After All, I Am the New Me.

Saturday was the annual Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras. It seems that people from all the outlying suburbs of Sydney & people from all over the World flock here every March to join in the festivities.

I am a person who feels that Christmas comes around far too often. It's not that I'm a 'Bah Humbug' type, but I think it would be far better for Christmas to be celebrated every five years. Every year around early October I go on 'Xmas Alert', where I look for signs of the impending celebration in Malls. When I find say, a packet of tinsel  or a Santa Scented Candle for sale, I inwardly groan. Here we go again, I mutter to myself, but not at all in a Scrooge-like way. There's Nothing Scroogie about me.

I feel the same way about the Mardi Gras. If only it could happen even every three years. But that's Never Going to Be. People are just desperate to  regularly get all joosched up in tiny little sparkly shorts & march down Oxford Street twirling a Rainbow Flag. And then go to the party afterwards & turn themselves into Total Trashbags.

This year I decided to take a Slightly Different Approach. Instead of feeling & behaving in the Usual Way, why not Embrace It, I asked myself.

After all, I Am The  New Me. 

So, around five on saturday, I trudged into the city where all the tinsel clad Parade Participants were assembling &  started taking photos. 

Hyde Park was awash with Wigs & Wings. And no one cared about having their photo taken. In fact, they Expected It.  No one gave me dirty looks or  accused me of Image Theft or Invading their Privacy, or threatened to break my camera.  So, I was kind of In Heaven.

 I just love taking photos of people in the street. But candid photos, not posing. I like for people to look a bit silly, but nothing humiliating, like snapping them when they're picking their nose.

 As I type, the thought  just struck me that I could be a Voyeur. And I would like that to be said with a strong French accent, like the word starts with a 'W' & not a 'V'. 

Back to the Parade.

I ended up taking 209 photos. And I found myself getting so into the swing of things that I had my photo taken with a couple of exceedingly large Drag Queens dressed up in shiny jump suits made of the Australian Flag.  By that stage I was feeling rather sad that it was impossible for me to Jump Ship & become a Lesbian . Even though one of my favourite sayings to my students is, 'Fake it Till U Make It', I really don't think I could do it. 

Oh, but now I really want a Giant Pair of White Wings just like a Swan. I would wear them everywhere, even to school & to the supermarket.

Birthday Blessings

Today's my daughter's 21st birthday. I've decided to post a small photo tribute. Of course I feature in it prominently.  

Let's start at the beginning. Her birth. Or more specifically, My Labour. Here I am lying in bed with my wonderful brave loyal poodle Peggy lying right next to what must have been a v. warm & cozy part of my body. Later on, Peggy who was blind, used to sometimes ride up in the pram with Billie-Mae. I'm sure people didn't know whether to call the Child Protection Hotline or the Animal Welfare League.

MBF (my best friend) Marge is sitting next to me desperately trying to bone up on what was about to happen by reading a book about having babies without any anaesthetic or trauma or something,  as she was supposed to be my helper. None of us knew anything.

My husband, Gunnar & I had never gone to pre-natal classes mainly because my doctor said that I was too nervous & it might upset me. She was definitely right about that. 

 Marge is not wearing a wig. Don't forget it was still the eighties. It was a giant Afro Perm job that probably looked sensational in her head before she had it, but couldn't take the transition into reality. 

Anyway, twenty-eight hours later, after a whole hospital's worth of drugs, topped off with an emergency caesarean, this amazing  Red haired creature was born. I was totally expecting a blonde. Her Canadian grandparents,  who have a family tree with names on it straight out of The Lord of the Rings, immediately called her their 'Viking Goddess'.

As you can see from the next two photos, I had Absolutely No Idea how to look  after a baby. I remember when we were leaving the hospital, this Old Nurse was desperately trying to tell me how to bath her. And  how to avoid nappy rash.  And when to start introducing solids. And how to get her into the Poshest Girls School in Sydney. I just smiled & nodded.

Once we got home, I got a shock. No one told me she would cry & not stop. And no one told me that a three week old baby would Absolutely Not Love going to the Paddington Markets on a saturday. 

Sometimes I would sing every song I could remember from 'Funny Girl' to her. My favourite was 'Don't Rain on My Parade'. Who could forget those immortal words - 'Don't tell me not to live, just sit & splutter/Life's candy & the sun's a ball of butter/don't bring about a cloud to rain on my parade'. 

Mae would just look at me with a slight frown.

Amazingly, she survived. And as I have said before, with Bell& Trumpets .  Here she is with her step-brother, Tyler having breakfast at a really swanky resort that we stayed at on an infamous holiday. I've always loved this photo, but now that I look at it, both of them look Slightly Irritated or should I say, Pissed Off. Maybe it was the sun in their eyes. 

Happy Birthday My Princess.

How Come Others See What We Don't See in Ourselves?

Well, I've completed my Skirt-Wearing Challenge initiated by Jane from workthatwardrobe. I would  love to report that everyone around me was absolutely gobsmacked that I wore the same skirt three days in a row, but of course no one noticed a thing.

I'm sure that I could keep on wearing that skirt for the next month & no one would notice. Actually, my students would. They've got nothing better to do but to sit in class & look at me.

And to draw me as well.

Today  I was shocked & horrified when I was presented with the drawing above after class.

'Do you really think that my waist is THAT Thick?' I demanded.

'Oh, Ms......it's my first attempt at drawing.' 

It was amazing that she managed to really capture the essence of the electrical sockets hanging out of the wall,  but just couldn't nail my figure.

Anyway, I really enjoyed the Skirt Wearing Challenge. And  I may decide to extend the Challenge into tomorrow. 

Now, that would be a stretch. 

I Never Realised That Wearing the Same Skirt on Consecutive Days Could Be a Personal Growth Experience

You may or may not notice that I am wearing the same polka dot pleated thrifted skirt in both pictures. And on two consecutive days.

This is almost unheard of for me.

Why? you may ask, if you could be bothered.

Well, I decided to participate in Jane, from workthatwardrobe's Skirt Wardrobe Challenge which is to wear the same skirt in different ways three times over a two week period. 

I decided to slightly alter the rules by doing the challenge over one week. You can always tell if someone considers themselves to be 'Special & Different' if they try & change the rules about something. I'm always doing that. 

Yes, I have special permission to Change the Rules because I'm Adopted. Because I'm Left-Handed. Because I'm  a Natural Blonde. 

Oh dear, I hope I haven't switched the dial over to Self-Loathing.

Over the past year or so, Jane & other wardrobe bloggers have set up all sorts of Wardrobe Hurdles that they have to jump over. The Big Hurdle is No Buying New Clothes. But they each find simple but ingenious ways to wear different outfits by swapping clothes with friends or online buddies, buying & selling on ebay where no money changes hands, thrifting & by just finding new ways to wear their old clothes. And also planning their outfits in advance. 

I envy them. Even though I don't really buy new clothes anymore (except in moments of Extreme Temptation when the Nasty Landfill Shop has dresses for $9.95 & I just happen to be walking past) & I mainly just buy at 'Bednobs & Broomsticks', my local thrift store, I could never be that organised to do what they do. 

For instance, I have a whole Separate Wardrobe called  The Poor Relations. These are the clothes that I don't care for anymore. Maybe they were Mistakes to begin with. Maybe they don't fit me now. Maybe they Never Fitted. Maybe their hems have fallen down. 

 What's inside The Poor Relations Wardrobe would fill an entire shop. It's packed to the rafters. If I was organised I could start swapping these clothes. But I can't for the life of me think who I could swap them with. 

Or I could sell them on ebay. But I wouldn't be able to work out how much postage to charge. Or I'd find the wrapping up in brown paper  bit too hard. And then there's standing in the Endless Queue in the Over-Stretched Post Office. 

And I rarely, if ever plan my outfits in advance. I like the thrill of getting up in the morning & throwing open my Non-Poor Relation Wardrobe & deciding then & there what to wear. I like the adrenalin rush that comes with knowing if you try one more necklace on you'll be too late to get a takeaway latte on the way to school.

Ohhhhh........I do like to Live Close to the Edge.

I desperately wanted to give the above outfits Names. You know, like 'Lady Sings the Blues' or 'Cool Sophisticate'.  Of course I could only come up with Silly Names like 'Oxymoron' or 'Season in Hell'.  So, I've decided that they shall Remain Nameless. 

Can't wait to get up tomorrow & wear the polka dot skirt again. In fact, I may decide to wear it every day for the next two weeks.

Freedom from Magazines

I know this sounds mean, but I kind of find the current financial downturn slightly comforting because it mirrors my own personal financial downturn which sadly has nothing to do with World Markets.

Gone are the days when I'd come home every second day with a fresh new magazine to pour over. I now only buy one magazine a month, the Magnificent 'World of Interiors', which I've been religiously buying since the eighties. 

Nowadays, I read magazines at 'Borders' which is like my local library, or I read or pilfer them from my local cafe, 'Zinc', or I drag them out of the garbage bins in the basement of my apartment building.

Don't feel sorry for me, though. I just love not buying mags. It's True Freedom At Last! 

And I love reading them for free or stealing them or finding them in the rubbish. It's like a little gift from the Universe.

Anyway, I was frantically reading a dog-eared copy of 'New York' mag this morning at 'Zinc' while I was waiting an eternity for my takeaway latte, & I found this page featuring Patti Lupone, a Broadway star who is not really known in Australia as Broadway isn't here. 

I just loved her saying, 'I could see the writing on the wall, so I started writing on the wall'. 

I  wish I had said it. 

I Never Knew I Had Ears Like An Alien

Rarely do young attractive Males feature on my blog. Except perhaps Tyler, my step-son. But he doesn't really count because he's Family.

Tim, featured above is Not Family.

But don't think he's become my new Toy Boy. Non, non & Double Non. Besides the fact that he's definitely taken by Lara, my Favourite Barista in the World, I am strangely not attracted to young men. I used to be. But that was twenty-five years ago. I've Moved On.

Oh, but not far enough, it seems. Lately, I've been desperately looking at Men My Age on the street, in the supermarket queue & dare I say, on the Internet, & sadly  they all remind me of my father. 

I loved my Dad. I was a real Daddy's Girl. But I never wanted to date him. And all these blokes over fifty I've been looking at look like Dad. Or Santa. Or Fidel Castro.

 

Anyway, back to Tim. He's an artist, graphic designer, design teacher & gallerist. He & Lara have recently opened Buckland St Gallery in Sydney with an opening exhibition featuring Tim's digitally altered portraits of people. The first photo is a straight photo of the person. The second photo is their left side merged & the third photo is their right side merged.

I was thrilled & honoured when Tim asked me to be a subject. Of course I was worried sick that my middleaged skin would look all wrinkly under such close scrutiny. I shouldn't have worried. Far worse were my Rogue Eyebrows & the Disturbing Alien Ears I've got in the third photo.

I dropped in to the gallery on saturday & became involved in a lively conversation with an excited lady who found the whole process v. fascinating. She was earnestly looking at everyone's portraits & deciding which side was vulnerable or hard or artistic or playful or whatever. She told me the Alien Ear side of me was the Disciplinarian & the other side was the Artistic Dreamer.

I was completely stumped. For the life of me, I couldn't see any of that . Maybe I was blinded by The Ears.

But of course I just loved the attention.

The Miracle of the 'Mad Men' Dinner

Last night was my weekly 'Mad Men' dinner. 

It's a v. appropriate name for a dinner that I might host. Not that I'm taking any cheap shots at anybody or anything.

Some of you may wonder what constitutes a  'Mad Men Dinner'.  You may have imagined a whole lot of crazy middleaged guys Behaving Badly whilst we raucous women throw rotten tomatoes at them. 

Sadly, that's not it.

 It's a cable TV show convincingly set in a Madison Ave Advertising agency in the early sixties. There's a large cast of characters & many of them are Rather Mad Men who behave appallingly whilst smoking cigarettes from every orifice. You could get lung cancer just from watching the show.

Luckily for me, none of my local pals have Cable. But I do. So I'm Suddenly Popular.

Look at the picture above will you. Tyler, my wonderful stepson again joined us for dinner. As you can see, he's a little in awe of the intense light just above the statue of  Our Lady With No Hands. In fact, we were all a little amazed.

Was this the precursor to a Vision, like Fatima or Lourdes, perhaps? 

I have always been terrified but also fascinated by these Earthly visions ever since I was originally told about them by Hateful Sister Rosalia in Kindergarten. She told us five year olds that Our Lady had visited these three stupid peasant kids in Fatima in about 1917 & told them three secrets that they could only tell to the local priest who would then pass them  on to The Pope. Over the years, the first two secrets were revealed. I can only vaguely remember one of them, which was that Evil Communism was threatening to take over the world & kill us all. And all because the world didn't go to Mass on sundays enough.

 That scared the living daylights out of me. 

But the thing that made me totally unable to sleep with the light off was that Only the Pope knew the contents of the Third Secret. And he wasn't going to tell.

Instantly, I knew what it was. 

Now, you may think that a five year old wouldn't know such things. But I was an Old Soul, as they say. I'd been around before. I knew that the Third Secret was about the World ending by perhaps one of those large bombs that I'd heard about. I sat at my little desk a complete mess.

And I hated that Mary for coming & smarmily telling hideous secrets, all the while looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. What was the point? Did she really think that the whole world was suddenly going to drop everything & race off to Mass every Sunday just because she tells little peasant kiddies that ? I don't think so.

So, it was with some surprise & relief that when the contents of the Third Secret finally came out in the nineties, it was a Complete Fizzer. The Vatican revealed that it told of the Pope's assassination attempt in the early eighties. Yawn. But what a relief all the same. All those years of mindless worrying for nothing. Maybe I wasn't born an Old Soul after all. 

Just a Worried One.

And now for The Food.

 Each week, everyone brings something with a Slightly Sixties feel to it. My parents favourite hors d'oevre (bad spelling) was Angels on Horseback, which were smoked oysters with bacon wrapped around them. And then there were tinned prunes again wrapped in bacon. It was amazing how versatile bacon was back then.

So far, I haven't served up any of these delicacies. But I might soon.

Last night I made Potatoes au Gratin which became a firm favourite of mine in I believe, the late sixties. I'm proudly showing it off, below, along with my bare arms that I usually cover. What a risk taker!

The potato dish was served with a Brave Meatloaf that Jenny made. 

The Grand Finale was Traditional Trifle made by Monica.  Jenny is looking on as if she's never seen anyone use whipped cream in a can before. What a sheltered life.

Because I have v. strict dietary rules, like no carbs after lunch & hardly no wine, I find these weekly feasts a magnificent treat. I let everything slide & shovel in as much as I like & even have a couple of glasses of wine. 

Mad Men, Carbs & Wine. What more could I want?