Happy Christmas Followers

Christmas is here and we are hours from the traditional drunken tabletop Hakka performance by my Dad. My siblings and I are convinced the words change every time and Mum thinks we might have to get a lower table so he doesn’t break his ankle as the spring in his step gets a little less springy each year.

I take this opportunity to thank you for your wonderful support in my first ever attempt at blogging. Many of you have sent texts, emails, made comments and made me feel as though this five day a week commitment has been worthwhile.

In the coming year, I will try and enhance my ‘following’ base and aim to learn more about the publishing industry. There will be more book reviews, more writing and more reflections on day-to-day life. The bottom line is every one has a right to write so write I will.

See you in January some time when I will crack my century – hopefully the Aussies do too!

Enjoy Christmas in the warm embrace of those your cherish most!

Crisis-mas - Christmas Fiction

I had to write a fictional flat character story about Christmas at the dinner table, for my novel writing course (below). My real Christmas is far from this, but the part about Gwen is fact. My granddad brought his ex alcoholic girlfriend to several of our Christmas lunches.

What's your Christmas lunch/dinner like?

Crisis-mas – Christmas at the Hollander’s House

There was a lot of tradition about this particular Christmas. Grandpa Johno bought along his widowed, alcoholic ex-girlfriend, Gwen, in the company of Grandma Dawn of course. Gwen’s kiss invariably prickled your top lip and her breath tried to suck you back into its dank origins. Meanwhile, two gaping holes in her shawl, where fox eyes had once been, hung suspiciously over her shoulder. Dawn’s violet eyes reassured it would all be over soon.

Johno said the grace, like a praying mantis contemplating his next maneuver. His spindly arms reached out to pat Gwen’s shoulder - caressing Dawn’s warm tar-stained hand under the table.

My sister Sally had yet another baby suckling her breast, her milky white mounds catching the conniving eye of older brother Con, who slunk off into the kitchen to prepare his practical joke – who would get the fish eye this year?

Peter had the look of a sleep-deprived man. Hair fluffed-not brushed and shirt creased from its battle to find space in his wardrobe. Swinging off each arm like incorrigible monkeys were his sons Jake & Tim. Peter looked at the leather recliner, willing an afternoon nap.

Jake’s hair negotiated its own path and came out the side of his hat in tuffs of blonde. Green eyes peeped out beneath the peak and milk teeth beamed from below. Tim banged his spoon down with conviction. His robust body rolling down to his toes, where his ankles disappeared into his squishy baby feet. Johno was still convinced that a rap on the bottom would do no harm. Here comes the ‘when I was a child’ story…

At 22, Simone glowed with summer’s warmth and the promise of bikinis. The novelty of holding a baby for five minutes, giving her a freshness and innocence. She’d had weeks to carefully choose her designer children gifts.

Dad’s face beaded in sweat with a crimson Christmas cracker hat stretched to the limit. His cheeks flecked with sunburn, sweating over the BBQ. His arms thick, tough-skinned and brown – just like the Bratwurst sausages we were about to eat.

Watching Gwen tear open her sausage was a sight to behold. Washing down bloodied Bratwurst and a pinot with undertones of blackberry. Again I felt the warmth of those violet eyes and a subtle wink. How can Dawn put up with this?

Mains over - it was time to exchange gifts. Guaranteed to be 4711 perfume for the girls and Brut for the boys. Two sickly scents that sent your head into a kaleidoscopic spin. Mum was the first to be effusive with her thanks, her brown hair swept sensibly into a bun. Simone started to splash it on her neck and Sally almost intoxicated her sons as she pushed her wrist to their little noses. Con & Mick weren’t so obliging with their Brut but gave Dawn a perfunctory kiss all the same.

Johno’s paper-thin hands, like lanterns swinging in the evening breeze, delicately unraveled the homemade surprise from the children. Behind his severe looking thick wedge frames, a tear escaped.  His spindly hands reached out for the well-fed warmth of the toddlers.

Mick and Sonia, my other brother and his wife, presented their triple layered chocolate torte, a likeness to Sonia’s top with its swirls and splodges of brown. Mum predictably asked for a thin sliver as she sat there elegant, poised and proud.

“Anyone for dessert?” Mum chimed. Con looked smug and Mum looked concerned. What if Gwen accidentally got the fish eye? Or was that the plan?

Sally started to splinter when the salmon eye glanced back from her torte. Her brow knotted itself into an ominous scowl and I thought my brother was going to have the same fate as Gwen’s shawl.

Dad saved the day with his insistence of The Twelve Days of Christmas. Mick was ‘five golden rings’ and Simone was ‘nine ladies dancing.’ Mum leapt in before Sally was awarded ‘eight maids are milking.’

As the coffee and chocolates marked the end of another Christmas lunch, Dad jumped on the table, a 6-foot excitable beetroot, ready to commence the traditional Y.M.C.A dance. Over-imbibed on sun and wine. Loud. and colourful. Dad spurted and sprayed the words – spreading Christmas cheer. 

Sally stormed off to change baby Christopher’s nappy. Simone sat pouring over her much-coveted C.D. Everyone else propped themselves up on the couch, full to the brim with Christmas cheer and Bratwurst sausages. A gentle breeze from the open door teased Gwen’s whiskers as she slept…

Christmas Drinks & Nibbles

Cars are streaming down our street looking at the lights and I have just bid my neighbours a happy Christmas as they departed from drinks at our home. I’ve had more than my usual D.C (yes that addiction book did a lot of good…ha ha) and drank two champagnes to celebrate.

I haven’t prewritten a blog and I am not going to waffle on about the meaning of Christmas or try and dissect some book under the influence. Instead I am going to share a recipe that I made for my neighbours tonight. It’s for Thai chicken coriander muffins and they are such a cinch to make. Delicious!

I love hand written recipes that get splattered with food from being made so many times. There’s something warm and inviting about cooking something that my grandma would bake or a food replicated from a past holiday.

I’d like to say that I met some Thai lady on our honeymoon who took us to her village and made these exotic muffins, but really it was a reader’s recipe in Women’s Weekly or the like. Enjoy!

Thai Chicken Coriander Muffins

500g chicken mince

¼ cup oyster sauce

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 tbsp self raising flour

1 tbsp fish sauce

½ cup finely chopped fresh coriander leaves

2/3 cup lite coconut milk

*soy sauce and sliced chillies or sweet chilli sauce for dipping sauce suggestions

1.    Preheat the oven to moderately hot 180 degrees fan-forced

2.   Combine all ingredients and place large rounded tablespoons in mini muffin trays

3.   Bake in mod hot oven for 15 minutes or until cooked through.

4.   Turn chicken muffins out and serve hot with dipping sauce of your choice

What's Your Status?

I was having this conversation with my family the other day about how instant and far-reaching social networking is these days. People can check their emails on their iphone, update their status on Facebook and tag a photo in a minute or two. I haven't got one of those fancy phones yet. I'm still the snail mail girl!

I find the social media 'thing' daunting yet interesting, but when it comes down to spending quality time, I'd prefer to pick up a phone than tell someone electronically what I ate for dinner or what I'm doing that split second. I guess I like to keep some things private.

Speaking of privates, Nick Riewoldt must be cursing the 'viral' world. Whether or not friends or a stranger took the naked photo is irrelevant. Australian privacy laws are so ambiguous and anyone has the right to publish a damaging photo on Facebook or similar sites without breaking the law. Lads who fooled about with their pants down is having far reaching implications for St Kilda Football Club when the girl should have just kept her peepers off the image. But how many B&T's have accidentally popped up on the internet and how many of us are quite happy to have a little perve?

Facebook and Twitter are valuable marketing tools. In the world of books all good publishers use it to promote their products with author signings, quirky competitions and reviews. They can deliver their message instantly and cheaply.

I am an infrequent user of Facebook. I go through spurts of writing messages and was amazed when I had a little surf through my profile and friends' pages and saw how much people divulge to the wider world. As for the 'like' thumbs up business - this affirms that there are a lot of snoops out there!

The questions is did I see the St Kilda boys' crown jewels. Absolutely! Be careful of the camera lens - it doesn't lie!

Receiving a cup of tea. Hot hot hot. Will drink in 3 minutes...ha ha

Card Only

When I write a birthday or Christmas card I like to fill the entire card with my message. I can’t quite see the point in a To ……… from …………… type of card. It costs 60 cents to post it and even more if it is heading overseas. Fill it with news and heartfelt wishes I say.

With emails and environmental excuses about our carbon footprint, cards and letters are becoming less common. Nothing beats going to the letterbox and finding bright coloured envelopes amongst the plain windows and logos. Someone has taken the time to write a message to me.

Sending a Christmas card with an extensive message is a perfect opportunity to forego the gift and write something that counts. You can’t give a meaningful gift after the occasion but you can always deliver a card. Speaking of forgetting birthdays, I forgot my daughters friend’s party today. For some reason I had Tuesday in mind. I better write a meaningful card for this one!

I still have a few Christmas cards to tick off my list and will endeavour to write an epistle in each. Whatever I write will come from my thoughts and is a genuine way of saying thank you for being my friend.

*This beautiful card design is by local artist Kathryn Schafter from Billie Cards at billicards.com.au. She makes the most beautiful designs to accompany those warm thoughts.

That's What I'm Talking About

It's definitely the pointy end of the year and hard enough to fit in Christmas parties and school and kinder breakups let alone my blog.


I've decided that I will take a good few weeks break from blogging on Christmas eve and may write the odd entry here and there. I will have cracked 100 entries by then so a well earned rest will do me no harm.


I am currently reading ex Hawthorn footballer Shane Crawford and Glen McFarlane's co written autobiography That's What I'm Talking About and I'm enjoying the chatty and honest nature of the book. Crawford was a BMX enthusiast and beat the reigning Australian champion but his Mum couldn't afford to support that pursuit so he chose footy instead.


It's funny how your kids get thrown into sport and tend to begin in a safe pursuit that mum or dad like and can afford. My son gravitated towards balls when we were still counting his age in months. He is rarely seen without some sort of shaped ball in his hand. I've avoided any sport with an early rise requirement, like swimming, and steered my daughter from  the competitive and sequin-sewing world of dancing.


Elite athletes have committed and supportive parents. Leyton Hewitt, Shane Crawford, Tiger Woods and the Williams sisters would never have accomplished all their pool room treasures without someone driving them to practice, buying their equipment and cheering them through wins and losses.


My hub and I stood out in the rain and cheered our son on in his cricket match tonight. Not because we think he is the next Ricky Ponting but because sport is so important physically, socially and emotionally and our son just can't get enough of it, even trading his best friend's 6th birthday party and a bottomless plate of fairy bread for the cricket whites.


An insatiable appetite for sport and unwavering parental support -That's What sic[Crawford's] Talking About!"

"CHRISTMAS!"

We play this game called Christmas where we spot a house adorned in lights or decorations and shout the buzzword “CHRISTMAS.” It’s a bonus that some people leave their curtains open so you can see their tree.

Our house, as I’ve told you, is currently like Times Square with all sorts of sequences and colours flashing and blinking in my cottage garden. It took my hub and I one and a half days to hang, connect and cover the cords from the elements. Finally we are able to yell “CHRISTMAS” as we drive in our driveway at night.

Why do we do it? Why do others catch this Christmas lighting bug? Some say to spread the Christmas spirit. Others do it to light up their children’s faces and some because they’ll be the odd one out if the rest of the street is participating. We do it because it creates a magical atmosphere for our children and anyone else's children. It’s as simple as that.

Yes it’s hard work untangling lights, negotiating ladders and replacing bulbs but when you turn on those lights they create a language for little minds. They stir happy and inventive thoughts. Lights like little stars hanging on the branches, reflecting in eyes of wonder.

Twinkle, twinkle, Christmas star

How I wonder what you are

Up above the world so high

Like a diamond in the sky

Twinkle, twinkle Christmas star

Timberrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Today the giant gum that has stood majestically in my parents’ yard through my childhood, teen years and adult days, fell to her knees and is nothing but logs, mulch and saw dust.

All 30 metres of this fifty-year-old gum was cut branch by branch until all that remained was a gaping hole. Unfortunately the tree had died with the droughts of recent years and was a danger to children who played underneath. A permit had to be obtained, as did neighbour approval and six months later the old tree is gone forever.

It shares the secrets of my childhood when we swung on the old swing, looked for spiders in her bark, had a picnic in her shade or hid Easter eggs in her roots. I feel a little nostalgic and can’t believe that this once unmovable species is merely fuel.

It reminds me of a story I read many years ago. A boy was friends with a tree. He swung in its branches, played in the shade and made boats with its bark. As he got older he picked its apples and engraved heartfelt messages on the trunk. As an adult he had less time for his tree friend but needed wood to build a home and branches for the fire, so he cut them off his tree.

The man returned to the tree as a sad and lonely old man. He had squandered his money and lost his home and possessions.

The boy said to the tree I have eaten your fruit, cut down your branches and sawed off your trunk. You are useless to me.

I am sorry dear friend said the tree but you can sit and rest on my stump.

My Mum and Dad are like the tree. Dad is forever cooking extra meals or dividing his own ingredients and Mum saves articles out of the newspaper that may be relevant to the kids or me. They are always giving away in the spirit of parenthood and never expecting back.

Even as the old tree was being massacred by a chainsaw, Dad offered me firewood and a cup of tea in one breath.

I like this old tree story and for the life of me I can’t remember where I read it or who wrote it. It makes me think of the driftwood in my life that means nothing and all the stumps that are there solid, giving and listening to my cares.

Red Card

Another red card day when everyone gets a little edgy and reacts in ways they know they shouldn’t and don’t mean to.  Everyone is trying to keep it together despite being exhausted and exasperated with tired children. After a night out watching a Christmas play, we had to back it up with the nativity concert tonight at my daughter’s kinder.

It was the Christmas story we have been taught for generations and luckily our kinder is not too politically correct to destroy this lovely story. There were a glut of sheep and not many angels in this nativity play, which I thought was great. My daughter was leading the pack with her bleating of course.

After a few carols and cuddles the children were presented with a book from their kinder teachers. Each child with a different story to take home and treasure, just like every child has a different story of their own to tell.

My daughter’s book is called Collecting Colours by Kylie Dunstan and was awarded Picture Book of the Year 2009. We’ve already read it tonight, with its beautiful half drawn, half photographic illustrations and learnt all about the Pandanas palms and the things you can make from it.

I like that the child narrator, Rose, tells the story and collects colours for the basket weaving with her friend Olive and her mother and other family members. It’s an informative read about mixing colours, collecting berries, leaves and roots “big mobs yellow colour” from the bush in Arnhem Land and the important ceremonies and customs that the people take part in.

As my daughter lay down to sleep, buzzing with excitement from her acting debut, she asked me what colours we could collect from the garden and so began another 15 minutes of the wonderful art of collecting colours. We were grabbing red from tomatoes, blue from the water and pink from roses.

Casing point – time to smell the roses and collect colours even though it’s busy and nearing the end of the year. Collecting can renew our energy and we can even do it with our eyes closed.

Spirit of Friendship

We had the community Christmas carols for the children last night and when I arrived home a dear school friend rang to remind me of our Christmas lunch today with another special friend. Ooops!

I could have done the whole take a ‘rain check’ and “I’m just not organized” thing, but I decided that they could have me with dog hair on the floor, Christmas lights boxes strewn everywhere, clutter and all.

As usual it was a lovely lunch, chatting effortlessly and laughing together. We shared a meal, gifts and our secrets. Not a look of disdain at my dishevelled home. Just how it should be.

The dog hair still hasn’t been swept up, the dishes haven’t been done but I have finally felt like it’s Christmas when friends share the spirit of giving and spending quality time together.

It’s another quote night tonight because I am off to the Road to Bethlehem to see, as my daughter says, the “three leopards, Mary and Jofus.” It’s a play performed by a Christian group with camels and amazing lighting etc. But it’s also another opportunity to spend some time as a family celebrating the story of Christmas and the joy of being together.

“It comes every year and will go on forever. And along with Christmas belong the keepsakes and the customs. Those humble, everyday things a mother clings to, and ponders, like Mary in the secret spaces of her heart." 


~ Marjorie Holmes, American writer

You Light Up My Life

It’s fifteen days until Christmas and all through the house not a thing has been done and I feel like a louse.

O.K time to give up my try-hard poem but it’s true, there are only two pressies under the tree and they are from my highly organized sister in law in the U.K. With the fickle weather I haven’t even strung up the lights in the front garden and no doubt many drive-bys are wondering what’s happened to the lights spectacular at No.6.

Things haven’t gone to plan like last year but before I tell you about that, here’s a little background: When we moved into our home we knew that we had a reputation to uphold being on one of the deemed Christmas lights streets. I bought some second hand lights from an old neighbour and set about turning our front yard into Times Square with a waving Santa, nodding reindeer and assortment of twinkling and flashing light sequences.

My hub said in the beginning, “babe, this is your gig if you want to do it, you’ll have to hang up the lights.” So the little red hen put up most of the lights with a little help from hub for the higher harder to reach strings and connections. It looked great and we got lots of tooting horns and walk-by commendations. My hub was hooked and ready to add on our display the following year – and help!

The kids have a book called Russell’s Christmas Magic by Rob Scotton. It is about the familiar character Russell the Sheep in his striped hat and his froggie friend from Frogsbottom Field. Santa crashes in Firefly Wood and is upset that he has been sighted and the sleigh is broken “Christmas must be cancelled!”

Russell sets about to save Christmas and get Santa airborne. The illustrations are very European with snow and lanterns and the northern sky. The rooftops are snowcapped and real Christmas trees are perched in the chimneys. It’s a lovely read about lending a hand and the illustrations are beautifully painted with shocked, happy and sad expressions on the sheep, Santa and the reindeers.

This book sowed the seeds for a tree out our chimney and we set about securing it, decorating it and stringing up some lights. It looked great and was on the list for this year.

Our tree is in place and ready to sparkle with tinsel and adornments but there is one slight problem. RAIN! We had so much of it the other night that it filled the tree’s pot, leaked into the roof and left a puddle that dripped through the ceiling.

The Europeans don’t have this problem because everything is frozen. Hopefully it’s the last of the rains and we can have a touch of Russell (minus frost) at our house this Christmas.

Stable Thoughts

I’ve already had a little chuckle in my blog about how violent the Children’s Bible can be even though it is marketed as children’s stories. Sacrificing, stoning, drowning and crucifying are not very pleasant thoughts for an adult, let alone a child.

In my son’s school newsletter the principal writes a meaningful prayer or reflection each week. Some I take with a grain of salt and others like this one below, that parallels the nativity scene with Christmas get-togethers in your home, move me.

In this frantic pressie buying and wrapping time, it made me think how we worry about what others will think of the trivial things. Our table décor, our choice of wrapping paper or the hoerderves we serve them. These are not the true focus, it’s the people gathered at out table, feeling “the humility of the stable where you were born.”

I am a Cattletick* but sometimes struggle to see and understand what it means to be one. When I first read this reflection and saw stable I thought: ‘Yeh they got that right with the current state of my house. But in all seriousness these simple words (whether you are religious or not) brought it all home. Christmas is family gathered together, “loving…freely ”

Preparing for Visitors to My Home

Wise men wandering toward the stable, visitors are heading to my house. I am so excited about this visit. But I can get so side- tracked about how my house looks, or the food that I serve. I can only keep this prayerful with your help.

Help me to stay humble this Advent and Christmas season. You invite us into the humility of the stable where you were born. Help me to remember that humbleness and the simple joy of your birth. Let me stay focused on my guests, not on myself and my worries about my house. Guide me in rejoicing in who these people are and in loving them freely.

http://www.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/Advent/advent-prayers

* Cattletick – colloquialism for Catholic

Soap Oprah

“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.”

Oprah mania is sweeping Australia, all because of a clever marketing ploy and a modest AUS 6 million outlay. Channel 10 has been counting it down like a visit by the royals. I guess she is the queen of talk shows. I wouldn’t be surprised if they start making memorabilia. Perhaps that’s just the Poms who like to plaster every teacup, banner and t-shirt with something tacky?

Three hundred and two fortunate guests (handpicked after being identified as Oprah’s loyal followers) and crew have the ‘trip of a lifetime’ to our wide brown land. Oprah surprised all her guests a few months back with her most generous freebie yet and it is tipped to be worth 100 million in advertising revenue to Australia. The Oprah show is viewed in over 35 countries worldwide.

Her talk show will be hosted at the Sydney Opera House twice and only 12,000 tickets are available to Australians, not to mention the sponsor held seats. There will also be a roving tour of the eight Australian states and one more show at a mystery destination. I’m tipping ‘the rock.’

I was reading about the audience do’s and don’t brings and ‘fire’ is listed as one of them, along with the usual drugs, weapons, cameras and umbrellas. You can’t even leave the queue for a wee!

I have a lot of respect for Oprah and the empire she has created. She has come a long way since her role as Sophia in the Steven Spielberg film, The Color Purple, in 1985

The film was based on a 1983 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Alice Walker and gives readers an insight into the American South during the 1920’s-1940’s. It is told in the naïve first person narrative of Celie, a young African American.

The story is written as letters to God, documenting her life and ill-treatment at the hands of her father. As a young 14 year old she is matter-of-fact about her father raping her: “first he put his thing up gainst my hip and sort of wiggle it around. Then he grab hold of my titties…And now I feels sick every time I be the one to cook.”

As the book progresses, Celie begins to find a voice and peace with her own life with the help of her sister Nettie, Sophia and Shug Avery. This book is about the love and support of women and resilience in the hardest of times.

It’s a classic with strong tones of feminism and deserves to be read. Put it on your holiday reading list and if you are less inclined to pick up a book, it is also a Broadway musical, instigated by Oprah of course.

I thought Harpo Productions, the company that produces Oprah’s shows, was something to do with the character Harpo in The Color Purple, but it’s just Oprah’s name spelt backwards.

Dear Santa "i" Would Like

Millions of children world-wide still believe in the magic of Christmas and billions more (like me) wish they still did.

I lament the day I counted beer bottles in the bar fridge. There was no way my Mum and Dad would drink at 2am in the morning. To confirm my horror realization a little peek in my parents’ wardrobe found more evidence of a Santa fraud. A Cabbage Patch Box, poorly covered in a jumper leapt out at me.

My children are still believers and we count down the days to Christmas and religiously open our Advent calendars every morning. We decided to write a letter to Santa in the North Pole.

I had to laugh, my son wants lots of ‘i’ technological devices, that he doesn’t really have a clue about and my daughter is coveting a pink retro style bike at Big W.

I’ve heard that I better pick up my game. Friends of mine write a reply letter to their children on Christmas eve to thank them for the cookies and milk and say how much they’ve grown etc etc.

My hub and I bite the carrot and leave chewed bits on the floor, along with chocolate sultanas to resemble reindeer mess. As yet, we haven’t written a note.

I am going to keep these ones from the kids though. They are priceless mementos of a wonderfully innocent and imaginative time of their lives!

Throbber

I have a throbbing headache. Think I’ve got a touch of sunstroke. My poor little body is not use to being in the sun and I was out in it for an hour cooking snags for playgroup.

I must write something so I’ll leave you with a quote by John Burrows that I found for a friend of mine for her book club break-up dinner:

"I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see."

How true. Especially at this time of year when every man and his dog wants to see you.

I’ve taken a Panadol Rapid so hopefully I am back on blogging deck tomorrow.

Once I Complained That...

"Everybody deserves to have something good in their life. At least once."

By Friday I can be very fractious with my children. Do we have to write Christmas cards when dinner is ready? Who made this mess? Get out of the bath NOW please! Stop teasing each other or we won’t have time to read books.

I sobered up quickly after I completed my latest junior novel , Once by Morris Gleitzman. I plucked it off the shelf because it had a Children’s Book Council of Australia Honour award. It reads in the blurb “Once I escaped from an orphanage to find Mum and Dad. Once I saved a girl called Zelda from a burning house. Once I made a Nazi with toothache laugh.” This book gives a voice to the children of the Holocaust.

Felix is the main character, a primary school-aged young boy who talks in first person about his experiences. He starts as a naïve, innocent little boy and by the end of the 150 pages he has been thrust into a world of hatred, death and sadness, with just a modicum of hope.

Gleitzman doesn’t gloss over the Holocaust and paint a story of miracles. He poignantly gives the reader an insight into how children lived, trusted and lost through this terrible period in history.

The story starts in an orphanage and Felix finds a whole carrot in his soup – a sure sign that his Mum and Dad are coming back to him after their “book selling.” And so unravels the tragic journey for Felix, who leaves the orphanage to find his mum and dad. Along the way he meets some kind souls and some malicious people who try to thwart his plans. He is convinced his parents are just trying to sign up authors in Poland for their book store.

We all know the inevitable end for over 1.5 million Jewish children but what makes this story so beautiful is the way that Felix walks towards this death, telling vivid stories to others to numb their loss. He is gradually enlightened by his horrific experiences along the way and has maturity beyond his years in his final moments.

Like Gleitzman's opening/ending quote about having something good in your life, there are glimpses of hope and acts of kindness. Felix's relationship with Zelda, a young Jewish girl, and Barney, the children's adult carer (who even looks after their teeth) are moments of normality.


The story is fiction but was inspired by real events. Gleitzman’s grandfather was Jewish but left Poland before the Holocaust. Ten years ago Gleitzman read a book about a Polish Jewish doctor who helped to run an orphanage and care for two hundred Jewish children. In 1942 when the Nazis killed these children, Janusz was offered his freedom, but chose to be with the children in his care until the bitter end.

There are also many other letters and notes that Gleitzman read which can be found at his website www.morrisgleitzman.com

Being a mother, I cried for Felix's innocence. A little like the character Barney, who cares for the children but knows their fate. Children depend on their parents. They trust them with their lives.

Once I was a little harsh when my daughter smashed the blackboard easel. Just a bit of wood and chalk. She was turning it into a truck. Bless her.

10 out 10 for this one!

"Everybody deserves to have something good in their life. At least once."

4 Ways to Bore Your Taste Buds

Dinner was all sorted tonight. Hamburgers at the school twilight sports, but down came the rain (for a change) and washed the menu out. Suddenly it’s 5pm and I have to think on my feet or the “I’m hungry” chorus will begin. Luckily I have plenty of veggies and ingredients to whip up something resembling dinner and keep the wolves at bay.

A few years ago, I remember hearing about this radical new recipe book that was the answer to your dinner motivation prayers. You only needed four ingredients to cook each recipe, minus the condiments of course. Suddenly it was all the rage and the radios and television were promoting this revelation in cookbooks. Sure enough I received it as a gift.

Aptly named 4 Ingredients and now available in four books – 4 Ingredients 2, 4 Ingredients - Gluten free, , 4 Ingredients – Fast, Fresh & Healthy and 4 Ingredients – Quick, Easy and Delicious, I thought it was going to be my saving grace, but I was bitterly disappointed flicking through the recipes. To me it was re-hashed recipes that lacked flavour and imagination. Apparently 2.5 million people thought otherwise.

I wasn’t expecting recipes with palm sugar and kecap manis but I needed to enjoy and feel healthy eating it. One vegetable in a curry doesn’t cut my mustard.

We are blessed with so many fine ingredients. Tastes and textures to keep our taste buds entertained and satiated. I would like to see a cookbook that incorporated different cultures and could be prepared and cooked in less than thirty minutes. My red curry pork burgers are a fine example and I am partial to a ginger and lime infused stir-fry. These are simple and fresh ingredients that don’t scream ‘boring’ to me.

I admire Rachael Bermingham and her co writer Kim McCosker who went from being broke to becoming multi-millionaires. They gathered friends’ easy recipes and modified them to four ingredients. Nobody wanted to publish their book so they went out on their own and they are the highest selling self-publishers in Australia.

They have made subsequent books, have a television program and a very elaborate website. They even sell their titles internationally. For that I admire their drive and commitment to their business.

I consider myself lucky to have been brought up experiencing and enjoying different foods. From a young age I loved oysters and we were more than a ‘meat and three veggie’ family. I still had the fish-fingers on a Friday night when the budget didn’t stretch for the seven of us, but later on I was tasting all sorts of seafood, different cooked meats, grains and anything dished up. I’ve even tasted Patagonian toothfish (Chilean Sea Bass). Delicious!

I’ve met a lot of food-focused people in my thirties and enjoy sharing recipes with as many ingredients as necessary to create a gastronomic delight.

If you want to know what I really thought of this book/gift, you’ll have to ask the person I re-gifted it to.

I give it 4 -  for those who lack inspiration to cook something delicious!

My Rock

There has been a lot written about ‘rocks’ of late with a rare pink diamond selling for a record 47.2 million to an English jeweller and Kate Middleton sporting a whopping gem after her engagement to Prince William. Then of course there’s the usual influx of catalogues with bling to buy for your Christmas sweetheart.

I like simple and elegant jewellery so it was quite out of character for me to choose a Ceylon sapphire as my engagement ring centrepiece eleven years ago. It’s such a beautiful ring and the memories of the day it was slipped on my finger still sparkle.

My hub proposed to me at Squeaky Beach, Wilson’s Promontory. It was the first beach I took him to as a backpacker and we liked the fact that you had to walk twenty minutes to reach it. Cuts out the beach bogans and whining kids (who we had little tolerance for pre-children.)

The sand at Squeaky Beach is pure white and contains silica. Ironically it’s almost the same quality as zirconium, which is the poor man’s diamond. The sand squeaks because the particles are all the same size. Recently, Squeaky Beach was named the most romantic beach in Victoria. Sounds like others had similar ideas to my hub.

It’s a mysterious ring and changes colour with the seasons and in this humid stormy weather we are experiencing, it has become an ice blue. I decided to write about it.

You sit majestically upon my finger. Your giant blue eye, encased in its golden arms. Diamond friends glisten with clarity and carat on your shoulders. They are the keepers of the secret of this eternal bond.

I could leap into your kaleidoscope. Brilliant blue, smoky. Sometimes a mysterious shadowy grey. You never look common to me. You never look dull, watching me from your rose gold filigree throne.

You garden, you clean, you wash, and weather all my storms. Beaming up at me, my beautiful Ceylon sapphire. Strong and constant.

Amazing what flicking through a few catalogues can inspire. Diamonds (sapphires) are a girl’s best friend after all!

Your Name Is?

One of the smartest things you can do in your personal and professional life is to remember a name. I do well on a personal level and know my postie Bob, my neighbours (and their pets) two doors each way, Denise and Marlene who scan my shopping items and people I attended primary school with. However, when it comes to remembering authors I can occasionally draw blanks.

Doing the banking this morning a blonde haired lady who didn’t look remotely familiar to me, chatted about the business and asked what we did as I was depositing the company cheques. As I bid her good day she said clearly, “Have a great day Sam.”

Now, that’s stumped me and I have no idea how she knows me. Did she just guess it was Sam from signing a ‘s’ in my signature? Did she overhear the kids telling me something on another occasion? Did I accidentally have a Sam name-tag stuck somewhere? Perhaps she knows my Mum? I never got to ask her, but walked out of that bank impressed that she knew my name. Now that’s the way to do business.

A name is so important so why do I often forget an author or singer’s name? I get so absorbed in the book and the words that I am oblivious to the two words emblazoned on the front cover. This is the one person who deserves the accolades. It is this person who has made me cram their collection of carefully chosen words into my busy day. It’s only another two names to recall.

Who wrote On Jellicoe Road? Tom Sawyer? Anne of Green Gambles? Memoirs of a Geisha? The Lovely Bones? The Colour Purple?

Good for you if you have the authors’ names entrenched in your memory, but if you are like me and struggle to remember names of people you’ve never met face to face, try and say their name aloud every time you open your book and you will remember it. This is especially if it’s a book worth recalling.

A name is something everyone identifies with, love or hate it it’s ours until we are dust. Remembering how important it is to remember is a step in the right direction.

P.S.

·      Mellina Marchetta

·      Mark Twain

·      Lucy Maud Montgomery

·      Arthur Golden

·      Alice Sebold

·      Alice Walker

Merely Peanuts

I remember a little Snoopy wind-up toy that my great aunt Elsie brought out as a special treat when we were young. We use to get excited as he mechanically marched across her kitchen bench. After his parade, Snoopy would be put back into his box until next time. I derived great pleasure from Charles  Schulz’s characters, wanted a Woodstock toy to snuggle with in bed, and watched Peanuts on T.V, but never really read and appreciated his writing.

The following is the philosophy of Charles Schulz, the late creator of the 'Peanuts' comic strip:

You don't have to actually answer the questions. Just ponder on them.

1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.

2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.

3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America pageant.

4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.

5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.

6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners.

 How did you do?

The point is - none of us remember the headliners of yesterday.

These are no second-rate achievers.

They are the best in their fields.

But the applause dies.

Awards tarnish.

Achievements are forgotten.

Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners.

Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one:

1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.

2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.

3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.

4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.

 5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.

 Easier?

The lesson:

The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most

credentials, the most money or the most awards. They simply are the ones who care the most.

Happy Birthday To Me

I don't know how I could possibly top this birthday. I know I say it every year but my family and friends are amazing!


Handpicked garden flowers and homemade cards, a call from my brother in New York, harmonious birthday choruses from Mum and Dad and my sister and bro in law. Delivered flowers from my sweet friend from mother's group and my dear husband. A morning cuppa with a kinder friend and lunch cooked by a special friend. Calls from old friends, new friends and neighbours. A pedicure to treat my gnarled old feet. Two home baked cakes and a tray of delicious chocolate muffins. Lots of special treats. A surprise visit from my brother from Phillip Island (and with that comes a New York Cheesecake) and a Japanese feast to devour tonight...and that's only today. Who am I to deserve such love and lavishing?


There are so many words to describe how I felt today: enriched, joyous, privileged, humbled, lavished and above all loved.


It doesn't usually rain on my birthday but it is pouring - just like my day, I am bucketed in goodwill. THANK YOU!

Christmas Cheer - One Month To Go

I’m not annoyed that Christmas decorations have been on sale since October. Business has to make the most of the build-up and give children time to view their material desires and write their wish lists before the man in the red suit arrives. What I am miffed about is that traditional red, green, gold and silver are being outshone by baby blue and pink (yes pink) baubles in the Christmas shop this year. I could have been walking past the toy section but it is apparently the best Christmas decorations on offer at this major department store.

If the shops are spreading Christmas cheer already, albeit a little colourfully, then it can’t hurt to look at a book that epitomises the spirit of Christmas – A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, with original illustrations by John Leech.

We are all familiar with this tale of Ebenezer Scrooge who is visited by the ghost of his former business partner Jacob Marley who died seven Christmas Eves ago. Marley warns Scrooge that his shrewdness has had consequences in his afterlife and that Scrooge will be visited by ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future to help him mend his ways. Scrooge is a spend-thrift who believes that Christmas is “a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer.”

As Scrooge journeys through the night with the ghosts he sees his clerk and his crippled son Tiny Tim and the poverty they live in due to his miserly salary. Christmas future shows the inevitable death of Tiny Tim if Ebenezer fails to act.

Like all heart-warming Christmas tales, Scrooge realises how selfish he has been and delivers a turkey, raises wages and visits an estranged nephew. He finally realises that Christmas is about giving and being in the company of those who care for you.

Charles Dickens started writing this classic at the end of August in 1843 and had it printed and bound and ready for the public by Christmas Eve. He set the price at five shillings so that everyone could afford a copy and subsequently only made a profit of £726 for the year.

Dickens story was inspired by the poverty of his childhood. He had four children with one on the way and a hefty mortgage on his home. He had to write a story. Sounds a bit like J.K Rawlings. As he walked along the Thames he was shocked by the prostitutes, filth and beggars. People were living well below the breadline out of his privileged area.

As Dickens wrote this masterpiece he had a transformation and was affected by the story and reluctant to lay it down. The spirit of his book was not only impacting Scrooge but the Dickens’ heart as well.

If you get the chance to read this tale or even watch it, it may just remind us of what Christmas is truly about. Not the pink and blue baubles or the electronic gadgets (even my daughter asked for a pink D.S and admitted she has no idea what it is.) We all know what Christmas truly means and have one month to spread that Christmas cheer...