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The Freedom of the City

August 22, 2014 //
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A few months ago, I helped paint the sets for Maitland Repertory Theatre’s production of Freedom of the City. Written by Irish playwright Brian Friel, and first produced in 1973, the play is inspired by the events of Bloody Sunday. In the recent Maitland version, Director Dianna Galbraith led a talented cast of new and oldcomers. For my part, I enjoyed getting OCD on the woodgraining effects and creating an ‘interpretative dance’ version of the Belfast City coat of arms.

I first discovered woodgraining while sitting in an English pub, vaguely pissed, and bemused to discover that the beer spattered counter was actually wood painted to look like wood. As someone who grew up in Tasmania, where quality timbers are plentiful, I couldn’t quite comprehend the point of this deception. Woodgraining is towards the declasse, or bogan, end of the decorative paint effects spectrum. It’s achieved with a curved lino tool with a handle, lots of Floetrol and some patience. The stained glass window was designed by Frank Oakes, painted by Anne Robinson, and looked very pretty under lights. 

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Fitness hacks

August 19, 2014 //
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I’m always curious about why people do things: what motivates them to change, and more importantly, stick with changes they make to their lives. I started thinking about transformation around the New Year when, with the rest of the Australian population, I made resolutions, broke ‘em and moved on. I’ve decided that the best way to manage this annual hypocrisy is to make the following resolution first on my list: ‘If circumstances change, I resolve not to keep any of the following resolutions’. The happy clincher is that in most people’s lives, change is constant, so I’ve got an easy out.

Having said that, one of the resolutions I haven’t broken is the vaguely formed plan to ‘get stronger’. Regular readers of this blog- a tiny population I admit- will know that I’ve recently become fascinated by the alignment between mental and physical strength. I’m curious about how training affects my mental processes, and via versa. I’m also wondering how a stronger sense of embodiment, or how comfortable you feel living in your own skin, influences my creative work.

So, to this end, I’ve been trying to find ways to make exercise more sustainable. This includes either stuff that makes it more likely I’ll actually get to the gym, and stuff that affects what I do when I’m there. Here’s my list of hacks:

  1. I’m currently working part time for my local university. Changing into my workout clothing before I leave for the day means I’m less likely to chicken out of going to the gym. With winter fast approaching, if I leave this until I get home, it’s just as likely that I’ll pop on my pyjamas.
  2. Continuing this theme, I’ve put my workout clothes in the top drawer of my chest of drawers. This form of organization is supposed to represent fitness as a life priority. In other words, all the crap I never wear goes into the bottom drawers, where I have to bend down and scrabble to retrieve.
  3. Workout clothes in funky colours: during winter, a vivid patch of colour is an enormous psychological boost.
  4. Putting dinner in the oven before I leave for the gym, meaning that I know I’m coming home to nice smells and quick nourishment. Like certain breeds of fat pony, I’m always twice as fast on the way home.
  5. When ‘not feeling like it’, I remind myself of the cost of gym membership. This involves saying, in a Scottish accent, ‘I’ve paid for this’. (Approximate translation: ‘eye’ve paayed forrr thes’).
  6. Also useful, when contemplating a pike, is imagining the best tiramisu I ever ate (ironically, in an Italian charcuterie in Glasgow). I comfort myself that with exercise as part of my life, I can eat such dishes with relative impunity.
  7. During exercise, and this may sound strange, but I like meditating on the beauty of a straight line, particularly when lifting something heavy. I get grumpy if I can’t see a nice vertical anywhere in the gym. I call this strategy ‘Zen and the art of it really doesn’t hurt so much, does it?’
  8. Reading very funny fitness blogs like this one.

Photo credit here

 

 

 

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Fitness blogs: the round up

May 11, 2014 //
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Lately I’ve been indulging in a new hobby. For about an hour each night, after I’ve put my daughter to bed, I read fitness blogs. Yes, it’s a guilty pleasure, which I call my ‘research’, despite the fact that I rarely apply this knowledge in any tangible way. (Ok, so maybe my squatting technique has improved, and I’ve become a bit antsy about eating grains, but that’s about it).

It struck me the other day that as I’ve spent hours and hours reading material about health and nutrition, I should really do something with it, which is why I decided to post this. Many of the larger blogs will provide a weekly round up of popular articles: Breaking Muscle regularly posts lists of top articles, as does The Lean Green Bean, and occasionally Girls Gone Strong hands out some good links. But so far I haven’t found anyone writing a regular summary or analysis of key trends. It might be out there, but if so I haven’t found it yet.

So, bearing in mind that I have zero qualifications as either a fitness professional or nutritionist, here’s a dumbed down version of what the fitness blogs have been saying lately:

Since the New Year, there has been a predictable flurry of articles about making and keeping resolutions. Lots of places posted articles on goal setting, the SMART framework got a lot of mentions, with some funny people standing back and casting a critical eye over the whole thing. Conversely, a smaller number of writers questioned the value of goal setting, with some suggesting that ‘intentions’ were more valuable than precise goals. Yet others stressed that in a fitness journey, the focus should be on consistency not sudden effort.

Like an oversized freight train passing a small country town, the cardio versus strength training debate goes on and on and on. It’s hit the point where people are publishing books called ‘Which comes first, cardio or weights?’. If you think, like I do, that any movement is good movement, particularly when we all spend so much time sitting down, then this debate can feel a bit nonsensical. It reminds me of my former career as a sailing writer, when people used to weigh in passionately in favour of one kind of junior dinghy over another. People! They both float.

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Bodyweight exercises are getting solid coverage, with muscle ups and pull ups particular favourites, along with the more glamourous but less attainable flag (I read somewhere that it takes three years of solid effort to achieve). Since the New Yorker published an article titled ‘Why women can’t do pull ups’, there have been a flurry of ‘how to do pull up’ training programs for the ladies, and a number of excellent counter articles.

 Finally, there’s been some interesting stuff about nutrition timing post exercise. Some years ago someone passed on to me the lovely idea that a ‘carb window’ exists for a short period of time following exercise, and that if you eat during this time, your body processes food more efficiently, meaning that the value of a calorie actually fluctuates. Like many other optimists, I interpreted this as ‘Great! I can stuff myself immediately after a workout and it doesn’t count!’ It turns out that like free Microsoft laptops, all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets, and emotionally grounded single millionaires, this idea was just too good to be true. 

Pull up photo credit here and flag photo sourced from here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Edible? Yes. Tasty? Not so much

January 21, 2014 //
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As the summer cranks up to its maximum heat, birds pant and the roads are sticky with hot tar, I thought I’d post an update on my vegetable garden. Yes, it’s gripping stuff, right up there with timed sheep-dog trails. Although it has to be said, watching a well trained dog snuffle recalcitrant sheep through a narrow gate, under pressure, while a stern faced farmer watches on, makes my New Zealand heritage proud.

Regular readers will delight in knowing that the beans are coming along nicely, but sadly the tomatoes are afflicted with various species of worm. Underfoot, strawberry plants thrive but do not produce any fruit, but hey, they make a nice ground cover. A zucchini plant has produced three and a half vegetables (one was a bit rotten) and the pumpkin plant is busily scaling the neighbour’s fence.

Unfortunately, the kale continues to cause trouble. It’s fast approaching head height, with amazingly thick stems, reaching towards the sky like the proverbial bean stalk. It’s easily my most prolific vegetable, which is unfortunate, as I’ve got a bumper crop and I don’t even like the stuff.

However, having devoted a recent post to whining about kale, I thought it was about time to do a volte-face and admit that I’ve found at least one recipe that makes it palatable. Actually, delicious. It’s called a Caramelized Cauliflower and Sauteed Kale Casserole, and it’s on the Iron You blog, written by a health nut and his partner who clearly know a thing or two about food.

I refuse to do the whole ‘it-was-awesome’ thing, but it really was. Amazing flavours, delicate yet robust, the lemon cutting through the pond-scum earthiness of the kale, and the nutty cauliflower languishing in its creamy sauce. Frankly, if I had any left, I’d be eating it now. I’ve also been treating kale like spinach, and chucking it into omletes with fetta and haloumi, and it’s really not bad, as the cheese drowns out the kale.

In other news, I’ve recently been trying to weed a bit of sugar out of my diet, and to this end found myself searching for healthy brownie recipes. (Yep, I appreciate the irony). Interestingly, there’s quite a few out there, including one by Jillian Michaels, and a number of left field renditions that include black beans or minimal sugar. But for my money, the pick of the litter is this one, found on The Baltic Maid blog.

The recipe includes zucchini, and honestly, it’s the best use of the vegetable I’ve ever tasted. Now if only someone would invent a brownie recipe that uses a lot of kale…

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Cheap parenting

January 19, 2014 //
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In about a week’s time, my only daughter will start school, so I’m in a reflective mood. Like many parents with young children, the last five years have been a bit blurry. I can’t say that I remember all of it, but it’s only now, as the pre-school period draws to a close, that I’m coming anywhere close to realizing what a valuable era it has been.

But, being a cheapskate, instead of waxing lyrical about the highs and the lows, I thought that instead I’d list some of the low-budget ways I kept my kid entertained. I’m not saying these are great parenting techniques, in fact I’m tempted to give a ‘don’t try this at home’ disclaimer, but we found them fun, and most of them are free, or as close to it as you can get.

1. Creatures of the Deep

While this tickling game is probably responsible for giving Sophie a life-long fear of the ocean, or a future freak-out whenever she encounters a fisherman’s basket when eating out, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. First things first: you have to say the name right. ‘Creatures of the Deep’ must sound like a B grade horror movie narrator, I’m thinking Boris Karloff or Tom Waits, half strangled and loaded with menace.

The responsible adult puts their hand behind their back, and asks the squealing child ‘what’s coming out from behind the rock?’ (Same voice, people, stay in character). Then the hand emerges, disguised as any number of sea creatures, who proceed to tickle the kid.

My personal faves were ‘giant squid’, a hand with fingers spread out that suckers onto the kid’s head; ‘giant crab’, a particularly nippy creature, that can chase the child sideways through the house, claws raised; and ‘baby crab’, a delightful little creature that Sophie delighted in ‘killing’ so I’d say, ‘oh no! Here comes it’s Mommy’ (try to sound a bit American here).

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(Modelling the giant squid)

 

We also had ‘electric eel’, which stung and swum away; ‘sea anenome’, an inverted hand with waving tentacle fingers that gripped anything that came near, and occasionally transcended species boundaries by jumping, triggering lisped dialogue such as ‘oh no! How am I supposed to send you to school with a sea anemone stuck to your head’.

2. Name the sea creature

Continuing the marine theme, a popular travelling game (on public transport) was name the sea creature. Taking turns, adult and child use their hand(s) to mime the actions of well-known sea creatures. By the end, Sophie and I knew each other’s repertoire a bit too well, meaning that the surprise factor was virtually non-existent. But hey! Beats looking out the train window.

If you’re looking for inspiration, we had a hermit crab: it discarded its hand shell then scuttled around looking for another. A dolphin leaped and bounded through the air, a bit like a dodgy 80s dance move. Obviously we had to have a shark, but this is fun to mime, involving a vertical hand fin and some menacing swishes. There were also jellyfish, squid, crabs, fish, eels, sea anenome and starfish.

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(Sophie doing her shark fin). 

3. Agility Rainbow Snake

This one’s actually a recent invention, inspired by fitness writer Jen Sinkler’s ladder mobility drills, and my friend CS’s descriptions of doing chalk drawings with her children on their driveway in Tasmania. CS had two kids, a boy and a girl; apparently the little girl would draw princesses and her brother would draw dragons stomping them.

Instructions: get a $2 bucket of chalk from the Reject Shop, or similar discount store. and draw a large snake on a relatively flat piece of concrete. It’s a long stripy snake with a viscous looking head and a curly tail. Give each stripe a number: ours went from one to twenty-seven.

Then think of ways to race your child up and down the snake. We hopped, jumped, crawled, skipped, galloped and did this funky kind of salsa thing we got from the fitness website. There aren’t really any rules, except you’re supposed to land in the square every time you move forward, and my kid cheated a lot.

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4. Mystery shopping

No, not that kind of mystery shopping. In our household, mystery shopping means leaving the house for a nice walk and seeing what free stuff you can scrounge on your journey. We’ve had some crackers. One particularly memorable morning involved gathering fresh lemons from under a council building’s tree, and later using them to make lemonade; and ransacking the junk pile of the local theatre company’s recent wardrobe clear out. At particular times of year, we also hang around under a large avocado tree, checking out the recent falls.

There are a number of op shops near my house, so mystery shopping sometimes involves a detour into one of these. Mummy picks up a dress (and as this is a small town, hopes that she doesn’t run into its former owner) while Sophie gets craft stuff, books and the occasional toy.

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The Simple Things

December 15, 2013 //
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Read any fitness and nutrition blog, and they’ll tell you that kale is the new superfood. What they don’t tell you is that kale, despite being loaded in nutrients, and reportedly possessing anti-cancer fighting qualities, just doesn’t taste very nice. Which is unfortunate, as I have a bumper crop of kale in my vegetable garden, and I’m running out of things to do with it.

I planted kale seeds pretty much by accident. About a year ago, Sophie had a ‘no present’ birthday party, and I asked people to bring flower or vegetable seeds instead. I was on an anti-consumption kick, sick of stressed out families constantly having to fork out for crap: it seems that as soon as you have kids, your hand becomes permanently welded onto your wallet. Now the party was a hit, we held it in a sports hall, with lots of excited children running around, a jumping castle, plenty of starchy food and a mammoth cake. Afterwards there were loads of seed packets, including the kale. I didn’t know what it was so I chucked it in the garden and unfortunately it’s grown like a weed.

There are some good things about the kale. I walk past the neat little bunches in the supermarket aisle, at $5 a pop, and think ‘suckers’. As the vegetable du jour, there are plenty of recipes on the net. So far I’ve discovered a pleasing Tuscan kale and white bean soup recipe, a blog entirely devoted to kale smoothies, and many websites proudly featuring crispy kale. I now know that boiling the crap out of it doesn’t work, and that steaming or thinly sliced raw is much preferable. You can stick it in a smoothie, but you need to disguise the taste with berries, because it’s got this slightly bottom of pond feel.

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But when you have as much kale as I have, it’s still difficult to dispose of, as there’s only so much you can eat. It reminds me of being an Art student in London, when my friends and I would go to the Soho weekend markets, and come home with cartons of whatever vegetable was in season. It was the cheapest place to shop in bulk, fresh and filling, but variety could be a problem, particularly towards the end of the week. My mate April was once reduced to eating zucchinis stuffed with other zucchinis.

I’ve tried giving it away, but like all fast growing plants, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. The typical conversation goes something like this: ‘Here’, I say to someone, ‘have some kale. Have some more kale.’ Everyone that visits gets kale, whether they like it or not. ‘Oh thank you’, they say, ‘I don’t want to leave you short’ (they know how bad it tastes). ‘That’s ok’, I quickly counter, ‘I’ve got heaps: let me get you a bag’. And away they go, clutching a plastic bag stuffed with kale, cursing under their breath.

I’ve given kale to Sophie’s teachers, babysitters, friends, my neighbours. It’s reminiscent of a 90s UK Tango advertising campaign, where the company tried to sell more of their orange fizzy drink with a slogan proclaiming ‘you’ve been tangoed!’ Similarly, I watch people staggering down my driveway, carrying their plastic bag, and gloat to myself ‘you’ve been kaled’.

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(The vegetable garden in its infancy).

I gave it to my neighbour, a lovely man who rides a bike, with a lot of ink. He picked up the leaf, sniffed it suspiciously, and tried to palm it off on his wife. ‘She loves this sort of food… what did you say it was called again?’ ‘Kale’ I reply, trying to stop my face twitching, ‘it’s very healthy’. ‘Kaaalllleee’ drawled my neighbour, ‘I think that’s the stuff she’s been trying to force through the blender’. We look at each other for a second, a moment of mutual comprehension; he raises his hand in farewell, like a fallen soldier, and wanders back into his house.

As the summer heat intensifies, the kale harvest goes on and on and on and on. Even the birds won’t eat it, I’ve tried to encourage them, and the caterpillars appear reluctant. I’m just hoping it’s not self seeding. Every morning, no matter how many leaves I’ve pulled off the day before, the plants appear undamaged. It turns out that kale has Terminator like botanic qualities.

Of course, whining about my kale plants is just symptomatic of a deeper malaise. Frankly, I’m getting a bit sick of my whole earth mother act. I have a vegetable garden; I eat a largely organic, plant-based diet; I dedicatedly recycle, aspire to chickens, try to practice compassion, discretion and behave responsibly. Obviously I’m somewhat bored. Since moving to a country town, I’ve been craving tall buildings, tactless communication and extremely fast motor vehicles. (The Mitsubishi Evo, in case you’re wondering; I’ve nicknamed it the Mitsubishi Evil).

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(Photograph courtesy of mysuperbcar.com)

 

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City versus Country

December 12, 2013 //
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(Photograph courtesy of TrailLink)

Years ago, when I was living in London, one of the Sunday papers ran a particularly mawish column. I can’t recall the name, but it was written by two women, one living fast in the city and the other stuck out in the countryside with kids. Frankly, it was hilarious. The urban girl would recount, with breathtaking speed, an evening spent flashing her left breast in an Indian restaurant, and finishing by singing an old Rugby song about menstruation: ‘you can tell by the rope that you haven’t got a hope’. Meanwhile, out in the sticks, the country dweller patiently explained the latest bicycle theft- as evidence of the breakdown of the social fabric- and bitched about muddy gumboots and rambunctious cows. Gripping stuff!

I was delighted, therefore, when a few weeks back Bridget contacted me out of the blue and suggested a city versus country blog post. A self confessed adreneline junkie, Bridget is a young woman living in Las Vegas, who had read some of my recent posts about fitness. She thought that it would be good to talk about working out in the city as opposed to the country, and with memories of the Sunday paper column, I agreed. Take it away Bridget!

Urban Adventure in Las Vegas

I used to be a real gym rat. After finishing work at the end of the day, I would often exercise for hours and arrive home as late as 9 p.m. Although I enjoyed working out, I was not fond of the gym itself, as there were too many sweaty people in a very cramped space. The solution to the problem was easy enough: I could simply exercise outside by riding my bike or running. This did not seem safe to me, as I was worried about pollution and possible crime. After moving to Las Vegas, where it is often very hot and dry, I thought I would be more inclined to work out indoors. The exact opposite thing happened. The following is my story:

After arriving in Las Vegas, I immediately wondered where I could exercise outdoors. The city does not inspire images of being fit and healthy, other than walking up and down the casino strip for many hours. I was pleased to discover that I was wrong in my thinking. The Las Vegas area offers numerous locations to work out and enjoy the beauty of nature.

(Photo courtesy of the Sierra Club)

Sin City sits in the heart of the Mojave Desert, which is an area of breathtaking wonder. There are too many bike trails to count, and it is very easy to get lost in the landscape. Whenever I decide to take a ride out in the desert, I consult with this resource to ensure I stay on safe trails.

One thing people may not know about Las Vegas is that it is now officially considered a Cycle-Friendly city by the League of American Bicyclists. This comes as no surprise, as the city just installed $0.5 million dollars worth of bike lockers and racks and has built nearly 400 miles of bike lanes.

If you visit Las Vegas for business or pleasure, you will find the city has many hotels and destinations that cater to different needs. Prior to moving here for good, I made two trips to decide if relocating was the correct decision. Many hotels provided information about exercising outside and had excellent gym facilities.

Another great thing about Las Vegas is how it is adopting healthier options for food and drinks. I have seen many new restaurants opening that feature vegan and vegetarian cuisine, and some even offer entrees based on the Paleo diet. Most of these eateries are located on the famous casino strip, so they are easy to find. If you do not believe me, come on down to Las Vegas and check it out. I love it here, and I think you will, too.

View bridget d'sophia.jpg in slide show

Country Town Swagger

Like Bridget, I’ve always felt ambivalent about gyms. The normal social rules don’t seem to apply, and there’s something weirdly intimate about sweating and grunting beside strangers. Plus there’s all the peculiar clothing, loud music and highly particular vocabulary: for me, ripped is something you do to get wrapping paper off presents, and shredded is a happy word that makes me think of food. Yes, please, I would like my mozzarella shredded….

(Photograph courtesy of Melbourne Pizza Delivery)

All this changed when I moved to a large country town and brought a house right next to a gym. It’s hot up here, away from the coast, and most of the summer I have the kitchen window open. Last summer, when I moved in, one of the first things I heard when I opened the window was pop music and an instructor screaming. When I got sick of dancing around my kitchen, I wandered next door and brought a gym membership. As they say, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

The gym is an older style building, and while it will never win any architectural awards, the people are lovely. It has one of those nice cultures where people say hello to each other, set up and put away equipment for others, and stop to chat after the class. I currently train about three times a week. Classes are mainly indoors, but sometimes they run them outside on the sandy volleyball courts, or on a nearby sportsfield.

(Photograph courtesy of this link)

A river runs through this town, with a cycle pathway meandering along it. First thing in the morning, before it gets too hot, and in the first cool breeze of evening, you’ll see people running and cycling along its banks. A personal trainer takes his squad running there, and up on the High Street a CrossFit group can sometimes be seen carrying medicine balls around the block. On Sundays, families congregate in the area, often cycling through the quiet streets. Every Saturday morning, hundreds of people congregate at a local dam and run around it, often with their kids.

(Photograph courtesy of Paul Hollins) 

The dam run (damned run) is something that I have yet to experience, as I’m not entirely sure that my five year old can reasonably be expected to run five kilometers. Or at least walk and skip for a bit, with possibly a few piggy backs thrown in for good measure. But a friend with a daughter of a similar age tells me that exercising with kids is actually a godsend. When you’re red in the face, lungs heaving, there’s no shame in screeching to a halt, yelling ‘look at that lovely butterfly!’ The less than devoted runner suddenly becomes the devoted parent. After all, as Bridget and I both know, nature can be relied upon to provide timely distractions.

 

 

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Pure as the Driven Snow

December 9, 2013 //
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After banging on about fitness in the last few posts, I thought I’d celebrate the schizoid nature of this blog by returning to one about creativity. I recently helped paint some sets for Maitland Repertory Theatre’s annual melodrama ‘Pure as the Driven Snow’. Snow tells the story of a mysterious young woman, who stumbles into a country inn one dark night, and the ensuing mayhem as various heroes and malevolents attempt to help or hinder her. 

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The set features some faux flock wallpaper, which strobed between being quite convincing and out-and-out jarringly false, largely depending on the light and one’s frame of mind. This was created with a handmade stencil and gloss spray paint over a matt green wall. We actually tried to use a clear laquer spray with the stencil, and although it made a slightly darker pattern on the matt wall (kind of like a stain or a shadow) it wasn’t punchy enough to withstand stage lighting. Good idea though, and may work well in a domestic space, if you fancy transforming your abode into something distinctly Victorian. 

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The bottom section of the wall, under the dado rail, is an odd mix of bagging and dragging and woodgraining gone wrong. Thanks to good old Floetrol (an acrylic paint additive that makes water based paints behave like oils) it didn’t actually look too bad….

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The grey marbled fireplace was recycled from an earlier Repertory production of ‘The Guardsman’. 

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As was the rather slinky chaise…

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The Language of Fitness

November 11, 2013 //
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Sometime it seems that gyms are like foreign countries, with everyone speaking a strange language, and as if you need a passport to get in. Despite working out quite regularly, and being genuinely interested in fitness and exercise motivation, I don’t feel like I belong in this world. Even though I do it myself, I still think there’s something strange about people who wear lycra, drink bottled water, and pick up heavy objects that don’t really need to be moved. It’s as illogical as moving furniture for fun: ‘Just leave it there, for Pete’s sake, it looks fine’.

But like all good tourists, I’m trying to blend in with the locals. I’m taking an interest, wearing bright colours, and trying to stammer out of few phrases in the local lingo. After a few months of perusing fitness blogs, and wondering what fitspo was, I finally googled it, and was quite surprised by the result. I was under the impression that fitspiration was something to do with fit people’s sweat. (It does sound like perspiration).

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Of course, since my fitness blog reading hobby started, I’ve been happy to stumble across the great Maria Kang ‘fat-shaming or fitspiration’ debate. (Here’s a sympathetic voice and a critical view). When I first saw this image, I assumed it was an older sister with her three younger siblings. Then I read the caption and slowly the lights went on. ‘What’s my excuse for what?’ I wondered. Gradually, with the excruciating slowness of ice plates converging, the purpose of the image became clear. ‘Well’ I thought, ‘what a pretty woman. But that’s her journey, not mine’. I’ve since, rather meanly, taken to referring to the image as Maria Kangaroo, just because of her large eyes and alert expression.

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I’ve recently been along to a couple of Boot Camp classes. My local gym runs them on the beach volleyball courts, so the experience has changed my relationship with sand. Sand used to conjour up happy thoughts of family holidays by the beach, Reef coconut tanning oil and lazy days in the sun. Not anymore. As one woman said, as we crawled through the sand, butts high, from one end of the volleyball court to the other, ‘this must be the exfoliation stage of the process’. ‘I’ll be doing the mud mask by the end’ I replied.

Similarly, the word ‘dip’ used to make me feel quite perky. ‘French onion or avocado?’ I’d muse, ‘both equally good’. But sadly my Boot Camp instructor, a guy who looks like he’s been chewed up and spat out by a sabre-toothed tiger, thinks dips are just great, and I don’t mean the cheese and bikkie kind. ‘Dips!’ he howls, as our exhausted triceps quiver, muscle fibres now the texture of melted parmesan. ‘Biscuits!’ I feel like screaming back.

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(Photo courtesy of mamacino) 

 

 

 

 

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Bag o’ Nails

November 9, 2013 //
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A few years ago, the saying ‘play the hand you’re dealt’ became popular. It popped up in cultish episodes of Stargate Universe, dropped from the mouth of champion sportspeople, and was generally bandied around. Suddenly it seemed that stoicism was fashionable. Now let me flashback to the long ago days of my Tasmanian childhood, when I used to play poker with my cousins, using matches as currency. Back in the day, the expression ‘bag o’nails’ meant that you ain’t got nothin’. Your hand failed to yield a pair, three of a kind, and was completely lacking in any kind of flush or run. While you might have had one or two good cards, perhaps an ace or a face card, together they didn’t fall into any kind of discernable pattern.

Similarly, my week has had some great cards, some stinking ones, and I’m yet to see the logic of it all. In the words of the great Kenny Rogers, I don’t know whether to hold ‘em or fold ‘em. This nostalgia for poker and playing one’s hand has triggered repeated bouts of singing The Gambler, which along with The Hurricane, is one of the few songs I know all the words to (sort of).

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The ace in the pack was Sophie’s eye surgery, which went splendidly well. The poor kid puked a few times after the anaesthetic, but otherwise healed in record time, and her eyes are now working fine. Great stuff! During our stay, we found what is possibly Sydney’s best gelato store. I have to recommend the pannacotta with fig jam and ameretti: if you’re in the area, it’s ice cream worth committing armed robbery for.

We came home from the hospital just in time for Halloween. In a last minute shopping expedition to our local supermarket, no pumpkins were to be found, so we brought home a melon and carved that instead. Strangely, the scale of the melon, very close to size and shape of a human skull, looked particularly creepy when cut. This was accentuated when we covered it with ‘day of the dead’ party candles and stuck it on a big white plate surrounded by chocolate frogs.

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Halloween, being more of an American celebration, and the whole thing about adopted traditions, leads me to the next card in my pack. Regular readers of this blog will know that for the last few years I’ve been fascinated by fairy tales. This manifested itself in Happily Ever After, a cute little exhibition of artists’ books, organised by fellow artist Caelli Jo Brooker and myself, and more recently in my PhD topic. I’m writing about the relationship between women, animals and power in revisionist fairy tales.

Happily Ever After brought together more than seventy artists, writers and bookbinders and asked them to work together to create new versions of traditional fairy tales, via the format of handmade books. And there were some crackers. Writer Danielle Wood partnered with illustrator Tony Flowers to invent a new version of the Japanese fairy tale Momataro, while a group of artists responded visually to passages from Carmel Bird’s book Cape Grimm.

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As a result of this project, I got to know Carmel Bird via email, and she very kindly asked me to be part of a book project she was putting together. Carmel wanted to look at how European fairy tales had merged with Australian or Aboriginal storytelling traditions, and ask ‘Is there an Australian fairy tale tradition?’ In the end, because this is a fairly esoteric area, she was having difficulty getting a publisher, so I suggested that she take the idea to the Griffith Review, dubbed ‘Australia’s best literary journal’, and offer her services as a contributing editor. I’m pleased to say that the Griffith Review just published a fairy tale themed edition, with Carmel Bird as part of the editorial team. My essay, ‘Metafur: literary representations of animals’, is also part of the edition. I’m quietly proud of this, and thrilled that fairy tales, as a topic of popular and academic interest, seems to be growing in this country.

But while this was a nice card, I also got dealt a joker. For the last few weeks, during exercise, I’ve been getting this strange pins and needles feeling, mainly in my left leg. On Monday, during a cardio class, it spread and became more intense. After the class I started feeling quite peculiar. I thought it might be a blood sugar issue, as I’d only had a light breakfast, so I ate a museli bar and fruit, but this didn’t make a difference. Then I thought it might relate to circulation, so I had a hot shower: still no difference. After this, I resorted to a cup of tea and sitting on the sofa. Even this classic first aid strategy didn’t help.

By this stage, I was experiencing numbness in three patches on the left side of my body, and with even the remote possibility of an impending stroke scaring the crap out of me, I hot tailed it into the nearest Emergency Department. To cut a long story short, after numerous tests, they’re still not sure what went wrong, but I’ve been referred along to a nuerologist and for a brain catscan. I’ve always said my thinking is disordered, and now I’ll have the evidence to prove it! Predictably, at least two people have ripped me off about the perils of physical exercise.

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 Image credit: the portrait photograph of Sophie, and the one of my mother, Sophie and I (above), are the fine work of Firebug Photography

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