zest for life

I'm feeling all citrus-inspired at the moment - in cuisine and fashion. 

Nary a food item isn't improved by a squeeze of citrus - meats, salads and vegies. I do admit that the zest of lemon and lime is a delightful addition to any meal. However, this spring I'd like to expand my repertoire and include the zest of mandarin, oranges and grapefruit to my meals. I do think I could even enjoy chicken breast if it were spiced up with grapefruit juice and zest with some sparkly white wine reduced to a jus, served with an olive and tomato salsa and with some chunks of feta cheese on the side. 

Fashion wise I'm having an orange moment. My nails are a fabulous shade of tangelo, which is the perfect contrast for the green pedicure that's still hanging on weeks later (but only if I squint at it through my lashes, it's probably time for a re-do). I'm also waiting for the weather to heat up a touch more so I can bring out my tangerine dress - worn with a teeny green cardi. I think all I need now are some bright yellow plastic beads - which I bet I can find at my fave op-shop on Darby Street... A visit might be in order.

expansion joints

Why is it that everything expands to take up any extra space you allow it? For example, if I set aside three hours to clean the house, it takes three hours - but, should I dedicate five hours I'll still be beavering away four hours and fifty nine minutes into the task? It's the same with any pay rise. Even there'll be no discernible jump in my style of living (I don't go from using truffle oil to fresh truffles, or from Chandon to Moet et Chandon...) I'll still have zero dollars left at the end of the pay period. 

The same applies to clothes. My wardrobe was overflowing, thanks to all my recent op-shopping success and I could not squish another thing in there. So, while we're waiting for built-ins, or some other suitably ginormous wardrobe for our bedroom, I swapped my pretty Art Noveau wardrobe space in our bedroom, with my husband who was using the twice-as-big built-in wardrobe in the study. Now, I thought I would be giving my clothes room to move and groove, but nooooooooo. Sure, they're not as squooshed as they were in the previous space, but it's still pretty squooshy in there. Perhaps I need to cull? Nah, I think I'll just have to speed up the arrival of the new, and suitably huge wardrobe in the bedroom.

just like samson

My hair doesn't give me any superpowers, and yet, oddly, when it's in need of a wash it zaps me of all inspiration, creativity and energy. 

When I was younger I had two odd 'phobias' (they weren't that bad - hence the quotation marks): the first was of spontaneous combustion. I'd seen a spooky show about it once and became quite obsessive about it - I even used to practice how I'd put myself out should I ever start to spontaneously combust. I now wonder what I may have achieved if that energy were expended elsewhere...

The second was felting. Now, apparently, in very rare cases, girls with long hair (such as myself) would wake in the morning and find that all their hair had fused together into one gigantic dreadlock - hence the term felting. Having naturally curly hair, that will tend to form dreads if unkempt for too long a period, I felt this was something I should be wary of. While I'm now over these irrational fears, obviously something's still lingering on in the felting category - which is why I have issues if I go longer than three days without washing my hair. 

Anywho, it's now washed, smelling delightfully of Kevin Murphy's Angel Wash and Angel Rinse, has a bucketload of MOP's curl creme smooshed through and looks about as far from felting as hair could be. Guess that means I should actually get a move on and get some work done now.

in perspective

I found this today. It's 52 meditations on life and the author chooses one each Sunday night to reflect on. Reading through the list helped me get a few things into perspective. Check it out and see what it does for you. www.marcandangel.com/2008/09/04/52-sunday-evening-meditations-on-life/ (I hope this link works for you - damned if I can get blogger to cut and paste anything!)

kid stuff

Should these be my daughter's first pair of Docs?

cutting edge

Sandwiches taste better when they're cut in triangles, preferably teeny, quarter-sized triangles. Buttered toast is at its zenith of awesomeness when sliced into three to four toast soldiers. Carrots and zucchini should be in lovely, fine julienne strips or sliced on the diagonal. I prefer my tomato diced. Shredded chicken breast tastes better than chunks.

I've always said I wasn't fussy about my food, but reading the above, well, some revisiting of that attitude is in order.

i feel like dancing

As an adult, a real, proper grown-up, there's nary an opportunity for dancing and I love, love, love to dance. I flicked onto an old episode of Friends last night and there they were, dancing away at a college party... Sigh, I miss parties. So now I'm plotting and planning a way to get dancing. I could take lessons, but the chances of roping my husband in are, good grief, impossible. So that'd mean solo dancing and I don't think they offer "Abandoned dancing to hits of your teens and early twenties" at the local academy.

My netball team is planning a night out at the end of this season, and rather than just a sedate dinner on a weeknight I'm going to highjack it and organise cocktails and dancing on a weekend - I've got some pretty fun gals in my team who'd be up for it. Now, to find a club where I won't feel like everyone's grandma...

that's entertainment

I love having people over to dinner - but I don't like serving up the same thing twice. I adore experimenting, trying out new things, and surprising my friends. If it fails, well, there's always champagne to wash it down! However, I have always found it difficult to remember exactly what I served, to whom, and when. So I decided to write it all down.

When we moved from Sydney, my mother's group gave me a pretty Visitor's Book, with red tulips on the cover. It was sweet, but, realistically, who's going to ask their friend to sign a book when they've just popped in for a cup of coffee. So I decided to use it to note down what I cooked and when. Our friends each have a page, and I write down any nibbles, drinks, main course and sides, along with the pudding. It's great for jotting my memory now - and in years to come, to provide memories of great nights, good food and fabulous friends.

swoon-worthy

In my "trying something completely different" mood I cooked up dinner with a difference. I'd bought some yummy looking pork cutlets from the butcher and decided to frock them up with some crumbs... Oh, baby... I grated up some wholemeal bread, then some parmesan, then some lemon zest and seasoned it all with cracked black pepper and a smoosh of Maldon salt. I pounded out the pork a little flatter than it used to be (with a wooden rolling pin, I don't have a meat mallet) and dipped them in beaten egg, followed by pressing them into the combined crumb mixture. I shallow-fried them in olive oil till golden brown then popped them in a 160 degree oven to cook to medium rare. A squeeze of lemon juice over the top made them crunchy, munchy and utterly delish.

just call me alice...

Now, while I may not be having an actual affair with my butcher like the maid on the Brady Bunch, I have found something to love. Because I was never a boy scout (obviously) or a girl guide (o... well, we didn't have them in my neck of the woods) tying knots is not my forté. However, because I'm making roast beef wrapped in prosciutto tomorrow night, some bondage of the butchering kind is in order. So today, when I bought my pork cutlets, I asked if my butcher could show me how to truss up my beef and he agreed... but only if I didn't spill his secrets... so, apart from you guys, my lips are sealed...

summer lovin'

Allow me to introduce you to a saucy summer shoe. It's from Nine West and is a damn fine compromise to the white pump (which, despite Sarah Jessica wearing in the latter seasons of SATC I never quite warmed to). This, however, this is a laudably sexay shoe. I can just see it heading off to lunch with the girls, spiced up with fishnets for night or... wait for it... with my new tangerine summer frock. Must stop, have palpitations...

vegging out

It's kind of ironic that I was a vegetarian for 20 years and yet am a bit daft when it comes to vegetables. See, I've always been a bit of a one-pot-cook and side dishes have always left me a little bemused. But I'm trying to improve. Tomorrow night I'm going to be adventurous and try a vegie I've never cooked before. I'm not sure what, or how, but I will. 

I'm doing a roast beef, and I'm going to give it a lovely massage with olive oil, garlic, lemon zest and Italian parsley before wrapping it in proscuitto and baking it. I'll roast some cubes of potato, pumpkin and beetroot in duck fat to serve alongside, but I want something else... Ideas? We're just coming into spring in Australia, so I'd like something light-ish and maybe green-ish. I do also intend on starting a jus around lunchtime. I'm going to buy a really robust red and reduce it till it's a sticky syrup (oh, no, mouth watering... must go grab a glass of water)

rebound shoes

Sometimes you'll find a pair of shoes that you're completely smitten with. They'll work with so many outfits, always make you smile every time you look down and will feel like you're wearing satin slippers. I have a pair of these. They're red and white wedges with a slender cork heel. They're perfectly balanced and look fabulous with jeans or a skirt. I adore them.

Imagine my heartbreak when I realised that I'd left them behind when we were travelling in France. After backtracking for a few weeks I worked out that I'd left them in a gorgeous B&B in the Loire Valley so I emailed, and yes, there they were. Of course, I couldn't just drive back to the Loire Valley from Paris, so I had to wait till we came back to Australia to organise their return. Twasn't easy. I needed to organise postage, transfer the funds for the postage (in Euros) to the owners and wait. Six weeks and a bucketload of euros later (I'll give you a hint, it cost almost as much as the shoes cost me to start with - and they weren't cheap!) my shoes came home. I love those shoes.

Now, before I worked out where I left them, I bought a rebound pair of shoes in Paris. I thought I'd lost my beloved wedges, so when I saw a 'similar' pair, I rushed in and bought them. However, while these were cute, they weren't as versatile as my others. For a start, they were bright pink snakeskin and the heels were typically wide wedges, not the delicate slenderness of my faves. I've worn them a few times, but couldn't think of anything to do my rebound shoes justice. Until today...

Yesterday I visited my favourite op-shop near work and bought a dress that makes my complexion sing. It's bright tangerine and is the perfect summer frock. I also bought a sky blue seventies belt to wear with it and was trying to think of the perfect shoes. Hello, welcome back rebound shoes. I'm going to welcome spring with a bright, happy wardrobe and this outfit is going to do it. Pink and orange are two of my most adored combos, so now, my rebound shoes won't feel so neglected... they were just waiting for the perfect match.

dear john

I always used to wonder, when watching infomercials, how that spray on hair worked. 

Apparently it doesn't. 

je ne regrette rien

Driving home tonight my glance was accosted by a sign outside a church. Now, I'll always stop to read these. Regardless of the denomination, I'll always find something to muse over. But tonight's, well, I didn't muse - I fumed. It read "Learn from other people's mistakes, life's too short to make your own". Balderdash. Who is so perfect that they never make mistakes? Also, someone else's mistake might be another's surprise joy. 

I've made bucketloads of mistakes, and I'll continue to make more. If you don't make a mistake it's because you haven't taken a risk. I want to look back on my life and not regret anything, not one thing. While there are some things that I'd prefer not to have done, guys I'd have preferred not to date, words that should have remained unsaid... I've learned from all of them.

If I didn't date a string of unsuitable dudes I wouldn't have recognised the quiet beauty of my husband - a man who compliments me and makes me glad to wake every morning. If I didn't make mistakes in my work I wouldn't try so hard to improve on what I'd done. If I hadn't had fall outs with friends it wouldn't make me appreciate those I do have.

Mistakes aren't to be feared - they're to be embraced, accepted and acted upon.

accentuate the positive

Once upon a time I believed I had a shocking memory. Hideous. Faces, I'd never forget, but names? I'd never recall - people were Sweetie, Hon, Doll or... nothing at all. Then I interviewed a memory expert for a story on recall and her first piece of advice was "Never, ever say, 'oh, I've got a terrible memory' or 'I won't remember this' because then you're giving yourself permission to fail." Since then, I've been positive about my memory and it's, oh, I reckon about 1000 times better. I've also devised a trick for remembering names. None of the old tricks worked for me, so here's mine to share with you.

Whenever I'm introduced to someone I'll picture someone else with the same name just over their shoulder. This way, I'm using my excellent recall of faces to help with names. Whether it's a famous person, or just another friend with the same name this works magnificently. Just after implementing it I went to a function where I met 20 new people at once - normally my worst nightmare. Now, I know this sounds highly suspect, but I actually remembered every single name.

Remembering names is quite possibly one of the most polite acts you can perform - and I do love me some manners.

another brick in the wall

If I were to become a tradey - I'd want to be a bricklayer. Those dudes work fast. We had two bricklayers here at 7am and they left at 9am after building a five metre retaining wall in the courtyard. Now those walls are up we've got the other guys coming back soon to start the metal framework for the pool. With spring well and truly on the calendar it's nice to think we'll be swimming in our backyard sometime this summer.

photo finish

For most of my life I loathed having my photo taken. When I was a wee twig of a teenager I couldn't bear having my pic snapped 'cause I thought I looked "fat". Oh, how I wish I could travel back in time and have a word to that girl...

Two years ago I was at a work function when one of the columnists for our publication said to the Beauty Editor, "How come all your photos look beautiful and I'm lucky to get one decent shot of myself?" and she replied, "Because I like having my photo taken." Now this was a revelation. How could anyone possibly like having their photo taken? But I must say that I've been trying it out and it seems to work. 

See, the thing is, when you're frantically posing, trying not to have a double chin, pokey out tummy or wonky eyes chances are the photo gods will snicker at you and ensure that not only will you have all of these in the resulting shot - but other things you never even knew you had. So now, I turn at an angle to the camera (not in a Mariah Carey way, that's obsessive) and smile like the camera's my friend. And you know what? The photos don't look half bad. They look like me, and isn't that the point?

a life well-lived

I'm attending a funeral today. The funeral of a lovely, funny, charismatic man who touched the life of all who met him. A skilled football player, coach and all round gorgeous bloke. He finally lost his battle with cancer last week and is at peace and free of pain. 

My thoughts are with his adoring wife, who was blessed with a soulmate who shared her dreams, ideals and life, and with his two beautiful children. Bob Mountford, you're fondly remembered. Your infectious laughter, charm and wit will live on. May you rest in peace. 

finger painting

Nothing says spring like pastel nails and these little beauties from Zoya are tickling my fancy today. The pretty lilac shade has my name written all over it (well, it's got Miley's name on it, but let's play pretend...)