Signs of the times

I have always loved my neighbourhood for its diversity of residents, workers and visitors. Originally a poor working-class inner city suburb, and largely industrial, it has over time given way to migrant families with front gardens full of vegetables rather than flowers, artists looking for affordable space in which to work, and young urban professionals who fancy the cool edginess of it all. Cafes, bookshops and uber cool restaurants have moved in and our neighbourhood is slowly changing.

When I first moved in heroin was cheap, readily available and it’s users highly visible on the street. Needles were often left on our doorstep, and frequently littered the gutters. The users were a part of our community, and for the most part either walked the streets, or sat nodding off on street benches. They in no way ever threatened us or our sense of safety. I have always felt that witnessing that part of our community put my daughter in good stead, and it has. She is street-wise, safe and smart. At nineteen she is often offered an array of drugs at parties and clubs, and any parent that thinks this does not happen is deluding themselves. Unlike some of her friends who have lead more sheltered lives, she has no desire to take part in it.

For whatever reason, the last ten years or so the users, along with the needles, have for the large part, disappeared from our neighbourhood. Possibly the methadone programs available have provided an alternate solution, rent and housing prices have gone up, or it’s just been too expensive or hard to get. I don’t know. What I do know is that this week I have noticed a return of the spaced-out wandering our streets, and the occasional needle in the laneways. Is there a parallel to the slow recovery from the GFC? Is heroin plentiful and cheap again? Is it the thought of the holiday season looming, or is life just getting too hard?

Today I saw one of our regular homeless men wandering in the street, rake-thin, dishevelled and out of it. I was saddened to see him in this state as he’s always been a bit of a curious hero to me. He is handsome, cheeky, smart, and has a devilish smile. If there were a film made of his life, Johnny Depp would play his role. For years he has taken it upon himself to collect rubbish in our streets, bagging it and binning it like a man possessed, his only reward the occasional bit of spare change from a passer-by. If you stopped and talked to him, it was always a treat, listening to his views on politics, philosophy and music. Once I saw him drive past in a convertible sports car with the top down, and grinning from ear to ear. As I said, he is a curious man. Seeing him today so thin, so out of it prompted me to write this post. As I watched him barely managing to walk a straight line, he stopped to pick up a stray leaf from the road, and put it in his pocket. Bless him.

And for the record, yes I remain smitten with the lodger.

On being smitten

I admit it. I am completely smitten. It's ridiculous, but I have a schoolgirl crush on the Paying Guest. I blush, trip over my words, squeak, and generally fumble about. I'm sure that he thinks I'm completely mad. Fortunately he is away for a few days, so I will try to collect myself and regain some composure.

But it has made me rethink men. More specifically what is it that attracts us? I know we compiled a fantastic list of the things that we DON'T fancy in men (see the lovely notSupermum for the complete Harry High-Pants No-No List), but what are the things that DO attract us?

Clearly in my case I have thrown all, or most, of my tick-list out the window on this one. The PG is not George Clooney, or Johnny Depp. He is dishevelled, bumbling, pudgy and should seriously rethink his sideburns. But he is kind, funny, intelligent and interesting. He is passionate about food and the cooking, eating and ethics of it, and has chosen to abandon a 'sensible' career in order to follow his passion. I think I fell whilst watching him cook, mixing the salad with his hands. Talk about sexy.

So, what really turns us on? For starters I propose the following:

• Good personal hygiene. Not obsessive, just clean and nice-smelling
• Kindness
• Humour
• A passion for something
  
• A good smile
• A good mind
• (a new personal favourite) the ability to cook
  

I could go on with the more superficial items such as crumpled linen shirts NOT tucked in, and dark jeans, but I am more curious at my own abandonment of the things I thought usually matter. It's certainly been food for thought.

Tales of the lodger

I suspect this blog may turn to regular tales of the lodger, and I wonder how long he will last. So far he shows remarkable patience and good humour, bless. On his first night the cat peed on his clothes. On the second, in his shoes. He now knows to put them away.

Last night at dinner I failed to notice that one of the candles had burnt down to stumps, and the table was on fire! And the cat threw up next to us, for good measure. Fawlty Towers? I can't wait to see what happens next!

A new housemate!

The past six weeks or so, since my return from a wonderful and decadent university-funded month in Italy, (along with a few extra kilos!), has been somewhat of a blur. Re-entry to life without The Teenager (still travelling) has been mixed, it was so good to see her but just when I am really missing her she sends me an urgent text message or email requiring immediate action on my part, reminding me of the aspects I enjoy about her temporary absence.

• A tidy(ish) house.
• Privacy in my love-life (if only I had one!)
• Cooking what I want to eat, when I want to, and the time to work late if I wish.
• The time to attempt to get to grips with my thesis, and to focus on my career.
• The time to go out with friends and skip dinner altogether, which is probably not such a great idea, given the tumbles I have taken navigating my way home on my bicycle!

On other matters:

Along with many others, the GFC has not been kind to artists, although the dealers are saying that the market is slowly recovering. Many friends, excellent artists, have had dismal sales of late, me included. As a result I have taken on a bit of teaching, and more interestingly, a Paying Guest. Yes, I have let out The Teenager’s room. It took a massive amount of effort to pack up all her belongings, and find somewhere to store them (my bedroom, great!), and there were some interesting finds under the bed. Perhaps David Attenborough could do a series on Life under Teenagers Beds. However, now the room is pristine, the PG is ensconced, and we are slowly familiarising ourselves with each other’s idiosyncrasies. We’ve broken the ice with breakfast in our pyjamas, and a little too much wine after dinner (dangerous as I tend to get ‘beer goggles’ after a few drinks!). The cat took it upon himself to test out our new housemate by peeing on his clothes. Fortunately he took it in his stride, and handled it with good grace. And he now knows not to leave his clothes on the floor.

Despite the lack of sales, I have had a very good year critically, been short-listed for several prizes, and had very positive feedback from my university supervisor and my dealers about my work. I also have a very supportive counsellor who helps me steer my way with both The Teenager, The Ex and life in general. To reinforce her support she has recently purchased a large work of mine. Although things have been difficult I am fortunate and appreciative to have these people around me. And I am confident it will be better soon.

X Sunday

In the Deep End!

Call me petty, immature even, but what is with women who go to water aerobics exercise classes and don’t want to get their hair wet? I know it can be a pain having to dry your hair afterwards, and can discolour highlights, but really, if you’re that fussed about your ‘do’ maybe a land-based form of exercise might be an idea? Or God-forbid, invest in a bathing cap? It isn’t necessary to get drenched, but some splashing should be tolerated as inevitable.

I attend such a class regularly, mainly in order to keep somewhat trim, enough so that I can eat and drink as much as I like, the fitness is a just a perk! But, there is always one, isn’t there? ‘Duck-bum’ also attends regularly, and obviously has a weekly set at the hairdressers. It is so coiffed I swear it wouldn’t move in a hurricane. And she does not like me, or rather my enthusiasm for the class. Inevitably we end up next to each other, and goaded by her tutting and huffing, I have become even more enthusiastic, and oops, occasionally her hair gets a light splash! Why this amuses me so much I am not sure, but clearly she does not share my sense of humour! Am I being over-the-top?

The trials and tyranny of a teenager’s diet

The Teenager has for the last few years been on a self-imposed diet, of sorts. It changes form from time to time, but the desired end result remains the same. Basically she wishes to be rake thin, similar to the model images she sees in magazines and blogs. This is at odds with a girl who loves food and cooking. But she is 19 and vulnerable, and I pray that this will pass.

For several years now all forms of ‘carbs’ have been off-limits, pasta, rice, bread and potatoes. Fortunately she seems to think oats are ok. Recently she made the switch to soy rather than dairy. Nuts are now a no-no. Omelettes are made with egg whites only, and she is forever hungry. To combat this she eats vast amounts – breakfast may be a large bowl of oats with soy milk and apple, but a couple of hours later she is hungry again, and munching on another piece of fruit. Enormous salads (no oil) for lunch. All very healthy, but just so much.

The sad thing is that she is not over-weight, but rather a healthy ‘normal’ size 10, well-proportioned shape and size. And beautiful. How she sees herself is somewhat different, adjectives such as “obese, morbidly obese, huge, fat, and ugly” regularly spring from her lips. How others see her bothers her greatly as she believes everyone sees her as she imagines herself to be. As a parent it is both disturbing, and heart-breaking to hear.

Certainly all that she does eat is healthy, partly perhaps because as a family we’ve always been into fresh and seasonal food, and she exercises daily. Yet despite all her efforts, her body shape remains much the same. She is gorgeous, and often told so, but she still cannot get it. Being a ‘foodie’ doesn’t help; imagine her dismay in Italy when presented with great meal choices that she cannot allow herself to have.

I’ve tried offering help such as counselling, shiatsu (for anxiety, which she did try, and seemed to help), talking about it, and not talking about it. It seems to be something she has to work through herself. As her physical health is not in danger, I feel we need to ride it out, and just be there for her. Thankfully, these self-depreciating sessions do not last long, and 90% of the time I have a happy, confident, out-going and well-mannered teenager on my hands. It's just that other 10% that is a bit exhausting.

I am in love.......

with almost all things Italian.

I have returned home after nearly missing my flight due to having slipped into a totally relaxed holiday state and forgetting my actual departure date. By chance I happened to check my ticket only to discover that I was due to leave that afternoon! A mad dash to throw my belongings into my bag, a hasty farewell to my mother before my father, my daughter and I sped off to Rome. I'm never good at goodbyes at the best of times, so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. The hardest part was saying goodbye to The Teenager at the airport as I won't be seeing her again until after Christmas. When she first proposed taking a gap year between school and university I was a tiny bit hesitant, but having seen just how much she has learnt from travelling, organising herself, budgeting and surviving, I am now 100 percent behind the concept. She has managed magnificently, seen all that she should, had fun and adventures, and met some great people along the way. It was fabulous to have three weeks with her, and to see just how well she is doing. Of course she still had her moments, which reminded me of the aspects of being home alone that I am currently enjoying!

Italy. Such a dreamy time to visit, sunny days and cooler evenings, I was in heaven. Morning cappuccinos and pre-dinner proseccos at the bar, idling away the time thinking about lunch and dinner, whilst surreptitiously keeping an eye on the gorgeous Italian men who just get the look right, seemingly without effort. Great jeans, crumpled linen shirts and loafers with no socks, why do so many men of the world get it so wrong?

Of course whilst it was wonderful to be with family and friends, I was conscious of my study duties, and did actually set aside time for things other than food, wine and gazing at men. The beautiful sketchbook given to me did get a few drawings in it, and the notebooks are filled with notes taken whilst looking at great works of art.

I spent a week in Venice looking at art both old and new, as well as revisiting some old favourites, of which Bellini is one. A week of expensive food, cheap wine and good coffee. A week of getting lost in all the lane ways (and making a mental note not to retire there, imagine living in Venice and having Alzheimer's!), discovering great hidden bars and cafes, meandering through the markets and wishing I had a kitchen, a week of mostly rain and still finding it incredibly beautiful, a week of seeing Turner in every view, and a week of wishing I had more money to shop!

Of the Biennale, there was the usual mix of the good, the bad and the downright ugly. Whilst there were some interesting artists at the Giardini, it was the Arsenale that I most loved. Despite some flooding at the end of the building (and what an incredible building it is!) everyone was very good-natured about it all and simply took off their shoes and waded through in bare feet. One of the most poetic works for me was by Ceal Floyer, whose work was the simple projection of a bonsai tree. Unmanicured, it was projected to the size that the actual tree would have become had it not been confined to its pot. The artist's statement talked of the literality being a conceptual tool to represent hidden or repressed truths, but I also saw it as an optimistic work, that spoke of potential and growth despite handicaps or outside pressure. Perhaps I was thinking of The Teenager.

Now it is back to the brushes, and more importantly, cracking on with my thesis, something I always seem to avoid by finding other things to do (such as this blog!). If only I was as good at writing as I am at procrastinating. The cat is beside himself with joy to have me home again, and all is well. I miss my daughter madly, but know that she is well and having a fantastic experience that will only enrich the wonderful young woman she is becoming. I have been home less than 48 hours, and have hit the ground running, but I will hang on as tightly as I can to the wonderful calm and memories that I have brought home with me. And think about what sort of risotto I will cook for dinner!