sueeeus

There’s nothing like the smell of home baked bread.  I’m a novice, and will hopefully eventually master a low carb loaf, but for now the diabetes has abated (generally it’s not something that abates, but the sugars have been in blissfully remarkable control after the placenta went its way, and now I can have a warm slice of delicious bread without wreaking havoc on the control systems) — deep breath, this is still one sentence — I thought I’d try a full-fledged high carb recipe.

While I was visiting Suse, I over-indulged in her delicious bread for the duration of my stay.  She bakes a consistent loaf (sometimes several times a week), and whips it out with barely a blink of the eye, tossing the ingredients together from memory.  It’s an impressive thing to behold.

She’s kindly taken the trouble to extract the recipe from the confines of her remarkable mind, and my first attempt turned out quite well.  I am pleased.  BB even liked it, and he’s become a finicky little boy.  I used the crushed vitamin C tablet as an improver alternative, and I think I might use less salt next time.

Here is the recipe, used with implied/assumed permission:

a smidge under 400ml tap temperature water (390ml I think)
2 tablespoons oil (canola or something mild)
2 teaspoons salt
3 tablespoons sugar
2 cups white flour
2 cups wholemeal flour
throw in some seeds (poppy, sesame, sunflower, linseed etc)
2 1/2 tablespoons milk powder
1 teaspoon bread improver (optional – makes it rise better but be careful to get a natural one, many of them are chock full of numbers and chemicals. For an alternative crush up a vitamin C tablet)
2 teaspoons yeast

bread machine: wholemeal setting, 1kg size loaf, takes about 3 1/2 hours to bake.

slather with butter and ENJOY

I have no idea what day it is, but today, the mailman rang the doorbell and left a package on my front porch.  I was attempting to nurse my little monkey, and my three year old decided he wanted to get the door, to which I vehemently objected, to which he belligerently disobeyed.  Oh, it’s so exasperating, trying to teach one this age why he can’t do certain things like answer the front door.  By himself.

But look at the goodness that arrived!  A gift from MsCellania!  Soft, warm fuzzies for both of my boys, so that BB wouldn’t feel left out.  And look at the adorable monkey fabrics, that are perfect for my new little monkey!

Thank you!!  I haven’t even told BB that the big race car blankie is for him — he’s still working on finishing his breakfast.  Yes, it’s 8:30 p.m.  He asked for a peanut butter and jam sandwich this morning, then ate about three bites and commenced a full day of play and mischief.  I bagged the sandwich and let it be known that that would be lunch, and if it didn’t get eaten then, it would be dinner.  So.  Dinner it is.  When he finishes, I’ll give him the blanket, and he will be delighted.  🙂

Thank you so much, M!!

Babes in arms. Soon.

There has been a marked silence in blogland lately, particularly amongst the ladies in waiting. I’ve been hoping that we are all just going through the frantic and harried late third trimester nesting times in which all is well with the babes, and we are just too busy with wrapping together the pieces of our lives that need to be taken care of before our bundles of joy arrive. It can be so stressful, these last few weeks, when the doctors say to heed the movements and make sure you feel at least 10 movements every two hours, and if not, CALL. I’m finding myself looking at the clock, wondering why LB hasn’t moved, gently prodding my belly to see if I can get him to squirm, and either feeling panic or joy when I don’t or do get a response. And then there’s the fear that I’ll go into labor at any time, and even though he’s a big robust boy already, it’s still too early, so please, please don’t come yet. And then there’s the office. The loads and loads of loose ends to tie up. All the things to get in order for an extended absence. Finding all the things that must be delegated and delegating them properly so that all will be well. Finishing things that have been in work for ages. Anticipating what might come up whilst away, just in case. The management tends to get a bit nervous when they know you are single thread and there’s nobody else who can fill in for task X, should the need arise. And even though I am single thread on many things I do, the chances are that no emergencies will arise in my absence. And the company will go on. My single threadedness remains only the smallest drop in a very large bucket. So I won’t actually let that bother me. Much. I have much more important things on the horizon with which to prioritize my emotions, thoughts, and energy.

Today I’ve caught up on several posts and projects that have been rattling around. I made some bibs for our bloggy babes. My hand painting is crude – the pencil sketches turned out much nicer than the actual product, once rendered in paint. And even though it’s not much, and they didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped and imagined, it’s something that I wanted to do.

Now, to send them off!

It all began when, shortly after announcing my intention to visit the land of Soup, Bec so graciously invited me to visit Sydney as well. Oh wait. Maybe I invited myself. It’s amazing how presumptuous one can become when under the influence of Zoloft, which so effectively strips away one’s social anxiety. She was most gracious, regardless of how conniving I may or may not have been!

Day 1 (Day 10 overall; Wednesday)

After a wistful adieu to Suse, and a nice short flight, I arrived at Sydney’s airport, to be met by none other than the Prof*. He is a delightful fellow indeed, and I still marvel at myself, somewhat, for being so bold as to throw myself into the arms of a family whom I’ve known only vicariously through the blogosphere. What an adventure!!

From the airport, we went to pick up the children from school. Sparkle truly does sparkle! She cupped my face in her little hands and looked into my eyes with her twinkling aquamarine eyes (eyes like the sea, after a storm**, just like her mother’s –gosh, they have the most incredible eyes) and said, “You’re pretty. You’re nice. I like you.” Now, is that not something to melt one’s heart?

Next came the Gorgeous Boy. Who truly is a gorgeous boy. So full of life and energy. So precise when speaking and sounding out his words. Off he ran to find the Pea Princess. She is a lovely girl, mature for her age, smart, kind, patient, and gentle with her younger siblings. These children certainly are a reflection of good parenting. My three year old points to something on his dinner plate and says, “What the hell is that?” How is that for contrast? (In my defense, I never seldom say WTH. Gadget, on the other hand, uses it quite readily. And yes, we have much work to do in the attitude department with ourselves and with our little guy.)

After the school pickup, we went to the park, then to the train station where Bec was waiting. In the flesh! She’s gorgeous. Big smiles, big hugs. One of the funniest things Sparkle said, about my visit, and me being president pregnant, was that I wouldn’t be able to “drink wine with Mummy.” It still makes me laugh, to think of it.

So there you have it. Family von Sparkle. They truly do sparkle. All of them. The twins are ingenious, making up games to entertain themselves. There is an oblong carpet in the living room with a dark border and a reddish interior with two or three sections of dark contrasting dots spanning the width. The twins run around the border of the carpet as fast as they can, trying not to fall in to the… ….volcano! And once in a while they detour and step very, very carefully on tiptoe, across the dots. Once in a while one will fling him or herself into the volcano and writhe about for a moment before jumping up and starting to chase the other around the perimeter again. All amidst peals of laughter. So entertaining! I loved being able to observe the family in action! And the Pea Princess reads, I suspect, nearly as much as BabelBabe, if that is at all possible. I myself can hardly comprehend it, but in the short time I was there, I know she went through at least 3 books! It dizzies my mind. How do these wonders do it? I read about as fast as I speak (which isn’t all that fast), sounding out each and every word.

Schloss von Sparkle –yes, I know I’m butchering the pseudo German, but being pseudo gives me full license to butcher at will, doesn’t it?– is gorgeous, with it’s high ceilings, crown moldings, long hallway and covered porch. I love the architectural details. And the flowers in the garden.

Day 2 (Day 11; Thursday)

Off to meet another old friend from Adelaide, who I met at a hostel while backpacking in Ireland, many years ago. She’s just had a gorgeous baby girl, now 4 months old and deliciously squeezable. She has relatives in Sydney and scheduled her visit to coincide with mine, so I could finally meet her partner and children. The elfen boy is my new best friend. He’s nearly 4, and warmed up to me quickly. He held my hand all day long, as we crossed streets, boarded the ferry, and explored the city. We had a glorious day.

An amazing didgiridoo player. Boats sailing at extreme angles! The harbor! The opera house! Manly Beach! Bondi Beach! Water, glorious water, splashing and sparkling like diamonds.

Day 3 (Day 12; Friday)

Another adventure! Off to the Blue Mountains to meet Blue Mountains Mary!!

Instant camaraderie and hours of great conversation!

Amazing scenery. I love the tiles in Mary’s bathroom. Souvenirs (and a little disturbance of national park flora***). Another incredible day.

Day 4 (Day 13; Saturday)

A quiet day, meandering through shops with the Family von Sparkle. Food is expensive! Pigs, oh my! Pea Princess, bless her loving heart, gave me a souvenir — mini Australian road signs! I love the way someone took the trouble to decorate the sidewalks. Ours (in my neck of the woods) are less than inspiring.

Later that day… …lunch with none other than Aunty Evil and My Float! Great company. Lovely women, lovely conversation (with the exception of just a teensy weensy instance of TMI, but I’ll leave that for someone else to blog about, should they ever have the inclination). Blue water, blue sky. A delightful setting with an open air view of the beach. Delicious food****. And a peek at Aunty Evil’s sleek new car! I love that new car smell.

Wouldn’t you know, in the excitement of it all, that I completely forgot to wish the Sydney bloggers all the best from the Melbourne bloggers.  (Sorry, everyone.  Please forgive!)  …And so it was another fabulous day.

Day 5 (Day 14; Sunday)

A quiet morning. It’s hard to say goodbye to Australia, and it’s been the best vacation of my life.

But anticipation builds as I look forward to seeing my own boys again. How I’ve missed them! I’ve been on the go and surrounded by warm, beautiful, and loving people throughout this entire journey, but there’s nothing like home, when it’s all said and done. How excited I am to see them once more!

*Is it just me, or is he very (young) Sean Conneryesque? And I mean that in the nicest way. Lucky Bec. What a gorgeous family, all around!

**said Buttercup of Wesley, from The Princess Bride

***Can you believe this gorgeous little scent diffuser (add a few drops of eucalyptus oil) is made from a banksia pod, similar to the strange, other-worldly rodent- with- fuzzy- tumors- looking thing in the background? Mary is just waiting to out me on this! Yes, I snagged it from a tree (stupid, obtuse, oblivious Yank, doesn’t know the difference between National Park and weeds by the wayside), and brought it home, through Customs and all. I DID itemize it on my declaration, but they only asked me if the food I had was candy, and I said yes. Because the food I had WAS candy. I didn’t lie! I didn’t bring up the fact that I had a seed pod in my backpack. They didn’t ask. I know, I know. I blame it on the Zoloft. Lack of social and cultural discretion, and all. Ahem.

****I ended up SHORT when it came time to square the bill. Mortified! Bec graciously covered me. I’m still embarrassed. Honestly.  And I never paid her back.  I feel like such a cad.

So much to say, so much to show. Where to begin?

Day 1.

Meeting a dear old friend at the airport. A drive through a new city, and out to the country. Lorakeets in the trees. Parrots. Crimson Rosella. Cockatoos (cockies). Birds, amazing birds! Birds! Everywhere! A mud brick home with a view of forever, off to the Dandenongs. A wallaby in the back yard.

Day 2.

A giant kangaroo, alone, in the back yard. The former mob leader, ousted when a younger, stronger male rose up. A day in the city. A wealth of intricate and ornate architecture. A gift for a friend. Wandering through the market. Fresh strawberries. Japanese pancake. Bulgogi and kimchee. Licorice. Gelato. Uggs.

Day 3.

A quiet day in a mud brick house. A trip to a wonderland store filled with hand dyed felts and wools. Exquisite felt toys. Winterwood. A small fortune (well) spent on wool and art. A family of excited boys, bursting with enthusiasm over the gift.

Day 4.

A walk by the river. The Yarra. An art shop. An antique shop. Souvenirs found. A small leaf tile and a felted wool and silk case from the art shop. Inspirational pottery carvings. Silver charms from the antique shop. A dove bearing good news. A cherry. Good coffee. Lattes, served in glasses. A pottery book from a charming used book shop.

Day 5.

A drive along the coast. The Great Ocean Road. Built by returning soldiers, after the war.

A beach house with a view of the ocean. Koalas clinging to branches in the manna gums*.

King parrots. Yellow tailed black cockatoos and gang-gangs. Wye River.

Day 6.

Sunrise on the ocean. The moon is upside down! The Southern Cross. Fish and chips. Barramundi.

Exploring tide pools. Amazing textures.

Walking on the beach.

Hours of conversation.

Day 7.

Another glorious sunrise. The sea sparkles like diamonds. A drive further down the coast. Apollo Bay. Then up through the rainforest. The Otway Ranges. Farmland. Trees. Old growth timbers, decimated. Back to the city.

Day 8.

A little boy sets off on a great adventure. Sailing. Away at camp for a week. Cheerful goodbyes. Another sighting of the back yard wallaby. A drive through the city. The whirlwind tour. Dinner with old friends. Lovely ladies from childhood. Names heard for over 25 years, with faces at last. Shakahara. Delicious Indian food.

Day 9.

A gathering of ladies in the city. Federation Square. Knitting. Chatting. New friends. Smiling faces. Cuddling babies. Good coffee. Lattes in glasses again. Pancakes served with ice cream. Ice Cream! Imagine it!

Back to the hills. A walk in a national park at the end of the road. The Old Glynn’s Farm at dusk. Kangaroos! Dozens of them! Too timid to allow pictures.

Belladonna growing wild in the forest.

Last minute knitting.

An exquisite gift. A hand felted wool, silk, and muslin receiving blanket. Exquisite. Peaceful thoughts. Encouraging thoughts of the baby. Hours of conversation.

Day 10.

A wistful goodbye.

Then, on to Sydney, for a new adventure!

Many more pictures here.

*Corrected, per Suse! Mannagongs. What was I thinking?!

Prescription for a fine, fine day:

1. Take the day off from work.
2. Spend it with a dear friend.
3. Drive to the city.
4. Enjoy a delightful lunch.
5. See a show.
6. Use the HOV lane to bypass rush-hour traffic while returning to the suburbs.
7. Enter the house to be greeted enthusiastically by a nearly three-year old boy dressed as Spiderman.

What a day. What a show!

I had a silly smile on my face for the better part of two hours. And when Frankie started singing “I can’t take my eyes off of you,” I cried. Cried. Truth be told, I may just be an eensy weensy tad bit hormonal, but all the same, it was quite something.

Who loves you, pretty baby? Stay, just a little bit longer. Late December, back in ’63. Oh what a night. You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you. My eyes adored you.

The sounds I grew up with.

A girls day out is just what the doctor ordered.

Next weekend? We celebrate the boys.  Monster Jam.

Once upon a time there was a blog. And then there were more. And more and more and more. One day, a fine blogger named Blackbird started a fun game called Show and Tell. Oh, the bloggers who liked to play along! Show me a chicken, said Blackbird. And some bloggers did. One day, another blogger, who was very far behind in blog happenings, happened upon (name withheld for privacy), where she exclaimed, “What a fine chicken!” (or something to that effect). In nearly a blink of an eye, said chicken took flight, and made its way across the miles. The flight was long, the journey was arduous, but the weary chook is home to roost, happily in my kitchen.

The end.

I am constantly amazed, and grateful, at the sense of community and connectedness that blogging brings into my life. Truly, it’s a beautiful thing.

Thank you!! This fine bird is holding an assortment of tea bags, and is quite content passing the time with Cookie Monster. Oh the tales they tell. The wild and crazy goings on of the Sueeus kitchen.

In all honesty, I have a warm spot in my heart for a kitchen chicken, as there was a white hen crock perched atop a shelf in my mother’s kitchen for as long as I can remember. Nostalgia. 🙂

I didn’t even mention the part about the kindness and generosity of fine people out there. I’m astounded and blessed.

(Thank you again!!)

On my way home this evening I drove past the mailboxes at the end of the culdesac and noticed the key fob dangling from the package bin.  I smiled and thought to myself that somebody got a package today, and what a delight it is to come home after a long and hard day to a package in the mailbox.  There’s something magical about the sensation that passes through me when good mail in the form of a letter or a package arrives.  I was even a bit pleased with myself for noticing the key and thinking benevolent thoughts.

I entered the house and put my keys on their hook.  I like my supersized bling bling pink solitaire key ring.  It was a Christmas gift from Mr. Gadget.  Very me.  He did well.  Blackbird has asked to see keys today.  Mine are a jumble, but I do like the electronic fob remote thingie that opens up the car doors.

I made my way to the office, and discovered that Mr. Gadget had already collected the mail.  And guess what   The package was for me!  Me!  From across the sea!  The sea!  From my dear friend Suse.  How special.  Such a delight!  I was delighted to begin with, before I knew the package recipient was me.  Me!  Imagine  how much more delighted I am.  Giddy, in fact.

I opened the box, imagining the treasures that were moments from my grasp.  I suspected there might be…

… something like …  …this, in the box…

Ooh!  Lucky me!  Delicious soap, a lovingly knitted flannel/washcloth, some delightful photo frames that I shall soon fill with pictures of Mr. Snazzy Pants, and an adorable card depicting a frolicking child.  Such a nice gift.  Thank you so very much, my dear friend.

I love to see the big, beautiful, strapping men that the wild boys have become.  I remember my teens, my twenties, even my thirtees — I may have seen them as boys.  Older boys.  Big boys.  Now, in their forties, I see them, and they are men.  M.E.N.  They are rugged.  Their arms, their shoulders, their hands – all big and strong.  Lines are chiseled in their faces.  They are fathers.  They are dads.  They are grandfathers.  They are husbands.  They are lovers.  They are friends.  They are men of men.  M.E.N.  I love who they have become.

Those boys were rough and rowdy boys.  They had a tough time growing up.  They walked a rough road.  It wasn’t easy for them.  I never met the oldest.  He was grown and off on his own, doing well.  He died young — a tragic accident took him.  It was very difficult for them to come to terms with his loss.  Their first born.  Gone.  He was making his way well, in life.  Double the shame.  Next was No. 2.  I didn’t really know him.  He was graduated and married to a Native American woman named J.  They had two gorgeous girls and I used to play with them.  Then there was No. 3.  I liked him.  We used to visit.  His mom and my friend would take me along when they visited him.  It was nice to get out and away.  He had a daughter A, who used to call me Oosh.  It was the cutest thing.  No. 4 and No 5 I remember best.  They were the wild boys on the back of the bus.  Sometimes hung over.  Sometimes glassy eyed.  Often rowdy.  Always scary.  No. 4 was volatile.  He kissed me once, just to freak me out.  It worked.  It upset me.  I don’t think I’d been properly kissed before, so he was my first.  Wet, warm, soft, taunting.  I felt violated and I was upset with him for a long time.  It was just a joke for him.  He had such a devious twinkle in his eye, and he was good looking in a paradoxical clean and unkempt way.  Dangerous.  Crazy.  He was fearless and reckless.  Explosive.  I liked him.  He had verve.  No. 5.  The youngest boy.  Ruggedly good looking. 

They used to get high in the basement, 4, 5, and my brother 1/9. Our moms were upstairs playing Scrabble and drinking coffee.  They never knew.  But they must have.  How could they not   They must have turned a blind eye.  Those boys would always try to get me to join them, but I wouldn’t do it.  I was such a goody two shoes.  If we’d met earlier, while I was still impressionable, between 10 and 13, maybe I’d have gone for it.  I don’t remember exactly when I became a goody two shoes, but it was some time before I turned 13.  The summer of ’77, I guess, is when I decided it was up to me to choose the kind of person I wanted to be.  Before that, it didn’t occur to me.  I was very daft.  Naive. 

No. 5 joined the army.  I was in high school when he came back.  On leave, or for good, I don’t remember. It must have been on leave.  I was visiting and we were alone together in their living room.  I don’t know where his mom or my friend were, or how we ended up alone.  There must have been raging testosterone and pheromones at work in that room.  It was palpable and I could have lost my virtue to him, had I not been so staunchly vigilant with my goody two shoes lifestyle decision.  Never in my life have I experienced such a sensation of chemistry.  Perhaps that will be something to regreat another time.  Had I acted on it, no doubt I would have had a child at 16, and I would have been the first teen mother in my class, instead of my friend, his sister. 

Growing up was hard for them.  All of them.  There was drunkenness.  Debauchery.  They were raging.  Reaching out, trying to find their fit in this world.  It was hard for them.  They had struggles.  Heart breaks.  Traumas. Losses.  Misunderstandings.  Altercations.  They’re all grown up now. Big, strapping, manly men.  Deep raspy voices, like their dad.  Mischievous twinkle in their eyes.  Like their dad.  Manly men.  Like their dad.  Sunday they gathered to say farewell to the man they loved, and probably sometimes hated.  I know he wasn’t the best dad or husband.  He had a rough road too. A tough time making his way. He wrestled his own demons, and in time he conquered them.  I had the privilege of knowing him for only the best of who he was. The man with a twinkle in his eye.  I loved him.  I see him living on in his sons.  Sons who are making their way.  I don’t know any of them.  It’s been over 20 years.  I re-introduce myself, and see the recognition.  I see them looking at me, with some curiousity.  I’m not one of Them anymore.  I’m a stranger from a strange land.  I’m from another world.  A white collar world. Not a yuppie, but a muppie.  A middle aged urgan professional.  I see them looking at me.  I see them wondering.  But I don’t know their thoughts.

If this were a film, pan to the clip of the gorgeous long legged model, and the obvious — who is that breathtakingly gorgeous girl

But it’s not the movies, and I’m no long legged model…

I want to speak with them.  Ask them how they are.  How they are making their way in this world.  But instead, I just look at them and marvel at how beautiful they are to me, these complete strangers, the wild boys whose lives mingled with mine many many years ago.  They are men now.  Real men.  Manly men.  I hope they are all well.  I hope they are all happy.  I hope they have all found their place in this world. I hope they remember their dad with love and no regrets.  I hope their sorrow is fleeting.  But how can it be   They have just lost their dad.