Category Archives: Modern Life

The lesson from lasagne

Apart from reconstructing our backyard, this summer holiday seems to be all about lasagne.

Now I love lasagne but I haven’t made it in ages – me being on a high protein diet and all – and I’m good at making it.

My bechemel sauce is thick, smooth and creamy goodness.

The bolognaise is bolognaisy.

The lasagne sheets are well… flat.

It’s not hard to make let’s be honest.

But it is comfort food and I was inspired to make one recently for friends who have been going through a tough couple of weeks.

My daughter was keen to do the cooking, so supervising from my position of on all fours nailing down decking, we got to it.

I’d forgotten how messy lasagne is to make but the end result looked like a bought one and the friend was very happy not to cook for a night.

We left feeling comforted ourselves, in the pious afterglow of a good deed done, and made a second lasagne for ourselves on return, the kitchen being already a tip site.

It tasted yummy – I hadn’t lost my lasagne mojo.

So last night we had some friends over visiting from Adelaide.

It was a hot day and we decided rather than going out for a cheap meal at our local favourite Vietnamese restaurant we’d entertain at home on our nearly completed decking.

The temperature was perfect outside as a light seabreeze wafted through under the newly installed pergola, and we admired the soft feel of old boards under our feet, and the gently swinging paper lanterns.

I cooked lasagne.

Now it’s been a while since I’ve had a dinner party – if you don’t count Christmas which lets face it, has a pretty set menu.

And I didn’t ask if there were any dietary considerations…

So boring to have to ask really but these days… well most people are intolerant to something.

I should have asked.

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Problem.

But what do you do?

I cooked up the three small kebabs I had in the fridge and let them serve themselves.

The younger son, bless him, reckoned he could handle some cheesy goodness, but was dissuaded sensibly by his mother.

It turned out to be a pretty meagre spread it must be said, especially if you weren’t keen on salad.

I felt bad, but what could I do?

It has made me ponder this morning what the etiquette is when going to someone’s house for dinner.

Is it up to the host to inquire after your eating issues?

Maybe I need to consider having a “standby” meal somewhere, just in case?  And more than three kebabs.

Or on receipt of an invitation, is it incumbent upon you to say “Thank you, why that would be lovely, just to let you know I’m (lactose, peanut, seafood, meat etc) intolerant…”

Seems a bit rude.

A bit presumptuous…. “Well I wasn’t going to serve you prawns anyway!”

A bit looking at the horse’s teeth.

A gift horse? Photo by McD22

I’m leaning towards saying nothing and hoping for the best (while packing my fridge with optional extras)  – but that’s just little non confrontational me.

Oh and last night’s guests?  They filled up on the chocolate cake they brought and we all played Singstar.

A happy ending.

 

Summer jobs

He's graduated
Finished school

School is finished.

And wow.  I am now the parent of a nearly at university student.

But before that happy day – hopefully – of a decent ATAR result and an offer to the preferred course – Science at UWA – the pocket money has been cut off.

Now you might scream “Fair crack of the sauce bottle!  Give the guy a break, he’s just finished 12 grueling years of school…”

Stop it.

A summer job is good for him.

Independence.

A bit of money, certainly more than I’m prepared to give him.

Respect.

Something to do.

And he’s not alone.

Joining him in the workforce is Miss 14, who has been busy handing out resumes to local businesses and prospective babysitting clients.

My daughter
Babysitter and Waitress

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Since being on holidays she’s continued her Saturday morning waitressing job and done some work for a friend assisting at a holiday program for 4-7 year olds.

She’s good with kids.

(must get it from her paternal grandmother… sorry mum)

And how much does she like spending the money she’s earning?!!!

The only downside?

I don’t get a say in how she spends it.

A small price to pay.

So summer jobs.

They can be crap.

I spent a couple of summers photocopying in an engineering library…

But the pay packet is delicious.

And anyone who stays at home… well.

I have chores that need doing.

How to dial an old-style telephone

See I didn’t think you would need a lesson but then, probably, you’re not 14.

It has taken nearly two years but finally we have got cable which means we can now use my old bakelite phone as the house phone.

Ahhh I am quite excited but the rest of the family, less so.

Groover: It’s useless! I tried to call a 1300 number today and I had to “press 1” but you can’t on that phone.

Dippity: So does that mean I can’t take the phone into my bedroom??!

Hugamuga: Meh. I don’t use the phone anyway.

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I quite like not having an answering machine too. After all, if you really want to speak to me you’ll ring me on one of my mobiles right?

And who uses caller ID anyway.

So for those of you who want to go retro communicado – here’s a little how-to video from my girl.

In other news – which you might also get if you rang us on our home phone – my boy finished his last exam today. It was Geography and he reckons it went well.

Interview for St George’s tomorrow. Good luck!

Ukulele bella – why this girl bought herself a uke

This is my new ukulele

So I bought myself a ukulele for my birthday.

I guess it all started with coming across this group on my morning walk.

That was back in 2008.

And then I saw you could buy ukes for about $30 and I thought, well why not.

But I never got round to it.

Then a few weeks ago, after taking my cello in to get restrung, I had a chat to the fellow at the local music store who told me about how he had recently taken his ukulele on a camping trip and how everyone had wanted to have a go.

He convinced me that noob that I am, I would soon pick it up.

And then convinced me that a $30 ukulele sounds crap and I may as well spend a little bit more and enjoy the sound that I made… the cheap ones really sound tinny and thin.

So yesterday.  The day I went to see the Queen.  I bought a ukulele.

It’s a Cordoba.
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I don’t know anything about anything musical but I did feel good when the other shop assistant said “whoh – where did you find that?” to my shop assistant.

Now of course they might have a hundred out the back and this might be ‘the line’ to help reinforce the purchase decision, whatever, it worked. I bought it.

And it even has a cute little case and a tuning pipe. (which I will never use because my ear isn’t that good and also I downloaded an app and just in case that doesn’t work I have an electronic tuner for my cello)

So I’ve been practicing my chords.

I’m learning about chord progressions and tabs and strumming rhythms.

The tips of my fingers on my left hand are sore and the nails are now cut short.

I’ve been searching the internet for good tutorials to try.

Let me know if you come across any.

🙂
In the meantime you’ll find me at Chez Cellobella strumming tunelessly  all afternoon.

 

Meet me at the cactus

Close up cactus

Saw the million dollar artwork for Perth yesterday.

Perth train station

Do I love it?

Am I supposed to?

Is that the point of public art?

I’ll give it this much… it stands out.

And I kind of like that about public art.

It can’t always be tasteful and classic… a statue of the great and good… usually a white male.

Oh yes the statue of Sir Charles Court is due to be unveiled soon…

Not that I’ve got anything against Sir Charles.

I danced with him once at the Shinju Matsuri ball in Broome, and I must say he was quite light on his feet.

But we need more than a statue in Forrest Place.
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We need a statement.

Does it make a difference that the artist – James Angus – has an impressive resume.

Has his art in several state galleries and collections.

Holds a masters from Yale.

It shouldn’t.

We should take each artwork on its own merits.

We should respond to it, or not, and gauge its value by the strength of the reaction it evokes.

And on that basis, well, this has to be a triumph.

If nothing else, it is certainly a landmark.

Meet you at the cactus next time we’re in Perth.

Your shout.

 

Why graffiti is so annoying and… powerful

Now I want to preface these remarks by saying that my thoughts on this subject have not been influenced by anything like a scientific study or even from a learned source of any kind, nay not even wikipedia.

I’ve noticed that when you are looking around in a landscape your eyes are naturally drawn to the written word.

It’s as if our eyes seek out letters and try and discern some meaning, to make sense of the world.

I first noticed this when I was pregnant.

You see I can read anywhere at anytime.

In a car, on a bus, on the back of a motorbike and I never get carsick.

Unless I’m with child.

(what a lovely phrase that is)

When I’m in the first trimester, reading even a word while travelling makes me feel nauseous.

In fact, that’s usually the first sign I’m up the duff.

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And of course my eyes seemed to be drawn to every word in the landscape.

Street signs, billboards, graffiti.

Those days are over, but they did alert me to this phenomenon that as humans we seek to decode our world.

And words in the landscape act as captions for what we see.

Of course many of them don’t make sense, but it doesn’t stop our eyes finding them.

And that’s why I think graffiti is so annoying and powerful.

Simply because you can’t not see it.

Even when you try and ignore it, your eyes won’t let you.

A sticking point does not mar perfection

ravioli with pumpkin, preserved lemon and sage sauce... yum

I went to dinner at Unraveled last night.

Took some doing.

Mainly because in my head I thought I was trying to book “Entangled”.

Which isn’t a bad name for a pasta restaurant I thought.

Anyhow I couldn’t find a reference to my imagined destination online but I could find the number to the restaurant it used to be – The Twisted Fork – so I rang that number and we were in!

I think they call them selves Unraveled because that is how they present their menu.

You choose the pasta, the protein and the sauce separately.

So many of the sauces sounded delicious.

I tried the mushroom sauce with chicken and saffron linguine – which was a special kind of divine.

And the spinich and ricotta ravioli with pumpkin, preserved lemon and sage was also delicious.

The bread and butter pudding with white chocolate and raspberry – diet starts today!

The service – friendly and prompt.

My one question.

Should you take the sticker off the lime before you serve it?

Yeah.

That’s what I think.

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Installing Thesis theme

Yeah.

I’m bored.

A Sunday and I’m thinking lets change the look of the blog.
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So expect some changes peeps.

Feeling like a grown up

There are a few times during your life when you feel like a grown up.

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You know, even at the age of forty-something-let’s-not-go-there, inside I still feel 17…okay maybe 22, are you the same?

And when I look in the mirror or catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window of the train sometimes I get a little unpleasant shock.

But there have been times in my life when I’ve suddenly thought… shit.  I’m a grown up.

Owning a mortgage on a house with a linen cupboard and larder – felt like a grown up then!

When I walked out of the hospital with my newborn.

The first time I travelled on my own.

Wearing matching underwear for the first time.

And today when I picked up my first ever set of matching luggage.

Grown. Up.

The luggage

I wanted matching cases, with the small one able to be used as hand luggage on domestic flights.

They had to have spinners – four wheels.

And they had to have those in-built groovy combination locking mechanisms.

I really wanted red luggage.

But.

This stuff was 41% off so it was practically free right?
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I could live with bronze.

Happiness.

So why does it have to be matched luggage?

You know, I don’t know.

I mean the times I will actually use both at the same time will be few and far between.

And it’s not as if there are luggage police – well not ones that are interested in whether they match or not.

“Excuse me madam, we see you don’t have matching luggage… please come this way…”

Or.

“Last month you were spotted with a black suitcase, today yours is bronze… please explain!”

Bronze.  A fancy pants way of saying beige.

Matched luggage is just… nice.

Smart.

Grown up.

So ‘fess up.

What makes you feel grown up?

And how old are you inside?

😉

Cottesloe in winter

A cold blustery morning at Cottesloe Beach
The beach has all but disappeared
And there is so much seaweed on the beach that remains.
Still the scenery isn’t all bad

I haven’t been down to Cottesloe in a while and I was surprised to see the beach all but gone.

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I know it diminishes in the winter but I’ve never seen so much seaweed.
 
Still the walk down to the Naked Fig for breakfast was invigorating.
 
And the gale force wind pushed me back up the hill on my way home – bonus.
 
I had a chat to one of the trainers of the Hawthorn Football Club as well – who commented on the weather – I pointed out that even at its worst it’s warmer than Melbourne to which he agreed. 
 
The boys were walking a bit slowly (wonder why… 🙂 ) so we powered past them towards our coffee and some great service.
 
And I was glad I had decided against wearing my Dockers scarf.