nest

Date Night

Rod and I are going on a date tonight. We've decided to have one night every month to ourselves. One night might be fish n' chips by the bay, another a movie, the next all dressed up and a meal in a posh restaurant. And I'm really excited about it. What will I wear?

A friend asked me whether we still find things to talk about. What were we going to say to each other for a WHOLE EVENING? That hadn't crossed my mind, actually. We always find things to say to each other. I thought that went without saying but apparently, we're some of the lucky ones. I've always found Rod easy to talk to. He's interesting, funny and interested. And he 'gets' stuff that I say... where others may give me quizzical, furrowed brow stares. And if he doesn't get it, he pretends to, did I mention his impeccably good manners?

When I was young and carefree living in Sydney, for a short while, I took first dates (yes, I've always been the assertive one) to Planet Hollywood. What a loser. If I was blessed with the gift of the gab and not with nervous panic attack muteness, I may not have done this, however... there are lots of things to talk about in Planet Hollywood. 'Do you think that's really Michael Jackson's actual glove?', 'Ha! Look at these yearbook photos of Hollywood stars! How daggy was Meg Ryan?!', oh, this is embarrassing.

I took Rod to Planet Hollywood in our early stages. But I didn't need my props, my 'conversation starters', this was different, this one was a keeper.

So, tonight were out on ANOTHER date, nearly 12 years after our first, and I can't wait.

Carrots

 
image from here

I have three carrots dangling at the end of a pole held above my head. The carrots are in front of my eyes, I can see them, they're close, but every time I move towards them they move forward too. Just out of reach.

(Rod just read that above paragraph and found it hard to understand. He said it took him a while to see where I was coming from. Did you get it? You know, like a donkey being encouraged to walk forward with the promise of a carrot on a string. The donkey moves, the carrot moves. Donkey, not Ass.)

I'll catch them, though, time will stop them in their tracks to only move on, as time does, and I'll have to look over my shoulder to see them.

This is a busy time and my carrots help keep my head up and my feet moving.

CARROT #1: Holiday to a Whitsunday Island. Oh, bring it on!

 

CARROT #2: Weekend away with four very dear friends. (I was going to say old friends... we've known  each other since school, but they're my age and thats... well, it's not THAT old.)

image from here

CARROT #3: Christmas. I love Christmas. I decorate, I bake, I write cards (do email cards count?), I wear kitch dangly angel earrings with flashing lights, I wear red and white and green, I spend too much money... etc. You'll hear much more about Christmas over the next couple of months... stay tuned, you know you want to.

 

image from here

Onwards and Upwards

A few months ago Rod slept out in a queue to get Tom into a state school. We were number 2 in the line that started at 5.30pm the night before the open day where registrations are taken. The reason we had to line up is because we live outside the catchment area for this school... and our local school is... well... not recommended. ANYWAY (and I can hear all the eye rolls and frustrated intakes of breath from my school teacher friends, I can hear you), we got in. YAY! They took 4 from the sleep out queue. Four.

So, we've received the information pack with uniform requirements, book lists, orientation day dates, parent nights... etc. I'm so excited about it. But in a nervous kind of way. I want to wrap him in cotton wool and protect him from bullies and heart ache and embarrassment and wrong choices and nudge him down the RIGHT PATH. I want his steps to land where I think best. My control freak tendencies need to be repressed, yes, aware of that. I need to allow him to make mistakes and learn from wrong moves, learn from life. I guess primary school is the first step in letting go. Apron strings and all that.

I do know that my apron strings are strong, they'll never be broken, no knife or scissors can cut them. That doesn't mean I intend to lock my kids in the attic for the rest of their lives, we don't have an attic. I'm lucky, because my apron strings are made of indestructible elastic, just like my Mum's, it's genetic. They'll stretch around the world if they have to and if my two don't let go (heaven forbid!)(and even if they do...) they can bounce back to me whenever, however, whyever.

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. It's only the first step. The first of many steps.

Many steps that will take my children away and onwards and upwards.

I've been looking at staircases, for a few different reasons,but  mostly because puns are my thang. Here are some that caught my eye.

I think of my friend Fiona when I see this one.

 

You'd need a sure footing to ascend and descend this one.

Where's the hand rail on this next one? Not built to the Building Code of Australia... unfortunately, must be overseas. And there must be no children in the house, you'd have to think.

I do love cantilevered glass.

 
Simple and elegant curves.

 

Organic curves and natural materials makes this next one appeal. Not necessarily the choice of roman blinds and directors chair accessorising, however.

 And no collection of staircase pictures would be complete without one of the most famous art nouveau staircases in the world. Isn't it beautiful?  

One foot in front of the other, my boy.

Eggcellent

Everyone has their own personal Holy Grail for which they are on a pilgrimage to find, hold in their own hands and raise above their heads, aloft, shouting with joy, 'This is it! I've found it!' And then some people's Holy Grail might only be Monty Python's. This is OK. I can accept that.

My Holy Grail is the perfect poached egg.

Not only to eat the perect poached egg but to COOK the perfect poached egg.

Oh, there are many methods, all involving hot (not boiling) water and eggs. That's all it is- water and eggs. And vinegar, for some.

I have two favorite breakfasts, one for when I'm at home and one for when I'm dining out (which has been rarely these past few years as children and cafe breakfasts just don't mix... I've found).

1. DINING OUT- Eggs Benadict. Even though I've had some BAD ones, if I feel the vibe, I'll order it EVERY TIME. All time best is at Hugo's on Bondi Beach sitting in the restaurant, but at the window, with a glass of Champagne. That's living.
2. AT HOME-Toast with butter and orange marmalade or black cherry jam, a cup of tea in a big mug, eaten standing up in the kitchen. I know. Weird. But it's not the same sitting down. And the better the bread, the better the breakfast.

I also like poached eggs at home. This is my comfort food egg and toast meal (Rebecca, George and Gina, you may remember this from Tandy's... oh so long ago), and the sequence is IMPORTANT, a plate, toast, butter, vegemite, a slice if cheese, HOT creamed corn, a poached egg, worchestershire sauce, salt, pepper. Oh yeah. You must try it. Avocado on the side, too.

So, the many and varied ways to poach an egg. Each weekend I'll try a method and write about it on nest. The first I'll write about is the one I mostly use when I poach. Here we go...

METHOD 1; THE WHIRLPOOL METHOD

Get a large saucepan of water with a tablespoon (or so) of white vinegar and bring it to the simmer. Crack an egg into a cup. Then get a longish implement and confidently and surely stir the water as fast as you dare without spilling hot water down the sides of the saucepan, creating a whirlpool.

Then tip the egg into the centre. Have the heat LOW AS IT GOES, or even turn the heat off. At this point you'll think, 'What on earth have I done! This is NEVER going to work! It's just egg and water soup!' But then, before your very eyes it starts to come together, the spinning slows and the tendrils of egg white wrap around each other until a ball, of sorts, is formed.

Have a slotted spoon at the ready, and a plate with a couple of layers of paper towel, or a clean tea towel on it. After a few minutes lift out the egg and GENTLY push the yolk with your finger. Is it soft? Is there any uncooked white? Are you hungry? Did you I leave the iron on? If your answers are YES, NO, YES YOU BET and WHAT IRON? Then it's ready. Let it sit on the towel for a bit to absorb any excess water and lay it EVER SO GENTLY on a piece of toast.

Get your knife and make a slit in the yolk letting it OOZE out. Maldon salt it and enjoy.

Mmmmmm. You can see that I like my eggs. I can't wait until I have farm fresh eggs from Chooktopia. Any day now...