remembering the man

today i am remembering the man.



the man who made us. the man who taught us to enjoy wild strawberries.



the man whose love of music reaches as far across the globe as his family.




the man who treasured family above all else. and whose family, in return, loved on him more than anything.


the man whose life was uprooted and traumatised, but who sought bigger things for his life and his children and grandchildren anyway. the man who bloomed where he planted himself, in melbourne, australia, far far away from everything he knew.


the man who met a woman, and knew he would marry her. love at first sight, he would say.




and the love. (o, the love.)
never did i meet a man with more love to give. whose heart was so big it spread cross-country, cross-continent. the number of people who loved him back was indicative indeed.


family love



brother-in-lawly love



love of the proud-father-variety

that's my mother in the middle - aren't the three of them just something else.




love for italy and food and international family excursions

trevye fountain, rome, italy - yes i know that's not how you spell it. but back then, it sounded like tevye from fiddler on the roof, and it stuck.


the man whose family started small

and went here...

and here...

and here...



and continues to grow, despite his departure, in the way i hope he wanted. we grow, we learn, we appreciate. we open up, we create and we love. i hope we are making you proud.

happy, loved up and uniquely cheeky always.




-- R.

something happened (something good).

it works! it's true! when you know what you want and you make yourself accountable then you go out and you find it and you get it.


i wanted to kick down the brick wall. i wanted to prove to myself that i am strong and motivated and able to do whatever i need to. and i did. yesterday, my heart jumped when i received this text message:





and as soon as i could, i jumped in my car and raced to mum and dad's. parked in the driveway. ignored ruby as she begged for attention. ripped the envelope. read the sweet, sweet, words:





you should be re-admitted to this course. that's what it says, right there in black ink on white paper sitting on my coffee table. it is really really truly finally done.


and i did a little leyton "comeon'" and skov made me read the letter out loud. and then we both did a little leyton "comeon", and we were very happy. a happiness that called for friday afternoon drinks at carlisle wine bar. we toasted the triumph, and the awesome power of the blog. and we felt relieved and light and powerful and content.


and then i felt like doing this to my toes:



and i felt like my toes deserved a bit of love too. 


so now, it is the weekend. my first "weekend" in about six months. because i have had one long, constant weekend. and one of the things that kinda blows about funemployment is that you don't enjoy or appreciate the weekend.


well, this weekend, we enjoy. we appreciate. with birthday drinks for big brother and best friend. with perfect weather, a walk in the sunshine, laundry togetherness, and finally a chance to blog this great moment. this moment of joy and relief that i can truly say i deserve.


and my diary is filling up, as predicted. with things like rehearsals and dinners and bbqs and what's that now? did someone say interviews? oh yes, to top off this already happy week, on thursday, i finally heard back from the long and arduous application i submitted for the potential dream-job. and i got an interview. 


good, great, perfect week. and now, we weekend.


-- R.

food for thought

i have been meaning to make these appear, right here, for a little while now.
they are mostly a joint labour of love between the two of us. please, enjoy. we did.



steaming hot syrian chicken with carrot mash - taken from my wedding recipe book from emma schwarcz from karen martini.



lamb shanks with asian rub. fell right off the bone, i'm tellin' ya. courtesy of omg. more on this bible soon.





eggplant cigars, so coined by skov. but you don't smoke them. although they are smokin'. courtesy of me. and nobody else. i like the reflection in the oven dial vicinity. we were very happy at 6.58pm that day.



neon green pea soup goodness. so easy. only one secret ingredient. and no, i won't tell you what. ok i totally will. it's vegetable stock powder (the msg free kind). delicious.


and as far as dessert is concerned...



banana cake, courtesy of my new favourite app, allrecipesau. i went there. and added a few of my own ideas. i like how it kinds looks like a mutant choc-chip cookie. 



decadent chocolate brownie. it's so hard to get it just right on the outers and in the middle. either the outer is overdone or the centre is inedibly molten. this was no exception (as seen by the monster cave in the centre. i believe in that cave, many miles to the south, lived a boy born with fangs in his mouth... too far?)


i would also like to mention at this point, in the spirit of horn-tooting, that i also invented a new cookie, especially for a certain diabetic, and he, after trying my full-fat, full-sugar, full-delicious cookies, said he preferred my sugar-free, carb-free invented variety. i wasn't sure whether to be more proud of the inner-creative chef inventor extraordinaire, or disappointed with donna hay. also, it was hard to think while debbie was yelling at bram for eating the regular cookies. 


anywho. that's it in the land of culinary adventures right now. there are many more, but they are either still on the camera, or on the new computer, or stuck in the vast land of unsorted digitals. now there's some scary virtual real estate. i look forward to sharing them (and to reading all of your many, many comments on them).


i'll let you know when i hear from monash or job potential - whichever one pops up first. while we wait, why not share with me your new or old-time favourite kitchen gadget? (bram, i know what yours is. it's a mandolin. and don't try and argue with me.) just click in the "leave a comment" box and clack-clack-clack until you're done. simple as that.


-- R.

1, 2, 3: juan, thuy, theresa.

i am walking light today. i have, although no longer in my hands, that necessary letter as ridiculously necessitated by md (monash dingbat). unnecessary but necessitated task accomplished. no longer in my hands because it is safely in the loving arms of a big red post box on the corner of inkerman road and task-accomplished-street. and there it shall stay until mr. mailman collects it and puts it in a bag of like-minded mail that will travel, by car or otherwise, to that big ugly building at the end of north road.


and 1, 2, 3, hey presto. it's done. or, as my friends debbie and bram might say, juan, thuy, theresa. 


speaking of which. no, i did not fall asleep at the tennis last night. 


yes, i wanted to. but i was too busy enjoying an australian win (despite my sympathies leading me to barrack for the russian underdog mid-match), 



watching the tallest man on earth (juan martin del potro - um, that is a name as long as this guy's pinky finger, and the name is long, you know?) being run around the court like a damn fool by the sexiest man on earth (marcos baghdatis, what's that? yes you may have my babies), 



and being heckled by the progressively drunker pommy/aussie combo to my left. (actually, do you respond to ridiculous, outlandish comments made by said drunken pommy/aussie combo or does that only further encourage?)


a good night was had by all. even bram, who read two chapters in his book.



if you follow the trajectory of marcos' imaginary spitball, you will see the tennis ball. i like that. oh marcos, marcos baghdatis. stop fooling around.






lemon out.


-- R.

well, well, well. (aka three holes in the ground).

well well well indeed. insomnia, we meet again. headache, you beat me last night. slaughtered me.  


congratulations to both on both fronts. 


and now here i sit, on the couch, the blaring light from the laptop making my head spin. and the clock mocks me as it speeds through time. time doesn't pass at 4am, it sprints. which is very annoying, when all you want is to be able to fall back asleep before 4.15, 4.25, 4.30, 4.45... but each minute passes and suddenly you're up. you're up and the cat meows and the skov sleeps and the world is quiet while you silently go crazy. 


well, i will probably regret saying this later (or earlier, i'm not sure - which is which right now is too much to think about), but this does not mean tomorrow will be wasted.


the following things will be accomplished, sans sleep or not. 
1. i will go to gym, and complete a killa workout. and y'all will be left for dead, suckas.
2. i will clean the house, until it smells like friggin puppies and rainbows. that's right, laundry, i am the end of you. (actually, maybe not puppies. especially not puppies that eat poo).
3. i will torture and threaten the framing place into opening up for us, and then i will take our prints to get framed.
4. i will call stupid money-holding gym, again. that's only gunna be the fifth time. and i will get my money.
5. i will get a ridiculous amount of Little Shop of Horrors work done. Like, all of it.
6. i will go to the tennis. and it will be good. even if, by then, i'm hopped up on caffeine. that's cool. wired tennis is still good tennis.




In the meantime, I am kept company by the sweet, soft backing track of a little Arrested Development. That's good shit. Good night (please god, good night).


-- R.

inhale, exhale.

i'm waiting, in the staffroom. male voices drift down the corridor. laughter, friendly tones. can't be him, he's a dingbat. the dots between the hour and the minutes on the digital clock on the wall flash red. i will my heartbeat to slow to sync with it. with all my determination i beg, plead with my body to stop having physical anxiety reactions to this situation. i think of you, dear blog, and how i will write here later. 


new techique: i mantra myself. with every inhale (1, 2, 3), i tell myself: i cannot control what he says. and with every exhale (1, 2, 3): i can only control my reaction. i notice every person walking past, i perk up. perhaps this is him. i look at my documents. fifteen minutes plod by. i grow impatient. heartrate quickens once more. i cannot control what he says. i can only control my reaction. i cannot control what he says. i can only control my reaction.  


finally, his young secretary beckons me. it is time. a long corridor, but not wooden floors - no isolating echo as i walk, like you would imagine. just a quiet plod plod plod on the ugly red carpet. i reach the boardroom table. he sits with his sidekick, we'll call him smee. smee is smiley, dingbat tight-lipped. but that's ok. they are not my enemy. they ask me to talk. i cannot control what he says. i can only control my reaction. i ask where from, they say the beginning. and so i do. very stilted, trying to find the exactly perfect words, strings of words, sentences. it is laborious. i choke up. my heart is no longer in my chest, but firmly lodged in my throat. i swallow down hard. encourage it to descend to its proper place. after a minute, it does. i continue to tell my story. they already know everything: i am interrupted.


they say it wasn't enough - it wasn't quite enough. i need a letter from a doctor or a counsellor, to say i'm fit to try again. ridiculous, i think to myself, but fine, fine i'll do that. of course, they cannot commit to my successful readmission, only to "reassess". ok, good enough. i force a smile. i like concrete advice, but this will do. they repeat their conditions once more. i pretend to listen and care. it is that simple. it is done with, it is over.


i leave, a little lighter than before. down two flights of stairs, greeted by my handsome husband. it's all good, i say, it's not over yet. he smiles, relieved. i relive, repeat, all i can remember. we are both satisfied.


now i might need to throw back one of these. 
not that i plan to take up drinking - i more just love how the tumbler skews the stovetop.


the experience was not so stressful, they were on my side and i left feeling positive. but these sorts of things tend to build up very quickly for me, and in the two or so hours i allowed myself to build it up - well, girlfriend fills whatever space she is given. i'm calm now, and collected. they are asking reasonable things of me. and i will deliver.

first on next week's agenda? get that letter! (say it like you might say, "follow that car!" as you jump into a taxi and gear up for a high-speed chase, and the driver looks back at you like, "what?" and you're all like, "dude, just drive!").

and now for something completely different. a brief photo interlude. theme: things that make me feel that i am home. home, and oh-so-happy to be there. because, when in the rest of the world there is sometimes sadness and stress and pain, home is safe. and i am feeling ridiculously appreciative of my home today, as i think of flood victims all over australia's east and hope for small miracles.

to the left, my favourite friday-night reward: greetings from the last light of the candles. it's always a joy to just catch this moment, as we walk in the door, like those little flickers have been waiting for our return before they "tss" and then they are gone. and to the right, one of my favourite images of some matrioshka dolls to keep things merry. courtesy of my cousin lina in san francisco. she has the finest collection of them that i ever did see. another nod to that feeling of warmth and home.

any takers for first real commenter? i'll make it easier for you: tell me what makes you happy when you come home - what is it that makes you feel that oh so happy to be home feeling? go on, be brave.

-- R.

monash dingbat, meet your maker.

tomorrow, 4.30pm. it's on like donkey kong (although i never really understood that idiom).


the next twenty four hours will be an exercise in psyching-myself-up.


and, for the record, i can't help but feel like because i said  i would be writing this into my diary, i actually am. that doesn't mean anything really, because i still have no control over what monash dingbat is going to say or do or what ridiculous hoops he is going to try and make me jump through, but i have accomplished a very small step in a very large scheme to be that motivated, strong, boxing-gloved woman. a small step in seeing-who-i-want-to-be. (i know, i know, boring right?)


so, bring tomorrow on. make it difficult, dingbat. make me sweat and clench my jaws and pump my fists. because i'm ready for it.


stay tuned for tomorrow's post: will it be a victorious, slow motion run-round-the-block kinda entry, or a face in my palms, kill-the-world kinda entry? anybody's guess.


-- R.

long story short (story)

wow. skov and i just had a read-aloud session, sitting in the car with the doors wide open to try and dispel the suffocating mugginess that is today's disgusting weather (thanks melbourne). we didn't intend to sit put in the car, nor had we seriously thought to read aloud. but my cousin emma's short story harry has been published in this book:





and it was an addictive eleven pages. easy-to-read, quickly compelling and, frankly, heart-breaking. and that's how i take my short stories. highly recommend.


meanwhile, i've been getting my paint on while someone's been-a-juicin'.

anyone up for some oj? we now have enough to quench the thirst of some really thirsty people.

-- R.

small victories.

i've just gone to write the title of this post four times now, each followed by a series of delete button hits. usually i have the title in my head and it guides the content. but today i guess i should figure out what i want to say first and then come up with the brilliant title. having just finished the post and titling it, i feel kinda stupid as you will have already read the title. but you should know i honestly genuinely did not name it until i'd signed off. swearsies.


so, what do i want to say right now? well, for starters, i had a really good week, which, when i look back at the evidence, is a bit strange. 


one. i finally made contact with monash dingbat, and he was a jerk. he was short and blunt and downright rude. but i. but i was calm, but i was clear, but i did not cry. and so while the outcome of that event was not necessarily what i had hoped for, 


(it played out in my head something like this -
me: did you make a mistake?
monash digbat: yes, so sorry, come on back now.
me: great, thanks!)


i was nevertheless really proud of the way i conducted myself. and i plan to continue that conversation with monash dingbat first thing thursday morning, which is when he instructed me (in his most endearing fashion) to do so.


two. another shoot with the sisters. i got home and was dissappointed with my results. i felt like i had wasted a perfectly good learning shoot because i forgot what i was trying to say with the images. alana was too serious and too pouty, and simi looked too old in the ways i was posing her. but i. but i got one shot. a shot of a lifetime that i am ninety percent sure i fluked. nevertheless, it is there. no wait, it is here:





and in the end, all you need is one good shot to keep you going. and this shot, i am telling you it is feeding my soul. the foreground details of the ripples in the sand, and the way the light at sunset bounces so perfectly off the water that remains trapped in its crevices. and the way in which the two girls are framed, they look so small against the magnificence of the fading sky, two little shadows waiting in the shore. this photo is so good that it must have been a mistake. that's the only way i can explain it. i guess they say you should learn from your mistakes, eh!?


three. skov and i had three, count them three big fights this week. which for us, is pretty much three more than we ever have in any given week. they were awful, and we cried, and pleaded with each other to understand. they made us late and exhausted and there was hate in the air. but we. but we conflict resolutioned. but we talked until we could talk no more. we found the love, and we reached solutions that worked for us. and i am oh-so-proud of how far we have come from the days when we believed that a fight must mean the end of our relationship. can i get a little goooo-team for us please?




it was one of those soul-searching, character-defining weeks, where you are confronted by challenge after challenge, and i reckon i came out of it in fine fashion. because the fact of the matter is, sometimes shit happens. and we cannot control it. but what we can control is how we face the battle. and until recently, i used to crumble under the pressure and give up and walk away and pretend it didn't even matter to me. but this recent turn around, which is ninety-nine percent a simple case of holding a mirror up to myself, has me enamoured. i love thinking like this. i love being a strong contender when it comes to life's challenges. i love seeing-who-i-want-to-be, and i especially love the self-reflection that this blog has brought me. seriously, i recommend it (zoe this means you).


because it is good to be critical and hold that mirror up and see the flaws, embrace the flaws, change those that can be changed, and love those that cannot. and i am learning every day just how to do that.


and i leave you with a few of the better shots from the sisters' shoot.




























and oh yes, the title of the post? small victories. but you already knew that.


-- R.