the black russians

Got to love a tomato that sounds like the Soviet mob. I remember growing tomatoes in plastic garbage bins when I was a long-haired, bare-footed little person. Actually I should say I remember making dirt tunnels in plastic garbage bins while one of the not-then-relics planted tomatoes in the not-yet-tunneled garbage bin. Anyway, my black russians, which I have nurtured from seedlings (thanks Dad), through a three-state, three-day road trip and three Brisbane addresses, are about to deliver their lycopene goodliness!

YEEEEAAH!

I have looked after these little grommets like a mother-in-training, hauling myself out every night during a swampy Brisbane summer, shagged from work, to water them by bucket. I've hauled them round in my car from house-stay to house-sit to housebound-bliss. Frankly I've never invested so much grunt into a plant before. Well actually that's a lie... but I am not going to flaunt my criminal past here. Anyway, today I made three loaves of sourdough and am thinking the russians will go nicely with that, a little olive oil and some of the purple basil that I have unbelievably managed to sprout from seed and which is now growing like medusa on speed in my little potted garden. A perfect, if hard-won, home made lunch.

4101

It’s official: I live in the best neighbourhood in the 4000s. Yes, this is a dorky ode to my new hood, because we have:

1. The best video store (think Black Books but with moving images and social skills, staffed by film students who let you keep stuff if you haven’t quite managed to watch it by the due date).

2. The best markets. I have probably raved enough. So you'd think I'd be over it after about five non-continuous years of patronage. Nup.

3. The best felafels and the competitors yet to try.

4. The best Tibetan, Vietnamese, Thai, Indonesian, Greek...

5. The coolest apartment block (mine!) which has a water tank, compost bin, resident blue tongue lizard, and a rooster down the road who is not really mine to claim but makes me feel like I’m back in rural Laos every morning! And the girl upstairs who plays a sweet guitar and the boy next door who makes honey.

6. The Greeks across the way have perfected the art of sitting on the balcony watching the world go by.

7. Furniture gifts by the roadside. Hello new cane deck chairs and lounge.

8. Walking to and from work. Who needs the bus?! iPod, backpack, hotshoe over the Goodwill (pedo bridge), through the botanical gardens, along the river, look at the boats and pick one to take out for the day, shower, desk, brekky. LOVE IT!

9. Getting round on two wheels, a VERY exciting prospect. Coming soon.

10. The local thrift shop. Reverse Garbage. The Green Grocer. Mick's Nuts. The Rumpus Room, Lychee Lounge, wamble home. Neighbourhood lolly bag of the good stuff.

I am planning on moving anytime soon WHY?

hobson's choice

(HOB-suhnz chois) noun The choice of taking what is offered or none; an apparently free choice with no acceptable alternative.

This week I was asked if I wanted to do my boss’s job again. When I say ‘ask’, I'm being overly generous. The 'offer' was disguised as a question, but before I had time to respond I was told the work would probably fall to me anyway so I may as well get paid for it.

SIGH.

I wouldn't mind so much but there are some icky team issues that do my head in.

I must have sent my hesitation flapping up the flagpole, as the next day, my boss 'offered' a retraction. In the vein of "don't feel you HAVE to do it, I can always do [the big cahuna's] job and my job".

GAH! (money in the bank, money in the bank, ommmmmmmmm)

Glimmers on the horizon:
a new bike
camping at Easter at Bunnoo Bunnoo
dinghy sailing course in May, yay!
Dreaming Festival in winter
idle daydreams of running away travelling with Ren

mysterious case of the honey pot

A couple of Friday nights ago, I arrived home after a dangerous mix of beer and mojitos and sat on my deck with a friend, courting pain and suffering (slurping down gin and tonics).

I spied something sitting by the back door, which in the semi-dark sozzled-ness, I could neither identify nor get up to investigate.

When I opened the back door on Saturday morning, there it was: a mysterious pot of honey. A rather large mysterious pot of honey. A rather large mysterious kick-ass pot of honey.

I am in awe of these bees, for this is The Most Amazing Honey, with a subtle, round-mouthed sweetness that makes me want to give up coffee and convert to chai, it is THAT good.

So with super sleuthing prowess, I asked my landlord, who lives next door, about the honey. Ha! It was him! He keeps bees (not here, though that would be excellent for my potted garden).

I have been a bit wary of my landlord, as in not wanting to be TOO friendly, if you get my drift. Someone told me the gifting of honey is a Greek courting tradition. I googled it but couldn’t find anything compelling. But I shall throw caution to the wind and return the favour with some freshly baked sourdough. I on-gifted half the pot and am now extra conscious of keeping my supply lines open!

very yin and yang

What a weekend. Feel incredibly saddened by the bushfires and the scale of devastation. The relics escaped unscathed after being on high alert through the weekend, with spot fires a matter of kilometres away. There are still fires close by in Yarram, caused by a bloody arsonist – plus fires to the south of them at the Prom. A cousin and uncle still in the thick of it and fighting fires respectively in St Andrews and Kinglake/Acheron. Hope they are all ok.

Makes you wonder about the ongoing safety of living not just ‘in the bush’ but ‘in the regions’ in Victoria. Seeing the floods in North Queensland at the same time is a pretty in-your-face illustration of which areas of the country are being affected by climate change. First. Even though the relics have so far been incredibly lucky, their entire garden has been demolished to the point of 'give up/start again' by the heatwave and they are looking at having to buy water.

It’s all so close to home that I feel sort of guilty about life going on and positive things happening. Though I guess that's what happens.

Despite a few nervy waits through periods of uncontactability with family, I had one of the BEST weekends in a long time. One of those ones that stretches on and bathes you in the sunny light of renewal. Started with mojitos and dinner with an old/new friend D on Friday night, ambled through Sat with pilates and walking to the markets and Reverse Garbage, where I scored some industrial-calibre cardboard boxes and cylinders which I am re-purposing as deck furniture.

Gently morphed into Sunday with brekky with a friend K, followed by more nest feathering (think retro tupperware) and opportunistic jam-making (fig and hibiscus), and finished with impromptu champagne in S's garden with her and N who was up for the weekend. And then had dinner cooked for me. Oh and I just discovered that my black russian tomatoes are bearing fruit. Hooray for life ;)

Like I said, very yin, very yang.

ramble without a point

Indulge me. I have now spent two and a half months on a drip-feed of housing-related information. Housing policy and service delivery is my daylight LIFE between weekends. My mind has been overtaken and my 'pen' co-opted. As far as topical issues go, it’s pretty newsy. But not exactly Jay Griffiths, writer de force and subject of my current and ongoing infatuation… (ongoing because I don’t have time to read anymore and when I do my eyes are gluey/fried from the screen and page).

So this post is just a shameful attempt to register a blip while I am mired in uninspiration, with scribblings limited to the paid kind (wistful hmmm goes here). Specially wistful since the feather sent a lovely postcard at xmas but has not since called :(

I’m hoping energy and inspiration will improve now I'm housed (irony noted, in spades) and have, as of today, finished a two-month warming of my manager's seat, during which I discovered how rare and special is the trifecta of maturity, critical thinking and work ethic. Suffice to say I am very glad to slip back to my minion chains where I am responsible only for myself ;)

In defence of life, there has been a lurid yet brief smatter of inspired moments beyond the desk ...

• seeing my best friend from primary school who possibly knows more about me than anyone and who I hadn’t seen in about 15 years! (Never thought I would say this, but Facebook rocks.)


• meeting an interesting someone who is coordinating Brisbane’s Choir of Hard Knocks


• seeing the Namatjira exhibition


• invitation to be a hair model... have been a cheese model (evidence below with the disclaimer that I was made to wear the purple frilly shirt and it certainly isn't mine!)... but this could be fun, too!
  



• inspired muffin-dreaming... in particular: pear, pecan and ginger (first attempt not pear-y or ginger-y enough but addition of dark chocolate a piece of muffiny genius!) AND Fig, pistachio and rosewater muffins (which may also wear a native hibiscus syrup decoration after I inquisitively picked up some rosella flowers at the markets - v yum in champagne).


• the markets, the markets, the markets. My weekend SALVE.

So there. Cultural reintegration almost complete. I almost have pre-approval on a m-m-m-mortgage (ha! you thought I was going to say muffin!! oh god it's late, and my brain is wrecked), though am embarrassed to report the need to re-learn how to use major appliances (both the oven and TV work, it's my domesticity that's rusted).

Am clinging to my toiletries bag like a backpacker in denial.

unpacked

From the deck you can see the city hiding over the hill.


Old school kitchen with frog-garden lampshade


First loaves and crafty storage


bedroom window and the gabba through the louvres
(the lights are a bit lost in the clouds)