Hey Plain Jane

Chicken, recycled scupture

Originally uploaded by michelle3duk

2.8 metre tall chicken made from recycled materials. Materials include wood, yellow pages directory, gloves, fabric, plastic bags, coffee tins, juice cartons, coffee cup lids and cardboard packaging.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/michelle3duk/

recycled yellow pages. I like it. (as I quietly eye off the use by date of our own yellow page phone book) Papier mache stuff is so much fun.

Originally uploaded by Cristina Grueso

How unexpectedly compelling it is to place a portrait of The Wolf next to The Girl. It’s like a snapshot just before the climax of the story. We all know what the tension is!

I was almost going to call this post ‘Good versus Evil’ but it is no such thing. Both parties are innocent in their own world, it is just that their worlds have different rules.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/fairycatcher/

We never used to do a lot of things to do with Australia Day. When I was a kid, you’d never wish someone a ‘Happy Australia Day” on the 26th of January. You’d never ever hoist up an Aussie flag in your yard, unless you were a resident of Government House. You were reasonably unlikely to do anything remotely “Australian” like whack a few snags on a barbie or sing Advance Australia Fair or cook a damper and serve it with golden syrup. TIme was it would never even enter our minds that this might be Invasion Day to some.

I suppose that things are not what they were is a sign that our culture is alive and moving. I cannot count the number of times I was spontaneously greeted with the dubious salutation of ‘happy Australia Day’. Not only were Australian flags quite commonly hoisted from makeshift flagpoles everywhere (including one neighbourhood wit who pegged his flag to his Hills Hoist clothes line, a potent Aussie icon), every third car was bedecked with fluttering flags of the blue, white and red. As it happens our car was one such car, sporting three flags. We found one of them on the roadside (having broken off a car apparently) and were given two others by a generous and patriotic  mate. He revealed that the local bottle shop was the main culprit in starting the flag to car trend; “buy a carton get a free flag for every kid in the family” and I cannot express how deeply Australian that advertising sentiment is. Riding about town with three flags fluttering was John’s idea of sensational, and my idea of a bit gauche. But there we have it. The flag car tradition starts about here.

Yesterday in church once of the hymns chosen was Advance Australia Fair, and yet another was “We Are Australian”. Hmmm.

Today we took up an invitation from the parents of one of Jack’s long-time day care friends to go for an outdoor barb-b-que brunch at a swimming hole in the bush. What we have done in years recent is to drive up to Palm Cove, a posh Northern beach mainly for tourists, were the council throws a free sausage sizzle and puts on irritatingly loud bush bands singing scratchy versions of ‘ Ryebuck Shearer’ at eight in the morning in the blazing beach heat. A chance to do something different and perhaps much quieter and shadier sounded good to me. We went down in a convoy with others (all cars fluttering with flags, of course!) to an incredibly beautiful bush area with a quiet crystal creek, a large sandy bank area overhung with lush leafed trees…..in short, absolutely Australian. No-one there. Just us. In the utter Australian-ness of it all. We had a snag barbie, boiled a billy, and I even brought freshly made damper with golden syrup. The kids yahooed through the water for hours, we sat about having tea and occasionally got into the water to wallow about. It was about the pinnacle of Australian-ness, in truth.

And to make it just that tinsy bit more Australian, one of the friends in attendance was indigenous. His wife wished us a “Happy….Uhm…Australia Day” as she applied an Aussie flag temporary tattoo to my arm. She added that it’s also Invasion Day, which is not something to be happy about. It’s a complex nation. While her Aboriginal husband was handing out the Aussie flags he’d procured at the bottle shop, she was tattooing me and reminding me that it was not a day to celebrate if you’re black. Uhm…

This is our culture in motion.

I do not know where time goes. It is as slippery as hot rocks on a chocolate mudslide. Gone. Whole days!  There was a period in my life when I could safely lay the blame for lost days on the onerous tasks of early motherhood. But, alas, I no longer have chronically interrupted sleep patterns, nappy rash anxiety or  general mummy-brain-itis to blame for my apparently complete lack of time management. Oh, for the days!

Perhaps in as little as 15 months I will be thrown into all sorts of new and extreme forms of “time disemblage”. I’ve just been reading a few recent blog entries for a couple who have just brought their baby pinoy boy home. Between the sleeplessness and the temper tantrums and the bonding issues and the runny tummy and the scabies and the language barrier, they are having a brilliant time of it. Most of it sounds very normal for the state of parenthood really. But as I read their blog, entries about their allocation phonecall, and of course picking up their child from the Philippines, I live a little vicarious fun. 

I really feel God’s hand in this. Which is a big call, I know. I don’t wish to be trite, either. But this has been a long road. There have been odd pointers along the way. I realise that superstitious beliefs are not exactly Godly, but I am at a loss as to how to explain some of the things. Minor things, that, out of context are too ordinary to be called co-incidence. But in combination I do consider that God or his Angels have been busy sending messages big and small.

Lately I have been keeping a keen eye out for people who may be Filipino. It never hurts to know as many as I can in town. As I approached the check out at my local supermarket, I read her name tag; Annie. Not Ann or Anna or Ann Marie. Annie. I have always thought that if we are matched with a girl, I would call her Annie, after my mother and John’s late sister. (My mother’s middle name is actually Annie, not Ann.) I could see the woman was of Asian heritage, possibly Filipino. I asked her whether she was from the Philippines. I was completely amazed.  Yes, she is Filipina.  A Filipina called Annie.  You may not think this is out of the ordinary, but in my small suburban world and in my life story, this is significant.  Coincidence. Oh yeah. Perhaps. But add to it other stories, too detailed for this account and I will tell you……God has His Hand in this.

Today, at the gym, the man in front of me on the walking machines had a map of the island Mindoro (an island of the Philippines) printed on the back of his T-shirt. Yes, yes. A co-incidence. But was it? Yes, yes. I’m more sensitive to so-called “signs” such as this because of my heightened awareness of all things connected to the Philippines. But, there is also a possibility that I am being spoken to.

To bring in the new year, and in keeping with my new year resolution to create more family traditions and spend more time with family doing family things, I hereby announce the inaugural New Year Family Picnic.

The tradition is declared to be that the picnic is casual, that everyone must bring something simple but good, that the picnic never starts before two in the afternoon, and that there be a swimming hole nearby.

And by goodness, I also decree that there be Cherry Pie.

Australians don’t do Cherry Pie much. We honour the Lemon Meringue Pie, the Pavlova, the Caramel Tart, and perhaps we could be talked into the Apple Pie (but not the American Deep Dish variety) especially when it’s actually Apricot Pie not Apple. But Cherry Pie is not generally our way. I don’t see why, though. We get beautiful cherries here. 

And I don’t see why Cherry Pie should be a Winter thing, either. Often hear folk talk as if it’s something to be eaten warm with lashings of custard whilst sitting by a roaring fire. I say make yourself a fresh Cherry Pie, make it in the height of Summer, serve it chilled from an esky at a picnic, with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. Magic.

At two, we gathered at the city lagoon, John, Jack, myself and a small squad of mates. We landed a stunning shady position on the grass, just meters from the lagoon’s edge (this was just such an extraordinary piece of luck because the place was quite crowded with other dear folk busy going about their own family picnic traditions). We had some of John’s exquisite lime-roasted organic chook, some fine cheeses, a powerfully impressive salad that included Persian feta, and the best cherry pie in the known universe. One tiny piece of pie came home with us, as photographed. Minutes after this photo was taken it mysteriously vanished.

Be My Cherry Pie

170g sugar
50g brown sugar
30g cornflour
¾ cup of water
½ teaspoon lemon essence (or indeed lemon juice, ½  tablespoon)
½ teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon cinnamon
450g FRESH pitted cherries 
1 tablespoon butter
red food colour (optional but it makes for a very alluring pie)

1.5 quanity of sweet pastry with very finely grated rind of one lemon.

—-

 Oven temperature at 200  degrees C. Grease a shallow oblong fluted tart case (mine is about 26cm long, 10cm wide) with melted butter.

Make your pastry. Roll it out between sheets of baking paper to a long-ish shape that will fit the tart case. Chill it in the fridge for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile combine the first four ingredients of the above list in a saucepan. Bring to the boil to dissolve. Simmer on a slow boil for a few minutes. Take from heat, add essence, vanilla, cinnamon and cherries. Stir in the butter and food colouring if you’re using it. Allow to cool a bit. Resist temptation to gobble cherries in syrup.

Fit the pastry into the case. Trim the sides. Blind bake for ten minutes then remove from oven. Take out the baking beads. Put cherry mixture into the case, then decorate the top with interlaced strips of pastry (diagonally placed over and under each other like a lattice fence). Shield the sides of the tart with 1 inch strips of foil. Trust me, the edges will burn otherwise.

Place the tart on a baking tray because if the syrup spills you want to catch it before it makes a mess of the bottom of your oven.

Cook for 30 minutes. Remove from over, take off the foil shields and brush the lattice top with beaten egg. Put back in the oven and cook for a further 10 minutes or until golden brown.

Let cool completely. Serve with freshly whipped cream. Is nice. Very nice.

Nintendo (任天堂) is translated roughly as “leave luck to heaven” or “in heaven’s hands,” (’do’ is a common suffix for names of shops or laboratories) was originally founded in 1889 by Fusajiro Yamauchi to produce handmade hanafuda (Japanese playing cards. Over the years, it changed to a video game company and became one of the most powerful companies in the video game industry. 

So I have Fusajiro-san, late great card manufacturer from Kyoto, to thank for my son’s utter disinterest in doing anything, responding to anything or speaking to anyone because he’s got his face pressed up to a game of Mario Speed Cart? 

A little late, yes, but none the less heart-felt. The decorating was not quite as inspired this year as last. I couldn’t understand how I had got so much done last year. I did what I could muster my mind to, but many plans went astray in favour of quietly sitting still. Not a bad thing, surely. But it inspires me to be more prepared next Christmas. Start in July, I should think.

Polar Bear Bento

Originally uploaded by luckysundae

I found a collection of out of control beautiful bento box lunches by a loving mother who would conquer the world if she wanted to. But all she wants to do is make nice lunch boxes for her kid, and how brilliant is that? Honestly artistic lunches are the ultimate in transient art!

I remember getting similar - but nowhere near as detailed- types of lunch box kawaii (cuteness) when I was an exchange student way, way, way, way back in 1980. I never really appreciated all the fuss my host-mothers were going to to impress me. Young people are so casual and selfish! Or at least I was.

My lad is starting pre-school next January and there has been much flurry of activity regarding his enrollments. We have a go-see interview this coming Friday to an excellent school. Jack has already been accepted into a really fantastic school, but it is a little on the expensive side. The one on Friday is not so mega-buck, but has a stunning rep.

Go see this amazing collection of lunch box art by lucky sundae.http://www.flickr.com/photos/cuteobento/