pour moi?

In honour of my 41st birthday on Monday, here is Saturday's shoe (on friday, I know, think I might rename it Shoe of the Week). A red patent mary jane created with aching beauty by that artiste, Manolo Blahnik. How can you not bow down at his genius?

it's my party

Well, not exactly. I hit the big 4 0 last year and had the pink and red themed soiree to go with it. But it's my birthday on Monday so we're off to our favourite french restaurant for dinner tonight. To go with the theme, Annabella's wearing her beret, and I'm going adorned in my black lace top I bought on the Isle St Louis (I am incapable of thinking of that place without sighing...) I'll also take the handbag I fell in love with in the same shop - but didn't buy.

Cute story. Because I'd already bought a handbag in Tuscany, I had to resist the gorgeous little black handbag with the leather bow around it. But I really, really regretted it. A year later, as friends were planning their month-long holiday in Paris, staying on the Isle St Louis (I know, if they weren't the nicest people I know I'd hate them) I mentioned, "Oh, if you happen to see this cute little handbag, with a bow, in a shop just opposite Bertillon, text me..." 

Upon their return poor Georgina had her eardrums burst with my squeal when she'd bought my bag - the last one in the store. Serendipitous or what?

dig in

Oh, I am so excited. Although the skies are grey, diggers have been in my backyard for four hours! My pool is finally taking shape. It's a slow, slow process and believe me, I've been trying so hard to be "zen" about it all that I almost calmed myself into a coma. But there's progress, messy, clay-ridden, "please keep my convict sandstone blocks", coffee-making progress. It may have been months since the DA approval, but at least it looks like I'm getting a pool now, not just a barren wasteland where my yard used to be.

Happiness is a big red digger (and not just for 3 year old boys!).

hanging by the telephone

Having been married for quite a few years, and coupled for substantially longer, I thought my days of wistfully waiting by the phone - will he call, won't he... were way gone. But, oh no, fate doesn't like you to be a smug married with no woes. Our backyard renovation saga is continuing, or should I say dragging? From the first clearing, way back in June, to the first excavation in July, to now. August. My builder promised, today, if it's clear, first thing. Today. It's clear. No thing. 

I feel like an expectant teen, my heart leaping, not at the expected sight of my lust object appearing from around a corner, but at what could quite possibly be a dump truck driving up the street. Only to be disappointed when it's a dump truck, but not my dump truck.

Anywhoodle. Tomorrow. If there's no rain. Absolutely. Or maybe Friday. For sure...

in short

When I was a wee lass, long talons were where it was at. If your nails didn't zoom on out way past the tips of your fingers, you were nobody. But now, I'm in lust with the fact that short nails are the only way to go. See, I love playing netball, and I'm also fond of a well-polished nail. But, unless you want to look like a girly weirdo with taped nails, you've got to cut your nails short to hit the field. 

These days, as fashion dictates, short nails look mighty fine with a strong coverage of colour. Today I'm channelling a deep, dark mocha and when I'm over that look, I'm dusting off and painting on a bright orange to sunshine up my mood a notch.

i just don't get it

I am quite possibly one of the biggest fans of Sex and the City, and, undoubtedly, Carrie's number one admirer. However, while I get so many things about her, I can't come to grips with her taste in men. I've already mused about Berger (erk), and let's not get into the Jazz Man with the pork pie hat (...?) and while Big has a certain appeal, I'm just not feeling it. But here's where I go completely spare. Aiden. I love Aiden. I would never let Aiden go. He's hot, he's thoughtful, he calls her PopTart (which inexplicably makes me tingle) and on the episode last night, she came home and he was cooking TO Copacabana. Now, when a straight man's getting his groove on to the tale of Lola, the showgirl, that's it, I've got one melted heart happening in my chest. 

Why?

habitually tidy

My husband and I (good grief, how Queen-like does that sound - or is that just in my head?) have been instituting good habits lately. We're becoming tidy people. We're becoming people that don't mind if you just "drop in" 'cause the house looks just fine. Not perfect, that'd be weird, but fine. 

We've been all domestically blissful and tidying together. You know, stacking the dishwasher straight after dinner, putting the clean clothes away into drawers, rather than just shifting piles of folded stuff from one surface to another. And it's nice. 

You see, I like my house, it's pretty. And it's always been offensive when its prettiness has been obscured by crap. I've also discovered that the best thing is that tidying begets tidying. Because everything's in the right place, we'll tend to then move on and clean out a drawer, or a shelf, or wash a window or two.

We've been keeping on top of the gardens too, and today, I only spent 15 minutes weeding - rather than it being a 15 hour job (truly! Cottage gardens are much more labour-intensive than they look!) This also meant we could get in and deal with some other fiddly jobs that are normally pushed back in an attempt to hack away at the weed situation.

It's been nearly two weeks now since we've established these fine habits, and I'd quite like to stick to them.

shoe business

Yep, it's Saturday's shoe... on Sunday. Sorry! But it's Marc Jacobs - and it's really, really keyoot!

smitten chicken

In my early carnivorous years chicken was my favourite meat. These days though, chicken doesn't always rock my boat. I do love spanish chicken, but probably because it's an excuse to eat chorizo. Hence, tonight's meal - an excuse to eat prosciutto... should you need one.

Chicken sausages

500g chicken mince

1/4 cup fresh bread crumbs (I used a piece of dry baguette)

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

1 small onion, finely diced or grated

the zest of 1 lemon

salt and pepper

12 slices prosciutto

Mix together all ingredients in a bowl (use your hands, go on, just wash them well afterwards). Then, after wetting your hands, form the mince into sausage-like fingers. Leave to rest for 10 minutes then wrap in prosciutto. Heat a little olive oil in a pan till piping hot then start to saute sausages till golden brown on all sides and cooked through. So yum.

hearts on fire

I heard of a deed so good this week it didn't just warm my heart, it nearly made it spontaneously combust. My in-laws live about 45 minutes away, in Maitland. They're in their 70s, but still like to do plenty in the yard and around the house. But they've been a bit under the weather lately, a chest infection caught both of them and has hung on for weeks. 

Now, the other day, they got a load of firewood delivered for their heater. A whole uteload of wood was dumped out the front and James had to pick it up, load it into a barrow and shift it to the wood pile around the back. Now this isn't an easy job for a strapping young lad, let along a man in his 70s. Anyway, one load and James was struggling, sweat pouring down his face despite the five degree temperature. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. So he gave up, came in, washed his face and they set off to do some shopping.

The next morning there's a knock on the door. It's a bloke from down the street, a guy who James used to teach, and always had a little bit of extra time for. This guy had seen James struggling, raced home to get his barrow and ute, but by the time he got back, James and Annette had gone out for the afternoon.

So, God love him, this bloke came back early the next morning and wheeled the whole load around the back, accepting only a glass of water and the most greatful thank-yous. When I called later that day, Annette told me the story and I was so extraordinarily touched. It's obviously a case of paying it forward though. My in-laws are the kindest, and most generous people you could meet. As a teacher James would have been one of those chatty teachers that everyone loved - and who always had time for everyone - even the tearaways that other teachers steered clear of. 

That's what I call good behaviour. And kindness will always be rewarded in kind.

in conclusion...

Um, you know how the other day I couldn't find the receipt for my printer, computer and software for tax purposes? Well, I went and visited 'nice man' at the Mac shop and sheepishly took my new receipt, jumped in the car, and put the receipt in the glove box - because I didn't want to fold it and shove it in my teeny bag. Oh, what was that I put the receipt on top of? Ah ha, that would be the original receipt. oh.

budget busting

I walked around the supermarket today tutting and tsking like a pensioner at the price of groceries (speaking of pensioners, how on earth do the poor things survive? I find everything astronomically-priced and we're on two incomes!) Thank goodness for the slow cooker. I bought a kilo of beef blade roast - a huge big chunk of meat - for $10. Brought it home, chopped up some onions, placed them on the bottom of the slow cooker, popped the beef on top, seasoned it, then placed some halved potatoes, sweet potatoes and whole, baby onions around the edges. I poured the requisite 1/2 cup of water over the top, turned it on low, and tonight, around 8 hours later, it'll be ready for dinner. Of course, we'll get seconds so that'll be two meals, for three, for around $15 (including veg). I like my vegies crispy so I'll pop them in the oven on high for ten minutes while I rest the meat and use the pan juices to make a gravy (if there's heaps, I'll transfer a ladle-ful to a pan and add some red wine, if there's only a small amount, I'll turn the slow cooker to high, add the wine and stir till it thickens). I'll serve it with some steamed green beans to get our vitamin B intake soaring.

organised - not chaotic

I've gone dead-off being disorganised. It's not clever, and it's not funny. So we've been going through the house, room at a time, tidying and tossing out - and boy, it feels good. Because we'd been organising, our dining table was clear which meant my hubby was able to sit down last night and go through all his medical bills for his knee op and recovery. And because he did that I was able to visit medicare this morning and get a rather special refund that should help pay for some of our pool waterline tiles (should the rain ever ease enough for them to get back to work on building the actual pool...)

And while Matt was being productive, I sat myself down and started getting things ready for my tax. Now, I remember years ago laughing along at a co-worker when she described plonking a shoe box full of receipts in front of her accountant at tax time. Let me tell you how I wish I'd put all my receipts in the one shoe box. My receipts are, well, kind of all over the place really, and the only one I can't find is for my computer, printer and software - yes, that would be the most expensive and claimable things I've bought! However, in the frantic scrabble to find it, I was able to do some tidying of one cupboard, toss some books I've no use for in the 'to sell' pile and find a couple of books I'd forgotten existed and would quite like to read. That makes me happy.

Now, although I didn't find the receipt I did call the Mac shop and the nice man's going to print out another copy for me today. Bless him. Every shop should have a nice man...

sante

It's champagne o'clock, and boy, would I like to be here again. Only in Paris do you find this is a department store....

saturday's shoe

I would like to add a new feature to my blog: Saturday's Shoe. Now, I'm not kidding myself, or you, that I can afford these - but aren't they purdy! I have an electric blue dress that would be set off nicely by a pretty t-bar heel and although I'm a Leo, this is the only time I've ever been tempted by an animal print. And boy, am I tempted... I am woman hear me Rrrrrroar.

restorative blooms

It might be still raining, but at lunchtime, when the downpour eased, I stepped outside and walked around the garden and guess what? Yep, nearly every rose had little red or green shoots poking up to say "Cheer up Linda" and it worked!

you're dead to me

Mould I'm talking about, mould. Not you, I adore you! 

Now, on June 29 I sprayed my shower recess with a mix of bi-carb soda, white vinegar and water and gave it a good scrub a dub to remove a wide range of multi-hued moulds. A lot of mould. Not the amount of mould that's the equivalent of "Oh, excuse the mess" when you walk into a pristine home with barely a magazine at a jaunty angle. Serious, disgusting, you'd thing a bunch of boys lived in the bathroom mould. (I'd been busy, and when I'm busy, I'm a slattern - it's my thing).

Anywhoodle, today is July 25 which is nearly a calendar month later and guess how much mould is in my shower recess? None. Guess how many times I've cleaned it since then? Yep, none. Bi-carb and vinegar kill mould, are nice to the environment and don't make you choke on toxic fumes. 

If, like me, you think pretty-smelling things do a better job, pop a few drops of essential oil in the bottle (I adore orange blossom in the bathroom - it smells clean and fresh, but I'll never say no to a few drops of rose oil).

on struggle street

I'm an unflinchingly optimistic person. I refuse to believe that something can't be done, and always find a positive in a negative. Today, I'm struggling. With the excavations for our backyard starting on Wednesday they've been stopped dead by the relentless downpour. Now, when it rains in Newcastle, it rains. Hard. And long. Until recently we had nearly four months without a dry day. I know, it's impossible to believe when we are still hearing about the drought which I know is affecting so many. But here, I'm dead off the rain. I don't like the fact that half the retaining wall is pulled down and there's an exposed metre and a half of just sheer dirt and clay between us and the enormous house behind us on the hill. I'm also not terribly fond of the fact that the exposed surface where they've excavated on the ground is just clay - so even when it stops raining it'll just sit there until there's a lot of sun and/or wind to dry it up.

I need distraction, and work's not cutting it. In my study I look straight out the window behind my computer - and I see rain. Or if I turn my head to the right I look out the glass panel at the top of the door - and see rain. I am grateful that we weeded, fertilised and mulched the gardens recently. Hopefully the rain will prod the just-pruned roses to start shooting. Red-tipped shoots and the promise of blooms might just turn my mood around.

bucolic bliss

Can't you just smell that country air? This was the view from our holiday house in Burrawang, and isn't it a beauty? Oh, and that's the house. Sweet non?

scarier than clowns

Yes, I may be going a little too far with that title, cause, really, nothing's scarier than a clown. However, I've discovered something while cleaning that kinda made the hackles on the back of my neck stand up.

I've dumped my vacuum cleaner. Not by text, not by post it, but in the old fashioned, "Just ignore it and hope it'll go away kind of way." Actually, it wasn't really a dumping, more of a mutual "you're fired", "No, you can't fire me, I quit". "You can't quit, you're fired" kind of thing. See, it's stopped working properly and I don't really feel inclined to fix it (the fridge and washing machine are first in line for the repairman's long-overdue visit). So what I'm doing is I'm sweeping - yep, even the rug (and you know what? Sweeping is a far better way to remove cat hair than vacuuming!) However, sweeping has a down side. While it's completely carbon friendly, and is a nice form of incidental exercise, it reveals in piles of growing horror exactly how much dust, dirt and hair was on your floor.

Now, I've been sweeping every day or two, not like my weekly, or fortnightly vacuum and yet great gobs of hair still appear. Mulberry sheds so much blue fluff I wouldn't be surprised to see him rendered completely hairless, but nup, he's not cultivating a Kojak look just yet.

Does fluff, dust and hair have the same breeding cycle as wire hangers?