AM I LAZY OR JUST TOTALLY UNMOTIVATED?

 

Image courtesy of Shannon Wheeler.

Is there a fine line between unmotivated and lazy, or does one just lead to the other?  Honestly, I don't know.  I do know that when I have something to do or undertake a project, I go at it full pelt.  Having something to do motivates me.  Finding something to do, however, now that I'm retired and don't have to work, is difficult.  At first, I'd try to find useful things to do to fill my day and, not finding enough, had guilt trips.  What is the point of living if you're not contributing in some way?

This line of thinking became rather tiresome and just led to anxiety as well as to the mindset of digging my heels in and not wanting to do anything, because I was pressuring myself too much.  I've pressured myself all my life and I'm fed up with it.  When am I allowed to do absolutely nothing without guilt?  I know that if I did manage to, I would go stir crazy with boredom anyway.

I will not consider taking up cleaning my house to Good Housekeeping standards to justify my existence.  That is mind numbing stuff.  I do the basics, I'm tidy and hygienic but that is all.  Dust and I, for instance, barely acknowledge one another.  One day when my six-year-old grand-daughter was visiting, she flung herself on our loungeroom ottoman.  To my absolute amazement, a cloud of dust rose up around her.  Her mother was witness to this fantastic sight and so I resolved to vacuum it without further ado.  Every now and then, I also put my glasses on when I am indoors and see the layers of dust on my furniture and force myself to wipe every surface.  It always surprises me when the dust comes back.  It's funny stuff.  You just don't really see it in the air, but it's there.

It occurs to me that it is difficult to do absolutely nothing when you are at home as it is seen as lazy as opposed to being relaxed.  In order to get away with it, one must really be on vacation or on a trip.  This way, sitting around reading a book all day or watching television is condoned.  After all, you're on holiday.  I don't really have the funds for either lately so I must do these things at home, where I will be judged.  Vacations and trips can also prove taxing if you are travelling and must move from one place to the other and take organized tours.  These require effort.  It's an effort that I'm absolutely prepared to take if it's an excursion to the Greek Isles or the Pyramids in Egypt, but not if it's bus trips to places of total disinterest domestically during which people might decide to have singalongs between towns.

I have written about boredom in other blogs and also about hobbies.  In truth, the only thing that really interests me is writing and, sometimes reading, if I can find a good book.  The latter is also difficult.  I have taken to borrowing books from the library again in the last six months. I have read many good books in my time but finding one lately is becoming a quest.  I have read the newly released novels of two well-known crime writers and been appalled.  It is as if they are now being ghost written.  I know this can happen, as I've spoken to a woman who worked in publishing.  I was expressing to her my surprise and disbelief that a particular author managed to bring out a new novel every year in time for Christmas.  I was also amazed that he hadn't died of old age.  She told me that publishers often employed ghost writers to fill in the novels of best-selling authors after the authors themselves wrote the whole plot line.  The ghost writers copy the author's style and fill out the manuscript.

No wonder then, that it's hard for new authors to get a break in the industry, especially as publishers must compete with the internet and online publishing.  Unfortunately, although that resource allows new authors to publish, we miss out on the marketing and advertising that publishers take on for an author.  It is expensive and that is why we want to be accepted by them in the first place.

When I go into my local library, the newly released novels will have little stamps on them like, "Staff's top picks", meaning the library staff.  Most of them also boast, "New York Time's Bestseller".  When I come to that last one now, I go straight past the book.  As sure as it has that label, I will hate it.  I can't believe the dross I have picked up in these last six months.  I have read in this time a couple of new, young female authors, who are both listed in their blurbs as having done creative writing courses at elite universities.  I could tell within the first chapters they had undertaken writing courses as their writing was formulaic.

This isn't sour grapes.  Good luck to them for being published, but I don't want to read what they write.  It was also immature and fit for Cosmopolitan Magazine fiction.  I have, happily, found one author whom I really like.  Kate Atkinson is an English author who can go off on so many tangents, with so many well drawn characters, that I completely lose myself.  I've read five of hers in a row now and need a little break.  I'm also running out of her novels.  A novelist needs to have a unique voice, not one gained from doing a writing course.  There is no template for a novel.  The rule basically is that it needs to have a beginning, a middle and an end with a resolution.  I'm sure some novelists have played with these rules, but then, it depends how artfully they do it.

I've been told by a literary agent, who I phoned for advice, that my latest novel is, 'too long'.  My thoughts are, 'Well, how long is a piece of string?  As long as it needs to be."   She said, "No, it's the publishing costs".   Apparently, that wasn't a consideration with Tolstoy's, "War and Peace", or Margaret Mitchell's, "Gone with the Wind".  Going over one hundred thousand words is not a good idea these days.  Also, she told me that one needs a social media presence and followers.  At this point, I decided to stick with Amazon Publishing.  I'd already reduced the manuscript by thirty thousand words, and I wasn't reducing it anymore.

There is a book I recommend reading regarding Artificial Intelligence and writing and it is, "The Well of Lost Plots" by Jasper Fforde published in 2003.  It is fantasy fiction but very relevant today where AI is writing essays and business letters and the like for people.  In "The Well of Lost Plots", authors are at risk of losing their jobs because a computer program will take over writing novels and the people of BookWorld, a world inhabited by characters from fiction, must fight to save their own lives.  That's a very loose explanation of the plot, however, the novel is very clever and, I thought at the time of reading, very far-sighted.

It is, therefore, also hard to be motivated when I see writing that I personally find uninspiring being published because it will sell easily.  There is also a lot of dross on the Amazon Book site but, because of its sheer size, there are also many good books.  I'm sure many people read the books on Amazon with covers showing men with six pack abdomens and adoring women draped around them, but there are all sorts of novels, including the classics.  Don't always go by the star ratings.  I think people get paid to pump up ratings and some very odd novels have five stars.  You just need the patience to peruse the millions of books on the site and sort the wheat from the chaff.

I now return to my quest to motivate myself into useful occupation or enjoy the sheer abundance, and lack of it, of choice in retirement.

END

HOBBIES, OR HOW TO BE BORED PRODUCTIVELY.

The top of my faux Marquetry box

When I was a child, I found it easy to keep occupied.  If I wasn't at school, I would play with dolls, play make-believe and draw prolifically.  Outside I would do headstands, handstands and cartwheels on our expansive lawn.  The rest of the time I was up our jacaranda tree, which had four trunks with numerous forks to perch in and pretend I was in a castle.  I climbed this tree for years, hung from its branches by my arms or legs and never, not once, fell from it.  We had another jacaranda, but it was larger, with a single trunk and not suitable for climbing.  It was too big and, when I did venture up it, I would receive large welts from hairy caterpillars that burned and stung.

As I grew, I started roller skating on our, also, expansive concrete areas.  We had no fences in our neighbourhood and I would skate over to my cousin's house two doors over.  We did build a billycart to ride down the concrete driveway that led to the road by the bay, but it was long, steep and somewhat perilous.  We would also hike through the lantana to the abandoned house next door on the other side of our property.  We never encountered a snake but often ended up with ticks.

My father gave me an old box brownie when I was seven and taught me how to develop film and make prints in black and white.  I gave that up some years later when I was given an instamatic. 

The sad thing about adulthood is that, apart from drawing and photography, most of the activities I undertook are the preserve of children.  We must find other ways to occupy ourselves in our leisure time when we grow up.  Many people turn to creative pursuits, while others challenge their bodies with exercise, hiking, climbing, biking and different sports.

I'm not that into sports, although I love tennis and want to take up golf again.  The trouble is, now that I'm retired, I have to fill every day.  When I became an adult, I discovered that I had a propensity to extreme boredom, to the extent that I can be bored while actually doing something.  Plenty of people can be bored while they are working, but that depends on their job and the same goes for me, but I have to be really involved in what I'm doing to not experience boredom.

As such, over the course of my adult life, I have attempted numerous creative pastimes to fill the void in my leisure time.  Of course, if I am travelling somewhere, I am never bored, but I lack the money these days to go anywhere different often enough.  Only writing and travelling assuage my boredom.

The other day, I was pondering just how many crafts I have tried in order to find my passion.  I believe I started shortly after I married with macrame.  Then I tried string art.  I made a few nice gifts with these but then gave them up.  I also tried my hand at pottery.  It didn't excite me one bit.

After that I completely renovated a house: making curtains, wallpapering, painting, putting laminate on bench tops, making vanity units from scratch (former husband is a dab hand at carpentry, as his father was one, and he taught me the basics).  I tiled a floor and the kitchen wall above the benches.  I should have stuck with renovating, but I wanted a proper job.  Pity, we sold the house for twice what we bought it after one year and I did most of the work as husband was at his job.

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I had become very good at drawing and portraits in pencil thanks to having a father who was an artist.  In my twenties, in order to get into a college to study Industrial Design, I did two extremely good portraits in pastel as they wanted an example of my artistic ability.  Strangely, they never asked to see them.  I got into the course, but soon dropped out, however, I still treasure the two portraits, one of which I have and the other belongs to my former husband.

Why, you ask, didn't I continue to do more?  Because I am like a Mexican jumping bean and can't settle.  Besides, I wanted to write, and it still took me ten years to get around to writing my first novel.  When I became pregnant, I took classes in watercolour.  I have really never been into painting.  I also tried floristry.  I should include sewing as a hobby, but I have been able to sew since I was a teenager, making some of my own clothes, and this has continued throughout my life.  I also used to knit.  I love knitting but I have jumpers, both bought and made, that are thirty years old because in Queensland, although it can get cold, it does not get thick jumper cold often enough to warrant it.

Through the years I have tried decoupage, folk art and fake marquetry using paint.  This has left me with some nice bits and pieces.

I have made simple loose cushion covers for chair seats and, after that, took the bit between my teeth and reupholstered the seats of my parents' dining chairs.  This required disassembly, new webbing, fabric, cording and a staple gun.  I was very proud of this achievement but don't wish to make it a pastime.  I have eyed my armchair recliner that needs recovering but, having read the mechanics of disassembly, don't want to lose my fingers or wreck my back.  This will have to be a job for a professional.

A reupholstered dining chair

Most recently, since retiring, apart from looking for lucrative, or any, employment, I have tried to learn a new craft so that I can sell something alongside my partner at craft markets.  He has become a masterful leather worker and makes truly beautiful leather handbags for men and women, wallets, and belts.  I feel ashamed that I cannot channel myself to a task with his sheer concentration and all-consuming passion.  He has learned everything he can and will work into the wee hours of the night.

In my quest to sell something beside him at markets, I have tried putting images on candles.  There are two ways to do this.  One way is easy if you can find the right materials, but then the plastic on which the image is printed may give off harmful fumes when the candle burns.  It looks great though.  The second way involves printing the image on tissue paper and attaching it to the candle using a hair dryer or a heat gun to melt it on.  No fume problem here but watch out for your hands under the dryer.  Looks good, but not as good as the other way.  I now have a surplus of white pillar candles.

Next, I learned how to make lampshades.  Not just to recover lampshades, but to make them.  This took some research and Youtubing, and then the more difficult task of finding a certain product to stick the chosen fabric to in order to stiffen it.  It turned out that this wasn't a cheap hobby, but I have two beautiful new lampshades for my exquisite Chinese red, ginger jar shaped lamps bought in Hong Kong forty years ago.  Making lampshades to order, however, may prove problematic, and I'm still thinking about it.

My lampshade

Meantime I have made three little, simple leather frog stuffed toys for my grandchildren.  They managed to damage a cotton one I had that they played with, so I copied it in leather and stuffed it with rice.  I've also sold two at markets, but they are very unwieldy to make.

The list of things people take up as hobbies is endless, and one person's passion is another person's yawn.  The list of hobbies is endless but the ones I haven't tried, I wouldn't want to try as I've thought of every possible one so far and ruled out those that don't appeal to me.

I'm taking a short break from hobby seeking to push my latest novel to literary agents and publishers.  I really need another house to renovate.

END

RIBBIT

ADVENTURE: IS IT WORTH THE RISK, OR EVEN ENJOYABLE?

Today, June 23, 2023, begins with news that a submersible carrying five adventurers to view the wreck of the Titanic deep in the Atlantic Ocean imploded on its way down, killing all on board.  They not only paid a very high price to go on the expedition, they paid the ultimate price.

All were wealthy people who could afford to follow their dreams but, honestly, why would anyone want to stuff themselves inside an uncomfortable death trap to view the remnant of a one hundred-and-eleven-year-old disaster lying so deep that no natural light can't reach it?  Obviously, these people did, and it is terribly sad that their quest went so awry.

This is the second tragedy in the last three weeks resulting from people trying to accomplish the extraordinary.  Last month an Australian man succumbed to altitude sickness after summiting Mount Everest.  Seventeen years earlier he had suffered spinal cord injuries in a car accident and had to learn to walk again.  Three years ago, he had another spinal procedure followed by rehab and wanted to prove he was still capable of doing anything he wanted.  He certainly succeeded, but at what cost?

I'm not here to judge.  Such people are entitled to do what they want and they show extraordinary motivation, but I wonder what their real quest is.  For some reason, I suspect that they are their own Titanics or mountains.   What is this need to push the boundaries?  We can all benefit from a challenge, but why do some people feel they have to outdo the challenges other people set themselves?

It is a strange thing, nay ludicrous, to see photos of recent ascents of Everest where there are climbers, over fifty or so of them, literally queueing for their turn to reach the summit.  Now, how special do you feel accomplishing something that involves queueing in a long line such as at a theme park, not to mention that you are paying around $50 thousand dollars for the privilege?

Queue to summit Mt Everest

Since the year 2000, we've seen people trying to break all kinds of records.  Felix Baumgartner, an Austrian, jumped from a hot air balloon 39 kilometers above the Nevada desert with a parachute and not only broke the record for the highest ever freefall, but the sound barrier as well.  Such an exercise requires a lot of money as well as a lot of skydiving experience.

Steve Fosset, an American businessman, held world records for five non-stop solo circumnavigations of the world in both a balloon and fixed wing aircraft.  He sadly died in a light plane crash in 2007.

There are people who walk tight ropes between skyscrapers and, also, people who free climb skyscrapers.  There seems to be no end to the way thrill seekers seek their thrills and this leads me to the obvious question.  Why?

Of course, I don't have the answer, but I do have a couple of theories.  One thing I felt that they all must have in common is outrageously good health; that was, until I read about the mountain climber who had suffered spinal injuries and then used his regained health and fitness to test his body to the limit.  I feel that, if you have enough obstacles in your everyday life, you won't have the need to create them.  In his case, I was wrong.

Another theory is boredom, after you have become a wealthy individual and have run out of ways to get your thrills.  I mean, you've gained total financial freedom so now what is there to conquer?  There's a lot to be said for conquering that mortgage or overcoming illness to keep a person gainfully occupied.  It may be less exciting but, at least, there's usually light at the end of the tunnel.

My final theory is also based around those with enough money.  Having conquered the material world, there is one last enemy to face: death, and you don't have to be afraid of death to want to make its acquaintance.  You may just want to know how you'll feel when confronting it and if you have the guts to deal with it.  So, what do you do?  You take part in an activity that brings you as close as dammit to the edge to test your courage and, by the time you've done this a few times, I bet it becomes addictive.  It would sure get your endorphins and adrenalin pumping.  I guess that's what such people are after, having lost the ability to get a thrill from more mundane situations.

If I wanted to seek a thrill such as those poor souls who perished in the submersible, locked into a small, uncomfortable space for hours, all I would need to do is book an economy class ticket on a commercial airliner going from Australia to Europe.  That would take twenty-three hours in a cramped seat.  If I wanted to make it worse, I would just lock myself in the toilet for an hour or two after ten or so hours in the air.  Honestly, what could be worse?

END

THE EXCRUCIATING JOYS OF GROWING OLD.

 

Me, aged 30, model portfolio shoot.

Growing old sneaks up on you, really, really fast.  One minute you're hanging in there in middle age, with men (in my case, as I'm a woman) still casting furtive glances at you, even though you're on the plus side of sixty and whoosh, overnight it seems, something has dropped and you discover a sudden clutch of grey hair on your temples; you know, the ones that make men look so distinguished.

Admittedly I'm a bit of a freak for greying so late. My mother had only a few grey hairs when she died at the age of eighty-one.  I was, in fact, pleased with mine because, after decades of dyeing my hair blond, when Covid and isolation hit, I let it return to the mouse brown that had been inflicted on me by my genes.  "Ah," I thought, "when I go blond again, no more dark roots."  No such luck.  I retain way too much mouse brown and my income has also dropped due to finishing work so I can no longer afford it, thanks to that uninvited little plague.

My age clock is about to tick over the seventy milestone on Christmas Eve.  I am pleased as punch to have made it thus far and hope for a lot more, but I must resign myself to losing my, almost glamorous and not unattractive former self.  I had worked hard at it.  I had always worn make up, remained slim and worn heels.  My feet now just laugh when I contemplate high heels in a moment of whimsy.  I am so out of practice at wearing them, after giving up work, that I feel I am teetering if the heels are over two centimeters.

When I was a young girl, my mother would tell me that I was plain, but that I would be beautiful one day.  It didn't help that she demanded that I keep my hair short and would nag me incessantly about it once I was old enough to ignore her demands and grow it.  In any case, she told me I would be beautiful and so I made bloody sure I was.  Whether by sheer force of will or good bone structure, I managed to achieve it.  I suppose you would call it striking, rather than beautiful but, with long, blonded hair and artfully applied makeup, I did a good impression of it.

Makeup, now, has become a problem.  Why?  Essential tremor is why.  Seven years ago my hands developed a tremor.  That's all it is but, it's a nuisance.  It makes putting on eye makeup and eating in restaurants a problem.  With the eye makeup, I am liable to paint anything but my lids.  With the restaurants, I am liable to feed someone beside me or fling food in their face rather than get it in my mouth.  Some foods are okay, cutting and knife and fork coordination is not.

I was recently trying to help my six-year-old grand-daughter with some artwork she was creating by mixing some paint with a brush for her.  The next thing I flipped the paint onto her nose.  My darling grandchildren find me amusing, rather happily.  I persist with typing on my laptop but the fourth and little finger of my left hand have other ideas.  My new laptop has just upgraded itself and offers me speech to text writing, but I will persist with typing, or it will be like the high heels; if I stop, my fingers will forget how.

Back to my feet.  My bunions are quite magnificent.  The odd thing is, they don't hurt.  They do if I wear shoes that are too tight but, by and large, they do not.  A general practitioner saw them recently and his jaw dropped open.  "Don't they hurt?", he exclaimed loudly.  I replied that they did not.  I've been offered an operation by public health but refuse.  I think I'll leave well enough alone for now.  I call the bunion on my right foot, Everest, and the one on my left, K2.  My mother warned me I would get bunions with glee, as she had perfect feet.  Apparently, I inherited them from her aunt.

I also, apparently, have arthritis in my bunions and, obviously, in my hands, which do not hurt unless someone squeezes them with vigor.  My hands are gradually becoming deformed because of it but they're not too bad, I just can no longer open my palms out flat.  About three years ago the fat under the skin of my hands also suddenly disappeared leaving them, with the help of sun damage, not the smooth things they had been.

What offends me most, however, are my arms.  My upper arms were always taut and shiny things of beauty.  Suddenly they have developed vertical wrinkles.  Now, I'm not, and never have been, plump, or even close.  I don't recall my mother having vertical arm wrinkles, but she was slightly on the heavy side so perhaps that's why.  When my grandchildren sit either side of me at lunch, one will start to play with the floppy fat bit on the underside of my upper arm, then the other, finding it amusing, will join in on the other side.  My arms are far from fat, I am slim, but when the skin stretches, any fat follows gravity.  At least I can consider myself a toy.

My skin is now crepey and dry in various places but, all in all, my body and physique are doing well.  My breasts have done an admirable job of staying firm and are only now sagging slightly.  I forgive them as I loathe wearing a bra and do so as little as possible.  Thank heavens for moderate sized bosoms.

My only other age-related problem are my eyes.  I cannot consider the floaters I've had since I was twelve age-related since I have had them since then.  They just get worse with time.  What annoys me most is that once I was only short-sighted but now, I am also long-sighted.  This really is galling.  I mean, really, how can a person be both?  I didn't mind being short-sighted so much, as everything up close was clear.  Suddenly, I need glasses to see something small and fiddly up close.  I've had graduated lenses for some time now because, ten years ago, my lenses for short-sightedness began to blur things when I looked at something near.  This had never happened before but has something to do with the muscles ageing.  Hence, I needed graduated lenses to correct this.  Nonetheless, without glasses, I could still see fine up close.  In the last year, however, I've had to pull away from print to see it, then when I get too far away, I have to move closer again.  My eyes are not coordinated in this respect as each one has a different distance at which it likes to read.

Well, that's all I have to report, so far.  My knees and hips are fine, which I'm beginning to think is unusual.  I have met many people, some much younger than me, who have had operations to fix their knees, some even twice.  My blood pressure was once on the low side and my cholesterol was perfect.  Both are creeping upwards, but neither are cause for concern.  I don't wish to have to start my breakfast with five or six different medications daily.  If I can keep things under control as naturally as possible, I will.

There's no use fighting it, the trick is to stay alive as long as possible, feeling as well as possible.

Me, at 70.

See you next year.

END

DIGESTING PRETENTIOUS RESTAURANT MENUS.

 

I have a beef and I don't mean Wagyu, Angus or corn fed.  I really don't care what kind of poor cow I'm eating as long as it is tender.  I also don't want to know if caramel is salted, I just want caramel.  I don't want rice that is koshihikari, I just want rice.  I don't know what Ponzu is so I don't want it on something.  I don't want Hiramasha Kingfish, I just want fish nor do I want charred Burrata, which is apparently a cheese similar to Mozzarella, with my roti.

What I'm trying to say is that I don't want to have to take a culinary dictionary to a restaurant in order to decipher what I'm eating.  I go out to eat so that I don't have to slave away in the kitchen but now I work up a sweat trying to understand a menu.  What is going on?  If chefs want to try out exotic dishes on diners, or to ramp up the names of non-exotic dishes with befuddling descriptions to make them seem tastier, why can't they put simple explanations alongside them?  Does it have to do with the price they charge for the dish or is it a competitive thing among chefs?

Last year before Covid hit, my friend and I went to a new restaurant precinct in Brisbane.  It was situated right on Brisbane River, a real plus, and there were about ten restaurants to choose from, all owned by the one seafood group.  Now, I have a yen for Garlic Prawns and we walked past every restaurant perusing the menus looking for some but there were none to be found.  There were plenty of cold, cooked prawns at one venue but that is all.  There was a ton of swordfish on offer done many ways, but no Garlic Prawns.  There were restaurants that were of the pub variety, Greek, Italian and even burger variety but, if I'd fired a gun, I had no hope of hitting one that served what I desired.  I also don't remember when Swordfish became a thing.  Snapper, Barramundi and Trout were once 'the thing', so when did Swordfish rear it's curiously adorned head?

There was a time when practically every restaurant offered Garlic Prawns on the menu and perhaps this is what has happened.  Perhaps it just became too de rigeur.  I now long for 'de rigeur'.  This morning I decided to search restaurant menus online in the hope of finding a decipherable one without success.  Following my search I'm giving two examples of menu items that are indicative of the type of dishes I ran across.

The first item: Hervey Bay scallop, burnt peanut cream, nam jim, crystallised peanut.  The second item: Grilled ox tongue, sticky date hoisin glaze, furikake.  Well I know what a scallop is and where Hervey Bay is although I don't care much what part of Australia the scallop comes from.  As for burnt peanut cream, I presume that it is burnt peanut butter or possibly sate.  Nam Jim I've had to look up and it's a dressing made of chillies, cloves, lime juice and such  while crystallised peanut is self explanatory.  Basically I'd guess that what would be served up to me would be a spicy scallop sate with crushed peanuts on top.

As for the grilled ox tongue, I know what hoisin sauce is, but made from sticky dates?  Furikake I had to look up and it is a Japanese seasoning based on sesame seeds and nori, or seaweed.  The dish might be delicious but as I've never tried furikake, am I willing to spend good money to find out?  Also the idea of ox tongue in Hoisin sauce, sorry, glaze, may be a bit experimental for my tastes.

I appreciate experimentation and Australia's cuisine has benefited enormously from it as we have absorbed immigrants from different cultures from around the world for over five decades now.  Chinese and Indian cuisine terms have become as familiar to us as English language ones as have the seasonings and condiments.  Japanese terms are catching up but have a way to go.  It is, however, a certain pretentiousness that is causing some terminology to muddle up menus.  I'm sure many of the seasonings and dishes that the chefs use are real but new to Australia and still obscure.  If there are too many of them on one menu, it does not make for a relaxing or enjoyable way to have to choose your meal.

Another two items that also appeared on the earlier menu, although separately as ingredients in different dishes, were Boquerones and Yuzu kosho.  If I'd had to decipher the menu of this very well reviewed restaurant, I would have kept the waitperson a very long time requesting descriptions.  It is so much nicer to peruse the menu at leisure and with comprehension without requiring your waiter to translate it.  By the way, in case you didn't know, Boquerones are white anchovies and Yuzu kosho is a Japanese condiment based on chilies.

When I was young, from the age of about seven, my parents would take me to restaurants with them as we were reasonably well off.  I don't imagine that in the 1950's and '60's there were many children who had this privilege.  In those days, in cosmopolitan Sydney, restaurants had good quality western style meals along with some French and Italian influenced dishes.   Some entrees I remember were prawns in a seafood cocktail sauce and also French Onion soup.  For some reason I can't remember other entrees.  For mains there was always a roast meat meal on offer of either beef, pork, lamb or chicken, a fish dish either battered or meuniere, Chicken Maryland, which was crumbed, fried and served with a crumbed, fried banana and pineapple ring on the side.  That was a favourite of mine.  There was also Steak Diane in its rich dark garlic sauce.  If we went to a seafood restaurant, there was often Lobster, which was also a favourite of mine.  What a lucky child I was.

There weren't Chinese dishes on the menus then and only the occasional Australian version of an Indian curry.  Good Chinese restaurants started to appear when I was in my early teens but it wasn't until some decades later that supermarkets began to stock the ingredients and condiments that would allow us to attempt to cook Chinese food at home.

I'm telling you about my early restaurant experiences to let you know that I'm no stranger to eating out and so the present problem I have with menu descriptions is not because of my lack of restaurant savoir faire but because menus have changed.  The principle of simpler is better has been forgotten.  I would happily try any of these new dishes if I didn't feel I was hacking my way through thick jungle with a scythe when I was trying to decipher the menu.  I go out to relax not to work.

Some of my favourite Brisbane restaurants either closed, were upgraded with new menus I don't care for and, in one case took off down the river in the 2011 flood.  That really was a tragic loss.  With Covid ruining so many restaurants' business, I am grateful any survive at all and perhaps that's where this competitive obfuscation comes in.  Perhaps they are trying to impress, however, I now don't venture to eat out without perusing menus online to make sure that there is a place to eat that will serve something I like and, more importantly, so I don't have to take over half an hour to understand the menu.  If it took that long I would have drunk my way through a whole glass of wine and be tiddly before the food arrived.

Maybe restaurants should bring back a few of the old staples and, as we sit and eat them, we can spy on surrounding tables to see what the more adventurous diners are eating so we can try it the next time we visit.  Of course my friend thinks it's rude when I slyly look around to view other diner's meals but then lately he has taken to only ordering garlic bread for his meal and nothing else.  And he thinks I'm embarrassing.

END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

MEN AND SHEDS.

 

There will come a time when your man reaches the age when he disappears into his shed all day and only emerges for sustenance.  It may happen when he's twenty-five, it may happen when he's forty or when he's sixty something.  Don't let it worry you.  Consider it this way: if he's in the shed and at least you see him at meal times, he's not found another woman to amuse him.  You may occasionally want to see him but at least you know when you can find him.

We don't need to live in one another's pockets when we commit to each other for life, but we all need our space and this is his.  Do not go in and try to rearrange it or touch his things.  This is his kingdom, his castle and a female no go zone.  It is only fair.  You may even find he is creating extraordinary things in his domain.  I know my man is.  He sure spends enough on equipment to create his masterpieces but at least I know where the money is going and see the sense of achievement on his features.  You may even get to see him grow in his craft.

Some men retire after busy working lives and have no idea of what to do with themselves.  I know women retire too but we are better at finding repetitive, useless household chores to do.  Men have overlooked these all their lives and I wish I could do the same.  Housework to me is not a sign of achievement.  If your man, therefore, finds a hobby in which to immerse himself in his domain then great because, for one thing, he won't be picking on your house keeping.

Being in his shed also allows him to retain a very important part of himself, which is his single, pre-committed self.  Every one, male and female alike, needs to keep a part of them that is just for them.  We are single entities who are born alone and die alone no matter who we connect up with on the journey and it is important to be comfortable in one's own company as well as to interact.

I pity men who live in apartments and whose only version of a shed is their parking garage, if they're lucky enough to have a lock up one.  Of course some flats have only on street parking.  I can't even begin to imagine what kind of man can cope without his own space in which to dream.  Going out all the time to find other ways to amuse oneself becomes very expensive.

Some suburbs have community Men's Sheds where the guys can get together, work and exchange expertise.  These places often have tools, both manual and electric, for the members to use.  It is interesting to note that there are no Women's Sheds, as yet, that I have heard of.

I am going to make a sexist statement here but I believe it is true and it is a facet of men that I admire:  men can channel and direct themselves to one task without anything disturbing their concentration.  Of course women can too but, I don't believe, quite to the same extent.  Try getting a woman to do this without thinking about other necessary things she should also attend to while men don't even let these considerations disturb the ether in which their brains exist.

I have a theory about this that I may have written about before.  I believe it became embedded in our genes through the historic behavior of the sexes.  Women became confined to certain tasks because they alone could get pregnant.  You can't go hunting in the latter stages of pregnancy and so hunting became, pretty much, the male's domain, while being confined to the hearth, gathering nuts, berries and watching the children, became the female's, whether she liked it or not.  Now hunting requires concentration.  The hunter sets his mind on his prey, stalks it and follows through with the kill.  He doesn't stop to gather berries or admire a pretty sunset or contemplate the meaning of life, he just does what he has to do.

Women got to multi-task, even though those tasks were boring and demanding.  Keeping your eye on children requires considerable multi-tasking as you attempt to do the other things you need to do.  Programming women's minds to do one task alone just wasn't going to happen but, I believe, it did to men's.  I think we should just enjoy and admire the differences that have developed, after all, variety is the spice of life.

The other good thing about sheds is this:  the initial passion for sex will gradually diminish no matter how loving a couple is and, in order for their commitment to survive, they must find other outlets, both singular and apart, to remain interesting to one another.  If one finds an outlet and the other doesn't, this is sad.  Not all of us have it within us to find an interest or hobby.  My mother used to like entertaining and brought people to the house.  My father was an artist and worked alone but benefited from my mother's social interactions because he met new people through her.

Sadly my mother developed dementia and could not longer pursue her greatest passion, which was to read and, eventually she could no longer entertain, although her friends did not desert her.  During the day, however, she was at a loss as to what to do.  During this time my father never lost pace in his studio cum shed and phoned me (as I lived interstate) concerned with how to alleviate my mother's growing depression.  He was such a clever man but he didn't see what he needed to do.  I had to tell him to put one or two days per week aside just to give my mother something to do: take her for a drive, a picnic, see a movie.

He then learned how to cook for her and do all those little things that had always been her domain and he enjoyed it.  He would even phone me and share recipes he had discovered.  Her version of the shed, the home, finally became his but he didn't resent it.

I remember my father's fabulous ability to direct himself to one task to the exclusion of all else and so wish I had his passion but he didn't fail my mother when he was called upon to partially relinquish it to take care of her.

If your man is happy in his shed, even if you only see him a few times a day, leave him be.  At least he'll still be there for you in a crunch and you for him.  You don't need to be glued to each other to be in a happy relationship; you just need to know the other is there and that you care about each other.

END

How To Have a Dinner Party

A Dinner Party Held Too Late

1. Invite People.

Four people for a dinner party means just you, your partner and another couple or two singles.  You do a lot of work to prepare the dinner and they may get ill, forget or come up with a last minute excuse such as 'a funeral interstate for which they must fly out'.

Six people is a good number.  Six people fit around a table well and if two decide to drop out, the others will probably turn up unless you have become suddenly infamous in the media and no one wants to know you.

It's very important to match people. You just know when they are too disparate to be able to converse for the evening if you know them well enough.  Disparate people mixing is for large, poolside barbeques where each guest can pick and choose other people or just hold their breath and hide underwater.

If you are new to dinner parties eight people is ambitious.  Your table must be comfortably able to accommodate them otherwise you'll have to resort to fork food and sit around the living room.  This isn't ideal for conversation and is difficult to manage drinks and plates.

Ten or more is not a sit down dinner party unless you are the Queen or have two tables and split the party and the guests.

2. Starting time.

It's so elegant to say for 8pm but make sure it's a Saturday night.  If it's a weeknight, the people who have jobs will be tired.  If it's Sunday they'll want to be up early on Monday morning.

I've had grown men fall asleep at the dinner table.  They remained upright but didn't contribute much to the conversation.

My husband and I had one couple over for dinner quite often.  The man would leave on the dot of 8.30pm.  His wife would stay and my husband would drive her home.  My husband ran off with her in the end, really.  I think it was a set up by her husband.  It turned out he had wanted a divorce for years but they had agreed to stay together until their son was old enough.  Don't fall for this one.  What comes together, leaves together.

3. Starters.

Just drinks and nibbles like nuts and chips.  They have come for dinner.  If you want to stuff them full of hors d'oeuvres hold a cocktail party starting at 5pm and ending at 7pm.  I live with a Polish man and the Poles will invite you for dinner and spend three hours filling you with soup, egg dishes, pierazki (pronounced: piroshki), and cold meats.  Some time later you are expected to consume a three course meal.  I'm not familiar with their culture so in this post, I'll stick to my Anglo Saxon upbringing.

4. Dinner starting time.

If your guests are asked to arrive around 7pm the entree should appear no later than 8pm then have a short break before the main.  Don't leave your guests waiting until 10pm to eat.

5.  Drinks.

Wine is for dinner, not beer.  Spirits and beer are pre-dinner drinks.  Beer is really too filling to go with food.  It's fine at a barbeque but not at a dinner party.  If one of your guests threatens to have a hissy fit because they are not offered beer at dinner, give it to them.  You're not a dictator after all.  Soft drinks, water or juice for teetotalers.

Guests often bring wine so ask if they want it opened and also tell them what you have.  Unless they are wine connoisseurs don't be too fussy.  Large wine glasses are for red wine, smaller ones for white.  There is no hard and fast rule as to what to serve with what.  Go with your feelings and offer everyone everything.

6. Entrees.

The French call the main course the Entree.  In the English speaking west it is instead the dish served before the main course.  It is optional of course.  Make it light like a soup or something tasty, small and savoury.

If you like bread rolls, have bread rolls, but they are really for barbeques and will spoil appetites that should be saved for your fabulous cooking.

7. Mains.

For you main whatever takes your fancy but check before your guests arrive for allergies and dislikes.

It is unwise to cook something you haven't cooked before.  Also pre-preparation and food such as a casserole is ideal.  Attempting to cook steak, fish or a roast, especially for more people than you are used to, is a recipe for disaster.  If you do, try serving everything at once while it's hot and you'll find out how hard that is.  Save that exercise for Christmas and see why women and men all over the world hate cooking turkeys and hams.

If it's a roast it's easy to undercook or overcook it.  How many times have I been to dinner parties where I have waited two extra hours to eat because the meat wasn't ready yet?  Plenty.  It sure ruins your appetite.

Steak?  Better make sure you have the best butcher on the planet or your guests may be chewing all evening and besides, how do you cook steak for six people perfectly and serve it on a plate without looking cooked yourself?  Do I really need to tell you?

You can serve vegetables, a salad or both?  Whatever you do to prepare beforehand allows you some time to relax and enjoy your own dinner party.

Don't go all out to impress, just make a darn good meal.  The company and atmosphere as well as the food and drinks are the ingredients for a successful dinner party.

8.Dessert.

Ice Cream is not a dessert on its own and cheddar cheese does not a cheese platter make.  You need at least three cheeses plus some crackers.  The French have cheese before dessert while the English have cheese after dessert.  Of course you don't need to have either or you can have both.

Dessert is where you can have fun.  The sweetness will also eat up some of the alcohol your guests have consumed.  It's always good to finish with coffee or tea as these just seem to round the dinner out.

The appearance of coffee and tea also indicates that the evening is winding up.  If you are all having a ball, move on to more coffee and tea.  If not, people will eventually yawn, look at their watches and find an excuse to go.

9. Do not wash up.

Stack dishes in the kitchen between courses.  Do not even rinse.  Your guests are not there to hear your labours.  Few houses now have separate dining rooms.  You can serve, you can clear but your role is as the host or hostess, not sweaty workhorse.  You are there to steer the conversation if it falters.  You can get your partner to refresh the drinks but you can't do everything.

When I first went to my future in-laws place for dinner, my fiancee's mother would get up from the table and wash the dishes leaving the men to talk as soon as dinner was finished.  Yes, it was casual but being well brought up I felt it necessary to help her in the kitchen while every fibre of my being rebelled.  It wasn't that the guys had anything interesting to talk about either.  They sure didn't.  It was just this relegation of one sex to the kitchen.  No wonder it took me four years to accept his proposal.

It's funny but rules of etiquette can split nations.  However my credo is simply to make everyone feel relaxed and not as if they have to jump up and help with the dishes.  The dishes will be there in the morning, I guarantee it.

10. Atmosphere.

I have lovely neighbours who occasionally have me over for dinner. Pre-dinner we have a drink in their living room.  Overhead is a round fluorescent light but I just want to get away from it and the glare it creates.

I prefer lamps and some candles if you like.  Candles tend to eat up the oxygen.  I once had to leave an Indian restaurant with fifty tables all lit by candles.  I could barely breathe.
Also don't overdo the fragrant ones.  What you might like may send a guest running and interfere with their taste buds.

11. Do not have a television or radio on before dinner, during dinner or even after dinner.

Nothing is as tacky as a television or radio on in the background during a dinner party.  That's all there is to it. Nein, nyet, non, no.  If someone is missing a vital sports game on the television, you've chosen the wrong night or the wrong friends.  That's right , be a snob.  This isn't a barbeque.  They've come for dinner not to watch a game and if they want to watch the game, they shouldn't have accepted your invitation.

If you have music make it slow, soft, background music or you'll upset someone's digestion.  There's nothing worse than eating to a high tempo piece of music because it revs everyone up and loud music means everyone will have to shout to be heard.

Another good point is not to have a table where the shape makes those sitting next to one another the only ones who can talk to each other.  A table should allow everyone to talk and listen to everyone else.  Long rectangular tables with more than eight people are not for dinner parties.  A round table or small rectangular or square are good.

12. Lingerers.

If a couple look set to stay for the duration there's nothing for it but to give them a large hint or, failing that, tell them politely that you are going to bed.  If that doesn't do it ask them to turn off the lights and lock the doors as they leave.  At Chinese weddings oranges are handed out to indicate it is time for guests to leave and leave they must.  Western society could do well to copy this sensible directive.

END.

MANNERS

The Absence of Manners

 

 'Manners' is a most misunderstood concept.  It is not the same as 'etiquette', which is culturally accepted modes of behaviour such as laying a knife to the right of a plate and a fork to the left.

In some cultures it is considered good etiquette to belch after a meal to show satisfaction.  Thank goodness it isn't in Western Society, not that it stops some people.  Blowing your nose at the table is also anathema to me.

'Manners' arise from a person's natural empathy to treat others the way they would wish to be treated in the same situation.  In other words it is consideration for others.  For instance when two people arrive at a door at the same time the well-mannered will hesitate and offer to let the other go first.  If both are well-mannered, as we have all witnessed at some stage, a negotiation must then take place:  "You first."  "No, after you." "Oh, thank you."

If one is not well-mannered he or she will have simply barged ahead and cause the other to feel aggrieved.  If both are not well-mannered there is bound to be a collision.  Some people feel it is a sign of weakness to show manners.  If, in fact, a person is always conceding the way to ill-mannered persons, they are likely to appear to be weak by the ill-mannered and will themselves feel used.

Good manners isn't about letting a woman proceed before a man.  I hesitate for a man or a woman and men hesitate for other men if they are being considerate.  One thing all the men in my life have in common is a tendency to walk ahead of me.  If I ask them to slow down and walk with me, they all tell me the same thing: they are paving the way.  I believe it is the male seeing himself as protector syndrome.  The hunter within him is checking ahead for danger.  The trouble is that doesn't wash now but they all still seem to do it.

Well barging ahead is not the worst thing in the world after all.  The only remedy is holding their hand or putting them on a leash.  I've had Labrador dogs in the past who, when you put them on a leash drag you behind them in their desire to rush ahead.  It is their natural exuberance.  I figure it's the same with men and, as exuberance is a great characteristic, why tie him down?

It can be a tough call in life to keep your manners in the presence of those who have none.  Quite often people from certain backgrounds are brought up not to consider others because it is felt that manners display eagerness to please and it will make them appear weak and will get them nowhere in life.  When they run across those who do show consideration they are likely to misjudge them as being weak.  They will often try to take advantage of such people only to discover they do actually possess a backbone.

I have often been at the receiving end of this kind of behaviour.  It has been interesting to note than when the person discovers they have misjudged me as a walkover, they seem really puzzled.  They then keep trying to abuse my good nature because they can't take it in that their judgement was off.  To be frank, it is very annoying.

It would be great if everybody had the same codes of behaviour.  By 'behaviour' I am including 'etiquette' along with 'manners' as they often work in harmony.  If two strangers meet and each have similar manners, it smooths the way for them to discover more about one another at a personal level, rather than to have to reach common ground first because they are each confused by the other's behaviour at their first meeting.  No wonder there are wars and we need diplomacy between countries with different social mores.  Behaviour varies from place to place.  To Westerners some Eastern and Middle Eastern countries seem to show less empathy than we do to things we consider absolutely sacred.

We would never eat a dog for instance or cage a bear.  Unfortunately there are those who think that animals have no feelings.  Yes, that is ignorance but if you are brought up from childhood to believe that and your nourishment depends on it, we can't judge them by our standards.  We eat other animals of course but, apparently, they are killed in a humane fashion, whatever that is.

I remember walking through a market in Hong Kong selling fresh fish and live frogs.  The frogs were flapping around the floor in pairs each with one leg tied to the other's leg.  I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  I also couldn't protest.  The sellers would simply have laughed and not understood my horror.   I considered this cruel but they obviously did not.

I still feel bad about eating meat.  Not only that, we eat herbivores that don't exactly hunt us to eat us.  In some countries animals have their throats cut in a ritual killing.  No matter how much I try to tolerate other cultures, I find it difficult to understand why those doing this never consider how it would feel.  It is simply gross.

I'm getting away from manners, but then again, manners are about tolerance and keeping the peace between groups and individuals.  If someone shows you lack of consideration, think how your blood boils.  Mine does.

It's interesting that a lack of manners on the road can lead to the extreme behaviour of road rage.  There is something anonymous about a steel capsule.  We vent rage upon the driver in a way we won't do face to face.  Of course driving is about life and death.  It's not like giving way at a door.  Not giving way on the road can cause death and so manners, or in this case, considerate road behaviour, become the most important type of manners of all.

Treat others as you would have them treat you and consider their right to life.  The whole principal of Christianity is this and that is basically what manners are.  They are to acknowledge another person's presence and to respect it.

END..