Boxing Day in OZ

    It's absurdly early in the morning yet the shopping mall parking lot is jam packed.  Automobiles are illegally parked on sidewalks and under shade trees with so many more hovering and circling to find a spot of their own.  Frantic shoppers dodge the vehicles as they trot for the mall entrance.  Inside, even earlier arriving shoppers are already standing outside the entrance to the major department store. The line extends the entire length of the glass front and stands eight people deep at any point along the line. Necks crane, eyes strain and mouths gape. A faint buzzer sounds.  The doors open.  The masses stampede into the interior. Shoe sale at Nordstrom's?  The Day After Thanksgiving--also known as Black Friday?
     Nope.  It's Boxing Day, the day after Christmas.  It's a legal holiday here in OZ so most businesses are closed.  And what to do on a day off?  Go shopping.  There is no "official" start of the holiday shopping season here as Black Friday indicates to American consumers. But Boxing Day is extremely well-defined and well-fixed in the Australian mind as THE day to catch big bargains.  Didn't get what you want yesterday? It's on discount today. Hurry! White goods, clothing, perfumes, bedding, fry pans and Christmassy stuff for next year are all marked to move. The socks and underwear section seems rather empty (you didn't get enough "jox & sox" under the tree?) but the buying frenzy is on.  It's madness, I tell you, and not for the faint of heart. Thought you were safe shopping online from home? Nope. One of the major department stores websites crashed because of the heavy traffic on it.  Seems kind of backwards to go so ga-ga after the fact but this feverish exercise in post-holiday commerce could be an Olympic sport in this country.
    Speaking of sport, you have Boxing Day options in this category although both are spectator events for most slugs citizens.  The Sydney to Hobart Race starts on December 26 and will finish a few days later for the super yachts but a week later for sailors in much more humble dinghys.  The aerial shots of the beginning of the race are spectacular and TV coverage does stay live for awhile to show the big guns in action. There are many different classes being competed in so the little guys aren't completely out of contention for a prize. Not much for  water sports? How about Boxing Day cricket.  Cricket is on morning, noon and night--the long and short versions of this baseball-y game--for those who can't get enough of this sport. Watching it on TV where one is close to a fan and the fridge is far more comfortable than buying a ticket to see it in person.  But there are always the tragics who prefer to sit in the hot sun for seven hours for this slow-as-a-glacier action.  In fact, it's tradition for many folks to do just that.
    Now, the question still rolling through your mind:  how did Boxing Day get its name and what does it mean?  You'll get a lot of hemming and hawing when you start asking this question because most people just don't know.  It's British origins have gotten awfully muddled over time.  The explanation that seems to sit well with most people is that the day after Christmas was spent putting money into various poor boxes as a gesture of good will to the less fortunate and gratitude for your own financial blessings. Other translations are less magnanimous.
    So how much of the above did I do?  Not much.  I did drop into the grocery store which was near empty of staff, shoppers and food (last minute locusts cleared off the shelves two days earlier) and picked up the real bargain of the day.  Fresh turkeys were being sold at an 80% discount.  Roasted in in the cool of the evening and popped the meat into the freezer.  Our meal planning is set until 2014!

Open Letter to Dishonest Postal Worker

Dear Dishonest Postal Worker,

    I received a letter yesterday that bore evidence of your petty handiwork.  The paper envelope had been well-thumbed in the center with a slit in the bottom corner.  You felt something through the paper, assessed the potential value of the free floating contents and decided to help yourself.  
    It must have been fairly easy to make that slit in the corner--with your fingernail, perhaps?--slide the object into your hand and then into your pocket. It's busy, no one noticed you tampering with the mail.  Perhaps your colleagues are too busy stealing from other envelopes or maybe doing their jobs properly and with respect.  Quickly you send the letter on its way. What's the harm, you think? Certainly none to you as there is no proof of your duplicity. Paper envelopes can tear easily. Who knows exactly where the contents dropped out?
    You are far from being the only creepy postal worker, pal.  I've traveled a bit and I've  talked to others who have traveled even more.  There is no shortage of postal workers who abuse their positions of trust with the paid correspondence of others and who just plain don't care about the rules they are supposed to work under.  They come from countries one would think have evolved  passed petty larceny (yours!) to Third World countries where we are all too quick to add  dishonesty and  lack of pride  to their blighted face of humanity.  Some people may not even be cognizant of the effect of their actions.  Travel through the back roads of some South American countries and pop into their post offices.  Look on the wall, pretty picture postcards of faraway places decorate the dreary space. Why deliver those cards when they look so nice in our office?  We can enjoy them, also.    Others know exactly what they are doing and take the opportunity to let the recipient know that they can get away with fleecing the postal customer.  Companies doing business in places like Nepal do not send important things through the mail but use private courier service.  How many aid workers and expats have  relatives who send care packages only to find  that  a postal "inspector" has redirected the goodies into their own satchels but decide to put the empty wrapper back into your box. Why the mean tease? Because they can get away with it. No one will find me. Besides, those foreigners don't need or deserve these goodies as much as I and mine do.   Yeah, Creep, you are part of a dubious brotherhood.
    So what did you get from my envelope?   A USB.  Filled with corporate secrets  you can sell to the highest bidder?  Maybe some interesting pornography? Actually,  a friend was sending me a copy of an old holiday TV show that I grew up watching every December but does not exist in Australia, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."  The stop-action technology is absolutely ancient but its lessons are still salient.  And it gives me joy to watch it as an adult just as it did as a child.  I hope you enjoy the show.  And maybe you will learn a lesson.

"Let's be independent together!"
© Classic Media

   What have we learned here? Well, small packets are safer than letters for very small items to be sent. But if a paper envelope is the go then it is prudent to tape the small item (ring, key, coin, USB, etc.) to a piece of cardboard. That would make it more difficult for the item to be squirreled out of a tear in the envelope by a postal thief. I suppose a small prayer to the mail gods wouldn't hurt. 
     Merry Christmas, Grinch.

2013 Perth Royal Show

     It's that time of year.  The Perth Royal Show is on (or, the state of Western Australia's State Fair) and in full swing. A city slicker from birth, I really like attending these agricultural shows. I'm not much on the rides, games or carny hokum but I don't begrudge those who enjoy these aspects along with the endless retail opportunities.  I like the animals, the artsy craftsy stuff,  the educational displays, free food samples, free entertainment and cookery competitions.

     The Show has promised one million dollars worth of entertainment this year. Probably didn't spend it all on the police bagpipe band although I did enjoy their performance. A new entertainer this year is the Ozrocketman.  Tired of just viewing that jet pack James Bond wore in Thunderball, our guy built his own (said to be the only jet pack in Australia and at a cost of $1000 per flight) and zooms around over the audience and showgrounds on a regular schedule.  Not quite a concert but it sure does fuel fantasy in the beholders. Being introduced to Australians here at the Show is Krispy Kreme doughnuts.  I have to admit to getting excited about the familiar, even if I don't actually like the product.  And Krispy Kreme doughnuts are not my favorite, but I think to myself "why not, home has come to you!"  The huge line at the K2 trailer waiting for deep friend delights and collectable trinkets went a long way to reminding me that I really don't have to eat hip-expanding doughnuts just because they are here.

     My fans ( hi, Mom ) are doubtless wondering how I did in the cookery competitions.  I had three entries: a brandied marmalade [using citrus "liberated" from the trees outside the Supreme Court building] that my tasting board said was a sure fire winner, and two Pantry Shelf -six sample items constituting a single entry- collections of which one represented an afternoon tea (Jam, Marmalade, Fruit Spread, Orange Butter, Apple Butter and Brandied Prunes)  the other represented a light supper (Pickled Onions,  Red German Cabbage, Pickled Beets, Root Vegetable shapes, Colored Sweet Peppers [these last two mildly vinegared] and Anchovy Paste).    It was the afternoon tea Pantry Shelf that won the ribbon.  I hadn't given it much hope. Too much of the contents are simply foreign to Australian taste buds. The fruit spread I called OPAL --a very Aussie gem used in acronym for orange/pineapple/apricot/lemon, not all of which is ripe at the same time so some allowances had to be made. No one has heard of apple butter and orange butter was sure to be confused with the translucent smooth yellow spread everyone eats called lemon butter.  This is why I called my orange butter (made with OJ , rind, honey and real butter)  Beurre L'Orange.  The French judge caught on right away.  

     There was a bit of controversy amongst the group of hanging around the French judge who had made herself available for general questions about preserving and competition.  Many people (including the judge) seal their jams by turning the jar upside down for a few minutes after filling.  All of my books say this old practice is a big no-no.  Juices could compromise the seal and welcome mold by the upside down method so everything needs a hot water bath for a complete vacuum seal.  The judge insisted that hot jars, hot lids and hot contents would do the trick just fine. Why boil water for one more step? One lady said she had never heard of a hot water bath.  OK, I come from a different planet.
 
     But, I still have a red ribbon and more ideas for next year.
   

Spring Wildflowers in Western Australia

    There are some really interesting natural wonders to see and enjoy here in Western Australia: walking amongst the giant Tingle trees in the south, picnic under a giant sheep's testicles,  watch whales migrate,  play hide-and-go-seek amongst the Pinnacles, feed the dolphins at Monkey Mia,  camp at the magical Karijini National Park, get gritty in the natural resources of the Kimberley or buy lovely pearls in far north Broome.  Each is a day's drive from the next--an unfortunate reality in a state as huge as WA--making a 'tour of the sights' possible only for those with lots of free time.

Everlastings

     Overlooked in all of this is the most accessible and wild -- the spring wildflowers. Popping up all over starting in May way up north to November in the deep south, the state is carpeted with over 12,000 varieties of flora, 60% of which are exclusive to WA.  We're talking deep shag carpet here, folks. A small child could get eaten up  in a field of tall everlastings.  An orchid fan consumed by their search for the Queen of Sheba amongst all the Donkeys. And so many other flowers- their beauty unsung by poets- smile for those who get off the road and are willing to take a walk.   All rather miraculous

Queen of Sheba orchid

really.  Much of WA is more hard scrabble than hospitable to plant life.  Ever hear of the red dirt of a "sunburnt land"? Yep, that's us.  And yet, nature shines on despite adversity.

     We recently  took our first drive to see this annual miracle. A northern loop from Perth that went up to Geraldton, over to Mullewa , down through Perenjori and Dalwallinu, side step to Three Springs before dropping into Moora. The wildflower guidebooks promised much and I always enjoy staying at country pubs.  The lack of  steady winter rain reduced the intensity of the flora this year but I was not disappointed. I was happy to take what I could get.  Besides, we lucked out in that

Fringed Lily

two communities were holding flower shows that weekend. Cool beans!  They were different from my usual flower show.  Mullewa's show set up little agri-scapes to highlight the flora and fauna found in the area. OK, the birds were caged but each section was like its own little bushwalk. Funny, I've never thought Australian flowers to have much fragrance but there was a "distinctive smell of bush" (so described the show Steward) in the hall which I can only translate to 'Australian forest'. They had historical displays to augment the agri-scapes. Three Springs had vased samples of flora on tables but also had a community art exhibition.  Attendees got to vote on their favorite photograph, drawing or painting in various classes.  Some were even for sale.  I was lucky enough to find a pretty gum leaf watercolor painting for $45 that looks perfect in my livingroom.

Wreath Flower

     The true rock star of the tour was the wreath flower, which is having a bumper crop this year. Shaped like a wreath, this is a single flower from a single tap root that grows in the hard packed earth near roads. A less likely place to thrive I cannot imagine but the roads to everywhere seemed to have at least a few. Truly sensational.

     I have been hearing for years that picking native wildflowers is illegal in this state. Yet I was seeing plenty of picked native flowers.  So what is the deal? Some said picking on your own private property is OK, just not on public lands. Others said no!, only flowers you have cultivated are OK.  And the final word came from the Western Wildflower Farm in Coomberdale who said all of the above are wrong.  They have to have  licenses to grow, harvest, sell, package and ship native wildflowers regardless of where they are located. Oh, it sounds like a complicated business, especially when government is involved.

Donkey Orchids

      I do fancy another wildflower trip but to the south.  The soil and landscape is so different from the red desert of the north and so are the flowers. Orchid aficionados are quite happy to be hunting in these parts. Little known is that the area around Fitzgerald River National Park has been declared a Biodiversity reserve hotspot worthy of watching and protecting by UNESCO.  I wonder why Tourism WA doesn't push the spring wildflower season more in its publicity about the state.  The rocks at the Pinnacles will always be there but the annual spring flora is worth the trip in from anywhere.   

    

   

Fitting in at the Perth Fashion Festival

     Tonight I got in touch with my inner fashionista. Well, such as she is anymore. The 2013 Perth Fashion Festival is in full swing highlighting local and national designers, clothing trends and size 2 fantasies. In its fifteenth year, it coincides with that other big fashion festival in London (England, not Ontario) in many ways: dates, pretension, impractical clothes, pouting models and dreamy glamor. 
   
      I have certainly given plenty of publicity to the Perth Fashion Festival on my weekly radio show but have never been to an actual event. So when I got out of work just at the time a free event in the festival tent was about to start, I seized the moment. Shooed away from the VIP entrance, I skidded in the commoner entrance just in time to get pointed to a few deserted chairs way high up off runway level.  They didn't give me the toys everyone else got: glow sticks and cheapie sunglasses. Probably startled (or horrified ) by my old geezer office clothing. Hey, my make-up looked good. This same sartorial statement kept me from getting  moved closer to the runway to fill in chairs for the photo opps  numerous photographers and videographers were waiting for at the end of the runway. No biggie. I was plenty close to the pulsating bass music and fog machines up there in the nosebleed section.

      Tonight's show featured clothing from stores in a particular shopping area. This is not high fashion but it has a place at festivals in cities outside the major fashion centers.  The festival's fashions need to be accessible to a wider audience in Perth than they do in Milan, Paris or New York. Of course there are the designer shows (none free admission) here but also kids clothing and the "upcycling" fashion parade consisting of outfits found at local thrift stores. It's all good.  So cue the DJs and start the action. Lots of slouching young models mincing their way down the white path in extravagant heels . Some forget to put on the I-hate-modelling-scowl and smile at the professional and amateur photographers. "Selfies" (taking a picture of yourself using your cell phone's camera) being all the rage , half the models are using smart phone cameras as props for the action either on themselves or with audience members. The models high-five, bump booties, shimmy or in some other way interact with each other as they pass on the runway. Bub-bub-bub-bub bubblebutt  the music booms. Is that a size 10 model out on the floor??!  Just one female model seems to eat three meals a day but the organizers recognize that not all of their target audience  resembles the human coat hangers who will wear the haute couture garments at the high-end events.  All of the male models looked quite normal.

      So what did I see?  Will I be running out and buying new clothes this weekend? Well, I did see one or two things I could imagine wearing...if they came in my size. I certainly know what to expect to see walking the sidewalks over the next few months. And it definitely was an interesting bit of theater in a world I usually don't inhabit. And that qualifies as a mini-adventure.
    

Letter Writing

    I have always been a letter writer. Letters are cool. They don't jump out of the box like Jack but deliver every bit as much bang for the buck. Especially when the letter is unexpected.  I mean, we all grumble at those No.10 whites (with or without plasticine windows) but smiles burst out at the sight of an A6 even without knowing what is inside. Hmmmm, it's not my birthday or a holiday--could it be a wedding or party invitation? A letter doesn't have to be long or a brilliant piece of prose. Those 18th and 19th century folks had a whole lot more time on their hands to sit around and wax poetic to their friends than I do.  I am a stream-of-consciousness writer. Thoughts go from my head to the paper. It's up to you to fill in the blanks and make the leaps from one topic to another.  O.K. letters from me might be a little work to get through, but who doesn't like a little challenge?  

    Some of the nicest letters to get are almost nonletters.  My grandmother once wrote me a note that had a few unimportant tidbits in it and then stopped herself. "Hold it a minute" she wrote. And then, "I'm back. I made myself a BLT sandwich for lunch."  I was transported. I could see my grandmother in her kitchen frying the bacon and assembling the sandwich. I swear I could almost taste it. That humble, almost-nothing letter was a keeper.  A college mate of mine lived in the graduate student dormitory--dorms usually placed a bit out of harm's (and undergrad's noise) way.  One day he described the view out of his corner room's window to his parents: the walk path partially hidden by the wooded area right next to the narrow river that flowed through campus and right by his room.  His parents were enchanted by this mini slice of his life and cherished the letter above all the others.

    I have to admit to becoming a bit of a terrorist in my passion for this form of communication (which, by the way, is so much more a respectable Me-Me-Me outlet than Facebook, ahem.)  I'll confess to one incident: When I was working on a cruise ship in Tahiti, a new French piano player was signed on so quickly that he had no time to alert his mom about his new employment. He had barely stepped on the ship when I asked him to do a bit of translating off ship for me. He obliged and as a reward, I forced him write a postcard to his mom. I just happened to have a few picture postcards and stamps on me (doesn't everyone?) and leaned on him until he wrote it and dropped it in the mailbox.  This is silly, he protested. He was going to email his mother. Well, this guy avoided me after this  save for one single exchange.  A new sign-on has a lot of training classes with precious little free time and he didn't get to an internet cafe for over a week.  His postcard was delivered to his mother while she had friends over and it practically turned tea into a party.  The piano player admitted I was right, thanked me...and kept well away from me evermore. 

    Last week I made a vow. I would write at least one letter/note/postcard each day for a week. I was feeling a bit too self-absorbed and thought some postal therapy would work. I made sure that my mobile post office [read: work bag] was well stocked with prepaid postcards, envelopes and stamps and a few handy aerograms. Aerograms are cheaper, prepaid-postage sheets of paper that fold into their own envelopes. Very handy. And no longer sold in the U.S.  Anyway, I mailed eleven (11) pieces of personal correspondence by week's end, mostly to people I haven't written to in awhile.  I don't expect a big response rate or any response at all for that matter and that is alright.  I know what the reaction is without having to hear about it. Writing a letter is simply not hard work, it doesn't take a long time to do and should be pain-free. Let me help get you started.

     How to Write a Letter

     1. Grab a piece of paper. Any paper will do. Your shopping list, that concert program, the paper placemat from a touristy restaurant, the weekly-printed paper menu from that toney restaurant you just ate at, use the back of an office memo extolling your praises or a rejection letter from potential employer number 73, one side of a cake mix box, etc.  The options are endless. Sometimes your stationery can springboard a topic of conversation.
     2. Date it somewhere, either at the top or near your signature when you are done.
     3. Start with a greeting.  Dear Grandma,  Hi Susie!, or, if you must, How's it hanging, Dude?!
     4. Tell them why you are writing, whatever it was that motivated you.  Doesn't need to be long, just a few sentences will do. Write just the way you would speak, if that helps the flow of words to paper.
     5. Put it in an envelope. You can get creative here, also.  I have used wrapping paper, aeronautical maps, even fabric to make my own envelopes.  Adds to the excitement for the recipient.
     6. Tough part now.  Find their address. Call a mutual friend or relative to get it or look up their address on the internet.
     7.  Affix proper postage.  C'mon, you've got a stamp or two lying around somewhere.
     8.  Drop it in one of those colorful boxes on a street corner labelled "Mail" or "Post". A government employee empties the box daily and your letter is on its way.
     9.  Pat yourself on the back.  Good job. Well done!


   I guess I feel some obligement to put a good word in here for Dads.  A male friend complained recently that everyone remembers to think of saying "hi" to Mom but forgets that Dad knows how to read, also.  Clearly his two sons aren't big on writing him, either.   So, say hi to Dad, also.

The Jamie Oliver Experience

     Perth -all of Western Australia, for that matter-  fancies it is shedding its backwater yokel image due, in part, to its ability to attract big name chefs and top end restauranteurs to our shores over the last few years.  Why, the local restaurant reviewer is a bit of a celebrity himself.  For the common man, names like Nobu or Neil Perry aren't exciting any electrons.  Who has $200 for a (well-aged) steak at Rockpool?    And then, Jamie Oliver moved into town.

     You know Jamie.  The not-so-naked Naked Chef.  The affable Brit with a lisp who cooks two-hour meals in 30 minutes on TV and insists you can have the same result in your home kitchen also.  Jamie opened an Italian restaurant right in the heart of downtown Perth.  Only 15 bucks for a pasta dish, no reservations taken and lines that wind around the block. Finished with work very early today, I urged Kev to meet me at Jamie's while the front of the line could be seen without binoculars.
      Warehouse chic is the decor style here and it works for us.  A guy making pasta at a machine right near the front door says "fresh food here."  The bakery loaves of bread waiting to be sliced just off the aisle have you drooling.  Totally forgetting that money is not currently growing on our trees, we order what our hearts dictate instead of what budget suggests.  Kev has a dark beer and a rabbit & pasta dish. I order a bellini (champagne and peach juice, yummmy) and truffled turkey.  Are we mad? Maybe, but definitely gobsmacked to find that Jamie includes FREE bread with meals.  Apparently no one told him that Australian restaurants never give away bread.  It is an unwritten rule that you must charge $5 for four pieces of Wonderbread for anyone foolish enough to ask for it.  We ate and shared bites with great gusto.
       Kev's part of my turkey was not faultless. Part of his turkey was absolutely raw. How?!  Everything else was cooked so how did this silver dollar sized bit escape the flames?  Guessing how this happened kept us amused for the rest of lunch.  The chef and the manager didn't have a clue either.  As a conciliatory gesture, the manager refused to charge for the turkey and made my Bellini complementary.  I protested over this extravagant gesture but was outvoted 2-1.  This very expensive lunch had rather instantly become affordable.  It would have been worth it at full price. We enjoyed our meals.  We enjoyed rubbernecking to see everyone else's meals.  We enjoyed the sunshine outside awaiting us.

     Post script: Kev and a buddy may have figured out the mystery of the raw section of an otherwise cooked piece of meat.  The raw part may have still been frozen when put in the pan.   If the turkey started as frozen...       http://www.jamieoliver.com/italian/australia/perth

Launching Winter

    A small amount of excitement here on winter's eve but it gave me a few happy moments for which I am grateful.  The City of Perth Winter Arts Season 2013 held a mini-launch for its upcoming season today, the last day of autumn for the after work crowd. (Australia calendars each new season on the first day of the month.)  According to the program, "The Season Sampler includes: Live performances-mini Supper Club-snow dome-Winter Photo Booth-Water Labyrinth-and SNOW!"
    In its entirety.  The live performances included a couple of snow queens posing for photos in their white feather wings and Nancy Sinatra-esque white boots. The mini Supper Club was exactly three stands: "New York Style" hotdogs (er, not really but yummy anyway), Moroccan food and a potato stand. The nine foot tall snow globe is cool and with a long line of kids waiting to get in and play in the plastic snow flakes. The Winter Photo Booth, if there was one, consisted of a couple of college kids with their cameras clicking away. The Water Labyrinth (oh so cool ever changing walls of water I've written about before) is a permanent fixture in the Forrest Chase square. And the SNOW. This is where I stopped dead in my tracks.  The same two snow-making/blowing machines used in London Alley at dead-of-summer Christmas were back and producing white glory at the 'entrance' to the festivities.
   I was mesmerized. It's a cool night (54F), a three piece band was playing, the smell of (free!) popcorn  in the air and snow flakes shown brightly against the dusky plaza. My slack jawed stare into the overhead walkway where the machines were probably photobombed too many snow princess photo opps, but I just loved it. It just said Magic.  It said Home.
   Oh I suppose I'll blog on some of the really cool events designed to get us out of our homes this winter, but tonight  it was all about hot dogs, chance meeting with a friend, free popcorn and SNOW!

   I thought to myself as I left this cheery little scene, "Maybe I should put away my summer clothes."        Happy Winter, everyone!

American Food : It's NOT what you think.

     Today my church held an International Food Fete. Many different types of food were there: Chinese, Malaysian, Italian, Burmese, more Italian...and American. Yes, American.  O.K., I'll wait for you to stop laughing and cracking wise.  Finished?  Good.
     I get this reaction often.  Those golden arch folks are so good at branding and marketing that the world over believes hamburgers and super-sized fries are the entirety of the American diet.  So when the idea was broached to hold a food fete [ pronounced in 'Strine as 'food fight' ] at my church I quickly raised my hand to make my contribution. After the laughter over such an absurd notion subsided, I officially started my campaign to educate the public on the real classic American menu. I was going to offer up complete meals, iconic holiday meals, that they may have only heard about in movies but now would get to try them in real life.  
    The menu:
          Thanksgiving Dinner - roasted turkey with gravy, bread stuffing, yams (sweetened with real maple syrup), green beans almondine (skip the canned mushroom soup casserole) and cranberry sauce.
          St Patrick's Day - corned beef, cabbage, potato, onion and carrot. Green beer is on their own.
          Comfort Food - meatloaf , mashed potatoes, green beans and apple crisp.  The very stuff Mom makes to say she loves you.
          Snack Time  - homemade jam and bread slices.  Well, this is a bit of bragging over my illustrious, award-winning jam career (ahem) and a way to clear out my pantry while offering an inexpensive snack option.

    Despite only preparing 15 servings of each category, this proved to be a behemoth task beyond roasting a stuffed 10-pound bird. The menu planning and costings weren't difficult but Kev refused to even mash a few potatoes so I was a one person culinary machine. It took several days to get it all prepared, measured, properly and appealingly arranged in carryout containers and frozen.   Hey, what could be more American than a frozen dinner? People could take it home or microwave it in the hall right away...it was the protocol for all vendors.
    Every good teacher goes into class prepared. I had menu sheets describing the offerings and their significance. Large signs saying, "American Food.  It's NOT what you think." An American flag to drape in front of the table as a come-on and a handmade sign of two yellow arches inside a red NO circle. For added effect, I wore my Betty Crocker apron.  And, as a nod to our good neighbors to the north, I had some Canadian maple leaf cookies to give away. Open the doors and let the hordes in!
    Sigh. Apparently my large signs weren't large enough. Too many people glanced at the flag, muttered 'ha ha, American food' and moved on to the curried rice dishes three tables over. Get serious, people.  Curries and laksa  can be found on every street corner in Perth, this is unique.  Well, there was some interest in the Thanksgiving meal.  People who had been to the U.S. or worked with Americans/Canadians had heard about this incredible meal and were eager to try it.  I had a couple of amused Irishmen willing to try what counts as Irish food on the other side of the Atlantic and  the old church dears selected the cheaper snack option (with the brandied marmalade, thank you.)  I sold half of what I brought.  Re-educating the masses simply was not going to be a one shot success story.
     We all had the first timers learning curve and are reassessing our p's [publicity, pricing, placement, protocols] and our q's [give me a minute, I'll think of something here.]  Some of us vendors started to swap leftovers.  After donating the required 20% [people 'paid' us with coupons and vendors redeemed them at the end of the day from the church purse] I managed to just come out in the black. I'll call that a success.

     I'll call it convenient that I won't have to cook supper for the next two weeks.  It's all  in the freezer.

April 15, 2013. Thoughts on an average day.

   I have gotten into such a predictable routine that I often wonder if I just stop noticing things along my way. Today afforded a few observations. Not necessarily brilliant, but I'll share them anyway.

    I approached  the red light across the street from my workplace and came even with the only other person on that corner. He said good morning and I could tell that he was a fairly recent arrival from Africa. I was a bit slow to respond-my being takes a little time to get up to speed in the morning-and he felt that he should explain himself.  It was his custom to talk to people he came across and he didn't mean to disturb anyone. I encouraged this happy practice while silently feeling a bit sorry for him.  This city, as so many others, is populated by people totally preoccupied by MP3 players, i-Pads, i-Phones, PDA's, readers and all sorts of electronic devices that isolate ourselves from others  while we delusionally think  we are staying connected. What an anti-social place this must be to this friendly young guy.

   The court I was working in today usually has a few slow moments  and I took advantage of that to fulfill an annual duty.  Yep, I finished my 1040 form during a criminal sentencing.  (Gee, what does that say about paying taxes?)  I usually get my return done on April 14. Why that date? Because it is the anniversary of my arrival in Australia. Yesterday, Sunday, was my fifth anniversary.  I never owe money (one has to make ridiculous amounts of dough before the IRS asks for a small percentage of the overage) but the US Treasury likes to hear from me.  And from all U.S. expats wherever they are.  I find that many American expats are not aware that they are obliged to file a return.  Hope they don't run into any surprises when they repatriate. I always have my envelope hand cancelled so that the postmark date can clearly be read by even the dimmest auditor eyes.

    I received my pink slip at lunch.  My company lost its contract after 25 years and most of us monitors are being "made redundant". We've known for awhile that we were getting the axe, so this was a mere formality.  I took a moment to share my company experience with the boss and silently hoped this wouldn't be too painful a day for him. Oddly enough, I am not sad or panicky.  I don't have new employment lined up for after May 17 yet but I must have greater confidence today than I did five years ago. Que sera, sera.

    After work, I went to the store to pick up some frozen apple juice concentrate. You know the stuff--just like orange juice it comes in a cardboard or plastic can which you mix with three or four cans of water in your own pitcher. Economical and ecological.  And nonexistent here in Australia. All juice is sold in cartons or jugs.  Kev said frozen concentrate had been trialled once upon a time but Aussies weren't sold on the concept. Just another thing OZ doesn't have but one learns to live without.

    And finally, this evening I made apple butter. Not quite as rich a brown as one expects but it tastes yummy.  I made a batch yesterday but absentmindedly added apple cider vinegar instead of apple cider. It's not ruined but I will put both up for my professional taste-testers to see which suits Australian sensibilities more.  No one seems to have heard of apple butter before so this will be an interesting session.  My taste-testers help me fine tune my recipes to Royal Show (state fair) winning standard. And since I lose my team in a month, I have to step up the R and D schedule.

   I am thinking this indeed was an average day.


 

PIAF 2013 & the Writer's Festival

    The highlight of the annual Perth arts calendar has just passed.  The Perth International Arts Festival, with the Perth Writer's Festival tucked inside the event seems to get better each year.  There is always a few way-out ther offerings (and how they exasperate Kev) and a few way cool things.  This year more Western Australian arts and works were incorporated into the program.
     Kev and I took in a delightfully frothy piece called "Clouds", a performance based on the artwork of Rene Magritte.  Just outside the theater, on Subiaco's trendy but short shopping strip of Rokeby Road was a bit of street theater.  An Argentine show called "La Marea" (The Tide) tapped into our inner voyeur and curiosity.  Who can walk down a residential street (or hotel corridor) without turning one's head to glance into the bay window or door and wonder what is happening on the other side?  Using converted shop windows for homes and sidewalks for street scenes, the connected but not related nine vignettes, are repeated every ten minutes.  Some of the scenes: a family eating supper, a man bored at a party, a courting young couple and even a motorcycle accident. Dialog is projected on the building (or street) near the action so spectators at any depth from the action could follow along.  A really cool performance concept that works on the right bit of street.
    The Perth Writer's Festival. It's not fair to complain that it is getting too popular.  The PWF expanded the number of offerings to meet the greater demand. Yeah. The PWF also spread out the expanded list over more days, now utilizing Thursday and Friday as well as the weekend.  Drats.  Who can attend weekday seminars and workshops save for senior citizens and those underemployed? (Notice I avoid using the term "professional writers" here- a gentle irony.)   Besides the great mix of free (yes, almost half of the sessions are absolutely free) and cheap (usually $13.50) events, this year included a free wine & mini-talk tent. Free booze?! In Australia?! I'm surprised that the tent wasn't overrun with people, unless they thought it was too good to be true. Naturally, I managed to sample one or two...or three... wines myself.
    This year I was particularly interested in play writing.  I've been rolling a short one-act play in my head for over a year and needed inspiration to get on paper.   Unusually, the session with playwrights - who refer to themselves as "theater makers" - seemed unaware of how different formats are consumed and processed by their audience.  Who were these people?  I would have thought playwrights, particularly those who adapt other works into stage plays (as this session was partially about),  would be the most aware of the flow and meter of different types of writing.  One panelist, a former ballet dancer, really made my teeth grind when he dismissively described audiobooks as "those cassette tapes your friend's 90 year-old blind grandmother used to listen to."  Kind of 'off pointe' aren't we, Nureyev?  When these blowhards  managed to stop passing so much gas, I did actually glean something positive from this session.  As I do for all of the sessions I can squeeze in during the day.
    This year I remembered to send the program to the writers I know who live elsewhere. Having been to other writer's conferences, I know what they are - and aren't - getting. Not to make them jealous, but maybe they can inspire their local writers associations to follow the PWF model.  Or, in the case of my eldest brother, just plan any future possible trip to Perth during the Writer's Festival.
    This year's Cool Art : "Tangle" Kids wrap huge colorful elastic bands around many May poles and then get happily lost and bounced around inside them. I'd tell you what it was like but they wouldn't let me in.  Hummmmpphh.

2012 Girls & Boys Names

    I have commented before on this electronic journal on some observations on people's names.  Like the difference a continent makes : Ashley, Bev and Dana are exclusively boys names here in OZ. Or the concern for literacy and future bullying  with "unique" names and spellings.  I know that language is a fluid thing and diversity is a good thing  but  La-A , Goldmyne and Kryschun  never should have been taken off the shelf. That first name is Ladasha, in case you hadn't figured it out.

    Last week the State of Western Australia registry office listed the Top 50 Girls and Boys names of 2012.  I'm glad to see and report that some sanity is returning. Let me share the top 10 in each category:

GIRLS
1. Charlotte  (193 sweet Charlottes born)
2. Olivia       (close behind with 192)
3. Ruby
4. Emily
5. Sophie    (Sophia at #17.  You're back in fashion, Mom!)
6. Chloe
7. Ella
8. Amelia
9. Ava
10. Mia

and, (starting humming movie themes) at #39 is Indiana with 45 of them toddling about in pink

BOYS
1. Noah    (207 on this ark)
2. Jack     (a perennial favorite, practically patriotic)
3. William
4. Ethan
5. James
6. Lucas
7. Jacob
8. Liam
9. Oliver
10. Thomas

the bottom of the boys' list is interesting:
at #49 is the comical Archie (52 of them, no less!)  and a two-way tie for 50th place with 51 apiece are the names   Lincoln  and  Declan.

   Losing some prominence are the golden oldies:  Mary, Susan, John, Matthew, Hilary, Hepsuba...oh, wait, that last one may actually be a bit moldy.  And the second-to-last name?  Well, there is always the 2013 list.  I'll start a subliminal message campaign in the local maternity wards this week.

March 9 Election

    The State of Western Australia had an election for the Premier (governor) position on March 9th. Politics really isn't a great pastime of mine, as a former election presiding judge back home, the process holds a bit more interest. In Australia, all citizens are obliged to vote in this election. Yes, compulsory with a fine for failing to cast a ballot. Each level of government  runs their own election at their discretion. Monumental waste of money if you ask me, but Aussies have trouble with the idea of tackling more than one jurisdiction at a time. The term of office is known-- four years for the Premier -- but  are as likely to be called on a political whim.  Elections aren't held to standing dates like they are in the U.S., although Saturday is a favored day with 8:30a.m.-5p.m. hours.  Nationwide, all votes are made on paper ballots!  And a voter doesn't vote for their choice of candidate but ranks the entire field in preferred order, e.g. Bob Smith 3, Sue Jones 5, Bill Cunningham 1,  Sam Fields 2,  Jane Doe 4.  The person who has the highest average ranking wins the election.  Making much sense?

     What does appeal is the short campaign season.  This was a five-week campaign, vote, count, finished.  The TV ads are standard: some show the Achilles' heal of the Opposition (such a divisive term but 'majority' and 'minority' are never used), others show candidates in rolled up sleeves shaking hands with the common man. In the country, the presentation is a bit less sophisticated. There is the standard head bobbing with small business leaders but everyone wears tee shirts instead of oxford button downs.  The newspapers, trying to make the most of this increased  circulation opportunity, are hard pressed to dig up dirt in so short a time.  One nonstarter was the rumored precarious health of the current premier.  That fizzled quickly in a splash of wasted ink.

    The main political parties : the Liberal Party (= Republican) and the Labor Party (correct spelling , = Democrats).  They are always a source of exasperating aggravation and laughs. I always enjoy the random proposals for civic projects each party dreams up as a way of currying favor.  "We want to build an elevated tram to the moon. It will make us competitive in the global market and put us on the map.  And, it will only cost 1.2 billion dollars!"  They have absolutely no idea where the money is going to come from much less a plan to accrue it.  No matter. Unless ground is broken for the project immediately, it is subject to being cancelled when the political reins change hands.  In fact, guaranteed to be cancelled.

    Well, the incumbent, Liberal Premier Colin Barnett keeps his office for another four years...or until the next election is called.

Authoring My Own Post Mortem

     My recent vacation back home in the U.S. after being away for five years was notable. I caught up with a lot of family and dear friends. I let my suntan brag for itself to all the northern hemisphere  winter whites.  I engaged in some serious retail therapy to the tune of  a second 50 lb suitcase  (without being charged by the airline for it!)

     And I  got to hear how I died on April 1, 2008.

     Yeah, that was a bit of a shock to me, also. In a visit to my U.S. credit union to check up on my financial health, I discovered that where the consumer retail credit  world was concerned, I was little more than a name on a gravestone.
     This is how it happened.  When I moved to Australia five years ago, I changed my permanent address with all pertinent parties from the U.S. address to my new one overseas. Who wouldn't? Well, unbeknownst to me - and apparently to the razor sharp folks at my credit union, also - a foreign billing address is not recognized by North American credit reporting agencies. I had committed financial suicide. Add the fact that activity evaporates after several years -both the good and the bad- from one's credit rating , I essentially fell off the credit-worthy grid.  
     My credit rating went from 800+ to too low to calculate a score.   
     It is like being 18 years old again--in an unpleasant way.   I chose to take an immediate,  proactive role in my financial recovery (because yelling at the equally ignorant credit union people in shocked outrage would only have gotten me escorted out the door by armed security personnel) and have taken steps to reestablish myself  as a credit worthy individual.
     I don't believe in Woulda', Shoulda', Coulda's. I cannot change what is done.  I can help spread the word to other folks who plan to temporarily leave the country for contract work or preserve a retail credit presence in the U.S. for their own reasons to do so with the least amount of damage.  
     As we've seen, keeping a domestic address is paramount.  Start with a trusted relative or friend who will allow you a virtual home for your financial entity. Will they accept your mail and forward it to you?  If this is not a good option, try renting one of those private P.O. Boxes where the service will forward your mail. It will cost a fee per forward, but P.O. Boxes carry full weight as a residency requirement.  
     Remember to generate activity every now and again.  Make online purchases with your U.S. credit card or department store charge card a few times a year to make sure they are seen as active.  Take out a small secured loan against your savings and use the loan money to pay it back over a several month period.  Credit reporting companies love to see installment loans and aren't too fussy about the amount. A $300 secured loan paid back over nine months will probably cost you $5 in interest.  A much easier cost to swallow than trying to crawl your way out of a financial black hole.
      So much banking is done online or electronically that many people couldn't identify a single  employee in a brick & mortar office.  I know people who haven't stepped in a bank in years.  Not a good idea for a future expat.  Get to know your banker personally. Keep them in the loop of what you want to do and where you will be doing it from. This raises the customer service level and appropriate assistance you will get when managing or reassessing your financial affairs via email from some far corner of the Earth.
      And when you return to the good ol' US of A after your exotic couple of years abroad,  you won't find your name on the financial obituary list  hoping for an autopsy.
    
     

My First Visit Back Home

     A minor miracle happened recently.  On his way to a backpacking sojourn in India & Burma, Kev more than suggested I visit my mother and friends.  He gave me a plane ticket for a three-week, multiple-city trip to the land I grew up in.
     It had been five years since I had last been in the U.S. before moving to OZ.  Which cliche would describe the visit? "You can't go home again" , "Stranger in a familiar place" or (dare to dream) "The Homecoming"?  Would people be glad to see me? Or even remember me?  Would I get the all-important shopping done? (Heaven knows EVERYTHING is cheaper in the U.S.  Plus,  with superior fits in clothing, it doesn't make sense not to stock up.) Did I bring enough money?  Will I survive a dozen airport  experiences in one vacation? Will I remember how to drive on the right hand side of the road in the left side of the car...in the snow?
     For all the questions that seemed to beg for trouble, very few eventuated.  Armed with a file folder, four payment methods, three shopping lists, two date calendars and a disposable phone (decorated with a partridge in a pear tree, fa la la la la la) I was ready for full military-style engagement. Provision, briefing, execution and debrief.   Ooo rah.
     My first week was spent with Mom.  Sort of.  This was valuable Asset Acquisition time.  Pre-emptive strikes on hair care products and cosmetics had to be made. Thanks for the driving lessons, Mom, see you at suppertime!  No amount of torture or truth serum will get me to spill the exact amount of money spent during those early heady days of frenetic consumerism.
     On to Orlando and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  Magical in mid-winter.  The temperatures are decent, there are no crowds or long lines for attractions.  WWHP looks just like the movie set, Butterbeer and Hog's Breath Ale are yummy, the simulated Hogwarts castle tour does not disappoint and,  serious frosting on top of all of this, I had two friends from the Frozen North to share it with.
     Ivy, veterinarian extraordinaire, met us at the notable Tu Tu Tango Cafe.  My maid  man of honor, Tom, and I took in the Universal holdings.  He is now much more  aware of Harry Potter & Co than he was before.  We stayed at a hotel owned by the Jicarilla Apache Nation.  A hotel in Orlando? Now there is a license to print money.  I'm holding off a slew of scalping jokes here, people.
    The Frozen North.  Eight days of the most tightly choreographed maneuvers outside the Edinburgh Tattoo.  Insured to the hilt against any evil force of nature or man, this marathon started with a dinner party at my younger sister's house.  A pleasant evening with relatives that featured the first of many discussions about healthcare and national health services. I never could get a street-level description of "Obamacare" from my friends (who range from ardent supporters to those who won't speak the president's name) but with so much to share and so little time...   God bless my uncle and his endless supply of Cornish pasties, real dill pickles and Vernors pop. It hardly gets more home than that. I would drive three days to see my father's younger brother -  with or without the soul food.
    Ohio, where it all went into hyper drive.  Kit, my friend and hostess, took time out from her vintage clothing and costume shop, The Alley (now also purveyors of genuine Australian made fashions), to help reacquaint me with Columbus and whittle down my clothing shopping lists - who else could sniff out half-price day at a particular thrift store or 83% off a fabulous silk taffeta party dress? And then the days looked like this: 1p luncheon with Dottie & Susan, 3:30p Jean, 5pm drinks with Mike & Marc, 6:30p dinner with Dave. Next day: 10a VoiceCorps, 11:30 with Ken @ Lindeys, 2p Tea with Worthington Women's Club, 5p with Sally &  crew, 6:30p supper with elusive Stick & Rick. Last day: Tim, JoAnn and then Eddie [read: Tim Horton's for breakfast, JoAnn Fabrics because who doesn't stop at fabric stores on vacation and Eddie Bauer Salvage/Warehouse sale.]   All visits were too short, of course, and overwhelming. I could not have imagined so warm a welcome. 
     More humbling was the return to Los Angeles before heading back to Perth.  My eldest brother Peter flew in from Houston and my uncle in Las Vegas drove in to see me.  Really, to see me? I was feeling very unwell for the last few days but tried to suck it up for this mini reunion and trip to  the famous Santa Anita Race Track. A former sports reporter with horse racing as his beat, Peter proved to be an excellent guide at Santa Anita. "That's Gary Stephens, he played George Wolfe in Seabiscuit.  Now that guy is a famous horse trainer, trained a bazillion Kentucky Derby winners.  Is that musician Herb Alpert looking like a slob next to that fine horse?"  Only a visit to some quack at an Urgent Care center (I couldn't fly feeling that bad) could cast a pall on those final days.

     So to answer some of the questions at the beginning: Not everything is cheaper in the U.S.  Sea salt is a veritable bargain in OZ. So for all your culinary marine saline needs, load up on your next visit Down Under. Driving only became a problem in parking lots.  I think I still have $1.75 left from all that retail therapy.  No, airports will never be my friends- I don't care how fancy they are in the inner sanctum, and Detroit's airport is pretty flash.

    And finally, the theme of my vacation - in the words of George Gershwin : " 'S Wonderful. 'S Marvelous. That you should care for me."

[Yes, photos are available, just not here and now. Getting the story out now, will add art later.]