So THIS is a normal Christmas!

   For most of my adult life, I have been "away" from home...and usually working...on Christmas Day. In fact, the few times I wasn't clocking in on the 25th felt so odd I wasn't sure what to do with myself.  This is why I don't share some of the common unhappiness experienced by people who aren't living the Norman Rockwell illustrated life.  My complaint as of late is about the oppressive hot weather rather than loneliness in the face of merrymaking.
   But my last couple of years have been completely different.  Kevin's brother, Brian, lives in the area and since the birth of his son Natie has become "more normal" himself.  You know, doing "normal" things especially when it comes to holidays instead of just drinking beer with buddies.  So this is how  my holidays have become normal, also.    It's become a tradition that Kev and I will meet up with Brian, Donna and son for brunch and cracker pulling.  Imagine, how utterly normal to have pancakes (with REAL Canadian maple syrup!) , eggs and fruit  with people you know and like--even related to.  It boggles the mind.  

Assembling Natie's Toy

   I must say it was quite fun watching watching the assembly of Natie's big toy, a parking garage. Not only does it have lots of ramps, it has an air traffic control tower and a helicopter landing pad.  A really odd mix unless an adjunct kit has an airport complete with x-ray machines, Customs inspectors and airline food service delivery trucks.
  As it was quite warm today [ 38C/102F ] we couldn't wait to do something very Australian for the day- go swimming. Not in the ocean, but in our property's pool.  No one else was around.  Only then, at 3 p.m., did we bother to open presents. Who knew Australian Monopoly had a surfboard and jar of Vegemite as player pieces?  Big find of the day for Kev-- even bigger than the new vacuum cleaner he received -- were the advertising circulars my mom used to pad her package. Away from the US for several years now, he had forgotten the prices of groceries and now marvelled: "Well, bread is the same price here. What, you pay how little for beef and booze?  I'm taking this in to show at work!" Trust Mom to get the right thing for Kev.
   Completely missed some favored Christmas movies on TV for all this hoopla, but I must say this 'normal' Christmas thing isn't a bad alternative to being away from home and out of touch.
    Merry Christmas .  Happy 2011. 

My First Visitor

     Recently I received an email that stated someone I know would be in Sydney on business. It's an email I've received before, usually with a request added for me to hop over for a visit. I don't get excited about these requests, Perth is as far from Sydney as San Diego is from Boston. But my recent email was different. It was from my older sister Anne--who offered to come to Perth for a visit.  My first visitor!

Anne at King's Park

      She was only going to be in town for four (4) days.  Hmmmm, kind of made it difficult to fit in all four weeks worth of activities I planned along with a few sights she hoped to see.  If we left out all extraneous chat [it's only been nine years since I've seen her last. What's to talk about?]  I figure we could cover about 1% of Western Australia. You know, just the highlights.

'Roo at Yanchep Nat'l Park

     Kev was a good egg. He took a day off work to drive us to the Indian Ocean (EVERY visitor to WA should at least dip their feet into the Indian Ocean  and, if they can manage it, into the Southern Ocean as well)  and ,  quite importantly, through the Swan Valley so Annie and I could winery hop.  Hey, someone had to drive! We saw emu and kangaroo really close up in the bush and  koalas in a protected environment.  This is ticking off a major wildlife box, let me tell you.

Two sisters at the Pinnacles

    Well, all this tippling and animal chasing landed us in prison.  Fremantle Prison, that is.  Convict made in the 1850s and decommissioned in 1991, it's an excellent tour of the housing of..ahem... early settlers.  Can't believe they used slop buckets until the day it closed! We didn't see Fremantle in its entirety.  Both Annie and I are "on island time" except that my island is significantly bigger than hers (she lives in South Korea) and we keep a faster pace in order to cover more ground here in expansive WA.  Annie was more likely to stroll. So the car figured heavily in the plans to.....

    ...the Pinnacles.  Looks like rocks growing out of the ground. A natural phenomenon in some form in lots of countries.  Naturally, WAs are more unique than others so it is a must see.  Also a wander through the magnificent King's Park.

Polish food--smaczne!

     A "must do"  for a Westerner living in Asia when visiting other countries is eat foods you can't get at home.  Pub grub,  real Italian food and, oh my, Polish cuisine at Rembrandt's-Perth's only Polish restaurant.  [why "Rembrandt's"? The expensive artwork was already on the windows and interior when the new tenants moved in and they decided to just keep it.]  We met up with Kev's brother & family, ate too much (naturally) and had a good time.

   A list of all we missed would be extensive. Four days is simply not long enough for a thorough investigation of this area.  But it was a pleasure to host my sister for that time.  And now that we've figured out how to work the air mattress (unfolds to queen size or can stay a single) we are ready to host others.   WHO'S NEXT?!

'Tis the Season?

   The temperatures here at the bottom of the world are now just getting warmer, not colder. Friends back home bellyache about icy roads and blowing snow and I melt in envy. Australians naturally have their own connections with this time of year: beach, barbecue, cherries, mangoes, school ending for the summer.  I understand it.  I just don't feel it.  The calendar says --to me-- it's December , winter is coming!  January, a long dreary month of gray cold. February, still cold but somehow a happier month.

   As I sit here writing, I have the music from a Columbus, Ohio radio station streaming through their website and out of the monitor speaker.  They have Christmas carols playing round the clock between Thanksgiving and Christmas with an online option of non-Christmas music.  I love Christmas music, never tire of it. Never hear it here on Perth radio.  The 24/7 Ho Ho Ho and Ra Pa Pa Pum from the Columbus station lessens the disconnect I feel in December.

    TV provides only a marginal salve to the seasonal rash.  Contemporary holiday movies can be found in the TV guide and video shelf of the libraries.  But what of the classics I grew up with?   The ancient technology used in the stop-action animation staples of the season --Rudolph ["Let's be independent together"] , Frosty , Santa Claus is Coming to Town--are nonexistent.  "It's a Wonderful Life", "A Christmas Story" and Charlie Brown are also MIA.  They have no connect here. The British remember snow but don't have the American cultural connection.   And that whole winter thing just doesn't register with long time Australians.

   So this day will find me baking gingerbread cookies for various parties to be attended, listening to Kev plan the prawns (shrimp) he plans to flip on the barbie, dreaming of shoveling snow and pretending Gene Autry is singing to me. It's an odd life.

   A touch of irony here.  The tag line for  the Columbus radio station  is : "WSNY...where it's always sunny and 95."
  

Refugee Camps

   I suppose any country which is still afloat in these tough economic times is a magnet for those people wishing to escape their current circumstance.  Australia is no different although getting to this island nation can prove problematic.   United Nations-classified refugees and economic migrants drop from the sky and splash onto the shores ... and now what?   The refugees (and do not confuse economic migrants with refugees) need to be held while their identities and backgrounds are checked for legitimacy.  And where does the government warehouse the growing number of people-including families with children- arriving almost daily any way they can?  Many of the purpose built immigration facilities are becoming quite crowded.  So the federal government starts thinking outside the box.

   Enter Northam. It's a community of 4500 people about 60 miles from Perth.  It has an old WWII army camp nearby that originally held 150 soldiers.  The federal government recently made a surprise announcement that it intended to expand the facility to hold 1500 refugees within a year. Dropping this kind of bomb certainly begs reaction.

   Some people became instantly hysterical ("They'll rape our women and steal our kids")  and others calmly remembered the integration of European refugees after the Second World War.  The majority of the people remain in the middle wading through a sea of unanswered questions in topics of genuine concern.  How will this impact our economy-will local business benefit from this camp?  How will an influx of 33% of our population affect the land and infrastructure?  What are the security measures?  The national health service cannot provide the community with a doctor yet international law will require  medical services for those claiming to be political refugees - a very thorny issue for taxpayers.

   The State of Western Australia has its own questions.  WA is the closest point of entry for many of the people coming in through SouthEast Asia.  Immigration is a federal issue yet this state feels it is being asked  to handle the peripheral issues and problems associated with this people traffic unfunded.  Sort of like the Feds picking up and delivering the goods, the rest of it is the state's bother.  A bit of an oversimplification, but the feeling is an undeniable itch that is tough to scratch.

   I watch all of this with semi-detached interest.  It's not my house.  But while I'm thinking about the medical angle, let me put this message out.   The government is paying a $3000 bounty, er... referral fee, for the successful transfer of  qualified doctors from other countries.  WA needs 50 General Practitioners immediately to fill the needs of rural areas in particular.  Body snatching and midnight raids on foreign hospital staff may be more expedient but less politically correct, hence the financial incentive to residents to bring in medical family, friends and friends-of-friends.

  Any  docs looking for a sea change?

    

Condiments are King

    There is an Australian movie that rests near the heart of most Australians.  It's called "Castle" starring some well known (here) Australian actors like Michael Caton highlighting contemporary issues of its day in the 80s and even today.  It's very Aussie in many ways.  
    A movie critic [or was it a social commentator] hailed its Aussieness by pointing out that in this family's dining room was the stereotypically huge collection of sauces and condiments used in every Aussie home worth the name.  Right now, even as you and he reads this, Kev is spouting about what nonsense this is.  But I have to say I think Kev is in denial.  A quick look in our kitchen is my proof.

Condiment shelf in fridge

 The second shelf in our fridge is quick proof that no Australian home is complete without  a half dozen different mustards, hot sauces , jams, tomato-based sauces, Asian cooking sludges, curry pastes,  relishes, soy-based and chili-based food additives. I would say the whole shelf but I do manage to squeeze in an egg carton and a tub of yoghurt occasionally. The door holds a few more bottles of culinary...magic.  There are only three shelves in the fridge.  I'd say we have the full complement of condiments here.  We have a triangular pantry wedged in the opposing corner to the fridge and it also holds its share of steak sauces, red and green pepper sauces and the like.  Yes, Kev, I do have a few varieties of vinegars and sugars, but I need those for my award winning recipes and Show entries.  Plus, one can never have too many Jell-O packets in the pantry.

Bland food antidotes

    Let's move on to the spice shelf. We have only two shelves and yes, you guessed it, one of them is full of spices. This fact alone should thrill the producers of Master Chef.
They are not from a single source. The Asian shop Kev favors, Kakulas I favor, Penzeys from back home and the local grocery store all have contributed to the Cuisine du Callaghan served up in this very Australian kitchen.  It is what I came to, not created. So I tend to agree with the aforementioned TV/social commentator about the Australian kitchen and dining table.
     These last few blog entries have given you the full tour of the house.  We're back in the real world next time.  

Home Brew

    NEWSFLASH: Australians love their beer.   Yeah, OK, that is yesterday's news, or the last millennium's to be more exact.  But Kev isn't a one-brand kind of guy.  He likes variety.  He likes it to be cheap.   A "big ask" to combine the both requirements at the same time.  
    Fortuitously, a workmate said he had a beer making kit he wanted to get rid of.  Woo hoo!  Kev likes to try his hand in the kitchen and  experimental beer making would not only pair cheap and variety but add a pinch of mad scientist also!  Beer making mix (of which there are many, many varieties) costs about $12 and a couple more bucks for a bag of sugar.

It's all hopping in the utility sink

    Our bathroom has proven to be the best laboratory for the operation.  Like a cave, it seems to maintain the ideal temperature for the brewing process.  If you think I'm fussy about canning, you should see Kev with his brewing.  All water used gets boiled for several minutes before being poured into his never before used brew tub. The temperature gauge, the dark strip on the side, tells him when to start adding powders and potions. Handily, it notifies him that a constant, optimal brewing temperature is being maintained during the process.  Perhaps a little hard to see is a curved plastic vent pipe type of thing on top of the blue lid. As things are fermenting, water collects and bubbles like mad for a few days.  Music to Kev's ears, odd lullabying to mine as the gurgle goes on day and night.

    After about a week, it's bottling time.  Another delicate operation that requires much of the bathroom floor (so go now or go in the bushes!)  as empty glass pop bottles are sterilized  and then filled up with the beer mixture.  This tub yields about 24 liters (essentially, quarts) of beer or 20 liters of way too frothy ginger beer. We drank an awful lot of Schweppes tonic to supply the bottles for his beer.  And we are constantly scrounging around for plastic Coca Cola caps as they are the only size that works on the bottles.  After bottling, the three or so cases are stacked in the bathroom for several days.  If they are going to burst, this will be the time. Although I would much rather the bottles blow their tops outside plus this is the only time that this process really gets in the way of laundry and other cleaning, I hold my tongue. The cases of beer are stored under our table on the back patio for their three week maturing stage and permanent storage.  Every few days a few bottles are put into the fridge.  Kev still has the occasional Guinness or Trappist ale or whatever swamp juice is on clearance at the bottle shop, but the home brew is a source of pride and saved money.
    Pride is a good word. Kevin honors all visitors with a chance to try his homemade beer. Brewing is worked around announced visits by parents, friends and other family so they will be able to try a fresh beer themselves.  My sister Anne is coming to Perth in December and Kev is planning his next batch now.  But no reservations are really needed, a Callaghan Creation is always available.

Thankful for the Harvest and Friends

    OK, the trick here is for a greenhorn to boast of botanical bonuses (and pretend to have a green thumb) while not sounding like one of her grandmother's garden reports. If I skip the rainfall stats (there wasn't much to speak of anyway), average temps (everyplace has temps), barometric readings (ummmmmmm), dew drop indexes (duhhhhhhh) and whatever else, I'll have....

Gardenia in the Herbarium

    THANKSGIVING!   The joy of serving up smidgens of one's own puny garden as part of the grand feast and calling oneself Pilgrim.  It took me entirely too long to figure out that if the winter's rains were not going to happen, I would have to water by hand. A neighbor's tomato plants are as tall as a man, my tomato plants are knee high.  But, the long dormant gardenia plant came to life. A gorgeous, fragrant bloom heralded the harvest to come.  The herbs growing in the  same location were ready to take their place on my table.  The beets went through waves of new greenery which, happily proved par for course for that vegetable. In fact, although not a traditional Thanksgiving dish, Yale Beets was served up as part of my harvest.

   I suppose someone could complain about a lot of effort for so little result [the clay pot behind the gardenia yielded just these four beets] but I am completely stoked over the result. The greens provided a second meal's vegetable and I quickly enhanced the soil and replanted more beet seeds with the hope I'll have vegetables before summer ends. There is no 'harvest season' here like in North America. Fruit and vegetables grow year round on their own harvest schedules.  Tomatoes don't see much of summer and soon I will be picking some farmer's crop for my canning pleasure.  

Keith,  Kev,  Paul and turkey

    But back to the present,  It's getting too warm to do serious indoor cooking and, while I would cook a Thanksgiving supper on the Fourth of July, this time we have an out-of-town guest.  A friend of Kevin was here from Melbourne and the sun went into hiding for two days. So I snipped some thyme, pulled some semi-developed onions and eased the beets out of soil.  The turkey stuffed and in the oven (the smell so great a torture to the neighbors not invited) then I cut corners on preparing the  beans and sweet potatoes. Hey, it wasn't that cool outside or in to do all sorts of casseroling.  The cranberry sauce was right out of a jar. It's the best part about cooking a T-giving dinner for neophytes, they don't know what it is supposed to look like and won't know where the skimping has been done. Our neighbor Keith, who loves roasted turkey, joined us.  
    So, modest as it was on all accounts, this Thanksgiving we were thankful for the harvest and friends to share it with.

The Spring Scourge

"I don't know why she swallowed a fly, I think she'll die"... song my mother sang in deep, dramatic tones to us when we were little.

    Flies serve their purpose.  They hover around rotting vegetation and dog droppings and do what they do at the level they are in the order of the Universe.  Your path will cross with them for only as long as you are near their target. Move away from the target and you are fly free.
   Not so in Australia.  Spring is Blow-Fly Season, a time when a kajillion winged terrorists per square kilometer are out and looking for action in the form of moisture.  You won't walk away from their target. You ARE their target as the most reliable sources of moisture are your eyes, nose and mouth.  A quick swat of the hand will not permanently shoo "blowies" away.  It is easy to identify Australians from visitors in the spring because most Aussies will not be swatting at the flies on their face until the blowies are approaching an aperture. Visitors walk around with their arms and hands constantly moving as if performing an exotic dance.

    In the bush, where availability of eyeballs gets pretty scarce, the blowflies can be relentless.  You might see pictures or cartoons of Aussies or tourists in the outback wearing netting over their head or the very iconic  hat with wine corks dangling by string from the brim.  The ever moving corks take the place of your hands in disturbing the flies.  I made myself  a white net (to match my hat) and can attest to just how weird it feels to have dozens of flies crawling so close yet so far away from the face.  And how liberating it is not to have to defend yourself all the time.

    But netting and bobbing corks in the city is more than a bit silly looking. Would you wear spurs on your cowboy boots in the city?  Didn't think so.  But one must be vigilant. You could be talking on your cell phone with your husband, laughing at a joke and a blowie will find his way to the back of your throat in a nanosecond. Or you could momentarily forget to breath through your nose while exercising and that next inhale gathered more than just oxygen.  Yes, I've swallowed two blow-flies this spring. Ugh. Ewwww.  cough, cough.  I haven't died...yet...but Spring's blow-flies are about the only reason I have to look forward to a Perth boiling hot summer.

    "She swallowed a horse...she died, of course...I wonder why."   Why was this woman swallowing animals of any size? How did the big ones get down her throat? And who wrote this weirdness anyway?  Childhood questions never answered.

Cornish Pasties at the Canning Show

    This weekend was all about the Canning Show.  A regional agricultural show just six miles down Albany Highway from where I live, it is far more...accessible... than the Perth Royal Show.  Families with youngsters and oldsters appreciate the smaller grounds and fewer mazes to walk through. It's less expensive to get in.  The entertainment program includes more local talent and the public gets an eyeful of collections too small or out of the mainstream to warrant state fair attention. The Australian Model Ship Builders Society created waves with their display as did the Holden model auto club. Get up close to crafters doing origami, patchwork, machine knitting, spinning, leatherwork, hardanger (embroidered cloth with artful holes in it) and an apiarist talking about honey.  Not too many animals at this Show located on the grounds of the greyhound racetrack (guinea pigs and rabbits only) but one still can hop on a ride and buy a show bag.  The Canning Show really picks up where the Royal Show gets off. Because of their relatively immediate  registration time, the Canning Show can highlight areas the Royal Show cannot.
    Fruits, vegetables and flowers get center stage here. A gardener will know what the patch will produce one week out (as opposed to the two months lead time required for the Royal Show) and are eager to put it all on display. Just like at the PRS, the same names keep popping up on winner cards. Does anyone enter just one item?  Get a load of that giant purple turnip on the top shelf. A jack o' lantern could have been carved from it. Extraordinary amounts of silverbeet (maybe it's known as Swiss Chard in No. America) were on a table display next to rows of flowers.
   But why am I here? For the Cookery division.  The jam class is pretty limited and I don't hyper-decorate cakes or cupcakes.  I entered some cookies to camouflage my real target: the Cornish Pasty class. Pasties-the ultimate comfort food in our family and even served at my wedding.  Three Cornish pasties on a plate.   Not "party pasties" I was told at registration but full size pasties.  Friday morning I awoke at 5 a.m., propped up my Grandma's recipe and went to work peeling and chopping potatoes, rutabagas, carrots and onions.  Mixing the vegetables with ground beef by hand (the only way, so said my Grandma) and stuffing the dough. The smell of heaven baking wafted through the house and brought Kev downstairs much earlier than he normally would. Hands off- these are for judging! I delivered them still piping hot for pre-show judging.  Competitors bringing in frosted cupcakes took one whiff and rethought their breakfast plans. My entry was first on the competitors table.
    My entry was the only one with full size pasties. Everyone else, Junior & Senior division, had  cutesie-poo party pasties. No reflection on my Grandma, but my entry only garnered a red ribbon. Second place to a poofy, petite pasty with it's glazed crimped edge on top rather than on the side (OK, I'm over it now.) My mother-in-law explained later that a top crust is the Cornish way. No photo, all food was wisely covered by white fly netting.  All was not wasted, there were still a few at home. And my toughest judge approved.

Natter on the Line

    Walking home from church this morning, I heard a familiar laugh close by.  Turning to the source, I must admit I was rather surprised.  Kookaburra aren't too numerous in the west (they are an eastern bird) and they aren't big city dwellers generally, but lo, there were Mr & Mrs Kookaburra sitting on a telephone wire.  Nearby was Mr & Mrs Galah, birds with pink heads/chest and soft gray feathers taking up space on another line. On yet another wire leading from an apartment building to the main telephone pole was a third couple, some ringneck parrots, bright green bodies with black heads and a yellow band around their necks--also called Twentyeights because of the sound they make.
    I stood there and watched the goings on...the movement...the noise...the posturing. Was this the start of some aviary rumble? Smaller, less bright, less interesting birds were keeping clear of the area as the three couples squawked on. After a bit, they all dispersed and I continued to walk home.
    I mentioned this scene to my neighbor Keith who promptly confirmed it as a daily morning occurrence he witnesses on his way to work or to buy a newspaper. Ha! Imagine three pairs of birds having their "morning tea" and chat on the phone lines.   I shall now keep an eye out for them on my morning walks...and maybe bring a few biscuits  in case I'm invited to the party.

First Tuesday in November

    The first Tuesday in November means different things to different peoples.  In the U.S., it is Election Day.  The speeches are finished, the endless smear ads are off television and we all figure out when we will go to the polls.  Get up early and go before work?  Go on your lunch break or after work. Nah, eat supper first and then go.
     In Australia, the first Tuesday is RACE DAY.  The Melbourne Cup, now in its 150th year, runs the first Tuesday in November.  Everybody gets excited.  The off-track betting locations are humming and every workplace has a sweeps going.  Parties galore with women dressed to the nines from footwear to fascinator.  Who has time to watch a horse run when women's hats are on show everywhere?! It's like the Kentucky Derby on steroids.
    Except no one gets a day off work for the Kentucky Derby.  Melbourne Cup Day is an official city holiday in Melbourne. Yes, a day off for the races.  Can't get in to the Cup? There are a couple of other tracks around to get the transcendental experience or your TV at home.  Plenty of people skipping work (cough, cough. got the flu, boss) in the rest of country to cheer on the ponies.
   Now don't be too surprised that this Land of the Long Weekend --and numerous days off-- would call off work for a horse race.  Elections are held on Saturday --as an alternative to a day off-- to make sure no one's four minute voting effort is handicapped by a 6⅜  hour workday.  More than a few Australians scoff at silly Americans for working on Election Day.
   And positively stymied why Yanks would clock in on Race Day.
   Just in : Americain won the Melbourne Cup.  Don't tell me : someone named Aussie was voted into the Senate.... 

Butts Out!

    October saw some tough, and for me, welcome, new laws come onto the books.  I suppose one should not cheer a segment of the population being marginalized but I am only too happy to have smokers far, far away from my lungs.
    Cigarettes have heavy taxes on them. A pack of twenty costs $12-15 each. Legislating a further deterrent for those who light up requires manufacturers to put gross pictures of mouth cancers  next to the warnings on the packaging. Well, people have found their way around such inconveniences by cutting back on other spending or buying  cigarette pack covers. In a bold move, the new laws limit where you can actually smoke including: not inside any car where a child under 16 is present, further than 10 yards from a playground and no cigarette packages are allowed to be displayed or otherwise visible to the public.  This is bold because Australians dislike being told they cannot do something (It's a nanny state!)  but clearly everything leading up to this move has not worked.  In a country that has a national health service, the government is all too keen to rid themselves of the healthcare bill smoking escalates.  
    The debate continues on whether packaging for cigarettes should be devoid of any embellishment.  This does not please manufacturers. Having their logos, color schemes, fonts and artwork all reduced to buff colored cardboard with Times New Roman print on it is making them very itchy.
    It's hard for me to feel much sympathy for them.  So much of the Korean population smoked like hot turds in January that my last six months there were marked by one long case of bronchitis.  Cigarettes are one habit worth breaking, in my view.  Butts out!
    

Halloween? Australian Style

Happy Halloween!   It's 4:08 pm, the time when most kids are going out of their gourds back home. The excitement is palpable. Is it time to get our costumes on? No, Mom, help me with my costume first.   Don't I look gross? Bwa ha ha haaaaaa.  What, eat something nutritious first before Trick or Treating?  I wonder if anyone is giving away full size candy bars.  The neighbors really fix up their house to look scary.

   Halloween is a bit of a nonstarter here in Australia. "It's an American thing..." grumble parents . They feel it has been foisted on them by their kids who have watched every TV show and movie out of the U.S. featuring kids trick or treating and want to do the same.  Halloween parties are more common but some of my colleagues say that a few kids  knock on their door (and are ignored.)  
   Commercial entities don't miss a trick, however.  The cheapie discount stores have their disposable costume pieces and hanging cardboard skeletons out right next to their grand Christmas displays.  The two major grocery store chains make an effort, but it is alternately painful and humorous to watch them miss the mark.  The classic orange pumpkin used for carving into jack o' lanterns in North America is an exotic species here with a price to match: $26 for a pumpkin size of your head.  Little cardboard placards reminding us to "Don't forget Halloween" hang by the eggs , Brie cheese and Lindt chocolates. Who's giving away full size Lindt chocolate bars, I ask?  I'll start knocking on doors.

    So what will I be doing this evening?  Entertaining my brother and sister-in-law with a corned beef and cabbage supper.  It ends an exciting day of making jam, going to church, canning tomatoes, stirring up some gingerbread cookie dough and cleaning the house.        Trick or Treat!

Car Clubs

    One fine weekend afternoon we went for a drive in the valley and, lo, what did we come upon but a car meet.  Austin Healeys, ancient to merely vintage, all on display on the village green.  One doesn't need to have grown up in The Motor City (Detroit, Michigan) or be a gearhead to enjoy looking at cool cars.  While it is cool to have an eternal parade of four wheel fantasy drive past you on Michigan's Woodward Avenue, having ubiquitous car clubs, in even the most unlikely corners of OZ, is grand also.  
    Every small town seems to have a classic car club in it with cars regularly on display. Every nation of automotive engineering excellence has a well attended public exhibitions.  The German, the British, the Italian car clubs are now spit-shining their chrome parts for a Spring display somewhere in the metro area.
     And all are in incredible condition. There is none of the winter road salt corrosion seen on cars as in the American Rust Belt. Kev argues that the Indian Ocean puts salt in the air, but I think this beautiful Racing Green  Austin Healey must be too fast for any NaCl particles to land on it.    And really, I checked.   Very closely. 
I do not even remotely qualify as an automotive buff, but I always enjoyed  going to the Henry Ford Museum  and Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan during their antique car weekends.  Elegant Silver Shadows are parked alongside jalopies in the parking lot. So much eye candy and you haven't even officially entered the Village!

But here in Western Australia, the magic is on display also. Those who have it (and there are many) flaunt it.  Kind of like fancy dog breed owners. The interiors gleam, the engines are steam cleaned -and some painted, as well- so tops are down and  hoods are up. We drool, take photos, ask questions and owners burst with pride.


    This just doesn't happen in the state of Western Australia.  The island state of Tasmania had a Ford Model T meet and rally. Just Model T's. 
     And wasn't I jealous just watching the footage on TV.

     Not to cast aspersions  on our own Faithful Steed, but gawking at the classics is a fine thing to do on a fine afternoon.
     
    

Victoria Park Toastmasters

Sandra in Action

Toast on display in library

    Well, everyone who knows me knows that I'm not toooooo shy.  Speaking in front of a crowd poses very little difficulty for me. In fact, I love an Audience.
      So why would I join a speaking group like ToastMasters? I had been to a TM meeting with a friend almost ten years ago and nothing clicked in the Interest or Need departments.
   Call it a convergence in my universe when I finally realized : other people existed and were interesting in the world, potential employers glancing at their watches or eyes glazing over while you talk is not a good sign, and that my best stories/answers  came to me about an hour after they were needed.  The classic TMJ Syndrome--Too Much Jaw. I needed to learn to say more while speaking less. Be brilliantly brief instead of volunteering voluminous verbiage.  And when a new ToastMasters branch was starting up here in Victoria Park on the next street, motive and opportunity met. I signed up.  Everyone feels the benefits straight away.  We learn some excellent technique and the Commendation-Recommendation-Commendation style of evaluation by fellow members is helpful without being confrontational or unsupportive.
     Admittedly, some Toasties are pretty hardcore.  They don't have and don't want any other activities in their lives, or so it seems.  Most of us at Vic Park just want to improve our speaking.  Our six month old club is too new to start dreaming of TM world domination but we went ahead with the annual speech contest process this year.  Yours Truly won both the Humorous Speech and Table Topic sections at our branch. I went on to our District comp but was edged out.  This is O.K.  The experience was yet another reminder not to go over time on my speeches (a chronic issue for this gal) and frees me up to help judge other speech competitions.
     And it frees me up to start working on the speech due on Monday.  I could enlighten everyone on how to win blue ribbons at state fairs.  But can it be done in under seven minutes...?
 

  

2010 Perth Royal Show finale

3rd Place Colorful Peppers

    There are some similarities between the Perth Royal Show and the Ohio State Fair: one needs to register entries two months before the event (often leaving people to enter things that do not yet exist) and that there are so many surprises.  Take my colorful peppers (or capsicums, as they are called here) four different colors striped in a jar. Looked like candy...and lost to some drab "dilly beans".

Blue Ribbon Tangy Tomato Jam

   And then there was the tomato jam experiment. I had never heard of tomato jam before last year when a friend mentioned how much she loved it. Really? So I experimented with some cheapy grape tomatoes and made a few batches, threw out two and saved one small jar of stuff that didn't make our eyebrows curl.  And rather surprising at that seeing as how it had vodka and hot peppers in it.  Looky here, a blue ribbon! And I had no idea what I was doing or that I was leading a trend. Savory jams are becoming quite popular and next year it will be a category of its own. I am quitting while I'm ahead.  
    But it begs the question, what made this right? At the Ohio State Fair, the only feedback offered by the judges is at the time of judging. Miss that and you miss out. At Perth's Royal Show, the judges write down comments at the closed judging which contestants  pick up at the end of the fair.  This is when I will find out what was wrong with my colorful capsicum confetti relish (which did not look as mushy as the other relishes) or why my gingerbread kangaroo cookies were not up to scratch.
   And because it was asked; Yes, the Quince Strawberry Jelly of amazing clarity featured in the last blog did win the blue ribbon.  The prolific prize winner named Reuben who made it is even featured in a cooking/competition book printed locally, as are other serial ribbon grabbers.         I have a new goal in life.
   Ever watch the 1947 (or even 1962) movie, "State Fair"?  Notice how everyone dresses up to go there, especially at night? Apparently that was the case here in OZ, also.  The treasurer of the Country Women's Association commented to me how dress standards have changed, "why, we would get a NEW dress to go to the Show!"  O.K. I'm having a tough time seeing the standard fair goer donning a suit and tie or high heels with a linen dress. Does a shirt with buttons qualify as dressy now? Good, call me a Swell.

   Kev is a reluctant fair goer, even without a tie. But a free ticket and the promise of free food got him there. "Only for a couple hours, grumble grumble."  And lasted five, spent gawking at squawking poultry, daggy sheep, washed & blow-dried cows and eating all free food samples that we could get our grubby hands on. (Some things are universal regardless of what you call the fete.)

Kev at The Show / Poultry

We watched some young teens trying their hand at sheep shearing. Not as easy as the pros make it look.

Learning to shear lambs

Emu  - so not pretty

What I always wonder is why do so many animals look like a science experiment gone wrong? Especially some of the birds. Maybe butt-ugly has been their best defense for ages and now celebrated at state fairs and royal shows world wide.  Ewwwww.

Fancy decorated cakes

   Now let's talk pretty. I have always enjoyed looking at the decorated cake section of the fair. The science of baked cakes is nice enough but the fondant finery draws the bigger crowds everywhere.  I have no hope of ever diverting my creativity into a frosted delight. It's just not in my DNA. But I encourage  and enjoy it from others.

   My State Fair/Royal Show is done for this year. Now it's ten months of planning for the next one.

  

Getting Ready for the Show

Stewards at Work

More fussy entrants

   At this time of year, who isn't singing "Our state fair is the best state fair...don't miss it , don't even be late."  And such would be the case here in Perth, although it is called the Perth Royal Show.  It's a very busy place at the moment as everyone from vendors to show contestants scramble to get set up by Saturday morning.

Jaw Dropping Jelly-so clear!

   I couldn't tell you why my nerves were vibrating as I brought in my entries. But I was not the only entrant biting my nails, fussing about the handling of each entry, wiping away crumbs from baked goods or fingerprints from jars.  This must be the toughest day for the stewards.  So many nervous nellies coming in and fretting endlessly.  The least nervous of the bunch seemed to be the kids entering their baked creations in the Junior Division. The little oddballs actually looked excited.

      One consolation to this whole process is getting a close-up look at other entries. "She entered that?"  "Oh, that is a nice touch" "How did he get that Quince Strawberry Jelly soooo clear? And how did he keep his family from digging into it?"  The stewards and the 35-year veteran of competition was impressed by the clarity of this year's jelly.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So as everyone scrambles to get set-up (and I to work!) Watch this space for the finale.

Diving season

   My neighborhood is a bit dangerous this time of year. No, it's not the young guys hooning in their souped up cars. Nor have petty thieves started congregating in larger numbers.
   It's nesting time.  And somewhere  in the tall tree planted  at the traffic circle at the corner of McMaster and Washington is a thrush nest. Or at least I think it is in the center. Might be in the northeast corner fig tree.  Hard to tell. We don't stand around long enough to search for it.  The thrush dive bombs everyone who walks past this corner (and who doesn't?) and snaps her wings at your shoulders and your head.  Keep away from my babies!  No one is safe. None of us has even the smallest inkling of hauling our backsides up a tree to bug this bird's bubs. But there is no avoiding this corner in the center of the street.
   Our neighbor Keith says that some magpie on the next street is also getting a bit territorial.  I noticed that he seems to keep a much faster pace these days. Me , too. I thought of getting a nice snapshot of someone copping grief from Mrs Thrush.  It would be altogether too easy with barely a wait for results.  Except that would have put me in harm's way, as well.  And I have no intention of recreating a scene from a particular Hitchcock movie.
   How long  does it take for baby birds to fly the coop?

A simple man's supper

   Ever have a day when, after running a jillion errands and realizing the to-do list just isn't getting smaller, you just want to go home? And just stay there.  Relaxation in your favorite chair is your refuge.  I was like that today.  Walking into the supermarket -- for the second time because I forgot the urgently needed toilet paper the first four times I walked into a store-- I spotted a store bakery worker with many batards in a baker's trolley near a display table.  She was bagging them as fast as she could to an advancing crowd of customers.
   In a heartbeat I was transported back to Korea.  If I was late returning home from my morning classes I would stop in at the bakery in my alley.  The baguettes would be coming out of the oven. Hot, yummy baguettes. Normally I would only get one of her narrow, 15-inch loaves as I am not a big bread eater.  But if they were hot, and she would make me wait a few seconds to be sure I got one just out of the oven, I bought two. I would then race home and eat one right away. As fast as I could tear a piece off and put a dab of butter on it.  Not just delicious but soul anchoring goodness. Feeding not just a body but a psyche. Like being warmed by your own personal ray of sunshine with a rainbow chaser.
   Back to Coles.  I race walked to the baker trolley. The batards- 11 inches long and maybe three inches wide-  are very hot. A buck a piece.  I'll take two! She gets them into a bag and I race to get the t.p. (was this really that urgent?) pay and race home. Broke speed limits and chased pokey women to the curb. I didn't unload the car, just the important stuff. Bread still hot. Grab some butter. Tear the bread. A thin shave  of butter on top...the whole thing melts in your mouth.
   I could have wept.
   A few more bites. Are my hands shaking? Then I remember I have triple-cream Brie from Tasmania (at a huge discount,of course). The bread has cooled to merely warm. The brie, spread only slightly thicker than the butter, works very well.  The heels of the batard never got cold or I might have slowed down enough to cut up an apple.  Mom says that bread, cheese and apple is a "simple man's supper"  although how simple can a person be if she is eating an oven-hot batard (or baguette) and triple-cream brie? But how can a person be so homesick and so at home at the same moment?
   The second loaf has now thoroughly cooled.        Kev can have it.

My $5M Herb Garden

     My favorite park in Columbus, Whetstone, has a wonderfully large rose garden and an herb garden within it.  I liked walking through the rose garden in June and September when the roses were in bloom.  I loved walking the circular herb garden to check its progress and admire the great variety of mints, botanical remedy plants and common cooking herbs. Before certain members of the general public would ...too enthusiastically...help themselves to some of the greens (although no one actually harvested an entire plant with its roots) I would pick a few leaves or strands, immediately tape them to a card and mail them to my mother.  It was a little game we played: Identify the Plant. I don't know of another public park that has such a garden.

Ham, er, gull, in "Urban Orchard"

     Perth is taking a stab at it. Late in August, the city unveiled a public space that had been made into a "Urban Orchard". Raised beds of herbs, lettuces and citrus trees have been set up next to the WA Art Gallery in the Cultural District.  A nice sitting space at lunch for downtown workers and shoppers. Probably a pit stop for partiers in nearby Northbridge at night.  It is meant to complement a nearby water fountain that has had some dirt and mulch tossed into it to form a living swampland for birds and such.

Sandwich and salad greens. Yum!

Now, you might guess that garden would benefit taxpayers in a small way.  You know, a leaf of lettuce for your sandwich or an orange for dessert.  A little something, just like at Whetstone.  After all, the City paid five million dollars [$5,000,000] for that silverbeet and lemon tree plotted area. No dice.  Signs are up hailing the beauty, forwarding thinking and greening of public spaces along with admonishments not to pick anything. "They" (whoever "they" are) will harvest the produce for appropriate use. Yeah, whatever that means. Good luck with that plan. I can only see Australians being even more...enthusiastic...about getting a share of the public plot. Especially when it is so handy. Peter Rabbit Lives!

One Day in Pompeii

Pompeii Exhibition? Where?

   I have been a volunteer for almost as long as I can remember.  I was a Teen Volunteer growing up in Oak Park, Michigan even before I was a teenager. And rare is the place I have lived since that I have not raised my hand for some sort of duty. I couldn't tell you why I volunteer, I just do. It's just part of my fabric.  I don't always choose long term volunteer assignments. In fact, the short-term, event-based opportunities are the ones I pick most often.  I don't have as much free time to give and I must admit that I get annoyed with volunteers who have agendas other than service to the community ["What's in it for me? Free tickets? I want them now."] and my impatience eventually starts to leak. It's good to know one's limits.

Vesuvius victim

   I was very interested to hear that the WA Museum was getting in an exhibition about Pompeii.  Ha! My high school Latin has come in handy.  I know about Pompeii and like that it is in Perth for a few months bridging a gap between Melbourne and Singapore stops.  The back end of the planet doesn't always get the cool stuff. And this is cool stuff.  The tickets are a bit pricey, $20 while the rest of the museum is free, and the special exhibition space is  a bit crowded, but these 2000 year old artifacts are amazingly well preserved and well displayed. Kev used my free ticket last night and gives the exhibition presentation  two thumbs up. An incredible 3-D movie explains that fateful day in August to those who are unaware of its story. There is a bit of every facet of everyday life presented. My favorite to point out to little kids is the 2000 year old loaf of bread ["If you get to taste it, let me know what it's like"]   and  the vivid colors of the frescoes remain so on the walls appearing at the back of the show room.

Les & Charlotte showing off souvenirs

    The souvenirs are pretty cool,too.  Adult size metal helmets, "antique" pottery , gladiator games, jewelry, Italian olives, WA olive oil (?!) and the creme de la creme: a functional catapult pencil sharpener. I have one.
    Usually an exhibit has a planning and preparation schedule of 18 months. As this was a last minute opportunity for Perth, only four months was available to get things ready. The Volunteer Coordinator, Les, is a good guy and a very lucky man.   His core work force consists of "professional volunteers"- folks who are always pleasant, courteous, engaging and show up for extra shifts.  People who are content to squeeze in a four month commitment because they are asked.  We are but a week away from the end of the  show and, predictably, there is a noticeable attrition rate in body count. But the bodies that are there really count.  Tomorrow is my last shift and the volunteer party is next week.  
     The Art Gallery next door wants to capitalize on this warmed-up, free work force for a special exhibition of theirs coming next month. Peggy Guggenheim's Venetian estate is loaning the A.G. many of its incredible works of art for a three month exhibition.  Expect to see many of the same smiling faces.