be one of them. There is some comfort in total anonymity.
Up the stairs we went to the blue Green Room. I ordered Chips and Gravy and enjoyed their absolute averageness in peace. Members of the Australian Ballet flitted to and fro amongst tables like butterflies with impossibly erect postures and well turned-out hips. ballet dancers don't run, they prance and frolic from one place to the next. I was an impostor in their world.
My bottle of Mead was promptly stashed in a locker. Mead is necessary to coat the cords with pleasant viscous warmth before concert performing. It's brown paper bag was suitably crumpled and seedy. Music? -check. Posters?,-check. Pen?,-check. T-Shirt?,-check. Time to adopt an erect turned-out posture and check for Choristers arriving.
In a matter of minutes the Green Room is a sea of white t-shirts. The sea has endless questions for me. At some point I have to find the 'stars' of the evening and take annoying back-stage photos of them for my brother's archives. I hate this job.
Through the endless intestinal corridors of the concert hall I amble, camera in hand. No sign of my brother. He is chauffering the amazon to and from another gig. I worry. He will be stressed. When he is stressed the ripples spread wide and fast.
Garret, Humble and Mardar are congregated around a steinway in a dressing-room with a view. I take an awful photo of the three and attempt wit. Garret gives an on-camera interview about my brother. It is odd to hear someone else speaking with authority about my brother and his work. I stand in the background amusing myself with alternative answers to the questions. Everyone laughs at his observations. Famous people are always witty.
No sign of the Nightingale or the Horse though. My plans of a photo of the lead cast are fast coming unstuck.
A brief visit to the holding pen and I get welcome cuddles and kisses from my favourite people. Time is slipping away fast and the choir needs to be warmed up, given notes to, and inspired.
I pop outside for a quick cigarette with Garrett. We discuss the TV series, Bjork, Superstar and repertory theatre. Again I am surprised by how much I like this guy. He promises to procure me a soundtrack I have been craving for some time.
Back upstairs the amazon and my brother have finally arrived. She looks like Titania, only more beautiful, he is surprisingly calm and wanders amongst the sea of white, meeting, greeting and laughing with his choir. The Camera follows him. I am reminded that success in the music industry is something I do not crave. Unfortunately there were no mall-babies for him to kiss.
It is time. I yell instructions. Waves of white wash past in excited whispers. The orchestra are all dressed up this time. Emperor penguins. they have the status and they know it.
The hall is full. Faces and colours shift and murmur like grass in the breeze. Lights go down. All eyes are glued stage right. Out strides our master and commander. I am struck by the sheer grace and presence of this man. His place in our strange world is well-deserved. I hope my voice responds appropriately to the graceful arc and sweep of his baton.
I hear the music. It washes through, in and out, round about. My eyes are fixed on our gallant leader. I could watch him for days. I wish I could just slouch in this seat, pour a glass of champagne and gaze.
40 minutes goes. I can't believe it. We are done. I have pulled the best out of my protesting throat. I am definately developing a version of my fiancee's cold. I have needed to cough every time the orchestra is quiet. I completely forgot to have any of the mead I so thoughtfully brought. It is still in its locker.
The entire audience is standing, cheering, yelling, clapping. In the distance my brother and his luminous colleaugues are being presented with Chandon and Roses. I grin like a fool and am surprised by tears welling in my treacherous eyes. I am so proud of him. I am so proud that the ditty that was given birth in my lounge-room has moved 2000 people. I feel very small, very happy, very sad,very overlooked, very proud, very ashamed. I leave the stage very quickly and head for that bastion of sanity,-the ladies bathroom.

I leave the Opera House with possibly indecent haste. I want to get away from all of it. It is too much. I smile and laugh and accept congratulations on my brother's behalf. I can't pass them on because he is with the VIP's and penguins somewhere lofty. Incidentals are not invited. I put on my festive face and make a rather large hoo-hah about procuring a margharita. It is expensive and average. Pan and tinks buy it for me. We, the unimportant sit at the Opera bar and try to dispel insignificance with bright laughter. I am surrounded by my dearest friends and loved ones, but I am not happy.

I steal a look at the programme. My name is there on the back cover. That's something I guess. There is proof that I was there.

The evening steams and sweats as we disperse. Home. bed.

In a Nutshell

This in response to my dear friend, the funky lamb, who made the mistake of asking:-)

WHY VEGAN?

The Environment

In 2002, more than 1/3 of all fossil fuels produced in the US are used to raise animals for food. Where the environment is concerned, eating meat is like driving a huge SUV or an 18-wheeler. Eating a vegetarian diet is like driving a mid-sized car, and eating a vegan diet is like riding a bicycle or walking.

According to John Robbins, the average vegan uses about 1/6 of an acre of land to satisfy his or her food requirements for a year; the average vegetarian who consumes dairy products and eggs requires about three times that, and the average meat-eater requires about 20 times that much land. We can grow a lot more food on an equal amount of land if we're not funnelling the crops through animals.

It requires about 300 gallons of water to feed a vegan for a day. It requires about four times as much to feed a vegetarian, and 14 times as much to feed a meat eater.

Human Rights

Right now, 1.3 billion people, more than 20% of the world's population, are living in dire poverty. Right now, 800 million people are suffering from what the United Nations calls "Nutritional deficiency". That's a euphemism: they're starving. It is depressing to consider that throughout the last big famine in Ethiopia, that country was exporting desperately needed soy to Europe to feed to farmed animals. The same relationship held true throughout the famine in Somalia in the early 1990's.

Two years ago, the Un commission in Nutritional Challenges for the 21st Century said that unless we make major changes, 1 billion children will be permanently handicapped over the next 20 years as a result on inadequate caloric intake. The first step toward averting this tragedy, according to the Commission, is to encourage human consumption of traditional grains, fruits and vegetables.

Animal Rights

Science and understanding may have progressed, but factory farming hasn't. As Senator Robert Byrd told the US Senate, "our unhimane treatment of livestock is becoming widespread and more and more barbaric". He went on to detail the suffering of pigs in tiny stalls, hens in cages, calves in crates, and the inhumane slaughter of all these animals. Senator Byrd stated, "These creatures feel; they know pain. They suffer pain just as we humans suffer pain."

In the rush for profits, abnormal breeding practises are used so that animals will grow far more quickly than they would naturally, and their organs and limbs can't keep up. So, for example, chickens' upper bodies grow seven times a quickly as they did just 25 years ago, but their lungs, hearts and limbs can't grow that fast. These factory-farmed animals live for fewer than two months before they're at full slaughter weight, and yet they still suffer from high rates of lung collapse, heart failure and crippling leg deformities.

Add to this the torture of calves for veal, the distress caused to the mother cow, the insane cannibalism of factory-farmed pigs, the day-old chicks ground up live for fertiliser, the emptying of our oceans...

The Lost Sacred

I'm not talking about religion, but the intrinsic connection of all life to our planet and each other. "It's raining blood and everyone is getting wet".

Imagine "civilisation" from the perespective of a non-human -any non-human-and the grotesque, out-of-focus picture comes into clear relief: humans are consuming everything else, with reckless abandon.

Part of what is stirring in the dark places of the Australian psyche, invisible becoming visible, is the inkling that this paramount value of society is atrting to reach its limits. And as our collective buttons pop from our accumulated obesity, the fear that there will be a price for this century-long binge is becoming more apparent. The move from kill as you please to kill nothing unnecessarily is the escape hatch from that torrent of blood.

try as you might to block it out with packaging and "merchandising" -pseudo-science supporting your need -what it boils down to is you are addicted to it, feel it is your birthright and are willing to sacrifice innocent lives of many species to satisfy it.

Now, if you can accept that premise as true in yourself and still love yourself unconditionally, then dismiss this as an angry diatribe, a litany of laments from amongst the ranks of the disenchanted, disenfranchised minority. Dig deeper into your own habits and determine whether you are dripping blood along your karmic trail.

All the prophets of all great religions preach the same basic concept: "Do unto others". It is in the definition of "others" that humans are so limited.

SCREECH!

I really love Cicadas. No really. Every time my fur-kid brings in another green beauty to chomp on, I promptly save it. So, my reaction to walking into my backyard this morning was surprising. I was hit by a throbbing, pulsating wall of high-pitched screeching. Every Cicada in NSW has gathered in Valley Heights for a clan-bake. If I had an enormous gun full of deadly insecticide (thunk I..) I would douse the entire valley. This constant noise does very bad things to my edginess levels.

Mind you, I am edgy for other reasons. Half my world has been reduced to brown paper boxes and the other half needs to be packed pronto. I have also recently swallowed a lead-weight of 'Oh My God' when I realised how much removalists will cost me.

Nimue is cranky and swipey (of course). She knows something's up.

I also have to venture out into the screeching heat this afternoon to teach for someone else. This is not a huge problem, just another thing that gets in the way of packing. Through all this though, I have plans. I am not a mouse, or a man, so I have every expectation of fulfilling thiese plans.
The front garden of the new house needs love...badly. While at Faulconbridge fruit-market yesterday I found some gorgeous white hydrangeas and some espaliered star-jasmine. For $100 I can get 4 hydrangeas and 3 jasmines. This will be my new front garden. Hydra-Jasmine-Hydra-Jasmine etc. There is also a beautiful pale pink briar rose twined about my letter box that needs poo & pruning.

So, although there are weeks of teaching, symphonic carrying-on, packing and trips to NZ to be planned, I DO have a beautiful garden to take it allout on very shortly.
Oh, and I know what I want for Christmas. Anyone at all, please feel free to buy me lucerne hay, pea-straw or poo. I'm not fussy about the variety. Am also calling for bags and bags of rich compost. Please do not wrap said bags of poo nor place them beneath the Christmas tree.

Oh, just in case I know rich people. A large Persian Rug wouldn't go astray. I have a log-fire in my new house and it told me it wanted a persian rug in front of it. It has vanity issues I think.

Where's all this promised rain BOM? Waiting.....

Redressing the balance

I've been so caught up in Symphonic madness of late that my essential kitchen therapy has been largely ignored. This is why I have been grumpy and out-of-sorts. So, today I will put in 5 hours of solid work on the Symphony and then do some very 'Cath' things.

First; clean the kitchen until it sparkles

Second; Wash all 'Fiddler' costumes (and hope like hell it doesn't rain)

Third; create scrummilicious meal for long-suffering fiancee consisting of crispy potato pancakes, roast balsamic cauliflower and parsnip with walnuts, crisp green salad with raspberry vinaigrette, honey sesame broccolini, peas and english spinach. Mini vegan cheesecakes for dessert with soy ice-cream for the Brett.

This will take my spaghetti-like brain and rearrange it into a calm and orderly place that is quite capable of dealing with future symphonic stress.

All this activity will be accompanied by my new 'anti-stress' CD which includes Sakamoto, Vaughan Williams, Ladies in Lavender, Pride and Prejudice and Meet Joe Black. The kitten is sleeping in stretchy-mode on the carpet, the sun is shining, the neighbourhood is quiet. I can achieve this. I will now walk away from the computer and reclaim the day.

Mental

Everyone is insane but me. The book is not worth $69.95. Period. It is NOT.

The army officials invited will not come because they don't care.

The wednesday launch breakfast is insane. 5 attendees and over $2000 on marketing.


Mental.

Me working 7 1/2 hours and travelling for 6 is silly. Mental.

Not targeting industry executives in the 400-odd comps is inconceiveable, nay, criminal.

(Insert glass-shattering scream of frustration).

And sorry for messaging you so early Cam, but (patently) my brain resembles frustrated spaghetti.

Come and see 'Fiddler'. I'm Jewish, depressed and don't have a solo to speak of. Yay. Just as 'yay' as everything else.

Uprooted and screaming like a baby mandrake

This what happens when things are going well. They stop going well in spectacular fashion. I have just received news that I have to leave my little cottage.
The owners are selling.
I can't tell you how insecure I feel. I'm in a state of flux and anxiety. I love my house. I love my neighbourhood. I love the bright red flanders poppies that peek through the lavender and the ti-tree dripping with white blossoms. I love the vege patch that Brett built for me at some expense.

I love my huge garden and the wonderful meals we've had in it. My cat adores this place. She has a special tree. She will be sad to lose her tree.
I need a fairy godmother to buy this house for us.
I am scared and shell-less. This is no longer my home. I am in transition again and bloody terrified. Don't hurt me now. I'll bleed buckets.

Busy but not engaged

Why have I not written anything interesting or cotroversial for weeks?

I am swamped trying to fill the Opera House concert hall (2000 people) and organising a top-drawer choir for my little brother.

I am also in production week for 'Fiddler On the Roof' (BMMS). I have recently been co-opted into publicity for both events (as well as performing in them).

Anyone that is desperate for a truly fabulous musical hit should buy tickets/

http://www.symphonyofaustralia.com/

I know he's my brother...nepotism is truly not in play. I would go anyway. This work is fan-bloody-tastic.

All of cream-boys fans should be aware that he will sing!

It's worth the price of admission just to see that, surely?

too cool for school

You know what really pisses me off? People who when offered the opportunity to sing with SSO at the Opera House in a Premiere Australian work sigh and humph and give me attitude, Puhleease, if I'm stopping you from painting your nails that night...apologies. Go ahead and do it.

Everyone is waiting to be noticed. Everyone believes they are an undiscovered genius. Worse, they expect me to agree.
I don't know and I don't care. If you don't want to do it, OK.-that's your choice. If you do,..sheesh , is it too much to ask for a little politeness?
Just be real. If you hate the idea, tell me so. If you love it, tell me so. The sun will rise tomorrow morning regardless.

Fairy Bread

Hundreds and Hundreds and Hundreds. Then there's 'Fiddler', then there's the School, then there's the course.
I'm a fermata...hold me!!

Maybe it's the way people are

Sometimes, just sometimes people really do my head in. Normally I'm sarcastic and cyncical and unsurprised by people.
Today things are getting under my skin.
This is probably because I've spent my entire day doing 'industry' PR and being terribly nice to total strangers. This is why people hire me,-an odd propensity to speak to strangers as though we are already friends.
This has been quoted as a 'strength' of mine. The consequences are far-reaching though.
I spend my day pretending. Therefore the real friends become (in comparison) highly consequential. Which means I get disappointed. Which leads me back to the safe assumption that people are just no damn good.
Which is comforting. I can now go to bed with my walls well in place and my defenses fortified.
I can wake on the morrow with absolute confidence that the day will hold one disappointment or another. I will be pleasantly unsurprised. I will be strong again.

On the rare occasions that I let idealism rather than pragmatism inform my emotions, I whip myself silly for my stupidity. I like willful Naivete, but it just leaves one a little 'unprotected'. I will henceforth discuss the concept philosophically, rather than embracing/living it.

I may sound bitter. I assure you I'm not. Just a little greyer than I was yesterday. It's all about balance and self-control. What was it that Cam said? I shall show myself by hiding myself (sans beard, obviously:-). Things are simple when you have a fortress!

Ungeplant

I had intended to do the kitchen; clean out the pantry, put things in order. Baking with baking, Sauces with sauces etc. It was a good plan. Then I went out to mornig tea with my brother...

He suggested that we drive out to Mudgee for the day.....

I am becoming a Taurus. My first thoughts were 'but I had planned to do the kitchen/ I haven't planned this/ This will be an unknown energy-drain/ Will I have enough unplanned energy to manage three hours rehearsal after this trip?'

Then I realised I was a Gemini and said 'why not?'.

So me, my brother and my father drove to Mudgee. We 'ooohed' at the appropriate greenness, we 'tsked' at the inappropriate haze. We discussed religion, performance, teaching and the implications of higher moral philosophy on existence. We tasted, lunched, purchased and drove home.

1/2 an hour later I was Jewish girl having her wedding destroyed by a Russian Pogrom.

I loved the 'Abercorn' vineyard. It had Wisteria and a cat napping 'neath lavender. Gavin chose the 'vixenesque' merlot, while I went for the 'raw and naked' unwooded Chardonnay.

(All their wine is described via various sex-metaphors...my father stood by wondering where he went wrong;)

I am now officially exausted. I do have the ingredients for Cam's banana bread though, so tomorrow I shall address the neglected pantry and make some warm and fragrant banana bread for liddle Cam.

I should have bought a case of the Chardonnay though...great drop.

Aaaaahhh.....

I have a glass of Chardonnay. I have silence. I have no students in the immediate future. I have no money. I have tons of time. Life is sweet.

Finally

It's here! In exactly 6 hours and 22 minutes I will be on holidays! No more teaching for two weeks...oh joy and relief and a huge exhalation.
In the next 2 hours I will summon up the strength to go in to work for the last stretch. The strength will come from a can of 'V' and a nice bubble bath (whilst listening to the 'Pride and Prejudice' Soundtrack.) The bubbles will smell of Ylang Ylang, Lavender and Cinnamon.

When I come home I will have a comforting meal. Devilled vegan sausages, mash and cajun veges. When my tummy is happy, I will brew a huge pot of tea and settle down with Rutherford's 'The Forest' on the balcony. It will have stopped blowing a gale by then and will be a pleasant spring evening laced with the smells of Jasmine, Wisteria and Lavender.

I will not feel sorry for myself. I will not be jealous that mum and dad could afford to go to 'Dead Man Walking' and I couldn't. I will ignore the extremely drastic state of my finances and instead amuse myself planning thrifty but tasty meals for the next few days.

Tomorrow I will go for a walk, I will potter in the garden, I will make seitan and clean out my bedroom. The only music in my world will be what I choose to listen to. I will be able to use the energy I normally spend trying to motivate others to motivate and nurture myself. I will be quiet and calm and spend time watching the tiny birds in the snow-tree. I will chat to Nimue and play with her in the sunshine.

I will entertain vague hopes that my brother will find some time to spend with me soon. I will dream pleasant dreams and fall in love with my doona. I will Live, not just survive.
Amen.

9.15pm October 1993

Dale mentioned 'crushes', I haven't had one in quite a while. I have only vague memories of the insidious and painful flutterings that accompany the 'crush'.

So here's misty crush-ramble from Sydney University quad 1993. The fellow in question was a very nice boy (with a girlfriend) who fooled around with me a bit on the side. Despite the gravitas of my perceptions at the time, I did get over him, and proceeded onto better and more painful crushes:-)

Call me melodramatic. Call me obsessive, but it seems in this fog I stand, and alone imagine I watch you fly,-leap at the warming sun, way from the chill of my arms, away from my curiously breaking heart. I am smoking. I know you do not like that. It is almost as if I'm trying to provoke you, isn't it? -I have this desire you see, to become she who knows how and when to lt go. But you must see that I can't. I am chaining you with these words, I hold you down with the full weight of my soul -a weight no one should have to bear.

I am watching this fog you see; it's dancing, it's making love to the streetlight,-it disappears and licks forward again, tormenting the darkness. The cigarette I am holding in my left hand, enabling me to write, glows cancerously, I consider stubbing it into the wet sidewalk but am distracted by a tearing cramp. I am smiling, realizing that I am, in effect, writing letter aftr twisted letter to you in this book, masking its strangeness with a false belief that these are actually diary entries. I know you'll read it, and smile, and perhaps kill me with silence that I will fill the next 4 pages guessing at. It's a strange game we play my lion,-don't you think? And isn't it strange that sitting here in the fog picturing you, I know that my obsession has become love, and that I should never have written it down, because anything you say now will rip me apart. I am a fool, and you rather than I hold the strings of the storm. I stub my cigarette.

And in Dreams....

It is an odd thing, the human brain. The moments between waking and sleeping remain completely delicious as a result. Swirling and strangely comforting magenta dreams starring unlikely combinations of people and situations. Kisses caught by night from thy lips red blossom. Then, before the reality of morning crystallizes, there are moments of sweet pulsing langour, when part of your brain says 'No, NOT appropriate' but the limbic part pushes it away lazily

During the day, you wonder if people can detect the secret behind your smile. You notice men following your movements as though you have been marked by some invisible brand. You feel the langour creep up again as the sun soaks into your skin, and as you watch it dance over the river currents.

You find yourself wishing for sleep, and a mind that can be ordered to repeat pleasant dreams. You know it won't. You know you shouldn't wish it, but you do. And the wishing shimmers in your wake, marking you, changing you.

An odd thing, the human brain.

Two toes down, lots left to injure

Two days ago I began my 'get skinny for the wedding' regime. 6 months to go, I figured, gave me a reasonable (and sensible) time-frame for said project.

So all fat is hereby banished. Simple sugars (and simple carbs) banished. Alcohol will only be consumed one night per week, and then in extreme moderation. Food will be eaten raw where possible. 3/4 of dinner plate will be full of salad, oats for brekkie, lots of water, and of course..the exercise regime.

I did a great deal of research and came to the conclusion that I'm not a 'sports' person, I hate the gym, and I prefer to exercise to music (of my choice). So the sensible thing seemed to be to put together a home regime using my own body-weight resistance (and Oh! How it resists!) with a 30 minute walk every day.

The first day I managed 125 crunches and my 1/2 hour walk.

The second day I only managed 75 crunches, and no walk:-( (Bloody work got in the way)

The third day (today) I got serious.

First: 50 crunches (achieved)

Second: 20 Hindu Squats (8 achieved)

Third: 20 Hindu push-ups (15 achieved)

Disappointed with myself, I accepted a trip out for tea with mum. Very wobbly walking. Very. My thigh muscles said 'Exercise is bad you dumb chit'. I gave them 'the look' and continued to ignore them. I had decided, however, that the walk was out of the question for the day.

Tea went well with lots of music/student conversation,then blammo, coming down the Ori stairs I slipped and fell. Bits of skin and blood now decorate the Ori's entrance and I have sprained my left big and second toes (not to mention a slight, but nonetheless painful decline in dignity).

I am now in the midst of lamenting my woeful fitness levels and the fact that my regime will be seriously hampered by Pain. Without the balance provided by my toes, I will be reduced to crunches only and possibly a sad hobble 'round the block. I also have rehearsals tonight (mainly dance!) and have 3 hours of teaching to do.

Poor me. If the world was fair I would hop onto the couch with a blankie, hot tea and 'Pride and Prejudice' while my sweet fiancee generally fussed over me.

Not fair! I bought the daisies. It's supposed to be good karma for me!

Steatopygia

Whoa. I mean, 'I like big buts and I cannot lie...'

Ok I have a little tiny, wee, almost ridiculous But in comparison.
Apparently this is an adaptive mechanism for living in tropical climates. i.e the limbs remain lean and fast while the fat stores will see you through the 'dry' season when there is little to eat.
The future of the Australian female while global warming continues?
Is it just me or is that whole 'pointy' thing absolutely extraordinary? I love learning new things:-)

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

Was this silly?

I had $30 spare dollars. Three main choices to 'treat' myself.

Choice No 1. African daisies to make my front yard (rented) prettier.

Choice No.2. A nice new pair of slip-ons to make my feet prettier

Choice No.3. A nice new bottle of vodka to make my world-view prettier (at least momentarily)

I bought the daisies. I am now considering that it was probably a foolish decision as I don't actually own the property (so I have effectively given a $30 gift to my landlord).

My old slip-ons have actually fallen apart.

I really could have used a drink tonight after a full teaching load.

I astonish me with my silliness.

The daisies look extremely pretty and sunny though. They also urged me to go out and buy them some more friends. 2 different colours under each plum tree was their helpful suggestion.

The slip-ons seem further and further away by the minute.

Yente

Oh lord, I have been accidentally thrust into a match-making morass.
I swore I would never have any part in this, EVER again.
But when someone asks me to describe Fellow X, I can't help but wax lyrical. This has some very bad consequences.
How does one stop 'enthusing' about a friend that deserves to be 'enthused' over?
If anyone mentions self-control I will hurl bilious chunks.
This is my pre-emptive apology for enthusing.
Erm....that's it.

Love went a-riding

Lovely lovely lovely new song.

Music by Frank Bridge, words by Mary E Coleridge.

Love went a-riding,

Love went a-riding over the earth,

On Pegasus he rode.

The flowers before him sprang to birth,

And the frozen rivers flowed.

Then all the youths and the maidens cried.

"Stay here with us", "Stay here with us",

"King of Kings".

But love said, "No! for the horse I ride,

for the horse I ride has wings".

Love went a-riding, Love went a riding over the earth.

On Pegasus he rode.

Ahhhh, new music can do such wonderful things to a tired musical mind. Cam, new song to learn. Beastly accompaniment...It's actually listed as a 'virtuoso' accomp. There's a wee challenge for your weekend:-)

The Mill-wheel turns and the waters roar.

You can't see much from there. Your view is blocked by verdant green. There is no latch on the wooden gate, just push gently. Oh, the Jasmine often gets stuck just there, don't worry-there's enough of it for me not to worry about the bit you just broke off.
It's quite safe to take your shoes off on this path. In fact, do. Then your feet will feel the tickle of the thyme and chamomile that grows between the rocks.
What you're smelling is the Daphne to your right, and the wisteria that covers the front porch. If a breeze springs up you will be showered with tiny purple petals.
Now you can see the house more clearly. It's not large, but most available outside wall-space is covered with creeping something. The Wisteria you can't miss, it literally drips off the awning in almost obscene abundance. The red vine near the chimney is boston ivy. I love it, but unfortunately so do spiders. I always send Mr to trim it back as a result. Oh, stop for a minute. Just near the front step there is an enormous may bush. Stand under it. Now, grab a branch and shake. Trust me. It's snowing! I loved to this when I was a child, and the little white petals in your hair are sweet.
The blue and pink hydrangeas are in full bloom. I don't know how Mr manages to have both colours in the same garden bed, some mysterious PH balancing act known only to him. Ah well, let him have some secrets!
The porch is quite cool isn't it? I suspect the vines act as insulation. Over to the right there is where we most often eat breakfast. It's lovely in the dappled sunlight. The cushions on the chairs need replacing, but they're still comfortable. To the left is Mr's chair, yesterday's paper, an open paperback and a tea-mug. I have asked him to pick up after himself...sigh.
Come in, come in! Tea? Yes, I looove my kitchen too! Mr did most of it himself. I wanted it to look like something out of the Magic Faraway Tree, hence the countertops with rough bark edges and the old iron range complete with stone chimney and fire.
Yes, the herbs hanging above you are from the garden. I dug the onions about a week ago and just finished plaiting them. They are pretty aren't they? That's marjoram, thyme, lemon verbena, lavender, bergamot, golden rod,...oh, the odd looking pods? Love-in-a-mist/Devil-in-a-bush. Have some warm banana bread with that.
Would you prefer to drink that out the back?
Do you mind if I just grab some veges for dinner while we're here? I know it looks like a hodge-podge but this 'random' planting seems to confuse the bugs. Aren't the scarlet flowers on that bean trellis pretty? I think I like them more than the beans.
Cauliflower, Kale, Tomato, a couple of zucchini, a few leaves of the red-oak, lamb's ear, cos, butter...I just take leaves as I need them. Can you just have a squiz in that vine behind you and see if there's a decent sized cucumber? No, not that one, that's the kiwi,-the one with the little yellow flowers.
Now some Calendula flowers, borage flowers, parsley...no, that's an heirloom tomato. It doesn't taste purple. Have one! Go on, nothing quite like a sun-warm tom straight from the vine.
That down there? That's the shed and music studio. Oh, the miniature version on the left is the chook-house. That huge tree hanging over the chooks is a quince. The blossoms are magnificent but I can't give away enough of the fruit! Take a basket home with you if you like. I've never really had the patience to make Jam.
Ohhh. That chill comes off the mountains at this time of afternoon. Time for a jumper pretty soon I think. We weren't sure about living this high up, but the bulbs love it. If you had come last week you would have seen more jonquils and daffodils,-they're past their best now and Mr is just itching to mow the lawn. He's not allowed until after the flowering season, of course.
Actually, he'll be home any minute. I should probably make a start on dinner. Would you like to stay? Nothing fancy I'm afraid, just Mash, roasted cauliflower, chick-pea burgers and ratatouille with a big salad.
My brother was over last week though and left a marvellous bottle of Pinot. We'll open it shall we? I'll light some candles and put some relaxing music on.
I'd love a hand with dinner,-thankyou! let's go in and see what we can create....

"Well, what the hell DO you want?!".....

Fine, here's my Christmas list...you asked.....

(1) My own home. Must have large wooden kitchen and spacious bathroom as well as my 'piece of earth'.
(2) Roles in profesional musical theatre
(3) All my great friends happy, secure and not too far away
(4) some friggin' credit
(5) Enough money to buy the Ryuichi Sakamoto 'Wuthering Heights' soundtrack
(6) To have finished my course and consequently to be able to earn decent money
(7)For my little brother to be happy
(8) For my father to reverse his diabetes
(9) enough money to support my furry friends all over the world
(10) For Australia to substantially reduce their meat consumption and for some decent animal-rights laws to be passed.
(11) Just one halfway decent film role
(12) To have the time and means to study the Cello
(13) to travel to exotic climes

That's about it. Simple and predictable. Happy now?....

Thankyou dearest:-)

Thankyou for making me believe I was beautiful for one night, when everything else in my life demanded the opposite opinion.

Thankyou for your eyes filled with dark secrets.

Thankyou for forgiving me everything and encouraging me to make more mistakes.

Thankyou for your mouth in the rain, your hair in the firelight, and your prolific poetry.

Thankyou for your hands, your laugh, your smile, your child-like enthusiasm, your inspiration and your constant forgiveness of my faulty voice, my average sight-reading, and my endless foibles.

Thankyou for coming out even though it broke my heart.

Thankyou for choosing me across a crowded room and talking with me until dawn...and then making me feel as though the world had disappeared.

Thankyou for Tom Waits, Yellow roses and demanding that you see my eyes.

Thankyou for your ageless beauty, your constant giving and your belief that everything I do is a stroke of genius.

Thankyou for coming in for coffee, kissing me until the stars swam and then staying forever.

Thankyou for accepting my difference and loving me anyway.

Thankyou for coming with me to realms of midnight and madness. For Doghead, for Curlew and Craven, for making High School a joy, and for your ethereal beauty.

Thankyou for being the friend that dismissed our first meeting, loved one of my best friends, opened my mind, drank with me on fridays, cooked up a storm and is still mistaken for being me.

Thankyou for making me experience obsession, pain, passion, denial, philosophy and friendship by post.

Thankyou for your talent, your beauty, your accent, your charity and for coming to my little brother's Symphony from half way across the world even though I am a complete stranger.

Thankyou for being my rock, the mirror of my faults, the only one who gets it, the most patient and forgiving being, the gentlest and kindest of people and the most vocal appreciator of my cooking.

As previously posted; every sentence is aimed toward a differet person.

No one can stop me...

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie

Your name rhymes with 'Chatterly'

which is handy because

Cameron wants to be your Mellors..

'You'll say a better horse has never sat-a-gee

You'll say a better horse has never sat-a-gee

You'll say a better horse has never sat a sat a gee..."

I am a powet

Clive Clive Clive

Your name rhymes with 'Chive'

which is handy because

You would also be tasty in a savoury kind of way.

Rimes

Gerry Gerry Gerry,

your name rhymess with 'Berry'

and that is excellent, very

cos I want to gobble you all up...erry.

wow. Best bit of writing I've done in years and nothing.
No reaction, at all? Not the images at least?
Nothing resonated with anyone?
'K. Point taken.

Father's Day Dinner

Menu

Southern Fried Chicken Seitan nuggets

Beef Seitan Casserole

Asparagus and Carrots in Orange Juice/Nuttelex glaze

Baked Balsamic potatoes and parsnip with walnuts

Cauliflower and Broccoli steamed in vegan white sauce with sauteed leek

Salad of bitter greens, walnuts, apple, cherry tomatoes and spring onion

Garlic and Herb Bread

Dessert: berries, banana, lychee and strawberry topped with vanilla soy yoghurt and blueberry granola crumble.

12 year old Glenfiddich and dry

Champagne + OJ

Dad's just left with a full stomach, a big smile and a substantial doggie-bag.

Pat on head for self. Happy family and cruelty free eating....L'Chaim!

Um, re-reading that one might be justified in assuming that Cam had some interest in Male backs....not in that way:-) We were having a conversation about what is 'attractive' and I had a fairly atypical explanation melt-down (always a verbal thing,-let me write it and It'll be closer to what I meant in the first place). Hence the blog. Following; that's why I mentioned Cam. Ergh. Shutup already Cath.

Sans imagerie...

I was all ready to post about the extreme beauty of the male back, but buggered if I can find any images. I googled and googled and googled some more. I was given 'stock' image of model (yawn), beetles with eggs on their backs and the back view of an obese male (call me shallow, but I don't find illness attractive).
So, calling all people who can actually use a computer (and don't just pretend like me), Pweeeease send me an image of a nice male back. No Fabio's, no body builders, just a nice male back (like the ones you see of an evening).
I will then photoshop and add arrows and explanations for (my) joy at this sight. This is mainly for Cam, but also because after my (admittedly half-arsed) search, there seems to be great dearth of 'back people' out there.
Have I got a fetish? ....whoohoo! How exciting! I'm really really left now!....

Things That Make One's Heart Beat Faster

'It is night and one is expecting a visitor. Suddenly one is startled by the sound of rain-drops, which the wind blows against the shutters'

-The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon 965AD

A spray of pear blossom in spring, covered with drops of rain; A hot fragrant bath, a silk robe, sweet-smelling skin and the breath of your lover; The muted hush of an audience as the lights go down; William Blake read by candlelight, The deep rumble of a man's voice, An evening chill in the open air laced with the faintest smell of jasmine, hot skin sliding into cool water, the accidental brush of fingertips, a storm aproaching over mountains; a skilled musician playing, a solitary man watching rain on his windows, walking over smooth stones in the fog; Wisteria blossoms falling in a light breeze; Epic battles and tales of hero's; a blank sheet of paper and something burning inside that wants to fill it; Wooden bookshelves piled high with well-read volumes; Horses unsaddled and running in the early morning; The flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying; the song of the wolf; a father with his newborn baby; museums full of silence and shadow; mango juice trickling down your chin on hot summer nights, the muscles moving on a man's back as he swims alone; lychee nectar over shaved ice; an unexpected hand-written letter; Eyes that speak secrets; bare skin on sun-warmed rocks; the moment something changes; a solitary violin in a minor key; Ripe strawberries hidden under leaves; spider-webs glistening with dew; discovering a wild plum tree; the grace of a dancer; the notion that he's alone and thinking of you; a hint of warmth and fragrant skin beneath a suit, wood-fire smoke in the early evening; expensive Pinot in fine glass sipped alone while watching night fall; the solitary cry of a black cockatoo at sunset; bare feet on warm sand or cool soft grass; faces in firelight; overhearing soft forbidden sighs; walking alone in warm rain; the smell of chestnuts roasting outdoors beneath autumn trees; Eating warm passionfruit from the vine; drowning in Symphonic sound alone and in the company of hundreds; words that are not spoken; finding by accident old love-letters and reading them slowly; ruins and gnarled orchards; sleeping on crisp cotton sheets covered by a warm breeze; a man building a wooden house; the glint of fool's gold in a running stream; ripe tomatoes on the vine; poppies in a field of wheat; bathing in moonlight; the moment before he arrives; howling winds while buried under a soft quilt; autumn leaves crunching under boots; kissing in water; tea, turtlenecks and solitude.

what old friends get up to....

Without being glib (and really, I have nothing but respect for this old friend), here are a few amusing Thai/English movie translations. They made me chortle,-hope they do the same for you! I should mention, that Stuart is quite an extraordinary linguist, and for those of you interested in foreign laguages, his website is nothing short of extraordinary;
http://www.stujay.blogspot.com
(also linked on my sidebar)

Anyhoo, here's a few 'appetizers'
Original English
"Oh mother - damn! She shot at you with her eyes closed!"
Thai Subtitle
โอ้สาบแช่งแม่เธอยิงประตูด้วยตาของเธอที่ถูกปิดที่คุณ
Poetic translation
Oh!.. Your stinky mother shot the door with her eyeballs that were closed on you

Original English
"Count Dooku" ( Star Wars : Episode II)
Thai Subtitle
คำนวณดูกู!!
Poetic Translation
Calculate Dokus
OR
Damn well look at me when you calculate!

Original English
"Don't worry, I got your back."(War film)
Thai Subtitle
ไม่กังวล ฉันเอาหลังของคุณ
Poetic Translation
Fear not! I'm going to have you from behind.

Original English
"Mayday! Mayday!"
Thai Subtitle
วันแรงงาน! วันแรงงาน!
Poetic Translation
Labour Day! Labour Day!

Original English
"King of Gondor"
Thai Subtitle
เจ้าแห่งคอนโด!! (จาก LOTR)
Poetic translation
Lord of the Condominium


Original English
"May the Force be with you."
Thai Subtitle
บางทีแรงอาจอยู่กับคุณ
Poetic translation
Sometimes you might be energetic


Original English
"Come on, man."
Thai Subtitle
มานี่อย่างลูกผู้ชาย
Poetic translation
Come here in a male fashion
"

There are many more to amuse you on his site.

0 Weddings..

That was one fantastic funeral! I'm still giggling:-). Now, before anyone attacks me for my terrible lack of propriety or sense of occasion, -Mopsi herself insisted on everyone having a good time! Some beautiful words were spoken by friends of the Mops. A venerable poet conjured up the 60's in Darlinghurst and the Cross, an ex-student sang a poignant and funny song about friendship and the importance of drinking into the wee hours, Shereen Hennessy drew an evocative and moving picture of Mopsi the teacher in the 3 Stage years, andthe service finished with Gail asking everyone to Dance out of the chapel. Now, I have always hated audience participation (when I'm in an audience), But Brett and I kind of linked up and shuffled (sorta) rhythmically towards the entrance. Both of us had large melons lodged in our throats and were studiously avoiding looking at each other or anyone else in case the optical faucets kicked in. -I know it's OK to cry at funerals but once I start...

Then the single most fabulous thing I have ever seen occurred;

Directly in front of us was a sweet little old lady, bent almost double with a cane, floral print dress and neat little handbag. She was making her unsteady way towardss the doors when she stopped, grabbed a pew for support, hoisted the floral print dress and waved one spindly pin about in a true 'Can-Can' high kick and leg twirl.

Floral print dress was smoothed, cane retrieved and her old-lady progress towards the doors resumed.

I laughed and laughed and laughed! There, at the end of the funeral, Brett and I clutched each other in the chapel, just about wetting ourselves.

Somewhere up there, I can just feel Mopsi grinning.

(photo by Dave.B. shot during 'Droughtbreaker' rehearsals at the Paramatta Riverside Theatre)

stolen apples

It's a night of reflection and blergh-dom, so some snooping into other people's lives was required. I love reading Dale and Gem. They remind me of the writer I wanted to be (and the inner-city lifestyle I still, occasionally, get misty over). This wee quiz stole from the superb accordian girl, who stole it from a blue smurf. Tag-team theft is fun in the early hours with a good bottle of chardonnay and a cigarette.

1) Name two factors that majorly influenced your childhood.

1) My warm and dour Scottish Grandma who warned everyone out of her kitchen but whose garden was a place of magic and wonder

2) The unbelievable patience and goodness of my father.

2) What is the most recent thing that has surprised or shocked you?

The vitriol aimed at vegans when we speak out about anything at all

3) What makes you feel like a kid again?

Climbig trees, jumping over river-rocks, making dams in streams for no good reason, being ill and having mum come over to make me tea and toast. Catching penny lizards.

.4) If you could design something of your own creation with complete access to everything you need at no cost, what would you create?

Can I have two?

1) Thousands of hectares of lovingly restored land filled with animals rescued from all exploitative industries,-feed and veterinary acre for all, and jobs for all vegans who wish nothing more than to help.

2) A splendiforous production of Wilde's 'Salome' with Nubian slaves, pyrotechnics, full orchestra, digital images and sound fusion, tonnes of publicity and the best actors in all roles.

5Do you have brand loyalty? If so, to whom are you loyal?)

Benson & Hedges (Shameful, but true)

6) Name an unusual pet peeve you have.

The sound of the television if no-one's watching it. Play with the PC, listen to the stereo, -whatever! Just don't have the TV on at the same time. Noise is bad.

7) What was the last thoughtful thing that you did for someone else?

Cleaned Brett's room and added a teapot of fresh freesias and blossoms to his night-stand. (...Not that thoughtful,-I prefer a clean house....maybe the flowers count?)

8) Growing up, you were known as the kid who ___ .

wouldn't stay inside.

9) What is your most notable trait?

erm...ask someone who notices my 'traits'...Cam? Brett? Anyone? Do I have one?

10) Do you enjoy getting dressed up? Why or why not?

Only if I'm not having a 'fat day'. Fat day= 'trussed up' not 'dressed up'. Dressing for a character? Yes. -Highly enjoyable.

Go on Cam, Dale, Nick, McInley, Gem....answer some silly questions:-) Pweeeeease??!!:-)

Miracle of Miracles...

Just 'cos I know you're all dying to come and see it...

Show Dates
Saturday, October 20, 2007 - 8:00 PM Saturday, October 27, 2007 - 2:00 PM Saturday, October 27, 2007 - 8:00 PM Friday, November 02, 2007 - 8:00 PM Saturday, November 03, 2007 - 2:00 PM Saturday, November 03, 2007 - 8:00 PM Sunday, November 04, 2007 - 2:00 PM
Please contact the Musical Society at bmmsmusicals@bmms.org.au for any further information.
Ticket Prices
A Reserve
$30.00
Adults

$25.00
Senior and Student
B Reserve
$25.00
Adults

$20.00
Senior and Student
Less 10% discount for groups of 15 or more.Children 16 and under: $20.00 A Reserve, and $15.00 B Reserve.

Who makes the cut?

This may seem an odd thing to be thinking about, but I was watching '60 Minutes' tonight whilst having dinner, and they aired a story on circumcision.

To cut, or not to cut? This question may become very very important to me in the next couple of years. What if I have a boy?

This from Westmead Children's Hospital;

Very few boys need circumcision for medical reasons. However, recurrent infections under the foreskin (balanitis), or abnormal tightness of the foreskin (phimosis) may lead to the operation being recommended. If you think that your boy has a medical reason for circumcision, discuss this with your doctor. Usually foreskin problems can be treated without the need for an operation.

From what I can gather, Doctors recommend against circumcision unless serious problems develop. The problem is that it becomes more and more traumatic and less able to be forgotten as time passes. Horrible story about a boy who had to be circumcised at age 7 (with accompanying stitches/removal etc).

Brett has vague notions about a boy and his father being the same, but I question how much time they will really spend looking at each other's todgers...I mean, seriously,-is that what Fathers and Sons do?

Then there's the argument that this operation is performed without the child's knowledge, understanding or consent. OK, wouldn't that be just about everything that happens to a baby? You don't not vaccinate your child because they can't request that you stop. You don't choose food based on your baby's preferences, but make studied decisions based on nutrition and medical advice.

OK, so I think I stand on the side of 'No Cut' but I pray pray pray that my son never has a serious UTI, balanitis or phimosis. Apparently normal hygiene generally means the we trouser snake will be OK, but who ever knew a little boy who likes to shower carefully every day?

AAAAGGGHHH!!!

I haven't made up my mind at all. that was a blatant lie,-sorry. Any feedback from the male population here, very gratefully received.

As happy as a pig in...

I got a treat today,'cos I've been a good girl.

Firstly, I was given a beautiful day. 24 odd degrees, cool breeze, warm winter sun.

Secondly I was driven down to Glenbrook to gather some lovely free mushroom compost from the odd little mushroom farm off the highway. I hold the garbage bags and Brett shovels it in. Go team, Go!

Thirdly I was treated to a leisuely drive down to Sun Valley to buy Cow Poo, Lucerne and seed potatoes. I was also allowed to coo over the beautiful layer hens they had there for sale, as well as having a fairly decent chat with a male and female pheasant. I flirted a little with a jet-black rooster who was literally half the size of me, and Brett didn't mind at all. Lastly, I indulged in some pretty inane baby-talk with some wee hatchlings. They didn't have much to say, having only been on the planet for about a week. Some excitement about how fun straw is, and how yummy food can be.

Home again and the human earth-mover gallantly carries all the heavy stuff from the car down to the vege garden, where I am gently admonished to put on sunscreen and a hat. He leaves me standing amongst piles of excrement with my shovel, literally grinning from ear to ear. Come to think of it, I'm sure I was even happier than the proverbial aforementioned porcine individual.

1 hr later. The garden has been nourished by a lovely mixture of very stinky cow-poo, lucerne hay and tonne of mushroom compost. Into this warm bed of yuck went seeds for golden squash, and my seed potatoes. Everything was watered briefly, and now I'm tickng off the minutes til 4pm when I can go out and give the whole kit 'n' kaboodle a good drenching (1 and 3/4 hours).

Following the drenching, I intend to weed amongst my love-in-a-mists and herbs, aquasol the flowers and have long lavender and ylang ylang bubble-bath.

Thus refreshed I will embark upon barbecue seitan steaks with hassleback potatoes, cauliflower gratin, honey/sesame carrots, steamed broccoli and brown-onion gravy for Dinner.

All in all, a most satisfactory kind of day that leaves you feeling kind of clean, and earthy and healthy and good. Highly recommended as the kind of day to have whenever you can.