Pass it on

I love it when books seem to take on a momentum of their own; passing from reader to reader.  What may have begun as an act of kindness or friendship, or even ambivalence, becomes a social obligation.  Reciprocity.  Read it (or not) and pass it on.


Nicola Barker's novel Wide Open is a bit of a hot potato.  I suspect it has passed through some readers' hands more quickly than others.  My friend for one.  It sat on her kitchen table for 16 hours before making its way into my bag at her insistence. Categorically not for her.


My friend's friend, a visitor over New Year, had been given Wide Open as a summer read by yet another friend.  She loved it - as much as you can love a book about a group of misfit island dwellers with dominant themes of pornography and paedophilia, underscored with violence. (Isn't it always?)


These are not my preferred themes.  I can get strident and stroppy and down-right sanctimonious about porn alone.


But there is something masterful and compelling about Nicola Barker's characters and their interplay that draws you near.  She is not gratuitous, nor linear.  The damage is not delivered head on, but hinted at through the many weird and wonderful coping mechanisms various characters contrive.


I'm only half-way through but her originality is startling.  She provides a sometimes unnerving and, at other times, compassionate and humorous window on society's misfits.  Every one is but a link in a maladapted chain.


Except the outsiders; the seemingly normal inhabitants of the outside world, whose interactions with Barker's island misfits leave you in no doubt that we are all just one episode away from losing it.   Vicious like snarling dogs, the outsiders reflect society's intolerance of and prejudices about anything beyond the bell curve.


I can't say I particularly like the characters and I certainly don't identify with them. But I am surprisingly empathetic.


And Nicola Barker can write.  Her prose is quite mesmerising and unlike anything I've read before.  She churns them out too; eleven novels in 17 years, and two collections of short stories.


Despite her significant critical acclaim and literary awards, she told one interviewer she didn't have much of a fan base vis a vis letters and correspondence, because her readers probably think she's a 'maniac'.


Of course, it does raise the thorny issue of who I should offer it to next. (I can hear echoes of elder daughter's perplexed indignation upon having been invited to a boy's party at Laserstrike last year.  "Why on earth did he think I would like that?")


Because, if Barker is true to form, there will be no happy ending here, no redemption.  It gave my friend the perfect out.  "I like happy books."


Perhaps I should pass it on to Mr T.  He's currently reading the Stieg Larsson trilogy, and happy definitely doesn't come into it.

Via ciao.co.uk

Three bowls and a beater

Firstly, this is not me, or my beautiful life.  This is Annabel Langbein, The Free Range Cook, and my portal to the kitchen. 

Photo: TVNZ

The Free Range Cook, Episode 2: Getting ready for dinner

Annabel gives you all those little tips and facts that other foodie authors tend to assume is prior knowledge.  I am a culinary blank slate.  As I have repeatedly told Mr T, assume nothing. 


She is to Gordon Ramsey as hot is to cold.  Her favourite thing is "getting people into the kitchen with fun, easy to prepare recipes that won't stress them out".


I thought I'd put that to the test today by inviting younger and elder daughters (aged 5 and 6), to make ice-cream while the boy-child slept the afternoon away.


It did occur to me that I was being ambitious.  I've never made ice-cream before, the girls are fiercely competitive about 'turns', and frankly, we were already a bit tetchy.


But it is the end of the summer holidays, school resumes Monday after six weeks, and I am completely over outdoor activities, especially those requiring me to carry all the bags or generally do the grunt work while they have fun. (Until they don't have fun any more, and turn on you like a pack of banshees.)


I did mention 'tetchy'.


Furthermore, Mr T is conveniently away on business for three days, so sweet things are back on the do-what-it-takes menu.  


Annabel's ice-cream base recipe requires three bowls - one for the egg whites, one for the egg yolks, and one for the cream - so that got us off to a smooth start in a' bowl each' kind of way.  Add caster sugar, boiling water and the judicious use of an electric beater, and then it's into the freezer for a minimum four hours.


So far, so good.  


The plan is to cycle/scoot along the the river tomorrow to the road-side stalls for fresh raspberries and strawberries to 'dress' our ice-cream.  A dust of icing sugar to serve and you might think I knew what I was doing.

Portrait of a young girl

Photo: Anna Hansen

Silver, NZIPP Iris Professional Photography Awards 2010

One of two award winning entries submitted by Anna Hansen to the New Zealand Institute of Professional Photography (NZIPP) Iris Awards 2010. 

Anna completed a one-year Diploma of Professional Photography at CPIT last year.

You can see more award winning photographs, and other student work, in issue 5 of Ignition, the magazine of CPIT's Creative Industries Faculty.

Kiss Mix reward

I have been more responsible with our power consumption.  Disciplined.  It is time to reward my summertime domestic commitment to only washing clothes on fine days and hanging them on the line to dry.  And it hasn't been all blue skies and balmy temperatures of late.  My resolve has been tested by days of rain.  Still, NO dryer.

My indulgence of choice comes much recommended by Christina Lindsay at Fashion's Most Wanted - a blog tonic if ever there was one.  It's testament to my many, varied contradictions that I found myself reading her post, 'Addicted to lip balm'. And I'm so glad I did. I have been persuaded by her recommendation and await the courier.  

Eve Lom's Kiss Mix
Available in New Zealand through Meccacosmetica.

Next on the list of much coveted indulgences is a visit to the hairdresser. (I'm uncomfortable with the idea that good hair is no longer a given.)  I have purged the number of salon visits per annum to an almost unacceptable bare minimum, so it's a much anticipated event.   

The question is: do I return to what I considered the higher maintenance blonde, or continue with my very recent brunette dalliance and risk the contrasting grey?

As a (former) career brand marketing specialist, the blonde signature idea is hard to shake.  It will, undoubtedly, depend on the day.

Harvest home

In a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall moment, Mr T suggested a plum harvest. Imagine, he said, gazing into the middle-distance.  

Harvesting is a rather romantic notion given we inhabit 632 square metres of suburban Christchurch.  Nevertheless, I can picture it: friends, ladders, children and animals underfoot, basket-loads of juicy red plums, and, most especially, the merry-making that follows.   

Picture lanterns suspended from the tree's canopy above,
with the house all lamp-lit and inviting in the background.

 Need to move the larger outside table from 'around the back' 
to here, to accommodate all those hard working harvesters, a.k.a 'friends'.

It was the complete embracing of the River Cottage ideal that lost me.  There was talk of annual harvests where we would serve produce from previous yields - plum wine, plum preserves, plum jam, plum pud - and not only during the January harvests, but also as gifts throughout the year.  And so began the packaging discussion, branding look and feel, conversion of yet more garage space for all things plum...

And this from the couple who get the man in to mow their peggy-squares of lawn. Needless to say, I am resigned to watching the plums fall.  

Fortunately, bees don't go for such angst.  They just get on with it. 

So lovely to have a colony (or two) of bumble bees take on our hidcote blue lavender this summer.  From mid-December they have come dawn 'til dusk every fine day.  The side path has been alive with the hum of their wings, and the boy-child has been fascinated and remarkably gentle.  (Three children, two adults, three cats, one dog and not one sting.)  

Given the plight of bees around the world, it is reassuring to see so many alive and well in our garden.  At times, the blue of the flowers has been almost obscured by gold-flecked black. (Unfortunately, I didn't think to photograph that wonder.)
  

But I notice the bumble bees are slowly leaving; fewer and fewer have arrived to go about their daily work in the past week.  Honey bees seem to be taking their place.  Perhaps it's indicative of bee hierarchy; the larger bumble bees get first dibs. Whatever the real reason, I'm just pleased our little patch has proved such rich pickings.  

Copenhagen cool

Impossibly glamorous astride a bicycle; Danish women make peddling down to the shops sexy.

Via Cycle Chic: Cycling Girl of the Day
 Copenhagen, June 2009

What a cunning ploy to legislate against compulsory helmets and emphasise style over sport/recreation.  We have a way to go, but Frocksonbikes (albeit with helmet hair), is a wonderful start.


Now, if we could just sort the problem we're having with some New Zealand motorists and their reluctance to share the roads...


Perhaps we need more of the above.  I suspect even the most impatient drivers might slow to the visual pleasure of a beautiful dress gliding by on a bicycle.


In the meantime, I shall continue my quest for the least unflattering helmet; an oxymoron if ever there was one.

Super-sizing

I may not be seduced by huge portion sizes or large cars, but I seriously flirt with the idea of substantial houses, by which I mean anything at least double the size of our single bay villa.  In the big scheme of things (think the Hamptons or a feature property in Country Life), it's a relatively modest and, in New Zealand, achievable aspiration.

Villa : From heritage to contemporary
By Patrick Reynolds, Jeremy Salmond, Jeremy Hansen

Tuesdays and Thursdays I collect the latest residential property guides. I mark 'potentials' with post-its, then research further online.  They are usually two-storied character homes (preferably with deep, wrap-around verandas on both levels) or sprawling double bay villas.  Occasionally, my eye strays away from the grand old dames of the Victorian and Edwardian eras and I fancy a bit of sleek architectural design with loads of north-facing glass (the sunny side) and artificial intelligence.  Fortunately, few of the potentials pass the test, which saves me much needless coveting of houses we will not own.

The key reason we can look but not buy is that I have decided to remain at home with the children, unpaid.  It's odd.  I adore beautiful things, but am now too unmotivated or lazy to acquire them by resuming my corporate career.  I'm exhausted at the idea of trying to do/be/have it all.

So I'm reduced to a real estate voyeur; a would be if I could be.  I regularly persuade the obliging Mr T to view selected open-homes, sharing my vision for various rooms and resolving flow issues and such.  I'm sure my misplaced enthusiasm has resulted in several inflated offers from potential buyers determined to out-do me.  I look like I mean business.

But I'm not going there - not now, maybe not ever. Because as much as I love a generously proportioned room, and rambling grounds, I am persuaded that our family's footprint is already large enough.

Increasingly, I like the idea of working with what we have, within the confines of the existing square-footage.  I am constantly (obsessively) rethinking the use and layout of our rooms.  I have discovered that when something is not quite right with a room or an arrangement within a room, it's usually resolved by paring back.

Consequently, our double garage is now full to brimming with items I/we absolutely had to have at one point in time, and now absolutely have to go.    There is sufficient furniture, household appliances and kitchenware to outfit a small bach or holiday home, plus seven bikes, two kayaks and three redundant PCs.    And we could start a small good-will shop with the bags and bags of discarded clothes intended for Trade Me (New Zealand's largest online buy/sell site).   

It's all a bit ridiculous. 

We have made a habit of buying more than we need and of not valuing what we have. Clearly, I should heed my grandmother's advice: plan purchases and never succumb to impulse or vanity, buy the very best quality you can afford with money you actually have in the bank, and then look after it with great care.

In that case, I suspect the paring back would take care of itself.