What makes a great marriage?

I was scanning some old photos recently and found this image, bent and crumpled a little like the characters are now. My parents signing the Marriage Register in London, Sid & Judy's wedding-signing registeraway from their Australian families whilst they studied and worked. Coincidentally yesterday was their 59th wedding anniversary.

Always generous, my father celebrated by taking my mother, a granddaughter and me to his favourite restaurant. Looking across the table at two very contented people prompted me to wonder what contributes towards making an enduring relationship.

Do examples in society around a young couple contribute to their attitude towards creating a strong and healthy marriage? Perhaps for my parents’ generation who wouldn’t have seen many of their parents being divorced but their example didn’t work for my sisters and me. What hope is there for my children when the average marriage lasts about 8.7 years?

The familiar saying that ‘differences attract’ might have some truth but only if those differences are not so strong that they prevent the couple from sharing experiences. How more different are the backgrounds of my father, whose parents emigrated from Italy in 1922 with very little money and limited English and my mother, a 5th generation Australian whose family was financially secure.

Yet they found their similarities to be so attractive that despite misgivings amongst their friends, ‘Marry him, but don’t drive with him,’ was proffered by a friend, they plunged into a marriage that has endured for 59 years. Neither of my parents can really define why it has worked so well, perhaps it seemed like a good idea at the time.

When I listen to their gentle bickering over a wrong bid at Bridge I wonder whether it is their competitive spirits that so attracted them? Perhaps when as in every relationship things were not working out, their determination to succeed made them persist with the marriage rather than give up on it. As my mother used to say, ‘You may not come first in every race you swim, but you can certainly try.’ Doing as well as you could at what you set out to do was an integral aspect of my parents’ lives whether it was marriage, academia or sport. Despite being in his late 80’s my father enjoys playing Golf with his mates and was hugely excited when he recently scored a Hole in One.

I remember my first husband refusing to make the children’s sandwiches because it was ‘women’s work’. Equity in marital roles wasn’t even considered when my parents married but despite quickly slipping into the traditional roles of major income earner for my father and Domestic CEO for my mother, rarely did they criticise the other’s intellect. Supremely self-confident, they become excited with new ideas, new products and places. Rather than sit on an Australian beach at Christmas they will go to Lamu in Kenya. Never have they considered that they cannot achieve what they set out to do. My father raised us with the philosophy, ‘Be anything other than boring’. Now he is constantly challenged by his iPad and how to do Internet banking overseas.

I have seen my father shake his head over the amount of money my mother spends and her reply that she makes him happy so just pay up. They have shouted and yelled at each other but never kept a grudge. They have looked after each other and laughed often. They don’t always share the other’s interest in sport or art but are willing to participate.

Sid & Judy 59 yrs_1 copy

Although sometimes critical of the other, it is not used as a destructive weapon. Irritation at the other’s independence that can seem like neglect has not been allowed to grow into an obstacle.

They can almost predict how the other will behave and think in most situations.

Over many decades they have managed to maintain pleasure in each other’s company and a joy in making the other one happy. Even after 59 years of marriage my father knows just what jewellery will delight my mother. What did she give him? Her smile.

Papaya flower stir fry

As you can see in the photo the flowers are very pretty and complemented the broccolini beautifully both in colour and size but goodness they are very bitter.IMG_5923

First I rinsed the flowers under running water to get rid of the sap, then blanched them. I sautéed finely sliced shallots, then added one smashed garlic clove, a teaspoon of shrimp paste heated in the oven, and a green chili finely chopped. I fried these up quickly, added the broccolini stems then the broccolini flowers and the papaya flowers.

I sprinkled rich chicken stock over the vegetable mixture and cooked them for a minute. The mixture looked very pretty but it was so bitter that I sprinkled 2 tablespoons of coconut sugar over the mixture before serving it to make it more palatable.  Although it was tasty, the bitterness is certainly an acquired flavour.

Papaya plants

I love breakfast. I wake up hungry and look forward to munching on fruit and toast and fresh coffee every day. In fact, if I don’t eat breakfast I am not a happy person, as my husband will testify. I never tire of eating breakfast and I think my favourite dish would be papaya with its colour of a pink and gold sunrise, the sweet distinctive smell and then the delicious flavour enhanced with a touch of lime juice. Yumm! This treat I took for granted until living in Los Angeles where I was disappointed in the quality of the imported papaya. USA import regulations use a hot water treatment which requires the papaya to be immersed in hot water at 48°C for 20 minutes that although it might kill fruit fly, tends to cook the outer layer of flesh and skin of the fruit thus altering the taste and flavour of the papaya. The fruit end up looking wrinkled and unappetising and I am not going to tell you what they remind me of (just use your imagination).

So it was with great excitement after moving back to Brisbane and its sub-tropical climate that I have grown a couple of papaya trees in my backyard. Tim, my neighbour has a papaya tree which bears so many fruit that he puts them in a box outside his front gate for local walkers to take. I decided that if he could grow them so could I. Plant lore suggests using local trees when planting the same species as they have already adapted to the nearby environment, so after enjoying my breakfast I kept the seeds from one of his papayas. I left the seeds on a sheet of kitchen paper to dry out then rubbed them in a sieve to remove the papery coating. Then it was a simple matter of planting a couple of seeds in the garden and waiting for them to sprout. And sprout they did with enthusiasm. I also had to wait until the trees flowered to determine whether I had male or female trees, which bear the fruit. The problem being that you only need one male tree to about a dozen female trees but I seemed to get more males than female trees growing. Male flowers are carried on long stalks where as the female flowers are carried very close to the trunk of the tree.

Yesterday was culling day for the males and I approached the trees carrying my tree knife, with great sadness, as I hate destroying plants. As I watched the vigorous saplings fall I was thinking what a waste of the flowers so I broke off the flower stalks and put them into my watering can.

Papaya flowers in watering can

Papaya flowers in watering can

It was fun challenging visitors to determine what type of plant they had come from because I don’t think I have seen anyone use them as a decorative flower. I can understand why as sadly the flowers don’t last very long and soon fall all over the floor or table. Does anyone have a suggestion on how to make the flowers last longer than a day or two?

I also wondered whether you could cook with them so did a bit of searching on Google and sure enough recipe posts started appearing. They are said to be bitter when used in Indonesian stir fries and the sap is caustic but if you rinse them well first then blanch the small flowers they can be delicious to western palates in stir fries. As my daughter has suggested she might cook a chicken satay tonight to celebrate Chinese New Year, I think I will contribute a new vegetable dish with stir fried papaya flowers and broccolini. I will let you know what it tastes like. Hopefully I will have found a use for the male of the species.

Sitting out the New Year

I am so over all the suggestions for what to do to celebrate New Year. I hope I don’t have to listen to too many more ‘If you’re wondering what to do tonight….’ comments over the radio. I never wonder, I will sip champagne, have a delicious meal with my husband and daughter and be totally satisfied that we are together looking out on a safe and peaceful Brisbane.

It must be a fault in my character but if I feel obliged to do something I become unenthusiastic about doing anything. That goes for New Year celebrations. However having found a wilful spider weaving a web around my Christmas Tree I decided to clean out the very small store space under the stairs. Not too many Daddy Long Legs met their fate down the nozzle of the vacuum and it wasn’t nearly as cluttered as anticipated. Son’s aviation manuals from almost 2 decades ago are being seriously culled; daughter’s stuffed toys and dolls are being deposited in her storeroom and I have offered the Grandmother’s Chafing dish which hasn’t been used in over 15 years to the children.ball leg_1 top of leg 1

I polished it up, and it started to look beautiful again with the small details on the legs giving it a lovely old-world appeal. I love using silver cutlery and dishes at every opportunity but our lifestyles have changed so much we never use warming dishes. Our dining room next to the kitchen and the deck makes such contraptions sadly superfluous. If no-one wants it I suppose short of finding an alternate use for it, we will wrap it in tissue and store it for another couple of years. It is like all the beautiful but well-worn tablecloths we inherit and rarely use: some things are just too difficult to throw out. Perhaps that could be my resolution for next year: use it, if not give it away or don’t buy it in the first place. Have a happy New Year. 

Play dough

This is my Play dough recipe.

As I have used this recipe for over 30 years, I don’t remember the source but I noted that there was one very similar on the back of a packet of Cream of Tartar. This recipe makes a very malleable play dough that doesn’t stain and is easy to clean up afterwards.

  • 1/2 cup salt
  • 1 cup plain flour
  • 2 tablespoons Cream of Tartar
  • 1 cup water
  • 1 tablespoon vegetable oil ( Canola, Sunflower)
  • 1 teaspoon food colouring
Fabulously tactile dough

Fabulously tactile dough

Put all the ingredients into a medium sized saucepan, place over a gentle heat, and cook for about three minutes, stirring all the time to blend well.  Remove from the heat, and tip onto a bread board to cool. When it is cool to touch, knead it for a minute to ensure it has blended well.  Enjoy.

Playing Granny

I lay in bed hoping that the crescendo of rain on my bedroom roof indicated that it might be easing off not because I don’t like rain but tomorrow I was playing Granny for the weekend with a  2-year old grandson. My idea for a picnic at Southbank was dissolving faster than the sugar on the scrumptious doughnut drops I had planned to buy at the local markets for breakfast. There was no way I could see myself managing to juggle child on hip, basket over the shoulder, umbrella balanced precariously under chin whilst buying groceries even with a soggy husband nearby to carry the parcels. Lying there, I sifted drowsily through 30 years of memories to remember how I had entertained my three small children during wet days over summer.

‘I’m not putting that on my toast’, complained my husband looking in horror at the bright

Fabulously tactile dough

Fabulously tactile dough

blue gluggy mess that my niece helped me make very early the next morning. Thank goodness I hadn’t thrown out the wonderful recipe for play dough that is such an easy mixture for children to cook.  Hours of fun later, whilst I made chocolate cupcakes Harry made blue muffins to serve Grandpa with his coffee.

Now I am pleased that our concrete driveway has a few depressions in which the rainwater pools. These provided endless opportunities to splash the inquisitive cat.  The wisteria canopy filtered the light rain and Harry and I revisited those wonderful childhood memories of splashing through puddles. Afterwards my budding miner put buckets of sand in the water and wriggled his toes through the slush. I now have a fine dusting of sand throughout my tiled floors reminiscent of beach holidays.

A future engineer in the family.

A future engineer in the family.

However, the pièce de résistance was our firewood pile. We had cut into small lengths the floorboards that we had replaced from our front landing. These provided hours of entertainment as Harry constructed bridges, tunnels and roads beneath my washing line.  I was redundant; he was engineer and project manager as he put together metres of highway. When he ran out of his supply of clean boards, he would carry pieces into Grandpa’s study asking for assistance in removing the nails from the lengths I had set aside. Watching from a distance with a coffee I realised he didn’t need the bright colours or complex connecting shapes. He was completely happy just placing the lengths on top of each other, beside and end to end. Occasionally he would drive his Matchbox car along the route making car sounds but most of the time he constructed and pulled apart his highway.

Not once over the weekend did we need to turn on the television or computer games. He was totally absorbed playing with dough, sand, water and timber. Occasionally he would sit and draw me a picture, and when tired we would read books. The joy was in watching this small child use his imagination to entertain himself. I was always there watching, encouraging and interested but rarely was I needed to participate. Exhausting but rewarding.

I did have a wry smile to myself when later that week, my son who had been babysitting for a day commented on how little time one got to do things and how intense it was when looking after a small child. Tell me about it.

Moon Rise over Mount Wellington Lookout, New Zealand

If you are looking for a reason to believe how wonderful being alive is, then this image of the moon might be the perfect thing. It is such a beautiful and cleverly crafted image taken by photographer Mark Gee, of the moon rising over the Mount Victoria Lookout, Wellington, New Zealand. 

I remember walking along an unlit street on North Stradbroke Island, Queensland one evening with my three primary school aged children. High in the sky above us was a huge and gloriously brilliant full moon. We didn’t need street lights as there was sufficient moonlight to see our way very clearly. I challenged the children to pretend I was blind and asked them to describe the full moon to me. Although it was 20 years ago, I still remember the beauty of the evening over the dark island and the difficulty the children had in addressing that challenge.

Whenever I thought of home whilst living away from Australia, I would often remember the times when standing on my deck I had watched the moon rise in a direct line above my driveway, or of being able to see it sink into a puddle of gold behind the Taylor Range. My aviator husband still regrets the fact that after being chosen for the American Space Training Program, it was discovered that not only was he an Australian citizen and therefore barred from participation, but he was also too tall for the space capsule.

There is something so mystical about watching a full moon rise and it is impossible not to be affected by the magic. I have even managed to get my very unromantic husband to waltz with me in the moonlight on the forecourt of the Notre Dame with musicians busking nearby. He of course says it was more likely to be the influence of too much French red wine, a fact that I dispute. Of course I never have the camera nearby or am too busy dancing to catch the moment. My only picture of the moon is one that I took very quicklymoonabove MGM bldg_1 from our kitchen window not long after we had moved to Los Angeles. I watched it rise the full length of the MGM building and then perch above it. I never saw it happen again in the 18 months we lived across from that building.

Anyone have their special moonlight moments to share with me?

Breast Feeding with élan.

Breast feeding in public never ceases to produce a hot debate and I am thinking I must be mad to even consider that I could contribute to the topic. However, as supportive of feeding in public as I am, I do think you can breast feed; as with any public act, with a touch of class.

As a preface to this conversation, I am a trained midwife, I have breast fed three children and I have done it in public and never did I receive a complaint. In fact I remember an occasion when I was breast feeding my third baby at a formal function and an Australian High Court judge came up to chat. Not realizing that I was feeding the baby, he stroked her back whilst we talked about his grandchildren. It wasn’t until she burped that he realized what I was doing. He did look slightly embarrassed but I was able to quickly put him at ease. I like to think that I managed the situation with élan.

Susie feeding Sophie

‘Duh?’ you ask, ‘What is élan?’

‘It is doing something with style and elegance and is probably the first cousin to the dinosaur Etiquette,’ says mother.

‘Duh?” you ask, ‘What is etiquette?’

‘It is social convention that takes into consideration others’ rights and needs before yourself,’ says mother.

There are often times when it is easier to feed the baby in public than to wait until you get home. A hungry crying demanding child is very distressing and cannot be reasoned with. So too are the damp patches that appear on your clothing when your milk comes down in reaction to that crying.

So here are some suggestions for Breastfeeding in public. I would be delighted to receive other serious suggestions.

How to breast feed with élan in public.

  1. Stop bosom envy. Most feeding bosoms aren’t tight and perky; they are lovely large warm pulsating mountains. Wear a shirt, t-shirt or jumper and tuck the baby under the flap.
  2. Become a fashionista; scarves and pashminas are today’s fashion accessory and great for draping over peculiar shaped bulges.
  3. A sunburnt bosom is seriously uncomfortable and leads to potential skin cancer later in life. Never leave your towel behind when going for a swim. It comes in handy as a sunshade when it is casually draped over your shoulder and your baby’s face to act as a parasol.
  4. Skin damage is so aging: avoid the Queensland turkey neck on your newborn and drape a light muslin baby wrap around your neck, allowing it to drape gently over the baby’s head to provide sun protection.
  5. Become the watcher not the watched, by choosing a corner table whilst feeding so that you can observe what is happening around you.

Nursing mothers’ rights? Well, other people have rights also, a right to express an opinion and a right to consider a different point of view. You can of course breast feed in public, it’s easy to do, just do it with élan.

Toilets as works of art

 

I banned ‘toilet talk’ at the dinner table when my children were young but this was different. I had just suggested to the grandchildren they do a pit stop before going to the park and undertaking a 2-hour drive home. These children looked at me as if I was quite mad but having lived or stayed in many unfamiliar towns over the past couple of years, I was used to taking advantage of knowing where a toilet was before venturing out for the day. Los Angeles and London were fantastic, particularly their department stores. This made me think of tourists to Brisbane and my daughter who commutes between many cities and locations queried how would a tourist manage if they needed a toilet in Brisbane.

I could answer that easily as when I was potty training that daughter I think we visited every public toilet facility in Brisbane.  However, 30 years ago there weren’t many so I became cunning and learnt a few tricks such as going into the lobbies of the Sheraton and Hilton Hotels or the David Jones and Myer department stores. The other good option was the art gallery and museum on the other side of the river (if she could wait that long).  I certainly couldn’t rely on public facilities to assist. I remember the staff of the local library telling me that the toilet was for staff use only and that I would have to take my little girl elsewhere. Anyone who has had children will know that isn’t often an option so we charged outside to the nearest tree in the park adjacent to the library and I hoped the librarian was watching from her window.

Shopping with small children was always a fraught situation and expensive, as there is nothing subtle about three toddlers in a shop all needing to use the toilet. I have bought a lot of orange juices in my time. My grandmother used the term ‘Spend a Penny’ which I didn’t understand until I began travelling around Europe where it is common practice to pay to use a toilet facility although I think it is unfair that we women support the men who don’t have to pay to use the facility. Talk about gender inequality.

Loo doors. Highway 'Services' en route Ribeauville to NormandyWe have had some funny and peculiar toilet experiences in our travels.

I have been to beautifully appointed loos such as the Savoy in London but the prettiest were the doors of toilets at a service station on the A5 in France. The pictures of birch forests in the men’s and foxglove flowers (also called ladies’ gloves) in the girls’ were spectacular.Loo doors. Highway 'Services' en route Ribeauville to Normandy                                I was intrigued with the rotating toilet seat, which came out with a new disposable plastic cover. It was tempting to press the button just to watch its action as the seat disappeared into the wall and reappeared fully dressed.

My daughter and I also found ourselves standing in front of a rather confusing toilet which looked like a space capsule in a car park in Toulouse. Neither of us could work out how to get into the capsule until a homeless fellow sitting nearby took pity on these two pathetic women and showed us how to do it. Inside, it really did feel like a space ship as it was totally hands-free; the door locked itself, self-flushed, motion sensor water and soap control, and only after that did the door unlock. You had to be quick as after an allocated time the door opened automatically. After each person, the entire system was sprayed and sanitised, thus the name Sanisette.  That homeless person earned his tip from us that day.

The most surprising toilet was at Malpensa airport outside Milan. I am not sure whether it is a requirement of EU regulations but we discovered that the ladies’ toilets still has a squat toilet. This was a challenge particularly as we were wearing long high heeled boots and stove pipe jeans. I am not sure who laughed more, my daughter or me but my New Year Resolution is to improve the muscle strength in my quads by doing more squats.

I read recently an entry on aixcentric complaining about the lack of public toilets in Aix-en-Provence. My advice is to encourage the local council to begin a ‘Toilet map’ such as the one in Australia set up by the Department of Health and Ageing as part of the National Continence Program. So no, it wasn’t initially set up to assist tourists or parents of small children but who cares it is still a very useful map of where the 16,000 public and private toilets are located.  I think it is a brilliant idea.

Craft versus Art – How to have a spirited dinner party conversation

Politics, religion and art are topics of conversation guaranteed to produce strong opinions around our dinner table with more dissension than agreement. Last night was no different as we struggled to define what is Art and what is Craft or perhaps Fine Craft with the subjects of the debate being the exhibits in the current Asia Pacific Triennial of Contemporary Art (APT7) here in Brisbane. A friend who is quite a good artist had also visited the exhibition and was happy to throw in his contribution to the conversation.  I always look forward to his Christmas Cards as they are often chosen from one of the many sketches he makes when traveling.

He felt that some of the exhibited works were more craft than art but wasn’t able to explain what prompted this concept. We couldn’t come to a conclusion because they have so many common characteristics such as imagination, creativity, skill, and of course how the piece relates to the viewer and what it’s meaning is. Using the expression of Craft would not demean the work but it does define the different disciplines required to produce each piece. One thought we had was that if the work has a connection to a utilitarian origin then even though there may have been great skill in creating that piece with an imaginative application and use of materials it might be categorised as craft.

Lou looking at Dilly Bags

Lou looking at Dilly Bags

My favourite exhibit was the enormous bags created by Lorraine Connelly-Northey from pieces of recycled iron including rolls of discarded fencing wire and the rusted inner springs of a mattress. They all were wonderful and different and I wished that I had a wall big enough to exhibit one of them. Both my sister and I thought that these were fantastic; clever, imaginative and creative based on the utilitarian ‘dilly bag’. As a woman I carry a bag everyday of my life filled with all manner of goodies. When I was on crutches a couple of years ago, negotiating stairs, the ‘dilly bag’ was essential as once I had got up the stairs I wasn’t going down them again until I had to. Everything I thought I would need for the day was thrown into the bag and slung over my shoulder.

These bags were only one of the many fabulous pieces being exhibited.Dilly bags- APT Brisbane Dec 2012Go and have a look at these and the other exhibits. They challenge your conceptions. Some are beautiful, some ugly, but all make you rethink the object’s frame of reference. It is a huge exhibition and almost impossible to view one visit. It is free so don’t rush it, go back again and again and you’ll see something different each time.