Foods I Dislike

Most weeks I schlep out to the shops with my parents to have coffee and do a bit of shopping. On one such occasion, we were unpacking groceries into the boot of my parents car. We heaved bag after bag until there was no more room. 

"Christ, we must EAT!' my mother remarked. I laughed and agreed. My life is a non-stop round of food food FOOD.

Thinking about what food to buy, buying the food, putting it away. Preparing the food, cooking the food, serving the food. Then doing this all over again infinitum. As much as I love food, it can get a bit repetitive and dreary at times.

I know, I know. First world problems, for sure. I am certainly grateful for the abundance of food available to me.  That I never have to go hungry.

Luckily, there are not too many foods I dislike. I was rather more picky as a child. This was the result of being thoroughly spoiled by my mum's superb culinary ability. I swear she could have been Margaret Fulton or someone, only BETTER.  As a child,I turned my freckled nose up at the inferior offerings others presented me with.

Store bought cakes or apple pie? Poison.

Chunky hearty soups? Yuck.

Tinned spaghetti? The HORROR.

If only such an attitude had persisted into adulthood. I'd be svelte and smug instead of plump and sheepish. These days I'll pretty much eat anything that isn't nailed down. And let's be real, probably try to prise off anything that IS nailed down.

Well, ALMOST anything. There are a select few foods that even this glutton isn't too thunderstruck about.

Such as:

CELERY

Stringy, bland, chewy and just plain BLAH, celery must be one of the most joyless foods nature provided. Naturally, celery is good for you. Low in calories, packed with anti-oxidants, and supposedly, calming for the nervous system. So the internet tells me, anyway. Must be true, right. 😉

In short, a healthy snack option.  A shame I'd rather snack on my own toe nails. I CAN eat it disguised in a stir-fry, soup or coleslaw, but it's still not my favourite. As for munching on a stalk for the sake of it  - it's a definite NO from me.

COTTAGE CHEESE

Often teamed with the above celery is this delectable delight. Except it isn't. Delectable, that is. Or delightful in any way whatsoever. I'm not going to describe what it reminds me of. You can probably guess. In a bid to be healthy, I foolishly purchased a tub of this chunder. Oops, I said it...

It's now languishing in the fridge. I need to chuck it out NOW instead of avoiding the inevitable. Why do torture myself?

SARDINES

I just don't like them. They're too... fishy...

Surprisingly, I quite like canned tuna, and even salmon. But sardines make me shudder. And just to make it worse, you can also buy them swimming in tomato sauce. Bleerrrggghhh.

Maybe I just haven't tried fresh ones. I don't know. But for now, it's not just a no. It's a HELL, NO!

BRUSSELS SPROUTS

These little fart balls from hell are no doubt packed with nutrition. I don't care. Put them in front of me and I will pout and refuse to eat them with the sheer determination laced with disgust of your average three year old.

Nope, nope, nopity NOPE.

OTHER FOODS I AM AMBIVALENT ABOUT:

TINNED BEETROOT

I must admit I have a bizarre love/hate relationship with this staple of good old-fashioned Aussie hamburgers. Once in a blue moon I crave and covet some beetroot with the intensity I usually reserve for cakies. Then, just as quickly, it absolutely revolts me. I cannot even bear to look at it, swimming in a sea of it's own crimson blood in a container in the fridge. Inevitably, the container ends up spilling and resembling  a murder scene, and I'm left wondering why I bothered indulging my short lived craving.

BAKED BEANS

More farty goodness. Don't get me wrong, a good old baked bean jaffle with cheese can be just the thing on a bleak winter's day when you feel like pretending  it's still 1978. Just me?

Then, inexplicably, it's just NOT.  Baked beans are another love/hate kind of thing for me. Sometimes they hit the spot. Other times they hit the garbage can. Fast. 


There you have it. The foods I dislike. 

There are probably others, but why waste time and energy on them when there's cake and chocolate in the world. That's what I say.

What about you?

What foods do you dislike?

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The Story Of My First Name

A long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away...

Well, 1970 in fact. Here on earth. The  other way just sounds more mysterious. Shut up.

Oh okay, I'll start again.

Picture it. Sydney. 1970. (Kudos to Sophia from the Golden Girls...)

There was a lovely young pregnant lady. That magnificent woman was, of course, my very own mother. She had the important task, along with my father, of bestowing upon me ( the sprog percolating in her womb), the name that I would be known as for the duration of my life. 

They were already the proud parents of a son (my brother - Captain Obvious...) they had named Mark David. This was supposedly due to my mother's aversion to names that could be abbreviated. A short and punchy Mark seemed just right. 

At first, Mum was keen to name me either Rebecca or Rachel. Perhaps she hadn't considered the potential abbreviations of these very fine names. A big hello to all the Bec's, Becca's and Becky's out there. The Rach's, too. I could have been one of you.

It turned out to be a moot point, since my dad wasn't enamoured with either of these suggestions. More pondering ensued as I floated contentedly in the cocoon of my mother's womb. 

Incidentally, I have been told that Mum was quite convinced I was a girl. Of course there was no way to find out the sex of a baby back in those times. The only way was to give birth and clap eyes on it. I mean him. Or her. Mum just had a strong feeling I'd be a girl. And of course, she was right. Consequently, she says she did not give any serious thought to boys names. However, there is slight possibility I may have been a Craig had I developed a Y chromosome. 

Craig. Can you IMAGINE?  I guess it was 1970, so Craig's and Kylie's and Sharon's were all the thing back then. Hard to imagine they were ever babies though, isn't it?

So, yes. Mum was certain I was a girl. Rebecca and Rachel were rejected. Another name was very briefly agreed upon: 

Monique. 

Still. It just wasn't quite right. I was due to make my arrival into this dark and dangerous bright and beautiful world in early 1971. 

Apparently it was around this time that Mum happened to see the 1967 film Camelot, starring Richard Harris as King Arthur, Vanessa Redgrave as Guenevere,  and Franco Nero as Lancelot. 

You can see where this is going, can't you? 

Mum thought Vanessa Redgrave was lovely. Moreover, she was quite taken with her name. "What a beautiful name," she thought. This time, Dad agreed.

Side note: I'm glad she didn't go with Guenevere, because I would have spent my entire life spelling my name to people. It sometimes happens with Vanessa, but not TOO often...

My reluctant arrival into the world occurred on January 15th, 1971. Mum endured an epic and traumatic labour.  I didn't want to be born and kept swimming back the wrong way to stay where I was. Look, it was all warm and floaty in there. Who'd want to come out? Eventually, I did. Around 6pm. Just in time for dinner. Prophetic. 

And it was settled.  My crumpled little yellow and jaundiced features looked like a Vanessa. For a middle name I was given Faye, with a rogue E on the end. Simply because that's Mum's middle name (Alison Faye), so she gave me the same one as hers. I mention the rogue E because I'm quite proud of it. It reminds me of Anne Shirley insisting her name be spelled with an E in Anne of Green Gables. 

Again, it would appear that Mum was oblivious to the potential abbreviations of Vanessa. These days I'm often known as Ness or Nessie (hence the name of this blog). Mum, Dad and Mick always call me Vanessa, but everyone else (mostly) calls me Ness.

Shout out to all my fellow Vanessa's and Ness's out there. I imagine you've also been called Vanessa the Professor, Vanessa the Undresser (useful if your career is stripping), or Messy Nessy in your life time. The latter being particularly apt for me. Ahem.

Oh, and my brother? Who was named a short and to the point Mark? In primary school he was nicknamed "Jaffa" due to his red hair resembling the lollies. It's stuck ever since. Even my boys call him Uncle 'Jaf'. Names are a funny old thing, aren't they? 

And just for another interesting anecdote, I noticed a curious coincidence. For three generations in my husband's family, dudes have married ladies with names beginning with a V.

Mick's Grandmother's name was Violet and his mum's name was Verna. Then he married me, a Vanessa! Just a funny coincidence. But it will be interesting to see if one of our boys ends up with a partner whose name begins with a V... We'll have to wait and see. 

I'm pretty cool with my name. Vanessa Redgrave  is a pretty rad namesake. These days she's known as the narrator on Call The Midwife, among other things. 

And  while I was born here on earth (surprising, since I feel like a creature from the planet Zorg...), 1971 is certainly a long, LONG time ago. Just like Craig, there aren't many babies named Vanessa now. Or at least, I don't hear of any. It's becoming a middle aged/old lady name. Sniff.

But a very good one. Thanks, Mum and Dad. 

And  that is the story of my first name. 

What is the story of your first name? 

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From My Window

From my window, what can be seen?
Freshly mowed lawns, a blanket of green.
Billowy branches of myriad trees
Lazily loll in a summery breeze

Suburban houses stand in a row
Windows like eyes, what do they know?
A car whizzes past to the end of the street
Birds flutter by with a chirrupy tweet

Telegraph poles against a cloudless blue sky
A man on his Iphone slowly shuffles by
Shade from a tree falls across the road
A van is parked, neighbours empty a load

Summer lingers, the sun fierce and intense
No one is keen to chat at the fence
I keep to myself, I like staying inside
Watching, wondering, weary yet wired

The road is now searing in the midday sun
Doors and blinds close, air conditioners hum
A grey car appears, a curious cube shape
I stand at the window to goggle and gape

A haughty cat defies the sultry heat
To silently slink along the quiet street
Tail arched she stops to choose
A shady spot where she can snooze

Visitors pull up and walk into next door
You rarely see children outside anymore
Our road curves around like a horse shoe
Some homes are old, others brand new

The gate is shut next door at number nine
Across the road there's a for sale sign
The people in these houses I hardly know
What do they do? Where do they go?

I stare out the window and wistfully wonder
If it will rain, bringing lightning and thunder
No, it won't, I think this out loud
The sun is too bright, I don't see a cloud

Yet there's the promise of a violent storm
It's autumn now, and the weather's too warm
Everything is brightness, mission green and baby blue
Bushes, branches, leaves becoming a rusty gold hue

I reflect upon this mundane suburban scene
Where things aren't always what they seem
There are stories out there, of this I am certain
One more glance then I slowly close the curtain.


What do you see from your window? 

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Taking Stock - February 2018 Edition

Making: An effort to be (reasonably) tidy, organised and have a morning routine. I didn't even make that up. It's true! Seriously. Stop laughing! Sniff. 

Cooking:Lots of really nice recipes out of books from the library. I like to pretend it's still 1990 and there's not billions of the things on the internet. Works for me. 

Drinking: Recently I switched back to decaf tea. Because that's how exciting and cutting edge my life is. Be very jealous. 

Reading:  Various library books, including:

Tales From Below Stairs: The Bestselling Memoirs of a 1920's Kitchen Maid by Margaret Powell. 

Quite an interesting and easy read, especially if you're a Downton Abbey fan like me. The author also wrote several other books  including a cookery one which would be interesting to have a bit of a gawk at. 

Did She Kill Him? A Victorian Tale Of Deception, Adultery & Arsenic by Kate Colquhoun. 

True story of Florence Maybrick, who was convicted of poisoning her husband with arsenic in 1889. In my humble opinion, I reckon she was completely innocent, which makes it a heartbreaking story. Although she escaped being hanged (Eeeeeek!), she spent fifteen years in prison. She died in 1941, penniless and living in squalor. So sad. 

Six Degreess by Honey Brown. 

Fiction. Sex, sex and more sex. I didn't even fathom this from the title of the first chapter: Threesome. What am I like? 

Trawling: Library Books. Obviously. Just for something different. 

Wanting: Rain! Lots of it. Pouring, soaking, glorious RAIN. Side note: it did start pouring after I wrote this! Perhaps I'm a witch or something. Muahahaha! 

Looking: Like a potato with grey hair. So attractive. 

Deciding: What to type here. Hmmmm. Decisions. Decisions. Nope. Got nothing. 

Wishing: THIS: 

Image credit: https://www.facebook.com/mayaishappy/

Enjoying: A nice hot cup of decaf tea. Because I like to do wild and crazy things on Monday mornings. 

Waiting: For summer to be over.  Today is actually giving me the illusion that it is. But it will spring back from the depths of hell to incinirate me one more time, I'm sure. 

Liking: Inane things. Like the word 'inane'. Love it. 

Wondering: Why I have such demented dreams. And why I'm demented in general. 

Loving: Snuggling in bed when it's raining. 

Listening: To the rain. A dog barking. The tap tap of my own typing. Blissful silence. 

Considering: What recipe to cook next. Feels like good soup weather today. 

Buying: Food, food, food and more food. And then, five minutes later we need food again. I never have money to buy anything else because it's all spent buying food. 

Watching: Bits and pieces of the ice skating in the winter Olympics. The only sport I can watch without nodding off. 

Hoping: We can go on a holiday some time this year. 

Marvelling: That we can eat quite so much food. 

Needing: According to my shrink I need to make friends. Bwahahahahahaha! She doesn't know who she is dealing with here. Besides, doesn't she know that I have lots of imaginary friends inside the computer? They count, don't they? HMPH. 

Questioning: How on earth you make friends?

Smelling: Pain Away Arthritis cream. Because I appear to be a 95 year old woman called Ethel. 

Wearing: Stretchy 'yoga' pants that I never do yoga in, sexily teamed with a fleecy pyjama top. Tousled bed hair completes the look. Nice. 

Noticing: I have a sore throat. It's so sad. A very tragic situation. And now there is violin music swelling in the background. 

Knowing: Knowing Me, Knowing You! A-HAAAAAAAA! 
Okay, that's an Abba song, but that's what came to mind. And it's mixing it up from Carpenters songs, so shut up. 

Thinking: I need to exercise. I have a sore throat. Why did I put that Abba song in my head? I love the rain. I hate other shit. Where did I put my phone? What day is it?  I wish I could stop thinking...

Admiring: My family. They're pretty awesome. I think I'll keep them. 

Getting: Myself sorta kinda reasonably organised and tidy. Wait. WHAT? Yepski, it's true. See: Making. No idea how long it will last but it's good shit at the moment. 

Disliking: Unspeakable things. Hideous, vile things. I not only dislike these things, but hate them with a passion. You don't want to know. No really, you don't. 

Opening: My mind. To trying to be tidier, kinder to myself and more positive. Something like that anyway. Oh, shut up.

Closing: My eyes for a snooze. 

Feeling: Tired.  See: Closing. 

Celebrating: Mr 13 will be Mr 14 in a few weeks. I also like to celebrate the small wins. Like getting out of bed in the morning. That's something, right? 

Pretending:  I've got my shit together. 

Embracing: Home hacks. Well, some of them. Others are just STUPID.  

So there you have it. That is me tacking stock this fabulous February. Side note: it's only fabulous because it's over in a few days and, with it, summer. Good riddance! 

What are you celebrating in the month of November? 

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February Is...

February is...

The shortest month of the year. Consequently it's often the month my dad chooses to go on a diet. He should probably trademark it and sell it. The February Diet. But I'm guessing somebody already has anyway...

February is...

Tricky to spell. Who knew there was a rogue 'r' in there? Okay, only me. Oops. 

February is...

The last month of summer.(If you live in Australia, that is.) Hallelujah! Cue glorious uplifting music. I am SICK of the heat and humidity. SICK OF IT, I tell you! Of course it won't be long before I am complaining about the cold. I like to be consistent in some things. I'm a very consistent weather whinger. Winning! 

February is...

When you're smashing all your resolutions and goals full steam ahead feeling smug and strutting about like a peacock owning 2018 already in month number two. Except I'm not doing that. Oops. 

February is...

The month when I remember the passing of the late great Karen Carpenter. She left this earth 35 years ago on February 4th, 1983. 35 flipping YEARS?! *sobs* 

February is...

The month of lurrrrve, romance, hearts, flowers and all that mushy stuff. Not into it. That's surprising, yeah? But Mickey Blue Eyes did present me with some lovely chocolates from Aldi, and I didn't get him anything. Therefore I decided a Facebook photo with a lovey dovey frame would have to do. And that is what I like to call romance, people. 

February is...

A month in which I have done so many exciting things. Including:

• Washing windows
• Tidying the linen cupboard
• Mopping floors
• Washing truckloads of dishes
• Folding vast mountains of clothes
• Borrowing library books
• Reading library books
• Writing lists
• Writing draft blog posts then never publishing them
• Going to a shrink appointment
• Going to a GP appointment
• Going grocery shopping
• Making beds
• Cooking food
• Eating food

And yeah, I think we're done with the bullshit bullet points. I'm sure you're all suitably jealous now. Snorts. 

February is...

The month after January. Conversely, it's also the month BEFORE March. I always feel the need to include a glaring Captain Obvious moment in my posts. Because why not?  January is my birthday month, so February is my one year and one month birthday. Or something. I don't know. I'm just making this up. 

What else have I been up to in this plodding fast-paced February? I'm glad you asked. The fact that you didn't is only a minor detail. I'll tell you anyway. You're very welcome. 

Recently I borrowed a book from the library called The Housewife's Handbook. See bullet list.  Inside, I found a newspaper clipping with a headline that went something like: "Fair distribution of assets when a marriage fails". 

Evidently someone who borrowed the book before me was also trying to be a top notch housewife. Until the day they decided, screw this, and promptly filed for divorce. I'd like to think that this woman (because only a woman would borrow such a book, I suspect) is now currently sunning herself on a beach in Greece a la Shirley Valentine. 

Meanwhile, I've been a contented little (or not so little) housewife of late. I've been merrily cleaning away. (Again, see bullet list). The other week, Mickey Blue Eyes, looking very concerned, asked me why. You'd think it was totally out of character or something!

Clearly he thought I'd either invited guests without telling him, or completely lost my marbles. Well, it definitely wasn't the former. So yeah, I'm wondering how long will it be before I wish to join my imaginary 'Shirley' on that beach? I think I'll keep Mickey Blue Eyes, though. Hopefully we'll get to that beach together at some point. 

In the meantime, farewell to you, February. Until we meet again. Same time next year. Can you please leave quietly and not incinerate us on your way out? Thank you. 

Now bring on March! 

What is February to you?

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Favourite Weather

Hello again!  Here I am, back to thrill you with the most scintillating topic:

The weather! 

Specifically, my favourite weather. All I know is, it certainly isn't 47 degrees celcius (or 116.6 fahrenheit, according to an internet converter)!!! Yuck!

This temperature happened here a few weeks ago when NSW officially became the hottest place on Earth.  Yeah, screw that.  That shit is only for satan. Whew. Not fun. Not fun AT ALL. I'd quite like to keep my face attached to my skull, instead of it melting off, thanks very much. Not keen on death by drowning in my own sweat either. 

Image crhttp://www.nedmartin.org/v3/amused/in-gods-kitchenedit: 

Although, I don't really enjoy extreme cold either. I'm an in-between kind of girl.

When it comes to weather, I am Goldilocks. I like it 'just right'!

And since we're talking about Goldilocks, what was her problem anyway? Sneaking into the three bears house and eating their porridge? Who does that? Not cool, Goldilocks!

I know what you're thinking. Calm down, Ness. She was just a character in fairytale and she was lost and hungry or something. Besides, bears don't actually have houses, nor eat porridge. Get a life.

Um. OK. Good point.

So yeah. Weather.

This heat bullshit is exactly that. Utter unmitigated bullshit. We even had a thunderstorm that was more like a mini cyclone! I quite like the odd thunderstorm, but that bordered on scary.

These last few days have been blissfully cooler. On Sunday,  we took a day trip up to the Central Coast to visit friends, and yesterday I celebrated my birthday with a buffet lunch. It must have the been the first birthday in my now 47 years that it hasn't been a scorcher. 

However, the temperatures are set to soar again by the end of the week. Apparently, anyway. Save me! Oh well, no point in complaining about things you can't control. But that doesn't stop me. Ahem. 

So, like Goldilocks. I will find the place where it's just right. And by just right, I mean air-conditioned. And I'll remind myself that Autumn is on it's way. Yay! 

What about you?

What's your favourite weather? 

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One Word: 2018 Edition

Good morning, groovers and shakers. Hustlers and movers. Artists and makers. And, you know, everyone. Because of course everyone reads my blog. 😉

A Merry New Year to you all. Can't remember if I said that last time. If I did, it still applies and is worth saying again. I say merry because we can't be happy all the time but we can be merry. Oh wait, is that the same thing? Oh well. Enough about that. 

In keeping with new years, comes the whole 'new year, new me' thing. Additionally there is also the 'one word' phenomenon. The way it works is, you choose a word which is meant to encapsulate your year. A kind of a theme or guide, so to speak. Something like that anyway. I'm probably not explaining it properly.

At any rate, my usual tendency when faced with such frivolities (or important rituals, depending on your point of view), would be to eye roll and dismiss it as claptrap. Because, let's face it, claptrap is, in itself, just a great word. As is codswallop. However, they are not the usual suspects when it comes to choosing your 'one word'. It's the common practice to choose something a little more uplifting.

I certainly wouldn't want my whole  year to be defined by codswallop, while at the same time, I would rather like the opportunity to say such a word at decent intervals throughout the proceedings. I'm weird like that. 

Therefore: codswallop.

Right. Hopefully I have gotten that out of my system for now. Moving on.

In the interest of being a bit more open to things and less cynical, I thought I'd have a crack at this one word malarkey last year. The word I chose was:

MOVE.

Um. Yeah. That didn't go as planned.

Well, there was SOME movement, but not nearly as much as I would have hoped.  But you know what? I am not going to berate myself for this. You know why? I have decided that my one word for 2018 will be...

Drum roll, please...

COMPASSION.

Image credit: http://mallorybecker.com/self-compassion/

With particular emphasis on self-compassion.  You see, I have this inner mean girl who mocks, taunts and castigates me constantly. Yet I would never do such a thing to another human being. What is that all about?

I have gotten somewhat better at thanking my mind for some of these jibes, and then just moving on. This is a practice derived from ACT (Acceptance & Commitment Therapy). So I feel that taking this practice a bit further with some self-compassion on the side will be quite beneficial. That's the plan anyway. 

Image credit: https://www.slideshare.net/marva78/selfcompassion-60420359

I expect it will be uphill work. When you've lived with your inner mean girl for almost 47 years (next week), it's not gonna happen overnight. It will be a work in progress and we'll see how it goes this time next year. It's truly a lifelong thing, isn't it? But this year is about setting it all up for the rest of my life, however long that is. 

And hopefully when I am being much nicer to myself that will help to motivate me to move more. I will be more likely to do the things that benefit and nourish me. Instead of thinking of myself as a fat, lazy sloth creature for not moving, I will tell myself that it's not easy but I can do it. I like the sound of that. Wish me luck! 

What about you?

What do you think of this 'one word' phenomenon? 

Do you have a word for 2018? 

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